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The pits

Over the time I’ve been curating The Portfolio, I’ve come to realize that I have a serious thing for guys’ armpits. I don’t know that I’d go so far as to call it a fetish, per se, but when I see them they give me a funny little feeling in my stomach. More than a good set of abs or a nice ass or strong legs or even a big fat cock. Like, a lot more. So yeah. There’s something going on there.1

I rest my case. I mean, just look at those fuckers.

I followed a few tumblrs that were dedicated to male pits, but they don’t really do it for me most of the time. It’s not just any pits that make me wobbly, after all, and the editorial thinking for a lot of them seem to be, “Oh, there’s an armpit. Done!” So, in keeping with the web’s model of empowering self-publishing the work of other people, I decided to start my own site dedicated to just those pictures that show just the kind of armpits that get me going. It’s called Thumper’s Pit Stop.

There are still a few things I’m working out. Like, do I put an image I like on both tumblrs? I probably will if I like it for reasons other than the pits but also in addition to them. There are some images I leave off The Portfolio right now because they don’t fit its raison d’être (whatever that is — it seems to change from day to day and can only be interpreted by unlocking my deep reptile brain), so now an image that is nothing more than a gratuitous Portfolio-inappropriate pit shot has a place to go. Also, it will not always be the case that the pit or pits is/are the main focus of an image featured there. Only those that spoke to me in that fuckinghellletmeputmyfacerightinthere kind of way.

Anyway, if you dig dude’s pits, check it out. If not, skip it.

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1 I like girls too, of course. Let’s not forget. ↩

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Wanting to want to

Strongandsubmissive said in response to the idea of permanent denial:

I don’t quite get permanent denial. I’m not saying it’s fiction only, just that it’s not for me. Perhaps it’s just my inexperience with chastity talking, but part of the fun of the whole process and not knowing when you’ll be allowed out or allowed to orgasm. The perpetual drive to be better and the emotional changes seem to be linked to the idea that “maybe if I’m a good boy, she’ll reward me with an orgasm”.

If you are permanently denied, that mystery or trump card is gone, because you’ll always know what the answer is.

That may work for some, but I’m not sure it’s up my alley.

Of course, everyone’s different. And it’s possible with the knowledge that there would never be another orgasm ever again that a certain edge would be removed from the practice, but for me anyway, it takes so long to get to a point where I actually crave an orgasm over the feeling of being denied one.

Take this morning, for instance. I knew when I put my hand on Belle’s hot, wet pussy that I wasn’t going to get in there, let alone make it a gooey mess. It is an established fact that I’m months away from coming again. What I find is it’s only that knowledge that really allows me to get into it. See, I do not want to come. Not one bit. I want to want to come, but I don’t want to come. If that makes sense. And this is in the face of absolute knowledge that it will not happen. With the possibility of orgasm removed, I’m more free to enjoy having sex with her.

Not every guy is like that. Most men are entirely driven by their desire to squirt. That’s OK. It’s “normal” and culturally acceptable. Other men (a smaller number in practice, but I suspect there’s a much larger unrealized number out there) like to have their orgasms controlled and even limited. An hour, a day, a week. Whatever. Take it as far as you want, at the end they want to come, even if they don’t know when it’s going to happen. I can get to this place, but it literally took me three months last time. Then there’s a third type. The type I think I may be and the type Sarah’s John may be. The type in which it is all about the chase, never the capture. Unending, unquenched desire. The absolute end of orgasm.

But I’m not really in that position and am unlikely to be as Belle shows no interest in it, so it’s impossible for me to know exactly how living with the understanding that I have come for the last time in my life would work with me. I do know, since I just finished a month where she let me come nine times, that I like the denied me more than the sated me.1 Sure, I liked (most of) them. We’re wired to enjoy the feeling of orgasm. But I did not enjoy the wasteland of sensation that followed the afterglow. The near-constant state of being sexually charged and frustrated has apparently changed my basic psychology and/or brain chemistry. At least, I think it has. I can’t really know, right?

In any event, the juxtaposition of this comparatively ejaculate sodden month to the newfound near-certainty that I’d like to stop coming forever is not entirely lost on me. I don’t think this is the hormones talking. I think this is as rational an insight as I can achive.

It’s obvious to anyone who does it that this whole orgasm control, denial, chastity thing comes in many flavors and styles. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t need all these damned blogs, would we? As with so many other things in life, the right way is the way that works for you for as long as it works for you. Maybe that’s the root of the issue people have with permanent denial. Forever is a really long time.

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1 Pretty sure Belle like the denied me better, too, but not, ultimately, better than she likes the feeling of me coming inside her. ↩

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My mantra

Yep, it’s definitely back on. I didn’t fall asleep until about 5:00 AM, so I got about an hour of rest. It gave me lots of time to think.

I really want into Belle’s pants right now. Pants? Fuck that. I want into everything she’s got. She knows it, but she’s not in any hurry. So, as she went to sleep last night, I was feeling a bit of pique. As usual, I wasn’t tired so I ventured out onto the interwebs to console myself and got sufficiently worked up to keep sleep perpetually just out of reach. It would flit by like a firefly only to blink out of existence as I reached for it. Then some scenario or image would intrude into my thoughts and the penis would strain against the tube. Then I’d wait for it to go down.1 Then the little firefly would flutter timidly back. Rinse, repeat.

At some point in this process, I started to feel bad about getting miffed at Belle. I was thinking about my previous post and the spirit in which it was written and couldn’t quite reconcile it with what I had been feeling. Funny thing is, DD accentuated the very thing with a comment she made at about the same time I was thinking it:

I am so glad you appreciate the fact that if she owns it she gets to decide what to do with it, including having it out to play when she sees fit.

Good bunny.

In truth, I really like the feeling of being powerless with regard to sex. I prefer to see it as something she totally controls regardless of how it makes me feel at any given moment (and, in last night’s moment — once I had my head back on straight — the idea that she had left me high and dry was just one more thought that filled the tube and kept me awake). I have always struggled with losing site of this fundamental principle of our dynamic (and makes me question how truly submissive I am).

In my copious free time, I came upon the idea of a mantra. Something I could repeat as a way of centering myself (aka, pulling my head out of my ass). I worked on several versions, but this is the one I settled on:

You own the penis. I gave it to you.
You control our sex. I asked you to.
Your pleasure is my pleasure.
This is how I wished things to be.
Thank you, Belle Fille, for making it possible.
I love you.

The first couple of tries sounded too me-centric. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? So I worked more of us and her in there. Also, recognition that it’s only through her cooperation and ability to put up with me that this works at all. The critical component is the reminder to myself that I was the one who brought us down this path in the first place. And that even though it was my idea, by embarking on this adventure, I relinquished sole ownership over how it developed. No, I’m not her slave. We’re still partners. But I am clearly the minority stakeholder and need to remember that she has the controlling vote. And, after all, I really don’t want it any other way.

We’ve had mantras before. Simpler ones that she’s ask me to repeat occasionally. But this one seems to tie together all the salient attributes in an unambiguous way that my brain can’t wiggle out of. I hope she likes it and I hope she decides to make me say it to her every single day.

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1 Funny thing is, whilst locked up, erections are more fleeting. It takes a lot of concerted effort and/or some really intense stimulus to keep a boner boned. They spring into action quickly and deflate just as fast. The physiological equivalent of a fruit fly. ↩

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Forever

I happened upon yesterday’s post by Sarah on the topic of permanent orgasm denial. In it, she said (among other things) the following:

We are def­i­nitely lean­ing towards per­ma­nent orgasm denial, but we do have some con­cerns, none of which are to do with John miss­ing out on them (it’s really more about what I’ll per­haps miss out on, but that’s another story).

I think that neatly summarizes the issue for us, too. A lot of men assume that when they orgasm it is an experience all their own when in reality most women also seem to get a lot of enjoyment from the event. The ones that don’t are typically fictional (though I’m sure there are some real ones out there, too).

Honestly, this is something I didn’t really understand until I stopped having orgasms, but Belle likes it when I’m inside her and also, I’m pretty sure, likes it when I come there. My assumption had always been that women weren’t especially into the mess since it’s practically entirely up to them to clean it up afterward. Personally, back in the days when the occasional man would fuck my ass, I didn’t especially enjoy the aftereffects. I mean, there’s no place for it to go (and it didn’t really have much of a reason to be there) so it had to come out eventually and I just found the entire thing kinda gross. For the record, only three men got to do that without protection and only one of them was iffy, but that was like twenty-some years ago.

But anyway, as undeniably hot as the idea of never being allowed to come again is for me, I’m not sure I’d ever want it unless I was confident it was what Belle really wanted, too. Our recently concluded month of relative freedom was, I think, more about Belle pining for some old fashioned bunny loving more than anything else. I have no reason to expect her appreciation for that kind of sex will ever change, so I have no reason to expect she’ll ever really and truly end my orgasms.

Yesterday evening, as we laid in bed, I was curled up into her and craving her pussy. I pressed my hand to it through her pajamas and, with my face near her breasts, it was all I could do not rip her clothes off. She wasn’t having any of it, though, and told me she quite liked to see me miserably desperate. She also said I should expect the kind of sharp contrasts like I’m going through now in the future. Hard denial followed by relatively lavish releases. Nine times in one month. That probably doubled my entire output for the year.

So I went to sleep pretty horny. Interestingly, when the morning wood woke me up, it didn’t feel at all like someone had kicked me in the nuts. There was intense pressure from the tube, but I liked it. Instead of trying to get rid of it, I flexed the penis so it would be more intense and even rolled over on my stomach so blood would rush to the area. I didn’t expect to adjust so quickly. Next step will be sleeping through the wood. Once that happens, I’ll know things are back to normal. But I digress.

I guess what I’m getting at is that male chastity and orgasm denial might, on its surface, appear to be mostly about male orgasms. But it’s not. And as badly as I want to hear her say someday that I will never come again (and I do, really), there’s no way I could live with that situation unless something big and drastic changed with Belle and I knew for a fact that she would still be able to get whatever it is she wants from sex (even if that thing happens infrequently). There are many trade-offs in a relationship where the man doesn’t get to come, but in the end, asking her to ultimately sacrifice something so important to her is unacceptable to me.

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Petites bouchées

A few little things…

One, this is just fucking gorgeous. Want. It.

Two, I had forgotten the…er, joy let’s call it, of nut-crushing morning erections. I was up three times between 4:30 and 6:00 walking it off.

Three, even though I’ve been out for more than a month, I am so back in now. Loving it. Totally in that “why would anyone live any other way” place. It’s got to be fairly psychosomatic, but my whole perspective on Belle has changed. I’m really zoned in on her. For instance, we just had a short and rather mundane sort of phone conversation, but as soon as she answered the phone I felt a funny tickling thrill in my kidneys just from hearing her voice. I’m still a little giddy. I really, really like her voice.

That is all.

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Tops of 2011

What the fuck does “top” mean? Most popular? Best written? Hottest? No, it’s more mundane than that, but it’s what I got. These are the posts/pages most viewed last year.

1. Liked links – The most popular thing on my blog is a list of other blogs.

2. CB-6000 tips & tricks – Thank you, Google.

3. Chastity devices – A post of posts.

4. About the bunny – I really should get around to updating that.

5. Steelheart vs. CB6K – There’s Google again.

6. Thumper’s CB-6000 tips and tricks – Curse you, Google. This is the post that was later revised and extended as the number two most popular page on the site.

7. Gone virtual – Finally! An actual post from 2011!

8. HNThumper XXVIII: Caged – A picture of me wearing the Jail Bird. I’m surprised it wasn’t an HNThumper that was the most viewed post. They usually do pretty good in the page view department.

9. HNThumper XXVII: Clean as a whistle – In which I show you how I clean the Steelheart whilst wearing it.

10. Steelheart Short – Shorty’s coming out party.

A few other 2011 tidbits…

  • Denying Thumper started its fourth year on October 12.
  • The post with the most comments was “The year of the rabbit”, but I don’t want to talk about it. I wish it was something else.
  • The sites I sent the most clicks to (besides The Portfolio) were Chastity Forums and Keyheld. The blog most clicked-to was cricketed’s.
  • The top search terms people used to get here (besides variations on the name of the blog) were cb6000 (in various flavors), male chastity blog, steelworxx, birdlock, and jailbird chastity. Shocking, I know.
  • The number of spam comments I received was 14,161, of which 708 were not automatically caught and destroyed. Twenty-four were missed and six non-spam comments were identified as spam anyway. That’s an accuracy rate of 99.8%. Nothing to complain about there.
  • Top commenters were Rougue Bambi, Tom, Dev (no, not that one), Mykey, and Celtic Queen. My peeps.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled orgasm denial…

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Familiar ground

Saturday, Belle told me to take a bath and jack off. I was allowed to come. Knowing that it was probably my last time for a while, I drew it out and spewed copiously. Would have been better has she been with me, though. I have clearly been conditioned to feel that a solo shot is inferior to an accompanied one.

Yesterday, I was told to stay out of the device until today since she might want to have use of the penis one more time. That didn’t happen as it turns out, so I went to bed feeling a little hornier than usual (but not too horny considering I had just come the day before).

This morning, the day had arrived. I woke up with a boner pressing into Belle’s ass, cognizant that it would likely be the last for several months. She told me I was going to stay locked up until our Spring vacation at the end of March. We got to drowsily laze in bed since she has the day off. The boner didn’t subside, partly because I was naked and next to her warm body, partly because I knew the luxury of waking with a fully realized erection was about to end.

In the bathroom, I took the Steelheart Short out of its fuzzy sack for the first time in weeks. I had neglected to give it a proper cleaning before storing it away, so while I showered, it soaked in vinegar (which eliminates the scale that develops with weeks of wear, either from my urine or our relatively hard water or some combination thereof). After soaping myself up, I indulged in some final stroking. I took the big PA ring out since it’s not the one I use inside the device so I was jacking like the old days, all the way over the head and back. I felt the thin, pliable skin of the shaft stretch and flex over the firm meat, the thrill of electricity as my fingers grazed the coronal rim, the sympathetic sway of the scrotum keeping time with my pumping fist. Sensations at once so familiar but also so out of place.

Now, the penis is back in its home, swelling against the confinement even as I write this. In our bedroom, Belle turned the key through my parted bathrobe. Then we kissed. I do love her so much.

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Control

First off, happy new year, everyone!

In response to yesterday’s post, Celtic Queen said:

It’s not so much the absence of orgasm that drives my hub but the control he has handed over and the randomness with which he is allowed to orgasm. He says he feels “lost” without the device, uncentred and unhappy and hates the feeling of his penis re exerting control over him.

Of course, it’s going to be somewhat different for everyone. I agree that the lack of control aspect is key. I don’t know that I could (or would necessarily want to) do this by myself. Belle is clearly the controlling partner when it comes to the penis and what I get to do with it and that’s pretty awesome. I suppose control and denial are not welded together and that either are valid dynamics alone or in combination with other aspects. Yesterday, I was only addressing the denial part since it’s the thing that’s been missing for the past month. Obviously, I’m happiest when they’re served together.

Speaking of which, I know there must be many men reading this blog who wish they were being controlled and denied by their partners (or, conversely, some women who wish they could talk their men into being denied and controlled). I think that limiting a man’s sexual release to only those times he’s with his partner (or has explicit permission by them to do it himself) is a really valid alternative to chastity as Belle and I do it. While I’d lose interest in the dynamic as soon as I came, it was only a matter of a few days or so before I was interested again and, therefore, interested in her. While I was still coming, I was still dependent on her for the pleasure. I think a guy who hasn’t been able to get his wife interested in control and denial would be well served by living as if he was anyway. That is, don’t come when you read the chastity porn. Reserve that for when you’re with her. For a woman in a similar situation, this kind of arrangement might be less intimidating for her guy.

Anyway, I also totally get CQ sub’s point about feeling lost without the device. I’ve written several times how I feel incomplete when I’m not wearing it. I haven’t worn it for like six weeks and I’m really ready for it to return. I suspect it’ll be tricky readjusting (and not just mentally), but I’ve missed it. I thought about asking for it yesterday, but she said Sunday so I didn’t.

What day is it again?

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In it for the want

I go back in tomorrow. Belle told me on Friday, so that’s a month out and nine (so far) orgasms.

She observed last night over dinner that I didn’t seem to like being out as much as I like being in. It’s true. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed the orgasms Belle’s let me have (especially the last couple), and being able to feel the penis whenever I want has been nice (as has been the uninterrupted sleep). But that’s not how I’m wired anymore. Now, I’m in it for the want. For the not having. For the everything but.

Over the past month, I have had periods of feeling desire and frustration, but they’ve been short-lived. A few days at most before Belle and I fucked or she let me take care of myself (only two of the nine have been by my own hand, thought I might get another that way before tomorrow). Yesterday morning, she woke me up by stroking the peachy fuzz on my ass where its cheeks and my legs come together. I rolled over a bit and she fiddled with the penis. One thing led to another and soon she was coming hard on my fingers. The penis was as stiff as it gets and I was cleaving to her side in a very familiar way, surging with the need to fuck her. I knew it was going to happen, but at least as much of me wanted it not to. For her to leave me that way. She didn’t and I came really well.

There must be a term or set of words to describe this feeling. When one decides they don’t actually prefer the destination as much as the travel. The unending trip to the mall looking for the unfindable perfect ski jacket. Traipsing through the woods with your rifle and never finding a deer. Forever connecting though airports and never arriving to the vacation. I guess that’s me now.

Sitting here at the fulcrum point between the ebb and flow of my own sexual desire, I can say with all honesty that she could never let me come again and I’d be OK with it. More than OK.