Is there such a thing as HNTuesday? Ah, well…
It’s a sunny morning here at Casa de Belle and I thought it’d be nice to share it with you.
Metaphorical brussel sprouts
I wouldn’t call the conversations Belle and I are having regarding when I’ll next have an orgasm “negotiations.” If they are, they’re not unlike how a child negotiates their bedtime or how many brussel sprouts they need to eat before they’re allowed to leave the table. Belle is, after all, totally in control of when I come. That hasn’t stopped me from sharing what I think. Like that kid who wants to stay up fifteen more minutes or only eat two, not three, of the vile little green globs, I am at best lobbying.
I point out to her that we have been in a long and sustained Good Place® lately with regard to our D/s overlay. Perhaps the longest we’ve been doing so well since we started. Yeah, we have had a lot of practice by now, but the one thing that’s been different is my orgasm has been totally off the table. I know it’s not going to happen and she knows it’s not going to happen. So, besides avoiding the hormonal roller coaster that comes even with infrequent (say, every month or so) orgasm, I’ve been free to really wallow in my occasional desire to come and she’s free to totally shut me down since there’s a hard date out there (not before January). The further away I get from my last orgasm (which was around July 3rd), the more I’m able (in these moments of calm reflection) to realize I do not need them physically or want them in any other way than in a primal and situational sense. And, as we get closer to that magical “sometime after January starts” period, I’m starting to feel that happily denied male anxiety. Some guys, I know, never get there. They’re denied three days and they’re crawling out of themselves to come and never get to the point that they’d rather not. But that’s not me.
Belle’s not committing to anything other than reminding me who’s decision it is. Based on the few cryptic things she’s said (and acknowledging that she’s still ruminating over it), it kinda sounds like she’s leaning towards nothing so dramatic as some kind of “THOU SHALL NEVER COME AGAIN” decree and will instead go with a more reasonable approach where I don’t come indefinitely. At least for as long as it makes sense. That could be an additional week or…however long it is. Then, of course, I will have some skin in the game. I’ll do whatever I can to keep it from happening, though I know that when she lets me fuck her there’s a 50-50 chance I’m going to really and truly want that orgasm. For me, it’s a bit more unsettling. I’d rather know. But she, it seems, isn’t prepared to go that far with me. Yet.
So, we’ll see. I get at least another month. I’ll keep squirming in my seat and pushing my metaphorical vegetables around as she decides my fate. However it ends up, it’s her call and I know it.
HNThumper LII: Gun show
Got home from the gym and started to strip off my sweaty stinky clothes before stepping into the shower and saw in the mirror through the material of my shirt as it went over my head how much I liked the direction my arms are heading. Then, because I’m a needy exhibitionist teenager looking for affirmation from strangers, I thought about reenacting the scene for the objective eye of my iPhone’s camera and posting the results here for y’all.
Big ginger
I went out for drinks after work last night with a client and a coworker. I don’t normally drink, but I’ve discovered I like whiskey and ginger ale. It’s caller a Big Whiskey in these parts, though I’ve found not all bartenders have heard of it. Also, I’ve found I like it with Johnny Walker Black. Nice and smooth. Buttery, even. Mmmm.
Yeah, so I don’t normally drink, but I managed to get one down before anyone else showed up and was well on my way to number three before the entire group arrived. The appetizers helped me get my wits back together so I stopped at three. I was in good shape by the time we broke up, but feeling very sleepy. Since, you know, I’m a lightweight.
When I got home, Belle was working on a presentation for work in bed so I zoned watching stupid TV until she was done. Once the lights were out, I pretty much was too, but she decided to have a little conversation. I can’t remember what prompted it, but she mentioned something about maybe leaving me in a device all the time. I pointed out that I’m pretty much in a device all the time now, but she said she was talking about forever. Like, I wouldn’t get out again. She reminded me of my last post and I, sleepily, reminded her that not coming ever again and not ever getting out of chastity ever again are really different things. I admit that I would rather be locked up than not and don’t feel right if some kind of steel isn’t between my legs, but I still like getting out once every week or so. I mean, it’d be such a waste now that I’ve become so good at not coming when she fucks me. Anyway, it didn’t get much further than that. I fell asleep.
Speaking of fucking, I got some of that over the weekend. She let me out Sunday morning but didn’t use the penis for her pleasure opting instead to come from my fingers. After, though, she let me fuck her. I was able to go for quite a while and, at least this time around, never got close to coming. I did want to. I told Belle I felt like I wanted to come.
“No you don’t,” she said.
No, I didn’t. But did at the same time. She mentioned that I should be entered in some kind of chastity Olympic stamina event, I was fucking her so long. Eventually, she told me it was time to end. I wanted to keep going forever, but no. She left me out the rest of the day and all that night. The next day, she put me in the Jail Bird.
I wanted to go in the Looker again and told her that if she would rather, I’d be happy to put that one on instead. There was a time that she didn’t like the JB as much. She reminded me that I didn’t get to decide which device I was in and said she like the JB just fine. So that’s what I’m in.
This morning, as I was getting back from the gym, she was just pulling out of the garage. I gave her a kiss through her car’s window and had one of those bolt from the blue moments I just never had when I was coming whenever I wanted. With her soft lips on mine, I was aware of her whole body and craved every bit of it. In just a few lingering seconds, I felt a jolt of electricity jump from my crotch, through our kiss, down to her snatch, and all the way back. I wanted to jack off badly but had to be content with tending the porn farm. Funnily enough, I found myself selecting a large number of images involving pussies. They were all so fascinating. Afterward, as I was getting into the shower to not jack off, I found my nuts slick with clear leakage from the penis. Even after the shower and after I dried off, it was still coming out.
So, you know, everything’s great here.
Six months to life
Atone left the following in response to my suggestion that if one can go six months without having an orgasm, one can go much longer:
I don’t know if six months is the magic number but somewhere around that point I realized that it is possible that I might be able to go the rest of my life. The logic went something along the lines of – well, it’s been over six months and that went well, I should have no problem going another six months to make it a year. After a year it truly became normal to not have an orgasm, I could probably go another. It has now been almost 16 months and I occasionally think it would be really nice to have an orgasm but then remember how much happier I am now that I don’t do that anymore. I think if I had an orgasm now I would want another, and another. While the idea of a break is sometimes nice to think about I believe it would end up being rather unsatisfying.
This is going to be different for every person, obviously. Some men will recoil in horror at the idea of preferring a mostly orgasmless existence (even those who enjoy chastity or orgasm denial). Others of us, obviously, not so much.
I don’t think six months is a magical number. Niether is a year. They’re just nice and round. The thing I really gravitate toward in Atone’s comments is the part about how, at some point, it becomes normal not to have orgasms. At some point, it stops being a game or a gap or a test of endurance and it just becomes how you are. And you realize that you like yourself better that way.
Now, I know there’s a lot of dissonance out there about whether or not male orgasm denial makes men better partners (on all levels). I acknowledge that an ass is an ass and there’s no magic bullet to fix that. But I also know from first-hand experience that easy and frequent access to orgasms can make a man distant and even indifferent to their partner. I know that the disconnection of one’s sexual “satisfaction” (a word I use in the most tactical and transitory way possible) is detrimental to the health of a monogamous relationship (I can’t speak to non-monogamy, of course, though I have some opinions there, too). I’m not the perfect mate by a long shot, but I know I’m better now than I was when I could sneak off at night and pull one out.
What I’m saying is, at this point in my life and if it were up to me, I’d rather be the kind of guy whose default existence was to not have orgasms. Not that THOU SHALT NEVER HAVE ANOTHER ORGASM AGAIN or whatever, just that based on my experience, I prefer how it feels not to. I prefer how it makes me relate to my partner. Sure, there are complicating things that go along with being orgasmless (the occasional sleeplessness, an ever-present need for sexual attention, etc.), but in balance, they’re outweighed by how it’s changed my fundamental outlook toward my partner. The early years are behind us. The difficultly I had in adapting to this “lifestyle” are mostly over. I’ve come to terms with how it feels to keep the orgasm inside and am able to maintain that feeling in mostly productive space.
And it’s not that I don’t want to come. Of course, the constant desire to do so creates the thermal energy that fuels all the positive outcomes. When I mention to Belle that it’s been four months, it’s not because I’m dying for the next two to be over, it’s because I’m thinking, Jesus, it’s been four fucking months! In a way, it’s kinda like but then again totally not like an addiction. Once a certain kind of person is addicted to something, they always want it. The desire never leaves them. They have to learn to live with it. That’s where I am with orgasms. They still feel good. As Atone says, the idea of having one is appealing. But that would release certain chemicals in my brain that might lead to having more which would leech all the good stuff that’s built up inside me away.
Of course, this is all talk without Belle’s buy-in. Is she willing to make that exchange? Are the trade-offs sufficiently valuable to her to live without me intentionally coming inside her from now on? Also, by becoming one of those guys, will she have a hard time relating to me? Guys who don’t want to orgasm are…weird. Also, not for nothing, I gave her my orgasm several years ago. I can’t make this change without her consent either way. She’s my partner and I’m her sub.
In a way, this is like discovering the proverbial secret garden. You chase this little ball of orgasm denial into a dark and overgrown grotto and discover behind the hanging moss and ivy a Wonka-like environment you’re not entirely sure is known to anyone except a very few. It’s not all that hard to get back, but once there, why leave? I suppose you’re either going to grok that or you’re not.
Thirty minutes of freedom
Last Sunday was a bit more than advertised. Belle did let me out and she did, in fact, fuck me. Also, I once again kept it together and resisted coming. Relatively speaking, I wasn’t even close. This brings my streak to five for the number of times Belle’s been able to get off on the penis without me ruining everything with an orgasm. Again, I thought about politics, but with baseball over and the election about to mercifully come to an end, I’m going to have to find another unsexy thing to keep my mind distracted from the feeling of her pussy sliding back and forth over the aching, neglected shaft.
She also let me have a go at her once she was through glowing and stuff. Her pussy felt incredibly hot and sensuous and I was once again sweating out my desire to come in her. Cold, damp sweat. I ended up leaking copiously, but no orgasm. Belle told me the ride was coming to an end and I withdrew about 80% and just moved the head back and forth feeling her labia playing over the overly sensitive glans. Holy fuck, you know? I’m almost shuddering now just typing these words…
In any event, the Looker 02 came off immediately prior to the fucking and the Steelheart Short went over the still-sticky meat immediately after. I never left the bed unlocked. Couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes of freedom, but they were action-packed.
Later that day, after her parents had been over for dinner, she told me in the kitchen that she wanted to go at it again. I pointed out the kids were still up and she rejoined that our bedroom had a door with a lock. With memories of coronal ridges bumping past labial folds dancing in my mind, we retired to the bedroom and locked said door.
I quickly discovered that the coronal ridge was out of luck. The device wasn’t coming off again. We both got naked (except for the steel) and I took up my position next to her, sucking and pinching her nipples and playing with her pussy. Outside the door, the dog was going to town on a squeaky toy.
“He’s excited for us,” Belle said.
“Errhurmph,” I said, mouth full of tit.
“Well, he’s excited for me, anyway.”
“Ermph,” I replied.
I have a remarkably well-tuned sense of how her orgasms develop now and I could tell things weren’t coming along as they should. She brought out Pink, her favorite vibrator, and I used that instead of my fingers. Still, no dice. She took it out of my hand and benched me from below-the-belt action so I redoubled my attention to her nipples. Eventually, she came, but it was a different kind of orgasm. Longer and broader as opposed to a sharp crescendo Belle’s just one of those girls who has a hard time with the multiple orgasm thing. More like a guy that way, actually.
Anyway, since then I’ve been back in the Steelheart after quite a lot of time in the Looker. It’s taken me all week to readjust at night. The nocturnal erections are a lot more intense in the SH-S with its smaller ring and tighter gap. Given a few more days, I’ll probably be sleeping through most of it, but it’s a very different experience from both the Looker and the Jail Bird (both with slightly larger rings).
It’s now been just over four months since my last orgasm. That’s clearly record territory. Belle mentioned last night that I’m just two months away from my next chance to have one and I suppose I should be looking forward to that, but I’m ambivalent. If I can go six months, I can go for the rest of my life, right?
Right?
Changing outfits
The other day, I was stripping out of my day clothes and into something more comfortable whilst in front of Belle. She looked over and saw the Looker dangling between my legs and said that this weekend she’d “change my outfit” (meaning I’d be locked in a different device from her collection). Also, she indicated that she’d likely want to use the penis while it was available.
Last night, I was snuggled up against her, pressing as much of my body against as much of hers as possible, and asked when I was coming out. Based on how these things have gone down in the past, I assumed I’d have a day or so of freedom. She told me I misinterpreted what she said and then let me know how it was going to go down this time.
“So you’re just going to fuck me and then lock me back up?”
“Pretty much.”
Whimper.
For those wondering, it’ll be the Steelheart Short this time around.
Backstory
So I read this post over at Theo Black’s. You should, too, before reading the rest of this one.
Go ahead.
I’ll wait…I know, it’s long.
After four years, I honestly can’t remember how much of the Belle and Thumper back-story I’ve written about here, but I have been exactly where Theo is now. The best, most advanced geo-positioning device on the planet couldn’t find any space between where he is now and where I was once upon a time.
When I first met Belle, she was married to a nice guy. They lived in a nice house and he had good prospects and it was likely they’d live in an even nicer house someday (even though Belle always says, “No, this is the house I’ll spend the rest of my life in,” whenever she moves into a new one). She had married him out of college, as was expected, and things looked pretty good for them. Then, one day, Belle had a car accident. It wasn’t too serious, but she was shaken up and I, who worked about 15 feet from her office door but barely knew her as anyone other than that new girl who was kinda loud, poked my head in to see if she was OK. That was the point at which Cupid shot Belle. He didn’t get around to me until later.
Flash forward a while. I can’t remember how long. Months. Not a year, I don’t think. I became socially friendly with Belle and her husband. This was almost entirely Belle’s doing as I am, evidence of this highly personal and explicit blog not withstanding, a pretty introverted guy. I had dinner at their house, hung out with their friends, etc. At some point, I became aware of how Belle felt about me. I can’t recall now (but I’m sure she will) if it was something she said or if it was just that I’m a dumb guy but, given enough time, anything can soak through the denseness. Either way, I knew.
Flash forward a little while more. Belle’s husband learned he was being sent overseas for a year. It was a career development thing. Good for him. Means that nicer house was probably closer than ever. Belle said she wasn’t comfortable living in the current nice house alone. Could be true, maybe not. I’m not sure. In any event, I chose that approximate time to quit my job and go back to school (and by “go back to school” I mean “go to school in the first place and wait tables at a pizza joint”). I could barely afford my apartment. Belle had the idea that I should live in their house, thereby saving money and providing Belle a sense of security. At this point, I have no idea if the husband knew how Belle felt about me or not.
Flash forward a bit more. I was living in the room across the hall from Belle. I’d painted the walls orange (but a tasteful orange) and Belle and I had opened up to each other about ourselves to the point that she’d watch gay porn with me. We also watch a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation while laying in my bed with only the tops of our heads touching. Cupid had yet to return and finish his job with us, but I was on his list.
One bright morning, I rolled out of bed all groggy and bedraggled while Belle was about to leave for work. I will never forget the next moment for as long as I live (and if I ever do, I don’t want to live past that point). Standing in the big kitchen, light streamed through the windows and onto Belle in a lovely green silk dress that nicely showed off her curves. She turned to say goodbye and the light made her beautiful green eyes sparkle and it happened. I fell in love with her. Right there next to the stove. I don’t know if you could tell by looking at me, but it just kinda punched me in the stomach. I was in love with a married woman in whose house I lived.
Small flash forward. We went to dinner at an Italian place at the Mall of America. Doesn’t sound especially romantic, but we’ve retroactively labelled this our “first date” (you know, for the kids). We shared a bottle of wine over food and went home. Somehow, I ended up in her room. I was sitting on the edge of her bed. We were just talking. Talking about how we felt. I held her hand. I told her hand many things. I started to massage it. I found myself kissing it. Just her hand. Then a bit more. Then, we had sex.
I slept in her husband’s bed that night. We woke up the next day, naked, together, under the sheets. I had to pee so bad, but couldn’t find the courage to leave the bed. I didn’t want to break the spell. I didn’t know what would happen once the previous night was officially over. So we laid there, quietly looking at each other under the sheets, me with a painfully full bladder.
The spell didn’t break when I finally got to pee. It only got deeper and more involved. I started sleeping in their bed every night. We had a lot of sex. I came up with the name Belle Fille about this time. We shared our secret with a few of my friends. One night, while walking over to our friend’s house in the rain, I stopped her in the pool of a streetlight and told her if she was ever in a position for it to happen, that I wanted to marry her.
Then she went on a prearranged vacation with him and her family. I, of course, stayed behind and took care of the dog and cried and stood in her closet and smelled her sweaters. Then she came back. The spell wasn’t broken, but the fragility of it was exposed. I was a mess. A blithering disaster that she had to deal with while inching closer to the end of her marriage.
Eventually, she told him. I moved out and he came back and I didn’t see Belle for a long time. That’s the part, right there, that’s exactly like Theo’s current position. It was horrible. I know it was horrible for her, too. Of course it was. It was a horrible time for everyone. I was living on the couch of the friends who knew and every night was me just tearfully gushing my sorrow and fear and crushed and smoldering wreckage of my feelings for Belle. I’m sure I was a very annoying house guest. I knew inside that I’d be with Belle again. I knew it was coming. But that didn’t make any bit of it easier. That didn’t make me stop worrying that somehow it was all going to come crashing down around me and the pain of the divorce and the selling of the nice house and everything else would prove to be too much for her and I’d end up alone again. I had been alone for so long and my fear, after finally realizing how I felt for her, was that I’d be alone again. That might be my greatest of all fears even to this day. I never want to be alone.
But it ended up alright. She moved into a duplex with her sister and I eventually moved in with her. I stopped the “going back to school” thing and have not, to this day, received any kind of higher education (more than a semester here and there). Belle decided at one point that she wanted to get away from everything and took a job in Boston of all places. She just told me this over lunch one day. “I’m taking a job in Boston.” I remember asking, “Can I come, too?” And then we moved to Boston for a year. The only thing I cared about was being with her.
Flash forward again. A year was spent in Boston. We moved back to Minnesota when we decided to get married and have kids. Not a year after that, we were standing on the Pacific Ocean exchanging vows. I cried then, too. Could barely choke them out. Our path to that spot for that event was so circuitous and I realized as I openly and honestly told everyone most important to me that I loved her and wanted to be with her for my whole life how precarious it all seemed back when I was sleeping on the friends’ couch. How lucky I was to have made it there. With her.
Of course, there’s more to the story than this. But reading Theo’s post made all these old memories and feelings come back in a way they haven’t for years. This is equal parts reassuring homily for Theo and cathartic reminder to myself of the strange journey we’re on. I’m getting choked up just writing this post. Even after 15 years of marriage, I can’t help but think of how it could have gone. How so many things change (houses, kids, sexual dynamics) but the really important things stay the same. I am so happy to be with my Belle.
Happiest penis on earth
We’re back from our journey deep into the heart of the Happiest Place on Earth.
For those who were wondering from my previous post on the subject, the West coast version of the HPOE does not use metal detecting wands on park guests. That meant, after the first day, I was in the L02 until we departed. It’s hard to be around so many people and wonder how many other men are locked up. Or how many would like to be if only they could build up the courage to bring it up with their partner.
Anyway, it was good that the device was off for at least one reason on that first day since it was our wedding anniversary. To celebrate, we booked massages at the spa in the resort. In the past, my experience with massages has been that they leave a towel or other cloth for you to climb under during the rubbing, but in this case, the sheet was whisper thin. When on my back, I’m quite sure the masseuse (a guy who had a definite gay vibe about him) could see if I was circumcised (and that, of course, made me very much aware of the massage-induced tumescence that can spring to life from time to time). Any device would have plainly been on display. In general, I wouldn’t advise anyone wear one to a massage unless it’s your thing to share your sex life with strangers. Personally, I wish we lived in a culture where it would be acceptable, but really, it’s not. In any event, I had a 90-minute deep-tissue rub-down that left me rubbery, fragrant, and slick with oil. Really great. I need these more often.
Belle mentioned during our fantastic dinner afterward that the resort’s security allowed for me to be in my usual state and that I would be the next morning. Beforehand, though, she took advantage of our private bedroom and the penis’ availability to bring herself to orgasm while fucking me from on top. This is about four times now that she’s been able to do that without me coming which is a feat I’m pretty happy about. She prefers penetrative orgasms and I’m very pleased to be able to help her get them. At least for the past several times, I’ve been able to put myself in a place that keeps me far enough away from coming as necessary. This means I don’t actually get a lot of pleasure from the sex, but that’s not the point anyway. And usually, she let’s me go for a ride after her post-orgasmic glow recedes. Then, I can fuck like I mean it, but without the natural pay-off.
I went right back into the Looker as soon as we got home and remain there now, though Belle’s mentioned she might want to get off on the penis again this weekend. Not sure exactly, but I’ve been wearing the new device for probably just over a month total now. Interestingly, the urethral plug has become less and less noticeable during that time. I still feel it every once in a while, but it’s nothing at all like it was for the first week or so. Like wearing a device in general, the fact that I have this seven to eight centimeter titanium tube impaling the penis has become second nature. For those wondering, there’s been no internal pain or discomfort. After it comes out, it feels as though it was never in. Even the weird cavitating sensation I talked about when peeing, while still present, is no longer a discomfort.
The only issue I’m having with the L02 right now may or may not have anything to do with the plug. For some reason, since putting it back on when I got home, I’ve been getting the foreskin and edge of the glans pinched against the edge of the cap on the end of the cage when laying on my stomach in bed or after shifting my seated positon, etc. Not all the time, but enough times that it’s noticeable and not a fluke thing. I don’t know what’s changed, but I wonder if the penis isn’t moving as freely along the plug as it once was. When wearing a steel device for a long time, there will eventually form deposits like hard water scale. In the Steelheart, this happens near the inside end of the tube where the little bit of urine that doesn’t drain can sit. It’s possible something similar is happening on the plug shaft and that’s keeping the penis from settling in as far as it used to which, in turn, is leaving things in a pinch-able position. The way to deal with these deposits is to soak the device for a few minutes in vinegar. Afterward, they rub right off. Kinda like getting the scale out of your coffee maker. If Belle lets me out this weekend, I’ll do that and see how things change (assuming she puts me back into the L02 and not one of her other options).
HNThumper LI: Sheer looker
No hiding the Looker in these underwear.