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All boned up and nowhere to go

Belle let me put the Steelheart on today. I was in the Orion for over 93 days and, while I love it as much now as I ever did, I really miss steel. Steel is, like, one of my things. So shiny and hard and smooth. Unf.

Three solid months is the longest I’ve ever worn any device without swapping it out for another. Thanks to Belle’s stricter key discipline, I can’t change whenever I feel like it and the few times I kinda brought it up, she didn’t see the need to let me, so I just stayed in the Orion. But yesterday, we were in an airport and I asked if she’d be OK with me going back to the Steelheart for a bit once we got home. She was fine with it this time and wondered what took me so long to ask, so this morning I made the swap and took the opportunity to eradicate some hair that’s usually hard to get rid of.

It has been a very, very long time since the contents was pleasurably handled (and if you don’t think I know exactly how long, you must be new here) and while shaving isn’t exactly pleasurable, it was “handling” and I’ve been especially horny for the past several days, so things started to happen.

I did not play with it. Not even a tiny bit. But I had to move it around and hold it and pin it up, etc., and the fucking thing was looking up at me with its one good eye and pleading for more. Just the simple, functional jostling was enough to get it chubbed out. It’s a different kind of mind-fuck to feel and see one’s erection hanging in mid-air, desperate and ignored. I did nothing whatsoever to encourage it, but after so much neglect, it doesn’t take a whole fucking lot to get it going.

I haven’t seen my erection in quite some time. The last time she let me out for sex was nearly a year ago, so could it have been that long? I boned up during our vacation massage, but I didn’t see it then (though the same could not be said for the masseuse). I…am not sure when the last time I would have seen my own erection was. The last few times I had the Orion off for hygiene, I don’t recall getting hard. So, yeah, long way of saying it’s a novel experience. And it looks sort of pathetic to me now. Sad and unwanted. I don’t want unencumbered erections anymore. And Belle gives no indication she wants it, either. It seemed desperate to take advantage of the moment and practically begged me to do something. But all I could think about it how annoying it was that it was there and getting in the way. And how just unimpressive it is to me. I felt a kind of pity, actually. Weird how it was the center of my universe of so long. So central to who I thought I was. Now its only value is in its confinement.

Thinking about it that way seemed to take some of the wind from its sails. It didn’t go flaccid, but it drooped a bit. Enough to start getting the Steelheart on. Its base ring has always been a tight fit, but getting my left testicle through was especially wince-inducing. If anything, the extended duration of my denial has made my balls even bigger than they were. Regardless, I was able to get them both through along with the shaft (eventually) and squeezed into the tube.

God, I just love the Steelheart. Rubbing and grabbing it through my sweats really turns me on. Every device is different and each gets me going in its own way, but the Steelheart is special. I can so better feel every movement in there. The Orion doesn’t have as much give inside and the PA hook keeps things pretty well pinned down, but the Steelheart allows for movement. I can feel perfectly every time the contents chub out even a little. The ring is the tightest I wear and I can already get an idea of what the early morning is going to be like based on the near-constant semi I’ve had since putting it on.

Since we’re on the topic of being in and out, I can report that year-to-date, I’ve been locked all but 6.5 hours. All of that was for travel and most was in January. I have no encounters planned with the TSA until the end of June now so, assuming Belle continues to see no need to let me out for other reasons and nothing else extraordinary comes along, I should be well positioned to make my time unlocked goal of no more than 24 hours. In fact, I’m trending towards coming in under my stretch goal of no more than twelve. Which kind of blows me away since last year I was unlocked for a (currently unimaginable) total of almost four whole days.

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One is enough

One of the many, many things I think about now that Belle’s apparently decided I’m done being let out of chastity for sex ever again is what it felt like sliding into her after she let me go down on her. It’s, like, super wet, obvs because of the spit, but also the texture is different. It’s a different viscosity. Not quite as slickery. Because, you know, spit. Also, for whatever reason, she feels a little looser somehow.

So, yeah, I was thinking about that again this morning after she came with my tongue pressed up against her clit, feeling the spasms of her pleasure and the tight grinding of the Orion into the mattress. And then as I was laying there, holding her, and the device pressed against her leg, full and straining. I remembered what it was like climbing between her legs and lining the head of the hard contents up against her hot wetness as it enveloped me in one thrust.

🎶Meeeeeeeemorieeeeeees…🎶

But, of course, I don’t get out. I don’t get to feel that. All I get are memories and I suppose I should be grateful I even have those. Because my POV on it, and the thing that lays like a weighted blanket over my lizard brain animal craving to fuck, is the knowledge that the one-sidedness of our sex represents a minimalist perfection that a bunch of thrusting and spurting and laying heavily on top of her would ruin. Just the one orgasm between us is just the right number.

To be clear, she chose this for us. It’s what she has determined is best. No matter what, I have to respect that. And I don’t think she made this decision because she doesn’t like to be fucked. I think she made the decision based on what was best for us. Not her, not me. Us. And I not only respect it, I love her for it.

All my life I’ve felt a deference to my partner’s pleasure during sex. From my earliest encounters, I remember being instinctually invested in them having as good if not a better time than I had. If I came first, things would feel…off. I never understood why. I never understood why I never wanted to be allowed to be the only one who came. I was trying to make my girlfriends come before I knew the first thing about how their pussies worked. That’s just who I am. How I’m wired. Their pleasure is mine.

And chastity and denial help me understand that better than I ever have in the past. Chastity because I can’t run off and furtively pleasure myself at a merest tickle of a shadow of horniness and denial because my arousal and desire are allowed to build to maximum levels. These things in combination create a condition inside me to be the most perfect version of my submissive, partner-pleasing self. And yeah, I so badly want to feel the sensation of sliding into her, but I know the value of feeling how I am when I’m not allowed. And I get to feel like that all the time, not just for a few fleeting moments.

The trade-off is worth it for me. And her, apparently. And I’m beyond grateful that she’s taken control that way.

I don’t usually talk about Frodo on this blog, but it feels much the same when I get to be with him. One cock, in those encounters, is the perfect number. Two would ruin it for me. It would create conflicting feelings inside me. It always has. And when I’m with Belle, the only cock that feels right between us is the one she keeps in her nightstand and I get to use on her during very special occasions.

I recently received the following feedback from a reader:

What is wrong with masturbation and cumming? Why is submission that important? What if she wants you castrated and a penectomy performed since you are now pussy free and never hard again? I just do not understand and guess I never will. I could not do what she is doing to someone I am supposed to love.

I didn’t start this post as a response to that, but I guess that’s what it is. You either get what I’m saying and where I’m coming from or…you don’t. And while, on the surface, it sounds like this person doesn’t, I believe they get it enough to have gone through the trouble of reading at least some of my posts, seeking out the feedback form, and firing off a note (and how do you even find this blog if you’re not looking for it or the stuff I talk about here?). I don’t think they want me to answer those questions about myself, they want me to answer them for them.

I’ve written about it before here. When presented with a novel sexual thing, your response is either going to be arousal, revulsion, or fear. The fear comes from guilt and shame powered by arousal conflicting with cultural norms. It’s the same fear I felt when I first realized how powerfully arousing the idea of being cuckolded was for me. So, I get it.

But, he wasn’t that honest with himself or me, so I’ll accept the feedback as-is. And if, after this post, he still doesn’t get why, then he never will.

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Vichy Twitter

Vichy France was the name for the French government following the country’s defeat by Nazi Germany in World War 2. It wasn’t technically part of Germany, but it worked in cooperation with Germany and, while still calling itself “France,” everyone knew as long as the Nazis were around, France was dead.

I only mention this little history lesson because I was reading a post on Kottke’s site about the latest boneheaded move to destroy Twitter’s cultural relevancy by the authoritarian who controls it where someone called the platform “Vichy Twitter” and…that’s kind of brilliant.

From the Vichy France Wikipedia article:

“At Vichy, Pétain established an authoritarian government that reversed many liberal policies and began tight supervision of the economy. Conservative Catholics became prominent, and Paris lost its avant-garde status in European art and culture. The media were tightly controlled and promoted anti-Semitism…”

The comparison is remarkably apt, actually.

✓ Authoritarian rule
✓ Erosion of small-L liberal norms
✓ Infiltration of actual Nazis
✓ Decreasing cultural relevancy
✓ Unchecked anti-Semitism along with other forms of hate speech

My usual routine, upon waking, has been for some time to check my OG muggle Twitter first thing to catch up on what happened in the world while I was sleeping. Back in the pre-Vichy Twitter days, I would rarely be able to read all the tweets that were posted during that time. Now I can do it in a few minutes. Not as many people I followed are still on Twitter and those who are are using it less.

Note, the way I use Twitter isn’t how Elon would like me to use Twitter. I’ve always had curated lists of accounts that display reverse chronologically and only include the tweets and retweets they make (and no ads!). The “For You” tab is an absolute cesspool of garbage that should be called “From Elon” as it often includes his tweets, his comments to tweets, his retweets, and the ravings of various and sundry right-wing asshats who feel empowered to have an easily manipulated, emotionally infantile manbaby running the platform.

I’ve started to rebuild a list of great follows on Mastodon using one of two terrific new iOS apps, Ivory and Ice Cubes. I was going back and forth because they’re both great, but have settled on Ice Cubes at the moment mostly because it has the best implementation of quote posting (quote tweet in Twitter parlance) of any other app I’ve used. For reasons passing comprehension by me, Mastodon does not support quote posts (not a debate to get into with early Mastodon adopters, btw) so it’s up to developers to find a way to provide this basic functionality. This seems fitting since things like retweets, quote tweets, and even the word “tweet” all came from developers and the user community, not Twitter.

Anyway, for the first time last week, Screen Time reported I spent more time in a Mastodon client than in Twitter. Seeing as Twitter has been my most-used app for a long, long time (especially since I ditched Facebook), this is kind of big deal.

Of course, that’s all muggle stuff. On the kinky-sexy side, things have not progressed.

Unfortunately, hardly anyone in the community I’ve developed with my Thumper Twitter account seem to have made the jump to Mastodon. A common refrain is that Mastodon is too complicated and I will acknowledge that it isn’t as straightforward as signing up for and using Twitter, but it’s not like trying to run DOS after spending one’s life on a Mac. This is a great intro to the service that should help dispel the perception of complexity.

As I said above, the biggest improvement to my enjoyment of the platform has been the introduction of great apps to use it. Those I was using before were…weird. Or buggy. Or both. Ice Cubes is fantastic and being actively developed and doesn’t cost a thing (though the developer will happily take a tip). Ivory (made by the folks who brought us my beloved Tweetbot) is lovely but does have a modest subscription fee.

I don’t mean to shame anyone still using Twitter. I expect it will take a long time for me to stop entirely, but it’s weird to me how much more traction the non-kinky side has seen there than the kinky side. Partly, this is the network effect in action. There’s still several muggles on Twitter that aren’t on Mastodon (or who are but aren’t using it) but there are many fewer, as a percentage, of kinksters I follow and (used to) engage with on Twitter who have made the leap. This bums me out because I simply can’t bring myself to meaningfully use Twitter anymore, even if I am losing a lot of community value.

Weirdly, the number of people following me has continued to grow though I post nearly nothing of interest anymore. Not sure what’s up with that.

I think the thing that really holds me back from being on Twitter more is that, being in the line of work I’m in, I know how much the people who own these platforms value and crave the stats I (and probably you) generate being there. Time on site, likes, comments, retweets, ads viewed and (accidentally) clicked on, links posted, etc. This is their lifeblood and the only thing they care about because it’s what leads to the ad dollars they can charge. The less we use Twitter, the more we communicate our displeasure with how it’s being run. It’s literally the only thing we can do now that it’s owned by a megalomaniac. Individually, it’s a tiny, tiny act of rebellion, but done alongside millions of others, it will move the needle.

One positive side effect of being less engaged on Twitter is I’m posting here more. Between 2018 and 2022, I wrote an average of 24 posts a year (with 21 being the lowest and 28 being the highest). So far in 2023, this will be my 8th. I assume the energy I’d typically use on Twitter is being redirected here. I still do have things to say, after all, even if I’m saying them with many more words and without as much interaction. Interestingly, traffic to the site doesn’t seem to be impacted at all from not posting links on Twitter. I would have expected to take a hit there, but you can’t really tell by looking at the stats when I stopped.

So, yeah. I dunno. It sucks to have lost what I once had on that platform. But I don’t really know that I have any choice in the matter.

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Orion update

I’ve been wearing the Evotion Orion for almost three months (86 days on and about 6.5 hours off) and I posted my review back at the beginning of December so I thought I’d take a moment to give a bit of an update about the device and my current opinion of it.

It’s…like…perfect. Honestly. No issues whatsoever. I don’t think I’ve ever worn the same device for three months straight, let alone without issue. Even the venerable Steelheart was never on that long. I’d either get bored or pinched or something and need/want to swap it, but with Belle’s recently reasserted key authority, swapping hasn’t been in the cards for me so here we are.

I’ve noticed that I don’t get woken up as much by nighttime or morning erections. I can even slip a finger in under the base ring while the contents are trying to get hard near where the shaft ring attaches. The two parts come together in a way that leaves some room up there which seems to lessen the tightness of the ring. I do get a nice snug tightness lower down the shaft and around the head, but it’s not so tight that it ever becomes even mildly painful. I guess if I squint I could turn that to a minor disadvantage because I have grown to really appreciate a good, strong morning tightness. The kind the Steelheart gives me where every part of the contents feels the strain. But for someone who wants comfort above all other things, I can’t think of a reason not to advocate for the Orion.

This device causes zero discomfort while also always feeling incredibly secure. That’s a first for me. I can’t say that about any other PA-fixed device I’ve worn. It’s just…there. Doing its job. Day in, day out. The hollow PA hook continues to work great, though I have developed a bit of a dripping leak as my piercing has grown accustomed to the larger intrusion.

So, yeah, kinda boring, I guess. The Orion continues to be as great as it was after a few weeks. I know a few people who’ve reached out to me have said they ordered it following my review and I guess all I can say for others who might still be on the fence is to go for it. I can’t think of a single thing functionally wrong with it.

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Oceans away

Belle took off to Europe for a week last night and my “emergency” key went with her. It was a spur of the moment kind of decision but there really isn’t much use for an “emergency” key in the Orion (emergencies are typically due to some discomfort/injury created by a device and the Orion, which has been on me for more than 62 days straight hasn’t given me a moment of issue) and, especially when she’s not around to keep an eye on me, the only thing better from my perspective than a secured tamper-proof key is no key at all. The more my free will is removed from the equation, the better. And right now, I couldn’t get the Orion off for any reason, so free will is out the window until she gets back.

I say the Orion has been on for 62 days straight. Of course, there have been some short periods here and there it’s had to come off (such as). I don’t have to take it off for travel, but when I’m with family or co-workers I do just in case. I’m going to end January having been out 4.5 hours which is almost spot on to my goal for the year and, January being a heavy travel month so far, makes me feel my stretch goal of only being out about 24 hours all year is really doable.

I keep coming back to the rest of those goals and Belle’s recent apparent confirmation that “no stroking, no fucking, no coming” aren’t just goals, but the law, and not just for the year, but forever. I think one of the reasons that’s exciting for me (even though stroking, fucking, and coming are all things I will miss badly) is that I feel accepting my total denial of those things is the ultimate act of submission on my part. It perfects my submission.

I’m not saying any sub that’s not similarly situated isn’t doing it right. Not at all. Every sub and Dom/me and relationship and dynamic is going to be unique. But I’m wired (for as long as I can remember) to want my partner’s sexual pleasure to always come before mine. Always. And chastity and denial have allowed me to learn not only to be a better, more focused and attentive lover, but to find ways to make her pleasure my pleasure. In a very real and physiological sense. By accepting permanent chastity and denial (though it was not and should not be my decision at all), I’m demonstrating to Belle and the world that my commitment to my form of submission is absolute.

I could never, ever do this on my own. Belle’s authority and whatever device I’m locked in are what allow me to be this version of myself. And the more I’m this version of myself, the more deeply I feel this is me. What I am supposed to be. Thumper-centric pleasure (stroking, fucking, coming) are all distracting, indulgent, and destructive to the level of submission Belle has helped me attain.

So her taking the keys over an ocean away seems very fitting. No matter how horny and frustrated and achy-balled I get, relief should feel impossibly distant. My focus shouldn’t be inward. Not on my needs. I live to serve hers. Even when she’s not here.

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Kinky pancakes

There’s a special thrill that runs through me when my fingers find Belle’s wet pussy each time she lets me get her off. I’m not so old (or haven’t been locked up so long) that I can’t remember what it was like in the before-times, during moments of great passion, to climb between her legs and line the head up and push it home as her soft, wet, hot folds enveloped me. And every one of those memories come pounding back when my fingers part her wetness and feel her slick clit. I moan each time as if I’m feeling it with the contents because, in my mind, I am.

And there’s a way that it hits different when, by all appearances, my odds of the contents receiving that sensation seem to be dwindling to very low percentages each day. Instead of the impact of my memories of feeling that hitting me, I’m crushed by the weight of all the future chances that I won’t get. And haunted by the fact I can’t even remember the last time it happened (309 days ago, if you’re counting and I sure am). And if it ends up being the last time…and I have no memory of the occasion…unf.

I’ve been concerned that somehow the kink algebra would change if the variable of “will this be the time” got zeroed out. Pleased to say it hasn’t. But has it been zeroed out?

After she came and I thanked her for letting me be part of it and she commended me for how well I get her off, she asked if I wanted pancakes for breakfast. Because that’s exactly how kinky shit is around here. Of course, I said yes because pancakes are amazing. And kinky!

Then she said, “Making you pancakes is the least I can do if I’m never letting you out again.”

I squirmed and the Orion filled up and I tightened my grip on her before asking, meekly, “Are you?”

She laughed out loud. Not a sly giggle. Laughed at me.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then she made me pancakes. Kinky motherfucking pancakes.

It has occurred to me previously that while she had read all the recent posts about her potentially making me pussy free and really truly permanently locked, she never confirmed or denied my assumptions of what she’s said. She’s commented, sort of cryptically, but never said if I was right or wrong. Presumably, she doesn’t want to be denied the opportunity to change her mind at some point in the future. That’s aligned with how she’s approached her role in the past.

So, no, that variable hasn’t been zeroed out. But the number of zeroes to the right of the decimal are growing. As are the days since I’ve been allowed to fuck her. This is the longest it’s ever been, by a large margin.

Back before the pancake conversation, when my fingers were still inside her and she was moaning under them, at that point when she starts to go over the falls and her hips take over and I know the best thing I can do is hold my hand in place as she finishes herself off grinding against me and I get to feel that amazing zinging pulsing of her pussy as she comes and comes…all those 309 days made the Orion as tight as it gets and the real psychic pain of being denied so long cut deep. I remember what her pussy felt like coming like that with the contents buried inside her — back when it could be called a cock. And I know that even if she does let me fuck her at some point, I’ll never feel that exact thing again. Because the contents, as a tool for getting her off, has been rendered useless. It can’t last nearly as long as it needs to to bring her to orgasm and any attempt to do so only leads to her frustration. There’s only downside to her letting me out for that. No chance for her to get all the way and only the potential of me being annoying or moody or something as a result of the inevitable ejaculation that happens when we try.

It’s the way this potentially pussy-free path we’re on seems so obvious, in retrospect. The more I was denied, the less useful the contents became, leading to more and longer denial, leading to a further erosion of my stamina and usefulness, etc. That feedback spiral gets tighter and tighter until we’re where we are now. Cock-less. Even penis-less. Just contents.

All I can say for sure is I need to assume I’m locked up forever and never getting pussy in that way with that part of me again. And I’ll keep doing that until and unless I’m not. Because with this, as in all things, she’s in charge.

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Goal setting

It’s that time of year when we set goals for ourselves. Which is an interesting thing to do with regard to the stuff I talk about on this blog since literally none of the things are technically under my control. So are these goals I’m setting for myself? Or goals set by Belle? Or…schwa?

I dunno. But I can set for myself the goal of being faithful and true to whatever Belle wants for me in 2023. So, the goals I’m prepared to support are…

  • No stroking
  • No fucking
  • No orgasm
  • Locked 99.4% of the year

Stroking, fucking, and orgasm are all up to her, of course. She may decide she wants to be fucked at some point. And if so, I’ll do it. She may expect I’ll come if I do fuck her. And if so, I’ll do it. She may even tell me I can stroke myself, but that seems highly unlikely since it’s been years since she let me do that. So, maybe those goals will work out, maybe they won’t.

I have signed up for my orgasms and penis access to be determined by Belle and if she determines I won’t get any of it, then I support her decision and will do what’s necessary to make it happen.

The locked goal is based on how often I was locked in 2022. I came in being locked 98.9% of the year. Keeping in mind the times I was unlocked, I think some of those times can be optimized downward. Pushing it to 99.4% would mean roughly 50ish hours of unlocked time during 2023 which works out to about 4 hours unlocked a month. The only times I need to be unlocked are for travel (especially if I’m with family or coworkers) or a doctor’s visit (though I don’t always unlock for those — it depends). I’ve gotten really good at keeping unlock time for travel to a minimum and some months I won’t be going though the TSA gauntlet at all while other situations where I’ve traditionally needed to unlock to go though metal detectors are solved by the Evotion Orion. As long as I don’t get any chastity injuries (and the Orion won’t give me any), I really think being locked all but about 50 hours this year is totally doable. Maybe I can make it even less. I think I’d ultimately like that number to be 24 hours which is two a month, though that may be tough.

Beyond the above, the only other thing I can think of that could be set as a goal is how many orgasms I give Belle. But, again, that’s not up to me at all. I want to give her one every day which is ridiculous. Even if I want to come up with a number, tracking towards it puts pressure on Belle who should come exactly as many times as she wants, no more and no less. So that’s not a goal.

In the end, the thing I have the most direct influence over is the time locked and that’s a function of focusing on minimizing reasons to be unlocked. The other “goals” are really just things I’m committed to. For 2023 or as long as necessary.

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#PussyFree

I have been thinking quite a lot about the prospect of never getting to fuck Belle again. I mean, I thought about it a lot before I knew I may never get to again, but that was when I thought I might get to every time we had sex. Maybe that would be the time she produced the key and let me out and I’d get to slip it in. I didn’t think about it so much in between those times because why should I? But lately, I’ve been thinking it about often, usually just as I’m going to sleep (or trying to).

On the socials, the way men in my situation refer to not being allowed to ever fuck their female keyholders is #pussyfree. I never really paid a lot of attention to it before because, of course, that wasn’t me. I may have been #pussyfree at that moment, but like rain in Death Valley, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Except now I’m led to believe sooner may be never and later may be forever. So suddenly #pussyfree has a whole new meaning. That hashtag is me.

And it’s more than just never being allowed to enjoy Belle’s pussy again. Some guys who are pussy free are cucks who, while not being allowed to fuck their wives, aren’t locked in chastity (at all or not permanently) and still get to jack off. But Belle doesn’t let me do that. Ever. So, not only will I never get to feel pussy with the contents again, unless something changes, I won’t be able to feel my own hand there again, either.

And if I don’t get to feel pussy or my own hand again, then…well, I won’t come again. So I’m not just #pussyfree, it’s becoming clear that I’m going to be #orgasmfree.

I have wanted this at certain points in the development of our chastity journey, but I never really thought we’d get here. I never thought she would get here. And I’m not going to lie and say I’m upset at the prospect of never coming again. Of never feeling a pleasurable sensation with the contents again. I’m not upset. I will miss it, surely. I have been missing it. But I understand why it has to be this way.

That said, it’s one thing to fantasize or imagine the eventuality and another to find one’s self living it. There’s a finality that I don’t think I had previously really appreciated. A finality but also a bit of a relief. Belle has lifted from me the need to concern myself with my own orgasm ever again. I don’t need to spend any time wondering if the next time I get her off if I’ll get a chance for myself, too. Because I won’t. Not that time, not the time after that, or the one after that. Not any time. No need to worry my pretty little head about it.

The ache in my balls. The gnawing craving. The fluttery urge I get when I touch her wet pussy. They’re not just the common companions I’ve grown accustomed to. They’re now permanent fixtures. Really and truly, not a thing I’m doing but what I am.

The finality of that is clarifying, now that I’ve worked it out. Any energy that might have been wasted thinking about the orgasm I might get and did I really want the thing I so badly craved and should I feel good or guilty for getting it if I got it because maybe probably I wouldn’t but maybe I would and then how would that feel and shouldn’t I just try and enjoy it even though maybe I didn’t want it after all? All out the window. How I am now — right now — is how I am. All I’ll ever be.

Got it. OK. Let’s go.

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Addicted

I continue to be extraordinarily horny. Really, ever since that massage.

The night of the massage I bet I didn’t sleep two hours. I did fall asleep, but pressure from the device woke me up and then kept me up. I just couldn’t get visions out of my head. And every time I almost did — BAM — another sexy thought. It was torture.

The next morning, I basically devoured Belle. I was on top of her and moaning as soon as my fingers touched her wet pussy and I cried out when she came. And that energy has been with me ever since. Night before last I also couldn’t sleep and maybe got 2-3 hours. It’s been crazy.

But the thing is, I want this. Not just because it’s my nature to be a horned up denied sub left to stew in his own juices by his Domme wife, but because I think there’s something to the idea that the chemistry at work in a denied man’s brain is literally addictive.

When I’m allowed to come, there’s a distinct vibe drop. If I’m allowed to come twice in a few days (lol), it’s a total wipeout. And I feel…nothing. A void. I hate it. The lack of whatever’s churning around in me while denied is miserable. It’s like the color drains away from the world. I’m ornerier and sadder and no fun to be around. It’s legitimately like withdrawals.

I’m not a physiologist or anything, but it really does feel like an addiction. Not to a sensation, like when I was a teenager and into my 20s and jacking off daily (sometimes more). It’s to the feeling of being turned on to distraction.

Belle knows this about me. She texted me after she read the last post and told me point blank that I was “a real pain in the ass” when she lets me out and I come. And, since I’m “pretty good at satisfying her” in other ways, she still doesn’t know when or if I’ll get out for that reason again.

I think about how guys who are introduced to chastity find they want more and longer lock-ups. About how they invariably start to hope and even lobby against coming. I was that guy. I guess I still am that guy. But, in my experience, nearly all locked-up guys get that way. And it’s not like, oh I dunno, mountain biking or something where there’s a thing they’re doing that’s fun and enjoyable to do again and again. Chastity and denial are about the things those who’re locked up aren’t doing. It’s how denial and being locked up feels that powers our craving for it.

Long term chastity and denial are some kind of bizarre emotional inverted Möbius strip. A self-referential loop. A thing M.C. Escher would draw. A condition that makes no logical sense and doesn’t seem to be physically possible, but it does and it is.

And I guess I’m just lucky as fuck that I’m married to a woman who understands that.

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290

The other day I wrote:

“I have absolutely no memory of the last time she wanted to use the contents. I’ve been thinking hard about it and have no clue.”

And since I’m just laying here in the middle of the night horny as fuck and unable to sleep, I was thinking about this again. About how it’s been so long since she let me out and inside her and feel that amazing, incredible, sensation of hard penis sliding into wet pussy.

And then it hit me. I do know when it was. Or, I should say, I can figure it out. Pretty easily, actually.

I keep track of when I’m locked up and what I’m lock in. I’ve been doing it for years. Here’s how 2022 netted out:

Not only does the app I use tell me totals like that, I can go back and look at what I was locked in (or not) on any given day of the year.

Combine that with the fact that Belle is very consistent about when she lets me fuck her. She wants sex on weekend mornings, almost exclusively. But it’s 100% the case that when I get to fuck her, it’s a weekend morning. No exceptions. On the occasional weeknight when she wants me to get her off, that’s what we do. I get her off. I’m never, ever out at those times. Just weekend mornings.

So, all I have to do is find a weekend morning when I’m unlocked for a couple hours. Since I’m supposed to go right back into chastity after she lets me inside her, it leaves a gap in my lock-up that looks like that.

The first one I found was January 1, 2022. That was a Saturday and my log for that week looks like this:

Steelheart, Steelheart, Steelheart with a 3 hour 16 minute opening at about 9:00 AM and then Steelheart again. That’s me getting to fuck and then probably clean the device. And I actually remember that now.

I kept looking and found this:

March 20, about 7:30 AM, for 2 hours 31 minutes. A Sunday. Fits the pattern. I don’t remember that one.

I looked for the next one…and didn’t find it. No other unlocked gap on a weekend morning for the whole rest of the year.

The last time I was allowed to fuck my wife was 290 days ago. The last time I was allowed an orgasm. The last time I was allowed to feel pleasurable sensation with an erection.

Two hundred ninety days.

Me from 15 years ago — pre-chastity me — would not be able to wrap his head around that at all. It would be literally impossible to imagine, let alone imagine that I’d be OK with it. Me from a period not too long after we started using chastity in our relationship would be very conflicted. He’d think it was simultaneously hot as fuck but he’d be mourning the idea of not being able to come. Ever.

The me that’s writing this post is not conflicted. At all. While I do have strong urges to feel pleasure with the contents, I’m also very self-aware of the fact that I’m ultimately happier not being allowed to. That I’m a better husband and sub to Belle being denied that pleasure. That craving it, even to distraction, is better than getting it.

And, of course, this is what she wants. Where I am right now is 100% her decision. She has decided she’s not interested in my penetrating her. She’s satisfied with my fingers and mouth and her vibrator. Either she genuinely prefers those types of stimulation now or she’s weighed the cost/benefit of letting me fuck her and decided I won’t.

Of course, I do want to. Badly. My balls ache with the memory of what that feels like. Of what shooting a load into her is like. But I understand what I am. And I’ve freely given to her absolute control over my ability to experience those things.

I asked her if she was ever going to let me inside her again and she said, “I don’t know.” I don’t know, either, but 290 days is a long time to not need or want something. Unless a drastic change happens, it’s starting to feel like 290 days is just the start. That chance I got to be inside her and use the contents for the purpose it was meant for that I can’t even remember at this point…might really and truly be the last time she’ll ever let me do that.

I’m at peace with that if it’s the case. Like I’ve said before and repeat to myself all the time, this is what I am not something I do. And what I am is a man who needs to be focused on the pleasure of others, exclusively. To receive pleasure through theirs. And if that’s all I ever am again…

So be it.