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Sunday of Sex, part two

As I was saying, Kid #1 was absent Sunday morning and Kid #2 was soon to be. I’m not sure either one of us contemplated the ramifications of this beforehand, but we suddenly found ourselves with five hours of pure alone time. We had discussed going to the gym or something else productive. Instead, we spent most of the time naked.

Once Kid #2 walked out the door, we looked at each other and one of us asked the other, “Well, what are we going to do?”

“We could go have sex,” I helpfully pointed out.

“Yeah, we could do that.” Color me happily surprised. Belle had already had her orgasm for the day and since she’s the kind of girl who usually only wants them one at a time I had no idea what this sex party was going to entail, but I wasn’t about to ask any questions until we were both naked and wrapped up in one another.

It was crazy. Naked fun time in the middle of the day with the bedroom door open and the curtains up. This is how I imagine porn stars live, not 40-something married couples with kids still in school. Did I mention it was broad daylight outside?

I was on her quickly. Still feeling revved up from earlier in the day, it didn’t take much to find me pushing my way inside her. She felt more normal. The lingering effects of Maverick’s earlier intrusions had worked themselves out.

“You want to go again?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m game,” she said (or something very much like it).

“How you want to do it? You want Blue?” I was already fucking her, but that was just me being presumptuous.

“No, let’s do your fingers this time.”

Fine by me. I assumed the position and, while pressing the wet and hard penis between us, I sucked eagerly on her tits and fingered her pussy.

“I feel like you’re having to work too hard,” she remarked at one point.

“God no,” I replied, “I just fucking love your pussy.”

Of course, I’ve always loved pussy, but I’m totally fixated by it now since her’s is the only way I get to feel any pleasure from the penis anymore. Masturbation is forbidden, even touching is frowned upon. Regardless, it’s locked up essentially all the time. So I do enjoy my pussytime, even when it’s only to play with it and not penetrate it.

Eventually, she came for the second time that day (knocking off ninety-one and ninety, respectively). She came loudly. No reason to keep it in. Her exclamations caused me to make my own sympathetic moans as her body convulsed under my fingers and through my arms. It was a great orgasm. For both of us.

After allowing for a few moments of basking, I climbed back on top of her and placed the head of the penis where it needed to be for easy access. I was definitely being pushier than usual which, looking back, might have been some kind of clue. She never said I could enter her but I took her lack of complaint and how she shifted herself beneath me as wordless acquiescence. I shoved the penis home.

I never got close to coming in the morning, but this was different. It didn’t take any time at all until I found myself right there. And not just physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually, I wanted to come in her. I held the back of her neck in my right hand and gripped her thigh with my left hand in a way that asserted a sexual dominance I by rights didn’t have, but the lizard part of me was in charge. After having to slow myself and disrupt my rhythm once again to avoid coming, I actually found myself toying with the idea of having an “accident.” How could she know for sure that it wasn’t?

Yeah, right, the bunny said from the sidelines while rolling his eyes. And he was right. There’s no way I have an accidental orgasm when I’m the one driving. No way.

So then I thought about begging. But I didn’t want to screw with Belle. I didn’t want to make it sound like I was trying to guilt her out or anything. The lizard, though. He’s crafty.

“What if I begged?” I asked. “What would you do if I begged for an orgasm?”

“I’d say no,” replied Belle. Fuck.

“Please,” I begged anyway. “Please, can I come?” I wanted it. Truly. I did. Holding her like that and fucking her, feeling our bodies moving against each other. I was so close. 

And I’ll say right now, either answer would have been good. But I would have regretted hearing no more than yes.

“Spill it,” she said. YES.

No hesitance. No delay. No stopping to consider. Just THRUST, THRUST, THR—

And it happened. I was over the falls and past the point of no return. I wasn’t thinking. Couldn’t think. I just came.

At first, it felt like every muscle in my body tensed and flexed with the mission to squeeze itself out through the penis. I couldn’t breath. Everything stopped. I think my heart even stopped beating. Nothing existed except that feeling. The feeling of a fucking supernova detonating in my balls. Then I felt a rushing wave of pin-pricks hit the back of my skull, cresting from the bottom and heading up over my scalp. And pressure. Like a clamp on my head. I felt my brain release the orgasmic cocktail it hadn’t tasted in seven and a half months. I think I made a lot of noise and I don’t think I could have done a thing about it even if I wanted to. I went from pure orgasmic bliss to a moment of laughter to wanting to cry all in about 360 milliseconds. And there was a tiny flicker of regret. But only a tiny one and it was over as soon as it started.

Quite simply, the greatest orgasm of my entire life.

The volume was enormous. Besides not having had one since July 1 of last year, I was all worked up from the multiple sex sessions. I couldn’t count the number of times I shot into her but it had to be six or eight. Even after I was empty, the penis kept flexing and trying to milk every little bit of it out of me.

Then, I was exhausted. And I realized my arms were hurting from holding me up. And I felt a pain in my side. All the masking of those things that the pre-orgasmic cocktail does to fool you into thinking you’re Superman were emptied out with the ejaculate. Then I did something I can’t even remember doing, it was so long ago last time I did it. I fell asleep in that hazy, post-orgasmic fog. I realized Belle was talking so I woke back up. So sleepy. So spent.

Belle said afterward that the only reason she let me come was because she found my begging for it so hot. That one time, she heard how desperate I was and the idea of having put me there turned her on sufficiently to allow me to come.

After, we spent an hour or so in the bathtub together. We haven’t done that in a really long time. When our relationship first started, Belle lived in an old house with a giant claw-footed tub and we’d lounge around in it after sex with candles burning and k. d. lang playing in the other room. And now we were doing the same thing except the tub was a big whirlpool type and the CD was replaced by iPhone Spotify and a Bluetooth speaker. But otherwise, it felt the same. I thought about the book I’m reading and its premise that we have stages of neurochemical response to our partners and how that changes over time and that I felt, even though we had just had sex after 16 years or so of marriage, exactly like after the first time we had sex. We discussed a remodeling project. I was nesting with her.

It was very hard dragging myself to the gym. All I wanted to do was lay around in my sweats and sloth in front of the TV. Earlier, I had been very keen on getting in there and running. Now the inertia almost scuttled the operation. But I did manage to drag my ass over there and I ran four miles with nothing but the PA ring to keep the penis company.

Belle was concerned for my well-being. She asked me several times (and again the next morning) how I felt. Post-orgasmic aftercare for the chronically denied. In fact, I felt and still feel great. Everything seemed like it was wrapped in a few inches of cotton batting for a while but I woke up this morning (back in the Steelheart, ‘natch) and the feeling was still there. Changed a bit from having come. A little more urgent, perhaps. But not like how it feels after two orgasms. Not that kind of total wipeout.

In fact, right now, I’d very much like to get into her pants.

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Mailbag

TK has some questions:

Been following your blog for a while – finally decided to catch up from the beginning (I’m up to March 2013). You’ve been helpful in so many ways, and you’re a great writer, so thank you. I have two questions – if you have a moment to respond, I’d really appreciate it. You answered a question about the MM a few months ago, so we will be buying a new device in the next few weeks. However, it’s cold here (North East) – but I noticed you’re in MN – so my first question – how do you wear any of your devices when it’s this cold out ? My testicles recede so far into my body when it’s 5 degrees out, it’s like they’re up by my neck somewhere. I’m terrified of trying that while wearing the device.

Usually not a problem for me. I’m rarely out for more than a little bit without underwear or normal pants (like to drag the trash to the curb or whatever) and can only think of a few times when the boys tried to crawl up inside me and were thwarted by the steel ring. However, I can also say that being locked up for so many years now that my ball sack is much looser than it used to be. That might have something to do with it. Without a device on, I’m just about as far away from “high and tight” as a guy can get. Occupational hazard, I guess.

My advice is to make sure you’re in underwear (layers help with warmth) and thicker material pants until you’ve figured out how you’re going to react.

Second question (related) is what you do about pants while wearing the device. I’ve slowly been weaned off of baggy (i.e. comfortable) clothing in favor of tight jeans (part of our dynamic revolves around my wardrobe) – I’m not sure how I’d wear the device for any extended period in jeans. Right now, it’s a nighttime only device, and only during certain times of the month.

Skinny jeans and a chastity device you don’t want people to see don’t mix. Also, there’s a definite comfort issue. Not all are created the same, though. I could probably easily wear the Looker 02 in tight pants without too much trouble. The Steelheart would end up crushing my nuts flat. And, you know, there’s the stealth question. You don’t say what device you’re going to get, but a standard CB-6000 would stand out quite visibly. If making your condition obvious to passers by is also part of your dynamic, then score! If not, you may want to look into some looser clothing, for the sake of your modesty and your anatomy.

Doug asks:

Hi, I’ve been following your blog for some time now and usually check daily for updates.

Bless you.

I’m a young, single, gay male with an interest in chastity.

FUCK, that’s so hot to me. Why is that so hot?

I’ve locked for a few days at a time in a cb6000s over the past couple years and enjoy the intense horniness and frustration and all that comes with being locked and denied.

Almost three weeks ago I purchased a Jailbird knockoff, locked my penis in it and gave the keys to a friend. This week and today in particular I have been horny to the point of continual distraction. I have to admit that I have a love/hate relationship with it and I want to continue and stay locked and denied for a few months or so.

The love/hate thing is awesome, isn’t it? I think it is. Clawing at the cage wanting what’s inside but not being able to get at it. Lovely.

After reading your posts on That Little Cupid Prick, I thought I’d drop you a line (sorry this is becoming so lengthy) to ask how you manage the intense, distracting horniness. I had trouble getting anything accomplished at work today because of it. I only expect the horniness to continue and grow over time (which I want, btw 🙂 ) but need to learn how to deal with it. I’m sure part of it is just the nature of the beast and I have to deal with it. Do you have any tips or thoughts?

Regarding the distraction thing, all I can say is it gets better. At first, it’s really hard to concentrate. How long will it take to get to a manageable place? Hard to say. We’re all different. The good news is, it isn’t an ever-upwards ramp into the heavens. Eventually, your hormones will plateau and even fluctuate downward from time to time. Those days aren’t any fun, either, but for a different reason. Also, the first week or two are always the worst.

I could tell you to stop looking at things like this blog which only feed your fevered sexual state. Stay off the Tumblr, etc. But I know you won’t because I’ve been there (am almost always there) and you’re going to do what you’re going to do. You could try channeling that energy into other physical activity. Use your powers for good, so to speak, while you wait for the initial rush of hormones to wash through you.

Chas inquires:

I’ve been wearing a CB6000s on and off for 2 plus years and my wife has decided that its time to upgrade to steel due to aesthetics, hygiene, comfort and hopefully long term 24/7 wear. Even with extensive rounding of the 6s base ring I develop a nasty sore spot on my upper right side (my right side definitely hangs higher than the left. Day to day this irritation is minimal and keeping it lubricated goes a long way towards preventing it. The problem is nocturnal erections where I wake up with an attempted raging hardon and it backs up in my body and the A ring is deeply dug in as the whole package is being pushed away from my body.

BEEN THERE. I really grew to hate that fucking ring. I had exactly the same issue as you in exactly the same spot.

We are planning on ordering from Mature Metal with my wife leaning towards the Queens keep or the Jailbird.  My question is regarding the tube length. MM and I believe you recommend have a tube length that is shorter than your flaccid length. My thinking is the shorter length is going to make the pulling and resulting digging of the ring that much worse. Also do you have any recommendations as to the ring thickness (Double ring?) in terms of comfort and or minimizing irritation. Any guidance or suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

I think it should minimally be the same length as your flaccid state, erring on the short side, yes. It seems counterintuitive but, in my experience, creating more room in the tube leads to a greater degree of discomfort. As if letting the penis achieve partial erection and then stopping it hurts more than forcing it to stay at its normal soft state. Yes, that will lead to pulling. No doubt about it. But that’ll happen anyway and won’t be nearly as uncomfortable in a smooth, rounded steel ring as it is in the torture device otherwise known as the CB-6000 A-ring. Assuming the ring is sized right, it’s actually a feeling I really enjoy. (Another benefit of a shorter tube is easier concealment and lighter weight.)

Regarding Mature Metal’s ring, I do recommend the double thick option. Their rings are a narrower gauge than Steelworxx and I found them to be a bit more biting. Doubling the ring thickness added a lot of comfort. Don’t forget to add the thickness of the extra ring to the overall length of the device.

PS How is your book writing coming along? I look forward to reading it.

Ah, yes. That.

My feeling now is I’m not going to write a book, per se, but publish a series of long articles here on the blog. That way, I could kick them out in a more serialized fashion. Instead of charging for a book download, I’ll likely create some way for those interested to optionally toss a few shekels my way. Like a tip jar. Also, my work style is much more collaborative than solo, so I’d like to garner feedback from my readers as to what topics the “book” should cover. Something to help me devise a structure for the thing.

Before I wrap, I’ll highlight a couple of great things I came across recently. First is a Tumblr called Erotic Drawings. Men In Bondage filled with original pen and pencil sketches of…well, men in bondage (having been put there by other men). It’s really beautiful work. Even though they’re drawn in a rushed and somewhat crude style you still get a sense of emotion and can empathize with the guys tied up. Woof.

Second thing is an episode of a podcast I’ve just found. The show’s called Men Submit and the episode in question is number nine on — what else? — chastity. Listening to them, I found myself nodding my head in familiar agreement half the time and wanting to butt in to build on or clarify a point the other half. I enjoyed the conversation and only wish it could have been longer. Regular readers of this blog should check it out.

That’s all I got for now. If you have a question or comment or other morsel of communicative goodness you want to pass my way, don’t forget about the feedback page.

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Sunday of Sex, part one

I woke up before Belle Sunday morning which is fairly typical. I layed there, snuggled into her warmth with my arms and legs wrapped around her, Steelheart packed tight, sex simmering inside me. That’s a tricky time for me because I know she’s more willing to fuck me on weekend mornings so all my Spidey senses are tingling and I’m anxious for her to wake up but I don’t want to be the cause of making that happen.

I rolled away and looked at my phone. Mostly smut which made the device go from comfortably packed to almost painfully so and Belle rolled over and put her hand on my chest, still dozing. Fuck if I didn’t almost combust at the touch. That’s all it takes, of course. Simple touches. Little touches. And I get all dopey.

Eventually she woke up. I moved into her. Her hand absently found my balls. She brushed her fingertips over the only part of my genitals that could feel pleasure. More little touches. I got up on my hands and knees over her and kissed her face. She continued to tickle my balls, now pulled tight by the achingly hard meat inside the steel tube.

I asked her what she wanted that morning. How could I make her come? What was her pleasure to be? After some time making me almost debilitated from the raging hard-on stuffed through the Steelheart’s tight ring, she decided this morning would be the debut of Maverick. I hobbled out of bed to get the harness and big dildo together and she pulled off all her bedclothes.

Even though it means I’ll be getting even less of a thrill than usual, I do find that the sensation of pulling the harness on, up and over my ass, straps on both sides of the device, through my legs and up my crack, to be terrifically erotic. I fucking love straps and buckles and everything to do with them. The Maverick was a tight fit through the harness’ O-ring, but once through it stuck out from me in a way no cock ever has and hung heavily against the steel chastity device.

I climbed back into bed and latched onto Belle’s nipple with my mouth. My hand was in her snatch and felt her heat and wetness. She luxuriated in my petting of her for a long time. I ran my fingers through her pussy, over her other nipple, and back again. After a bit, taking her time, she put her own fingers down there. Hers and mine mixed in her wetness and over her folds.

After a bit of this, she made a move to climb up on top of me and down onto the Maverick. I had placed some lube on it beforehand, but the Vixskin material and her dripping wetness were such that it was likely unnecessary. I left my hand down there so I could feel the fat black cock as it slid into her. Open her. Based on her expression, it was an intense sensation, but she soon warmed to its heft and her pace quickened. Once I figured she was ready, I started to fuck back. I reached around and pressed on the small of her back with my palm. She humped it even faster, eyes closed, mouth shaped like an O. Her orgasm seemed to last as long as the dildo inside her.

She layed on top of me and basked. The penis started to flex and surge, almost of its own accord. I felt nothing but tight steel push back. Not soft and warm pussy. Not what the Maverick would have been feeling had it been living meat and not man-made.

She rolled off and the Maverick slapped back to hit my stomach. I gripped it like a real cock and stroked it using the remaining wetness of her pussy. So big. It felt warm and alive, but there was no sensation for me except frustration.

“God, I wish I could fuck you right now.” It’s how I felt so I said it, but I wasn’t asking. Leaving me locked up would have been almost as good as letting me out, but for different reasons. Somewhat to my surprise, she got up to get the key.

Once out, I immediately climbed on top of her. The penis slid in effortlessly. I groaned, “This is how I love to feel you.”

“Really? I can barely feel you,” she said innocently. But the comment struck me. It was exactly what the bunny wanted to hear and exactly not what the lizard wanted. “Seriously, it’s like the penis isn’t even there.”

Moar groaning.

I fucked her with practically no friction. The fat dildo had taken that from me before I got there. Taken her. And that’s what I loved feeling. Second. Smaller. As if she was only doing me a favor after being pleasured by something closer to the size she prefers. I do not pretend to understand how all my kinks work, this one in particular. It’s outside the sensibility of most and what made me so hard and almost drunk on passion would make other men shrivel up and assume the fetal position. I’m not saying there isn’t pain in knowing what really gets her off is something so much bigger than what I have. But in the same way I love the sting of the strap across my ass or of the ache of her fist punching my nuts, the searing comprehension that I am and always will be less than she really wants fires both pleasure and pain circuits.

More than that, I crave to hear her twist the knife. To remind me why we need Blue and the Maverick. To say it’s like I’m not even fucking her once they’re done making her come.

Which of these things is not like the others?On the practical side, Belle said the Maverick felt smaller than Blue. As you can see, they’re very close to the same size, though Maverick’s head is more pronounced with a dramatic flare Blue lacks. It’s possible Blue, in use, is fatter, but since I’ve never measured it with the hard penis in place, I don’t know. She also prefers Blue’s veiny texture over Maverick’s smoothness. Almost too smooth, she says. The little dildo they’re with is Vixen’s Tex. That was the one we got when we first started to experiment with strap-on sex years ago and it was picked because it was almost exactly the same size as the penis when hard. The penis’ head isn’t quite as impressive, though. In any event, it’s a striking visual demonstration as to why she could barely feel me inside her. It’s also interesting to note that Belle didn’t much like using dildos back when we were using one specifically chosen as the closest to me.

I don’t know how long I fucked her, but she was very indulgent. I never got very close to coming and didn’t even leak. Not enough friction, I suppose, though it was painful being told I needed to stop. She told me I could stay out of the Steelheart a little while, so I was free as we went out for brunch with Kid #2. Kid #1 was at an all-day school event and Kid #2 was going to go shopping with a friend around noon, so we had to get moving.

All in all, I would have chalked Sunday morning’s encounter up as quite lovely and pleasurable. Little did I know we weren’t done yet. Not by half.

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That little Cupid prick, Part 2

Might as well blog the book as I go along…

I’m now at Chapter 4 which, I’m told, is the start of the “relevant scientific research” part of the book. Also, the entire rest of the book is apparently all about “relevant scientific research.” This makes me happy.

I’ve discovered the best way not to be annoyed by the spiritual wawa stuff is just ignore it. Between every chapter has been a subchapter dedicated entirely to “Wisdom of the ages” where she explores various religious aspects of sex without orgasm. I just skip them entirely. Since one the basic purposes of religion, IMO,  is to explain things that are otherwise unexplainable, these sections aren’t that interesting to me. Again, I’m not saying there is no value in reading what ancient people thought about this stuff, but I don’t care to read it any more than I’d care to read what the Catholic church was teaching in the 14th Century about astronomy.

The other thing I’d really ding her on is her overuse of anecdote. The book is filled with these little stories about people whose lives were all kittywampus but, following their abstinence from orgasm, suddenly found nirvana. She oversells the positive impact of denial. I know it can be a force for good in a relationship, but it’s not magic and it won’t do your dishes for you. For example, this is from her husband and co-author from, I believe, his journal:

I’ve seen big changes in other aspects of my life, too. My finances are sorting themselves out, and my professional life is expanding in directions I’d always wanted it to—but was unable to take it before. The opportunities continue to flow to me effortlessly and work out great. I have a lot more confidence in myself. I’m calm and focused. And I’m now comfortable with being in a partnership instead of seeing myself as a separate entity who happens to be involved with someone at the same time. I’m much more optimistic about relationships.

The part about being in a partnership as opposed to seeing yourself as a separate entity and the development of general optimism about your relationship? Yes. Fucking hell, yes. Of course, no matter what we do, I will always be a separate entity, but my relationship with Belle feels more like a partnership now than ever and I’m happier being in the relationship with her than I ever have been (excepting, perhaps, at its very beginning — which fits into the book’s premise perfectly).

But. Finances sorting themselves out? Professional life expanding? Confidence? All because you’re not coming anymore? As a guy who doesn’t come anymore, I’m not sure how those things are connected. Also, calm and focus is not something I get from denial. There’s a zen to it, but I wouldn’t go so far to say it makes me calm and focused.

That being said, I do get their enthusiasm for denial (I’m not calling it Karezza because we don’t do that). I have often felt genuinely so enthusiastic myself that I’ve wondered, “Why doesn’t everyone do this?” It’s the best fucking thing. And, truth be told, I do think a whole lot of relationships would be benefited by denial. However, I don’t think I’d ever be so presumptuous as to tell people if they only stopped coming they’d win the PowerBall and their teeth will get whiter. Because, as the author points out, we are wired to crave orgasm. Saying we should ignore those cravings for a pot of gold on the other side of the denial rainbow is a hard sell. It just feels wrong. Also, I’m firmly of the opinion that the changes to brain chemistry brought on by extended orgasm denial create feelings of enthusiasm for the practice not unlike those the religious faithful feel when espousing their beliefs.

An example of that (and the over-reliance of anecdote) can be found in this extended passage. Forget for a second we’re talking about sexual practices and instead are talking about Scientology while you read it.

A friend brought an appealing young man to a party at my home. Lars was a gifted graphic designer, sensitive, sincere, courteous, and somewhat shy. He was accompanied by a polite, and much older, woman. I didn’t realize they were lovers.

A few weeks later the friend who had brought them both to my house showed up again. He was shattered; Lars was dead.

Apparently Lars had only been with the woman a few months. And during that time he’d experienced periods of utterly uncharacteristic, violent behavior. For example, he got into fights in bars and had even been threatened with arrest. My friend, who had known Lars’s whole family for years, also talked with his lover after Lars’s death. She told him Lars had become sexually aggressive. The night of his death the woman had refused to participate. She went into another room to lie down. He came in later, sat on top of her, and demanded that she make love. She said no. He pulled a gun from behind his back and shot himself in the head.

Now, it’s possible that there was no link whatsoever between his emotional-behavioral deterioration and his sex life. It was clear to me, though, that some sort of severe imbalance certainly corresponded with the period of their intimacy. Deeply affected by this tragedy, I made a solemn promise never to use my seductiveness to put a lover at risk. I was also committed to discussing the careful management of sexual energy with anyone who showed the least curiosity.

Get that? Orgasm might leads to violent, suicidal behavior. The implications are clear. Save a life: Stop coming. Also, apparently, don’t be sexy. Have you heard the Good News?

While I fear I may be coming off as overly harsh, I still do have high hopes the promise of sciency stuff will redeem the book for me. I’m still not even a quarter of the way through.

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That little Cupid prick

So I’m reading Cupid’s Poisoned Arrow: From Habit to Harmony in Sexual Relationships. At least, I’m trying to read it.

I picked it up (if we can call the act of downloading a book onto a Kindle app on an iPad “picking up”) because I saw a reference to an article in an old post over on Schnoff’s blog but the link’s dead now so I just went ahead and got the book.

The description on Amazon looked promising enough:

Zing! Cupid’s arrow skewers a primitive part of the brain. Obediently, we fall in love amid showers of passionate fireworks, bond for a time … and then often get fed up with each other and grow irritable or numb. Perhaps we try to remodel our mate, seek solace online, or pursue a new love interest. Ancient sages recognized this biological snare and hinted at a way to dodge it: use lovemaking to balance one another and harmony arises naturally.

With an entertaining blend of personal experiences, the latest neuroscience, and forgotten insights from around the globe, Cupid’s Poisoned Arrow confronts current assumptions about sex and love and offers a refreshing, practical approach to sexuality.

Well, promising except for the “Zing!’ part. Also, it’s super well reviewed (4.5 stars with 35 reviews). Then it says things like, “We humans are unique among mammals in that we have the capacity to comprehend our subconscious mating programming and choose to manage it consciously,” and I’m, like, yes. 

The basic premise of the book is that sex with orgasm is really about procreation and how we’re wired to really enjoy orgasm (for the few seconds we do) is genetic and evolutionary trickery to make us engage in orgasmic sex more often. But, we’re predisposed to find the mate we’re with less interesting over time, thanks to the drive to spread our seed as far as possible. If we want to maintain the feelings of intense affection and bonding we experience at the start of a relationship, we should not let the brain feel the hit of orgasm since that releases chemicals that eventually work to defeat the part of falling in love we like.

The neurochemical payoff at the moment of orgasm feels like it promotes bonding. Yet such bonds are more fragile than we like to admit. At climax, a neurochemical blast triggers further events for approximately two weeks. These fluctuations deep in the brain drive us toward sexual satiety and subtle changes in mood, which often create emotional friction between lovers (Cupid’s poison). Uneasiness also leaves us vulnerable to promises of quick relief—another potential mate (real or virtual) being one of the most alluring. Thus orgasm turns out to be related to making more babies and making them with more than one partner.

I can get behind this train of thought.

Thing is, as far along as I am with it, there’s just too much spiritual hoo-haw for my taste. This is, essentially, a book on Karezza with some Eastern mysticism mixed in. I’d rather read more about the brain chemistry and less about the ancient “insights from around the globe.” But that’s just the rational atheist in me talking. It’s not that I don’t find the ancient insights interesting. I do, inasmuch as it shows that people had observed the beneficial impact of avoiding orgasm during sex, even thousands of years ago.

The good part of reading it for me, so far, is that it validates so many of the things I’ve observed and experienced personally. For example, the author mentions several times the two week cycle I’ve seen in myself that follows a couple of good orgasms. It’s actually kinda nice to know that I’m not a total freak and even prehistoric Indian shamen had already figured out that not coming during sex was a good thing.

The book, being about Karezza, advocates abstinence from orgasm for both partners, not just the men. This isn’t something I’m asking Belle to do nor am I seriously considering asking her since I really, really like her orgasms and life seems to be pretty fucking good right now with her having them and me not. In fact, I’d say the author thinks orgasms are the root cause of too much that’s wrong with relationships. I get that there’s chemistry involved and orgasm and sex don’t need to necessarily follow and things can be really awesome if they’re disconnected, but she actually comes out and says at one point that if everyone practiced Karezza the net result could be world peace. No, really.

Here’s a passage where she’s realizing that maybe she needed to stop having orgasms, too, and is pondering the consequences of them:

What if some sort of perception shift resulting from orgasm also left us with feelings of lack? How might sexual hangovers manifest in women’s experience? How about all-around bitchiness? Making him wrong about everything? Reaching for antidepressants? Avoiding sex? Overeating? Excessive fondness for one’s vibrator? Feeling unable to cope? Insane jealousy? Fortune hunting? Romance novel addictions? Compulsive shopping, or even kleptomania? Tears and emotional blackmail? Neurotic, needy, controlling mothers—and wounded kids?

Again, I’m not all the way through and am hoping there’ll be more science in the book and am therefore withholding final judgement, but after reading that, I thought, “FUCK, maybe you’re just neurotic.”

Anyway, I’m not not recommending the book. I’m just not sure if I’m recommending it. As I said, jury’s out. I’ll keep reading…

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Blast from the past

Back in June of 2001, Belle and I spent a few days in London. She was travelling for work to Asia and coming back through London so I met her there and we hung out. It was my first time in Europe.

I wrote up a post afterward for my blog that’s long since gone and recycled into its base electrons (and was mostly just read by my mom). I stumbled upon it today and figured it was kind of entertaining and, having nothing else to talk about really, I thought I’d share it with all of you (or at least those of you halfway interested enough to follow the jump and keep reading). Note there is nothing in it whatsoever about sex or denial or anything remotely smutty — just some observations of my very first trip to Great Britain along with a few mentions of 13-year-old current events — and the names have been changed to protect the perverted.

Continue reading “Blast from the past”

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The thing about cock rings

Belle took me out of the Looker 02 the night before we left for NYC. The penis had been locked up for…god, I can’t even tell you how long. A month? At least. Maybe more. Maybe I should stop trying to remember since these periods of not being locked up are the rare exception.

Anyway, I’d been locked up for a long time. The L02 was in place for two weeks. The Trainer for about ten days before that. The Steelheart before that (and it’ll be the Steelheart again once I get home, I’d warrant). When the L02 came off, I put on a lovely little aluminum cock ring from Gear Essentials. I have a hard time now not feeling something around the penis and balls.

A couple of things about cock rings. First of all, specific to the one I’m wearing (it’s called Surge, BTW), it went through the TSA’s millimeter wave scanners without a hitch. Not sure if it’d trigger a metal detector, but the scanners didn’t seem to bother with it. Second, cock rings, while seeming to be related to other ball and cock toys like chastity devices, aren’t at all related. They’re as different as can be.

Cock rings glorify cocks. They present them. Accentuate them. Actually help to embellish them. Make them harder and stronger and altogether more impressive. Well-fitting ones can make your hard-on feel incredible. Chastity devices diminish penises. They hide them and bind them and stifle them and force their erections back down. Well-fitting ones can make your hard-on feel trapped and totally useless. They’re complete opposites.

And you’re like, OK. So?

I went from an essentially constant state where the penis was trapped in a device meant to diminish and isolate it to one meant to glorify and enhance it, literally overnight. And I wasn’t allowed to do anything about it. I couldn’t play with it. Couldn’t really admire it. Certainly couldn’t make it come. The penis loved being out and the Surge made it do just that — surge. Just tight enough that I could feel it grip in a delicious and ever so distracting way. Every erection (and there have been many) were like fantastic fireworks shows where nobody was allowed to come and watch. Or even light the fuse. A different sort of torture than chastity. Far more maddening.

Our first morning in the city found us having sex. The cock ring was doing its thing and the penis, normally on the thin side of average, felt much fatter. The heavy curved barbell ring was in the PA and, not long after we were both awake, all of them were in Belle’s pussy. The tightness of the ring made ejaculation harder so that I never leaked in her though I skirted up to the edge of orgasm several times as usual.

Fucking her from above, I wish I could have kept my shit together long enough to take her over the falls, but that wasn’t in the cards. Instead, I reached down to finger her clit while leaving about half the hard-on inside her. It took about 30 seconds to get her off this way. She couldn’t get in there to get my finger off her while she came so I was able to keep the fiery nerves burning until I thought she well and truly felt all the orgasm had to offer. Then, without skipping a beat, I pulled my hand away and pushed the aluminum-enriched shaft all the way back in.

That was awesome.

Last night before bed, I asked Belle if my orgasm warning period had expired.

“Yeah, I’m pretty much over that now.”

She also told me she’s “working on” never letting me come again, but of course I know there are no promises and she’s free to change her mind at any time. Also also, when I said something about jerking off and how much I used to do it and like doing it, she told me flat out that wasn’t going to happen anymore. My solo JO days are behind me.

“Far too selfish,” she said, “Too much focus on you.” Maybe she’d let me do it sometime with her there. But probably not that often. If the penis gets to feel pleasure, it will almost exclusively be inside her.

And don’t you just know the penis surged in the Surge hearing that.

The first morning after being put in the Surge I was grabbing as the hard penis. Not jacking it, so much. That’s not allowed. Just gripping it. Squeezing it. If you’re the kind of perv who goes into for such things, I’ve included a NSFW picture after the jump, throbbing veins and all.

Continue reading “The thing about cock rings”

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Further Looker 02 observations

I’ve been in the Looker 02 for two weeks now and am about to come out for our trip to NYC. Belle’s told me I’ll be free n’ floppy whilst visiting Gotham. Still kinda unclear if I’m out of the orgasm warning window or not, but maybe that’s by design.

Anyway, I thought this would be a good time to make some observations about the L02 since it’s been a while since I spent this much time in it.

Running: A while back, I went into the L02 for a day and had to get out because I went to the gym right after putting it on and ran three miles on the treadmill. A few hours later, it felt like someone had shoved broken glass up my urethra. Yeah, just like that. It seems as though for the first 24 hours or so things can be a little tender and susceptible to irritation and during that period an activity like running isn’t something I’d advise. However, once the penis gets used to being impaled, things tend to settle down and running isn’t a problem. In fact, I just ran four miles yesterday (about 14 in the last two weeks) and I felt nary a twinge. I find that the longer I wear the Looker and its insert the more comfortable it becomes.

Gym: I have already learned this lesson, but the L02 can only be worn to the gym with dark colored pants/shorts and highly supportive (read: tight) underwear. When I wore it with my gray shorts the other day, I was on my eighth or ninth inclined sit-up before I noticed the contours of the Looker’s cage were quite visible through that light-colored material. The Steelheart (which I assume I’ll be wearing when we get back from New York) tends not to be so visible in those kinds of positions because it’s heavier and drops lower between my legs. All this continues to beg the question in my mind as to what my trainer thinks of all these odd bulges and what it will take for him to finally come out and ask me about it.

Risk: My description of putting the L02 back on after sex the other day prompted reader Thom to comment:

Hmm. Sterilization of anything that goes up the urethra has always worried me enough to not try out a plug (even if I got my hands on some surgical lube). Granted, I haven’t done much reading on sounding. Did you address that issue in another post I’m forgetting about? Because, I mean, sliding the bulb of the plug in with the help of all those body fluids is hot, but it sounds iffy to my ears…

Sterilization and surgical lube sounds very sensible. But really, there isn’t much about long term chastity and denial that is sensible. I’ve opined on this before. There is risk inherent in everything worth doing and, for me, shoving a titanium rod up the penis for weeks at a time is, oddly enough, worth doing. But regardless. I just don’t think there’s much to worry about re: inserting body fluids up there.

The lovely thing about a penis is its flushed out with large quantities of sterile fluid several times a day. In addition, the insert only goes about 3″ up and that seems to be far enough away from my bladder to avoid any kind of infection. I am, of course, no doctor and am totally unqualified to dispense medical advice, but my experience in wearing the Looker 02 for weeks at a time suggests it’s minimally not easy to get something like a UTI from using it.

Pole action: Lastly, my experience with the Looker 02 demonstrates that if Belle ever lets us invest in something like the Steelwerks Extreme PA Classic it’s tube will have to be shorter than the L02. Or even the Holy Trainer which is the shortest tube I’ve worn. The penis still tends to occasionally shrink up and not fill the L02’s cage (especially when working out) leaving a bit of the insert exposed. If I was wearing a device where the insert was secured through my PA, it’d end up being painful when the penis shrank and pulled on the PA fixing. This is what happened when I experimented with a PA cable back in the CB6K days. The only difference was, back then, the tube was so much longer than what I wear today. Still, I suspect that any pulling on the piercing will prove uncomfortable.

In any event, if you told me back when I started this that some day I’d be pondering living day in and day out in a tube about one third the length of the penis when it’s hard, I’d be very surprised.

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No promises

Belle told me this morning before she went to work that I’d get to make her come tonight. Plus, I’d get to choose how. All day I thought about that. I thought about my tongue in her snatch and flicking over her clit. All day.

After work, I had to cart the kids all over hell and back and started to feel really tired. Was I going to be too tired to get her off? By about 8:00, I was running on empty but then the last kid was carted home and I changed out of my day clothes and climbed into bed and the prospect of Belle’s wet pussy seemed to be recharging me.

But Belle was tired. She took off her glasses and placed them on the nightstand. She was easing into her “going to sleep” mode and there were still kids awake and I saw the light at the end of my tunnel, which had been rushing towards me minutes ago, start to recede.

Then she turned over and closed her eyes.

“But…”

“I’m tired, Thumper.”

I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. Felt heat on my face. Loss.

Her prerogative, I thought. Embrace it. You’re powerless.

Now I’m tossing and turning and so tired but the stupid fucking penis keeps swelling and filling the Looker’s cage and squeezing its insert and the very sensation of impotent frustration is fueling my horniness. I am not in charge at all and I don’t even get to complain because she gets to arbitrarily withdraw earlier commitments and I have to accept it. There are no promises. I can expect nothing. I deserve nothing. And she carries no guilt. Nor should she.

Denial is more than just absence of orgasms.