Leaving the nest

I’ve decided to leave Twitter.

Elon Musk has made the site more hostile to queer and trans people, women, and people of color by amplifying the messages of those hostile to diversity and reinstating homophobic, transphobic, antisemetic, misogynistic, and white supremacist accounts. While the content moderation practices of pre-Elon Twitter were far from perfect, they at least represented an effort to do what was right and consistent. Elon is a troll looking to empower and encourage those like him, period full stop. He is actively destroying a thing I love.

As a content creator who has used Twitter, at least in part, to promote my content, I am providing a very small molecule of value to the platform by putting there the stuff some people are using it to find. By participating on that platform, I’m giving people a reason to use it. Any value I create for Twitter is now value I’m creating for Elon Musk directly. I cannot, in good conscience, do that.

I was hoping a clear Twitter alternative would emerge prior to coming to this conclusion which, it has been growing increasingly clear, was reaching the point of inevitability. I’m on Mastodon and Hive but I don’t really think either of these seem like a good solution at present. Hive is a nice little app with (apparently) pretty reasonable rules regarding NSFW content, but it doesn’t seem to be getting a lot of adoption from the Twitterati and, even so, its performance has been suffering and it’s run by two people (literally). Mastodon is giving me strong mid-2000s web forum vibes with each instance being run by one or a handful of moderators. In essence, each Mastodon server is tiny little version of Elon’s Twitter with each being run by someone who sees themselves as a benevolent dictator.

I will be posting new blog links on Mastodon and Hive going forward and even Tumblr (where they’ve always been going). I was considering using Twitter only for links back to posts here but, again, that creates value for Elon Musk, if even just an infinitesimal amount. So I’m going to stop doing that, too. This will be the last link I send there.

I will miss engaging with the community I’ve found on Twitter. A lot. I hope if you’re there and reading this you’ll either engage with me here or on one of those other platforms.

The one about Elon

Reader kbrown2017 left this comment to my previous post about Twitter.

I’m sure you worked hard at promoting your lifestyle, but name calling and unsupported rant undermines your entire argument, you know Einstein was hated, and Tesla way ahead of his time and hated, now the accomplishments of Elon dwarfs anything you or I have done, or most of us free men have been able to accomplish, leaves them open for criticism. If Elon eliminates liberal bias and restricts free expression good for him. Even Trump has had his ups and downs and in spite of the hate being generated towards him he still sticks to his same principles, I guess wishy washy non producers will always be jealous the producers and their accomplishments. Is there a hotel Thumper?

I feel like I could just drop this meme and move along…

…but I won’t.

I’m not sure how my post about Twitter could be called a “rant.” I have seen rants. I have, indeed, ranted. What I posted the other day didn’t even qualify as a screed, imo. And also, the charge of “name calling” wrt to Elon is pretty hilarious considering he quite regularly calls people names on Twitter. This is the same guy who called a diver trying to rescue children trapped in a cave a pedophile.

I will establish my bonafides regarding Elon. I have been a fan of the guy in the past. Back when he seemed more a Steve Jobs-like figure who wasn’t ever going to win a congeniality contest but was nonetheless inspiring teams to do incredible things. Space X, in particular, is probably the most exciting American company of its generation. You have to go back to the founding of Google to find one as interesting and innovative. It’s a small list, for sure. This is compounded by the fact that most normal people don’t even realize how profoundly Space X is going to impact for the better life on this planet in the next handful of years.

I have a more realistic view of Tesla. They’ve clearly done a lot to advance the acceptability of electric vehicles, have made advancements in things like battery technology, and have an impressive charging network, but the reality is their core product sucks. It’s a company that’s had the field quite literally to themselves and they’ve capitalized on it, but the landscape is changing. There are a lot of really good EVs being made by companies who know how to manufacture a quality product. And, of course, Elon is out there destroying his personal brand among consumers on a daily basis which is traded on a 1:1 basis with Tesla’s. Every person he turns off by his wasteful destruction of Twitter or his infantile shitposting on that platform is one less person who will ever buy one of his products.

The Jobs comparison I think is really interesting. I have often thought that Elon is like Steve but without the NeXT life lesson. For those who don’t know, Jobs was chucked out of Apple, the company he cofounded in a garage, because he was such a know-it-all insufferable dick. He went on to found a computer company called NeXT which made an incredible, beautiful, technologically advanced product that was a near total failure. It taught Steve the lesson of hubris and humility. So, when he came back to Apple, he was a significantly more effective and productive leader. He got a second chance to change the world and he did not waste it.

Elon has not had that lesson taught to him yet. I’m not 100% sure it can be taught to him. Tesla could be to Elon what Apple was to Steve when he left in 1985. His destructive and rash impulses could lead to a destruction of Tesla’s market value which, in turn, could lead to the unthinkable concept of a Tesla without Elon. That’s as unthinkable today as an Apple without Jobs was back in the 80s. And, in both cases, it would be entirely their own faults.

I don’t think Twitter will be Elon’s NeXT. He and too many people around him are already blaming literally anyone else for its issues: the woke mob, insufficiently hardcore engineers, meddling libtard senators. When Twitter crashes and burns and takes a giant chunk of Elon’s fortunes with it, he will simply be unable to see his role in the debacle. He will see it as something the world did to him rather than the obvious truth of it being the other way around.

It is perplexing to me that no matter how many times Elon does or says something totally wrong, foolish, mean, or simply stupid how vociferously his weird fanboys defend him. Even in the few days since I wrote that last post, Twitter has continued to crumble, as a service and a company, but clearly the issue is those of us who criticize him being blinded by our jealousy of his genius and success to see the brilliance of his ways.

I am not jealous of his success. I saw him speak at SXSW several years ago and he related, almost with pride, how little time he spent with his children because of how much he worked. I simply would never choose to make that trade. Even if it could make me 1,000 times richer than I am today, I would not. If anything, I pity him. His life is so clearly devoid of love and empathy and kindness. He is more “successful” because of it, but his priorities are twisted. He’s not a person to look up to. Not in his current form. Neither was Steve in 1984. But he was in 2004. Maybe Elon will be in 2042.

But I doubt it.

Kbrown2017 could have left well enough alone with commenting on Elon. But they had to say this, too.

Even Trump has had his ups and downs and in spite of the hate being generated towards him he still sticks to his same principles, I guess wishy washy non producers will always be jealous the producers and their accomplishments.

Donald Trump is a grifter and a conman who’s cheated and lied and defrauded his way to a fortune that’s smaller than the one he inherited had he simply stuck it into S&P 500 index funds when his dad died. He’s a multiple-time loser and a traitor to his country and oath who tried to overthrow the government of the United States. A violent coup attempt that led to the deaths of five Americans. He energizes and inspires racists and Christian nationalists to action, openly and enthusiastically. His only principles are to himself. To his own aggrandizement. To his motherfucking ego. There is no “accomplishment” there. He is not the creator of anything worthy of preservation. He is a monster who would burn the world if he thought it’d make him a buck or keep his sorry orange ass out of jail for a month longer.

I am happy to have a debate about the relative value of Elon Musk to the human race with someone who thinks he’s great. It’s a nuanced and interesting topic. But Donald Trump? No. Indefensible. On any objective level. Anyone who would defend both these men in the same breath is not a person who’s comfortable with commonly accepted concepts of right and wrong.

The one about Twitter

I originally joined Twitter in July 2006, about two weeks after its introduction at that year’s SXSW made quite the sensation. I wasn’t at South By that year but heard about it while listening to Leo Laporte’s post-The Screen Savers podcast. My Twitter user number (which used to be assigned sequentially and were pretty easy to find but now aren’t either of those things) is under 3,000.

Back then, Twitter wasn’t an app. There barely were apps. The iPhone wouldn’t come out for another year, and even then, the only apps it ran were the ones it came with. (Fun fact: the first independent app you could run on an iPhone, even before the App Store, was a third-party Twitter app.) You Tweeted by sending an SMS message to Twitter. My first tweet was sent using a Palm Treo and, of course, had a misspelling (no grammar dommes back then). You saw your friend’s tweets by going to twttr.com because vowels were for squares (see also, Flickr, Tumblr, et. al.). It was all so rudimentary and cool and new. Like most tech in the mid-2000s.

Anyway, yeah, I’m an old school Twitterer.

I made my Thumper Twitter account in February 2009 when I realized there were kinky people there talking about being kinky (and posting dirty pictures of themselves and others because Twitter has always been sex positive). That account’s user number is 20,823,289. Before its recent troubles, there were about 300 million active Twitter user accounts (and way, way more than that inactive). So even my kinky Twitter account, which I still think of as “new,” was ahead of the curve.

I don’t say any of this for some kind of nerd street cred. I say it to establish myself as someone who is motherfucking invested in the platform. I honestly love Twitter. I love it so much that I signed all my accounts up for Twitter Blue as soon as it came out for no other reason than I wanted to support the company and help make sure Twitter never went anywhere. I have subsequently unsubscribed all my accounts from Blue, and not because the price went from $3 to $5 to $8.

My OG muggle account is really about consumption. It has less than 700 followers even after all the years it’s been around, but I’ve invested time to curate lists of people in all my key muggle interest areas: news, politics, tech, Marvel/Star Wars, spaceflight, baseball, etc. I do tweet, but the same half dozen or so people are the only ones who ever like or reply to what I say. They may be the only people who even see it. I dunno. The real point of it is to stay informed. And it’s a totally unique and irreplaceable resource. Even after all this time, nothing like it exists (yet).

My kinky account is totally different. It’s all about community. It’s about affirmation and encouragement and kinship. It’s about learning that your weird little kink isn’t a) weird, or b) little. Slipping into Thumper Twitter is like when Norm walks into Cheers. I feel camaraderie and have friends. Real people whose lives I’m invested in. When Tumblr imploded, I mourned the passing of a horny friend. But Twitter is family. If it goes…I’ll be bereft.

And I sense that it is going. My muggle feed isn’t as filled out as out it used to be. My Thumper account, which usually picks up a handful of followers every day, is decidedly losing them now. Presumably, both these things are related. Presumably, people are leaving the platform. When things like Twitter collapse, it happens little by little and then all at once. We’re in the little by little stage. How far away from all at once?

I will probably be able to eventually recreate something close to my muggle consumption model Twitter experience, but I’m terrified about the Thumper side. The side that is filled with adults being explicit with one another, not just for the sexy funtime value, but also for the aforementioned community. Whatever comes after Twitter needs to also be sex positive and permissive of individual expression of sexuality. And as we’ve seen with Tumblr (and the puritanical, paternalistic app store policies of Apple and Google), platforms that foster that kind of community are vanishing or being extinguished. For whatever reason, the mid-2000 allowed for places like Twitter and Tumblr to be created. The 2020s not so much.

And yeah, I know about Mastodon and FetLife. FetLife is not the same thing at all. Mastodon has promise, but it’s unclear to me that it’s the One That Was Promised. But we’re rapidly approaching a moment in time where Twitter might just stop working due to layoffs and its owner being a colossal dick to its remaining employees. Twitter is old and complicated and creaky and at some point something no one currently working there even knows about is going to break and take the thing down for an hour or a day or a week…or forever. And the supreme irony is the place I’d go to find out where everyone else is going is fucking Twitter.

What’s happening to it right now makes me indescribably sad. It’s all so fucking wasteful and nonsensical and stupid and unfair. A petulant manchild who thinks he knows more than everyone else due to the size of his financial portfolio is destroying it in real time right in front of us because he can and is too proud to admit he needs help or listen to others who know more than he does. He’s going to piss away enough money to make significant dents in things like hunger and housing and public health on a global level in a fit of pique.

Fuck Elon Musk. Fuck the asshole techbro kiss-asses who surround and encourage him. Fuck a society that venerates people like him. But long live Twitter. Somewhere. Somehow.

Evotion evolution

I mentioned the other day that we were going to start exercising more key discipline. Specifically, my “emergency” key would be secured with a numbered tab and hers would be inaccessible to me. Either hidden or secured some other way so that I couldn’t get to it easily/ethically.

I got her this lock box from Amazon which I thought would allow her to keep the key in her nightstand as usual, easily unlocked with her phone or a code, but she decided to hide it somewhere in the house. Now it’s not only secured from me, it’s also stashed away, I know not where. So the other day, when I asked for her key to change out of the Evotion 8 and into something else, she…was disinclined to acquiesce to my request.

Turns out, she likes the Evotion 8 and didn’t really feel like getting the key (and potentially giving away its location) and didn’t really see the need for me to be in anything else at the moment, my desire for a change notwithstanding. And it’s like…damn. OK. That’s how it is.

I have become very accustomed to being able to pick and choose which device I’m in depending on my whims. And now when I look at the Evo, I think about how it’s there without regard to my feelings on the matter. And yeah, that’s way hotter.

Speaking of Evotion, I had planned on ordering an Orion. The 8 is one of my absolute favorite devices and I was very curious about the Orion’s simplified design. I reached out to Yvonne at Evotion to see if they had my 8’s measurements on file to use as a starting point, and she offered to comp me the device because, you know, internet personality and all. I am paying for the hollow titanium PA pin, so it ends up we’re about splitting the cost. I mention this because I rarely review devices I haven’t paid for and I think it’s important for you to know when I’m talking about something I got for free (or deeply discounted). In any event, the device is in the works and I hope to have it sometime around the start of December. It’s going to look a lot like this one but with a hollow PA pin.

The thing I really appreciate about Evotion’s designs is how they’re a) plastic (for when plastic is called for), b) custom printed to bespoke measurements, and (uniquely, I think) c) have optional integrated PA security. Whenever I’m in a Holy Trainer or Cobra or other plastic device, it just doesn’t feel the same. PA security is very important to me and changes the emotional experience of being locked up, I find. And AFAIK, Evotion’s are the only bespoke plastic PA-secured devices out there.

Look for my review of the Orion sometime around the end of the year. Assuming Belle lets me take the 8 off. Ever.


Today is the 14th anniversary of the first time a chastity device was locked onto me (which means we’re also a little over a week past the fourteenth anniversary of the start of this blog).

It’s hard for me to really get my head back into the space I was in when I first felt what it was like walking around among muggles with a device in my pants, let alone what it felt like having my erection contained and constrained for the first time. But I do recall the first time Belle denied me an orgasm after she got one. It was such a rush. I felt high the whole next day. But being denied has changed so much over the years. From it making me annoying and selfish to…whatever I am now. I don’t think I’m nearly as much of either. I feel like my — ahem — head is in a better place.

I’ve said before, being kept in chastity no longer feels like a thing I do or is being done to me. It just is. It’s how I am. It only becomes a thing when I can’t be kept locked. If I have to come out for some stupid reason like travel or a doctor’s visit or one of those times the contents need to heal from something a device did to it. I was just off camping in the wilderness for a week and was in the BA-31P the whole time. Mostly because not being in it would feel weird and wrong and distracting. As if being so would be inauthentic and unnatural. Basically, “weird and distracting” went from being how it felt to be locked up to how it feels not to be. Also, Belle’s rules say I have to be locked up all the time and I have proven there’s no practical reason I can’t be even deep in the woods for a week.

Seeing the contents outside of a device has become off-putting. It looks pale and exposed. I don’t want Belle or anyone else to see me that way. It’s embarrassing. Somehow, it feels more naked than naked is. Like some inner part of me is exposed. I guess that’s what the contents literally are now. An inner part.

The milestone of being kept for 14 years has me wondering how much of that time was spent locked up. Of course, locked men tend to obsess over duration. Kinky people in general seem to over index as stats and metric obsessed folk. I don’t count the days like I used to (even between orgasms which happen so infrequently I can’t even remember them), but I still track what I’m locked in and for how long. I began using an app to track which device I was locked into back in January 2016 (actually December of 2015, but only for like two days), so a bit more than half way between the first day and today. I don’t have data for the first seven years or so. But here’s the breakdown of each year since then.

Hours LockedHours Unlocked
20166,800 (77%)1,984 (23%)
20178,579 (98%)181 (2%)
20187,194 (82%)1,566 (18%)
20196,661 (76%) 2,099 (24%)
20208,371 (95%)413 (5%)
20218,535 (97%)225 (3%)
2022 (YTD)6,966 (99%)90 (1%)
Total46,856 (88%) 6,558 (12%)

Two things jump out. One, 2016, 2018, and 2019 had a lot of unlocked time, relatively speaking, while the other years tracked were more in line with one another. Two, the trend for the past three years is curving towards zero. This is due to Belle wanting the contents out far less often than she used to and me being better at finding ways to avoid being out when in the past I might have thought I had to be. But, the question was how long have I been locked up over the past 14 years? I think the previous 7 would be more like 16′, 17′ and 19′, so let’s just say the average for all of them is 75-80% locked.

That’s something between 92,000 and 98,000 hours. Which means in this, my fifteenth year of enforced chastity, chances are I’ll cross the 100,000 hour mark. That’s more than eleven years.

Of course, this is meaningless. I am locked. By default and whenever I don’t have to come out due to circumstance or Belle’s (increasingly infrequent) demand. As far as I’m concerned, the number is basically ∞.

But since we’re at this moment of recognition and reflection, I can say I never want to be any other way than kept in chastity. The changes that have come over me for being so are indelible. Sure, I could not be locked up and be touching myself sexually and having regular orgasms like a real boy at some point in the future. Theoretically. But it would never feel right. It would never be right. I would always know that being that way wasn’t my authentic self.

I’ve been locked in chastity for fourteen years today. Hopefully, I will never not be ever again.

Stiffening the stifling

I spent a lot of time thinking about this, from my last post, last night instead of sleeping:

In fact, she related, she does want me locked up. More now than before. Meaning she doesn’t want me not locked up. … She 100% prefers locked up and denied Thumper to the other kind. She’s never been more committed to my essentially permanent enforced chastity.

And then this snippet I neglected to include that I mentioned on Twitter:

And what I couldn’t stop thinking about and was making the Evotion 8 tight was the idea of suggesting she make how she’s feeling now official. As in, I will never be allowed out except for absolutely necessary situations and never be allowed to fuck her again.

I mean, even pecking those words out on my iPhone makes the device thump in time with my heartbeat and tighten uncomfortably.

But I can’t suggest that. It violates the spirit if not the plain language of one of my rules: I am not to volunteer how I feel about having an orgasm

And I said something that follows that logic in my last post.

My denial and chastity need to be in service of what she wants, not just because I want to be locked up and denied. And actually, what I want shouldn’t even be a consideration. That, truly, is what I want. For the concept of my sexual satisfaction to be completely irrelevant to how she decides I’ll be in service of her needs and desires. In fact, to hear her say she wants me always locked up and denied because it makes me the more perfect version of the partner she wants is…perfection. To me.

So I can’t ask her to tell me the things that turn me on so much. I mean, I’m so far beyond trying to figure out why the prospect of never again feeling sexual pleasure through the contents is so hot, but I’m not so far gone as to know if and when I ever hear those words, it 100% cannot be at my suggestion.

And yeah yeah yeah I know writing a post about it which she will read could be construed as some kind of passive bottom topping bullshit, but read on…

What my higher brain understands is that just because she wants me locked up more now than ever before does not mean she wants to preclude from her available options what it feels likes to be fucked by a real cock (even if it’s just the one on me) and then feel me come inside her. I get why she would like that. And it’s absolutely not up to me to decide or, really, have input regarding what she does (or does not do) with the contents.

And if my higher brain is honest with itself, it also understands that maybe one of the reasons being denied is so hot is the hint of the barest whisper of a chance that I may not be denied. And if suddenly I know I will always be, would that take something off of it?

Honestly, I have no idea.

If I take my recollection of her words to heart — I don’t ever want you out — well, then, I have what I was fantasizing about. But it’s also the case she may have been exercising a bit of hyperbole and really meant hardly ever and so very rarely but I reserve the right, etc.

Hilariously, I know I ended my previous post talking about open, frequent communication but I also feel, as mentioned above, that open communication on this topic (outside, perhaps, these pages) is not an option for me.

What I feel I can do with a clear conscience is suggest some addendums to my rules that will make her more in control of when and how I’m in chastity.

  • She will retain sole possession of her key in a manner such that I cannot ethically obtain it without her knowledge. Meaning, it should no longer be kept in the little silken pouch in her nightstand along with her vibrator and should be someplace like her purse where I don’t normally go. It doesn’t have to be secret, but it should require a larger effort on my part to get to it.
  • “My” key will be once again secured in a manner that makes unauthorized access impossible. Like in the little Steelworxx key safe thing with a numbered lock. Right now, I keep it unprotected in the little box I put my earrings and PA jewelry in.
  • I will only be allowed to be outside a device for regular maintenance or other standard reasons (such as swapping from one to another) in her presence. Currently, I will change devices as I please and when I need to take one off for deep cleaning, hygiene, and/or hair removal, I do it behind a closed bathroom door. This behavior is technically a violation of the “I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise” rule and, clearly, I need it to be more robust. She knows I do these things, but I need her to really know I’m being good and following the rules at all times.
  • Finally, I’d like to have to answer to her every day that I’ve followed her rules to the letter. This is the one thing that’s slightly bottom-toppy, but I do crave some required regular demonstration of my fealty to her control and having her ask me, “Have you obeyed all my rules today?” and being required to answer would be 100% hot and 100% soothing to my submissive soul all at once. And I’d like this to happen even when we’re apart and whenever we have the ability to communicate with one another.

None of these things are the hawt chastity fantasy I described above, but together they represent a (ahem) stiffening of her control and that’s not nothing. Truth is, after nearly 14 years of being this way, we’ve both let enforced chastity become a normalized feature of our relationship. And that’s led to some lackadaisical behavior on my part. I want to show her I’m more committed to being locked up today than ever before. For it to be as obvious as possible as often as possible.

It would be like recommitting my dedication to the dynamic as we sneak up on the 14th anniversary of the first time I was locked up. I don’t want her to think I ever take for granted how she keeps me in chastity. It’s a mutual gift we give each other every day.

It’s supposed to be hard

Even after nearly 14 years of enforced male chastity being an integral part of our relationship, the wires can get crossed.

Day before yesterday, after (due to one reason or another) it had been weeks since I was able to get Belle off, we finally had the opportunity. And while I was pretty worked up at the prospect, I took it slow and gave her what I thought was a lovely orgasm. In fact, it occurred to me while it was happening that I was ten or twenty times more skilled now at getting her off with my fingers than I ever was using the contents, even when it was still a functioning sex organ.

As I’ve said in the past, it’s those moments right as she starts to come and for a lingering period after that I always find most difficult being locked up. I never want to shove the unencumbered contents into her more than right then. The craving urge passes in a few minutes, but…yeah, that time is rough. Some days more than others.

And day before yesterday was one of the rougher ones. Following the weeks of not being able to have sex with her and a weekend away from her with Frodo (and god only knows since the last time I came), I was feeling it. Hard.

So, after a period of respectful waiting so she could bask in the afterglow, I climbed up on top of her and between her legs. Since I’m in the Evotion 8 with its little open bits, I could actually feel her pussy, if only a little. That only made my urges more intense. I pushed her legs farther apart with mine as if I was actually fucking her and moaned into her neck.

Yes, it was indulgent. But I also feel that when I do that I’m showing her how much I want her. And I think that’s a positive thing. And usually, she just allows me to do it and says something dismissive about how being locked up is good for me, etc.

But for whatever reason, that morning my actions rattled her confidence. Words (not angry ones) were exchanged — something to the effect of don’t I want her to keep me locked up? And I asked if she wanted me that way, and she said something like, “If you want me to.”

And all of a sudden the entire foundation of our chastity dynamic seemed like a weird feedback loop. She was keeping me locked up because I wanted her to which, of course, I do, but not just because I do. I need to feel as though I’m being actively denied, not humored.

So yeah, a few moments of existential angst. But they soon passed.

We talked about that moment several times over the past few days. The air was cleared and the foundations of our dynamic were found to be in top form.

Sometimes, she told me, she can feel the nagging socialization of needing to please her mate gnaw at her resolve to deny me the traditional way men are pleased in bed. It makes her doubt if she’s doing the right thing or being a good wife. Because, of course, there are no Disney princesses who lock up the dicks of Prince Charming and life before chastity had no archetypes for either of us to factor into how we do male chastity together. And at that moment I was on top of her and pushing her legs apart and feeling the heat of her snatch through the bars of the Evotion, it seemed like I needed something she could give me but was not.

In fact, she related, she does want me locked up. More now than before. Meaning she doesn’t want me not locked up. Not only can I not remember the last time she let me come, I can’t remember the last time she let me inside her (those were the same day, whenever it was). She 100% prefers locked up and denied Thumper to the other kind. She’s never been more committed to my essentially permanent enforced chastity.

Which is exactly what I need to hear. My denial and chastity need to be in service of what she wants, not just because I want to be locked up and denied. And actually, what I want shouldn’t even be a consideration. That, truly, is what I want. For the concept of my sexual satisfaction to be completely irrelevant to how she decides I’ll be in service of her needs and desires. In fact, to hear her say she wants me always locked up and denied because it makes me the more perfect version of the partner she wants is…perfection. To me.

When I climbed up on her (and every time I do it), it’s not to pressure her to let me out to fuck. It’s to show her how badly I want to. To demonstrate how intense my craving is. Because, in a way, it’s my gift to her. My submission and suffering is for her. Because it makes me more like the partner she wants. Because it keeps me focused on her pleasure. Because it keeps me focused on serving her.

And of course I don’t want her pity. I don’t want her to ever feel sorry for me. Because, she’s right, I do want it as much as she does. I could, theoretically, withdraw my consent to be locked. But I never do. I never even consider it. So, if anything, I want her to tease me and twist the proverbial knife. Make it harder for me. Because hard is what I crave. And if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t do it, would I?

I relate this story because I think some of my readers think, after all this time, we have it all figured out. And maybe we have it mostly figured out. But even for us, things like this happen. And it’s only through open and honest communication that these bumps can be smoothed out.

Center of my universe

I’m laying here in this fluffy, overly soft spa resort bed, wide awake and waiting for Belle to wake up, horny as fuck and tapping this out on my phone so as not to bother her. It’s been a lovely weekend she surprised me with on Friday. Massages and facials and hot tubs and steam rooms. And also the kind of fruity rum drinks I’m partial to.

This was a birthday present to me. In the beginning of our chastity dynamic, birthdays, anniversaries, and Father’s Day were all excuses for her to let me out and fuck. But I was only out this time for the massage. I was even locked up for the facial, even though it, like the massage, was performed with me naked on a massage table under covers.

Enhancing my elevated state of sexual frustration is how much time I’ve been naked here. Mostly in our room, but not exclusively. Belle has encouraged me to take our meals on the deck even though there’s a path beneath it. It’s wooded but not nearly so that our deck is hidden. Other side of the path is a golf course and the golfers in their foursomes address their lays and drive by in their carts from just after dawn to dusk.

So that was me, naked on the deck protected only by a towel hanging on the railing, but even that Belle eventually said was unnecessary. Anyone walking or carting by would only need to look up a bit to see me, naked as a jaybird (are jays more naked than other birds?). In fact, at least four golfers in carts did see me based on their catcalls. Belle’s investment in pushing the boundaries of my exhibitionism has been deeply stimulating, to put it mildly.

In a place like this there are two types of people. Women in groups of other women enjoying one another’s companionship and couples. I figured there’d be way more groups of women but I’m surprised by how many couples there are. I’m guessing a lot of relaxed, sloppy sex happens here.

Speaking of which, I was allowed to give Belle a fantastic blow job the other morning. I took my time warming her up and was leisurely with my tongue and mouth on her snatch so that by the time she was coming, her ass was scooting away from the intensity of sensation I was causing and I had to crawl after her to keep my tongue pressed against her clit. For just the barest split second moment afterward the contents of the Steelheart yearned to feel itself sink into her soft wetness. But the urge was fleeting. That’s not the purpose of our sex.

And of course it shouldn’t be. Yesterday she let me lay between her legs and rest my face on the mound of her pussy. The lace of her nightie was rough but the heat from what it covered radiated through. It radiated its power over me. Its authority. Her pussy is the center of my universe. Surely, it’s the center of my sexuality. I want it and to be closer to it all the time. And being allowed to just rest next to it. To bask in its essence. What a gift. I am so grateful.

This is what chastity has done to me. It has supplanted the contents of the Steelheart as the center of my sexual focus with something more deserving. It has allowed me to shed the selfishness that stems from having access to my own easy pleasure so that I have to work at achieving hers. I should not say “this is what chastity has done to me.” Rather, this is the gift of chastity. The lock has unlocked and allowed to flower the sub I have always been and wanted to be.

Libéré en étant enfermé, as it were.

I had too much ego attached to the contents. Chasity has destroyed that ego. Shredded it. And good riddance. I probably always had an overly ambitious opinion of my own endowment. But by having it so throughly removed from how I am allowed to express myself sexually, I have come to understand it’s always been nothing but optional. My true skills and value as a lover are and always have been everything but the contents. Attentiveness. Empathy. Patience. Penises have a way of forcing themselves to the center of the stage. And I guess some deserve that. But not mine.

So chastity has shredded my internal, emotional attachment to the contents, but it’s also destroyed its external, practical functionality. I used to be quite proud of my stamina and ability to fuck Belle for as long as she wanted me to. That’s entirely gone now. My staying power is measured in seconds. Our culture says that’s a pathology needing treatment but for me it’s a point of a different kind of pride. It’s a byproduct of my devotion to her and her pussy. A sign that the contents have been so deprioritized in our relationship that their function has atrophied into irrelevance.

For all this, I am incredibly grateful to Belle. That she has made the space for me to be who I really am. To have adjusted her own expectations. I couldn’t be more happy to be in her life.

Cluck cluck, cuck

There are a few basic facts that have led me to a place in my life where I want Belle to cuck me.

  1. Being kept in permanent enforced chastity has kicked into hyperdrive my natural submissive nature of seeking sexual pleasure and satisfaction for Belle without regard to my own. Effectively, my pleasure and satisfaction has been replaced with hers.
  2. Belle likes to be fucked. And her preference regarding the cock that fucks her is one that’s thicker/bigger than the one I can offer when I’m not locked up.
  3. Being kept in permanent enforced chastity has destroyed my sexual stamina. When I’m allowed to fuck her, I ejaculate in approximately 90 seconds.

Basically, she deserves to have the kind of sex she enjoys and I want her to have it. It’s as simple as that.

Or is it?

Thing is, there are other factors. Factors I’m sure any other guy with a cuck fantasy can relate to. I just cannot imagine anything hotter than the image of her getting fucked by another guy better than I can fuck her. Her enjoying the cock of another guy more than she enjoys mine. The other guy knowing she’s with him because I don’t measure up to her needs or exceptions like he does. The feelings imagining such an event are intensely, intoxicatingly, surreally potent to me. My ultimate sexual fantasy is, in essence, that my wife have the best fuck of her life and for it not to be from me.

And the reality of that comes into conflict with the first point above. Her pleasure and satisfaction is more important than mine. But in this case, my fantasy is so powerful that it clouds my judgment. Tricks me into thinking or behaving in ways that are actually about me and what I want instead of her and what she wants.

I mention this because the other day, when I was away on a work trip, Belle travelled to meet a guy she’s been communicating with for some time. There was the possibility that she’d fuck him and I had somehow found a way to kind of block the potentiality of that from my mind for the several months I’ve known about it. But then the fateful weekend came and it started to consume me. Pretty much every moment my thoughts weren’t engaged elsewhere, they went to what Belle was doing or about to do or had done. Images in my head of the things I want. And the constant tempering of those fantasies with the reality that she had told me nothing was for certain and that they may only hang out a bit and have a meal, etc.

The night of their meeting, I was a wreck. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t contain my cuck anxiety. I kept looking at her location on my phone and trying to discern things from it. Was she moving? Was she someplace different than before? Was that where she said she was staying or was it somewhere else? I’d go from imagining all kinds of explicit things that made me tight as fuck to the exact opposite where they met and it went horribly for some reason. I found myself in a spot I have never been before. A position I can’t even think of a word for. I was worried about her encounter and wanted it to be as enjoyable as made sense for her with no negativity or downside but I was 100% unable to do a damned thing. Had no control or influence over it. She really was outside our dynamic as a couple and I couldn’t help at all, though I wanted to, badly.

When I first encountered the concept of being cuckolded online it was one of those things that scared me because of how powerfully my body reacted to the notion. And how taboo the idea was based on literally everything our culture beats into us from the moment of our birth regarding how loving relationships are supposed to work. And in those early days, when I fantasized about being a cuck, I was always somehow part of the action. Being made/allowed to watch or something. In reality, I find that my natural instinct is to stay away. To keep out of it. To give her space and room to explore and discover. It was a process to admit to myself that the reality is being cucked really has nothing to do with me at all. Like every other part of our sexual relationship (honestly, every aspect of my sexual activity), she’s in charge and I’m not. But beyond that, I can’t offer her much more than moral support.

Obviously, there are lots of way to cuck a guy. Some woman are just fine with their cucks being more active participants. Some, like Belle, aren’t. I didn’t even tweet about it until just the other day and almost didn’t because, in a way, it seemed like it may have been out of bounds for me to do so. Like, that guy is part of her life, not mine, and it felt like something of an invasion of her privacy to give it my usual infinite navel-gazing treatment here and on Twitter. But ultimately, I found myself needing some friendly back-up and had no one else to go to. I had to vent somewhere else I’d explode.

But for me, the instinct was to move away from Belle and her friend, not towards them. I assumed I’d want to be in the thick of it, but the reality turned out to be quite different. It wasn’t porn, it was real life and it was tentative and fragile like any other potential relationship and the last thing Belle needed was a horned up weirdo husband blundering about in the midst of it.

In the end, Belle had a lovely time with him without anything more than spending some pleasant time together. I had worked myself up into such a state that hearing she had a good time was a massive relief. It didn’t even occur to me to be disappointed that she didn’t fuck him. And I guess that’s progress. The idea of her doing that is as potent as ever, but skirting as closely as we did to it moving from concept to reality (however close it ended up being) changed how I feel about it. It want it for her just as badly as I ever have, but now I want it for her more than I want it for me.

I’m currently reading 150 Years Of Gynarchy by Viola Voltairine and I’m finding it to be nothing short of inspirational. As I was flying home to see Belle, I came across this passage that, in a lot of ways, speaks to me regarding this episode.

In a consensual long-term D/s dynamic you have both agreed that Her needs, Her wants and Her pleasure take absolute priority. That is the framework. This is for real. It’s not a game. Your thoughts should always be on how to best please Her, not how to get your fetishes serviced.

150 Years Of Gynarchy, by Viola Voltairine

“Not how to get your fetishes serviced.” 💯 Whatever Belle decides to do with her exclusive prerogative to find other guys to fuck is not, and never will be, about me. It’s about her. Her needs, wants, and pleasure. And however she chooses to share her experiences with me is also entirely up to her. It’s not material for my fetishes and fantasies. To behave otherwise is, IMO, insulting and violates my commitment to our dynamic. I can’t control how that causes my body to react, but I have quite a lot of experience now dealing with unrealized sexual energy so have no excuses to act otherwise.

She will decide what she wants to do and I’ll be grateful she continues to be my Domme and keyholder, no matter what.


My entire life, I can remember nothing but being attracted to all genders. Never, ever can I recall not finding just about anyone attractive. Even before I knew what sex was, I knew that sometimes there was another kid that made me feel funny inside. And they were always, always, always both boys and girls.

That said, it’s also always been the case that my relative attraction to one pole of the gender spectrum or the other ebbs and flows. If you imagine the Kinsey Scale and its zero to ten range where five is equally attracted to both ends, then I vacillate between three and seven. Thus has it always been. Which is to say, I’m never not attracted to either end of the gender spectrum (or, really, anything in between), but sometimes I lean more heavily one way or the other.

This was especially problematic when I was a teenager and I barely knew that “bisexual” was an option for me. All I saw around me was straight people and gay people and David Bowie. And whenever I thought, “Well, what am I going to be for the rest of my life?” (because that was the frame through which I understood sexuality), the fact that the foundation of my sexual preferences kept slipping and sliding around like Bambi on a frozen pond made me constantly struggle to know “what I was.”

You could say that that aspect of my sexuality is defined by constant, permanent flux. The variability of it is the only thing I have come to count on my entire life. So it’s really interesting to me how little variation there is in the other axis of my sexuality. I have no interest in being a sexual dominant. Zero. I am so close to being 100% submissive that if there was a Dom/sub version of the Kinsey Scale I’d identify as a zero (where, of course, the subs are the little numbers and the Doms are the bigger ones).

But, that sub energy is latent absent denial and chastity. That’s not to say I’m not a sub when I’m not denied. I have always had sex like a sub. I tend to want to bottom and I have always been focused on getting my partner off before me. I have always tended to serve, if not explicitly. But being denied the ability to have regular orgasms is like spraying lighter fluid into a campfire (not that I have ever done that nor would I encourage you to, either, if you like having things like eyebrows). If I’m not denied, I don’t become less submissive, I become more selfish. My D/s Kinsey number doesn’t go up, but my interest in expressing it wanes.

And it’s kinda weird to me how that works. My bisexuality doesn’t really change at all due to being denied. I’m way more horny all the time and find some things to be more of a turn-on when I’m denied, but my baseline preference for either end of the gender spectrum doesn’t really get impacted. My needle still bounces around on the gender gauge while it only pegs harder and harder to the left of the D/s gauge.

Heh. Pegs.

I recall when I first found chastity and the online community of people who practiced it that “you shouldn’t have to be locked up to be a good sub” was a thing that was often said. Hearing that made me feel like not a good sub since I knew I was way more into being that way the longer it had been since I last came. But, just like my variable kind of bisexuality, that’s just how I am. Since it was a topic of conversation then, in the mediaeval period of enforced male chastity, I can’t be that unusual.

This is something I’m thinking about because Belle let me fuck her for real about a week ago. And I “suffered” a massive sub drop because it’s pretty much impossible for me to put it in her anymore without blowing a load. And…I don’t know how to describe it. The pressure of denial inflates my sub persona and when one is gone the other goes and then I’m left feeling…different. It’s as if losing my sub energy is like losing access to a latent cone in my eye and suddenly a certain wavelength of color goes away for me. Until I build back a level of horniness that resurfaces my submission. It’s a part of me that’s become so familiar and dependable that its absence is keenly felt.

Luckily, all it takes to get it back is time. And a lock.