While drying off from my shower this morning, I decided to make the attached video to demonstrate how inescapable the Steelheart Short is with its continuous PA fixing in place.
As you can see, pull all you want, there’s no way out of this thing.
[wpvideo BHamNIKT]
For the overly geeky in the crowd, this video was produced entirely on an iPhone 4S using iMovie.
When you’ve got a 5 5/8″ long penis stuffed into a 2 3/4″ long tube, you will typically find yourself waking up at some point early in the morning when the penile tumescence kicks in. “Penile tumescence” is, for those who don’t know, a fancy way of saying “morning wood”. Unless you’ve got something wrong with the plumbing down there, it’s inevitable.
For me, the Steelheart Short is like a stainless steel alarm clock nestled between my legs. After wearing it for weeks, I will sometimes only wake slightly from it, but I will always wake up at least a little. That didn’t happen as reliably with the first Steelheart, but its tube was much bigger and its A-ring was 5mm larger.
Yeah, so anyway, every stinking morning, weekend or weekday, at some point give or take 15 minutes from 5:30 AM, the magical tumescence reaches its zenith and my eyes open. Every. Day. Except for this morning. Today, being essentially the first real morning of Standard Time, the penis woke me up at 4:40. In the morning.
Apparently, my circadian rhythm hasn’t fallen back yet.
Here’s how bad it’s gotten. See that floor tile? It’s from our bathroom. Specifically, it’s the floor right in front of our toilet. I get to look at it a lot since, as most everyone know, it’s easier to pee into a toilet sitting down when wearing a chastity device (some of them require it).
Anyways, I’m sitting there looking at this tile and all of a sudden I see something I’ve never seen before: the form of a reclining nude woman. I can see her breast, her stomach and right leg. Even her bush. And I’m like, what. The. Fuck.
The phenomenon of seeing meaningful shapes in otherwise random patterns is called pareidolia, though I’ve never heard of it being driven by hormones.
The deal is, I’m really fucking horny. Soooo fucking horny. And Belle’s on the rag. God. Damn. It.
This morning, we were rolling around in bed (read: I was holding on to her while I rolled around in frustration), kissing her face and putting my hand on her ass and generally going mad. I got pretty worked up. So much so, that a little later I had one of those patented long-term chastity precum eruptions that ran out the tube and was all cold, sticky, and wet down my left leg. There was a gooey patch on the inside of my pajamas and the tube’s end got all crusty as the fruit of my frustration cured.
How long has it been? August 25th was the last day I came. So thats…seventy-two days. And at least twenty-six more to go. Will she make me go an even hundred? Conveniently, the first Saturday in December would be exactly that.
In talking about her decision to let me go free once December rolls around (as in, free to do with the penis whatever I want whenever I want to), we agree that we’re both a little nervous. Part of me hates the idea. Not so much the coming a lot part, but the lack of all that coming being connected to her. If she told me she wanted me come every night for a month, I’d be cool with that. If she said I could come whenever I wanted as long as she was present, I’d be cool with that, too. For the past three years, I’ve essentially lashed my sexuality to hers. Pushing off from that will be hard. And somewhat sad, to be honest.
Then again, there’s another part of me (the part that’s so fucking horny) that can’t wait for twenty-five or however many days it will be so I can come again. As soon as I knew the plan, it felt like the penis was pushing against the inside of the tube wanting to get out. Everyone knows what’s coming now. The stasis field has been broken. Come on, already! But no, Belle says I will wait. So here I sit.
The other day, while tending The Portfolio, I found what I think is a picture of the world’s most perfect cock (with this one being a close second). Unsurprisingly, it is not entirely dissimilar to this one yet is totally different than the one currently secured in my pants. It inspired me to reignite a fiction project I had been working on involving my sexual fantasies. I had, in a sense, found my leading man. I’ve mentioned before how hot and bothered stories involving cuckolding get me so, of course, that’s what this is basically about. One of the main issues I have with written porn (besides the numbing redundancy of so much involving chastity and denial) is when it veers into the unbelievable. I get that it’s fantasy and all so a certain suspension of disbelief is required to enjoy it, but when it gets ridiculously silly, I lose my interest. So, in coming up with my story, I decided to try to lace just enough reality into it to ensure the reader can empathize with the happenings. Also, for me, what the characters are feeling is almost as important as what they’re doing. Maybe more important.
And now it’s gotten a little out of hand. I have so many scenarios and ideas in my head and am spending so much time trying to put myself in the shoes of each of the three characters, it’s become less a short story and more a novella. There’s a chance it’ll never get done, of course. The problem I’m facing is when I write a scene down, I get so turned on doing it that I have a hard time focusing my thoughts and making my fingers type the right keys. I may be too horny to write porn. Regardless, I posted a small (yet critical to the story) snippet to The Portfolio last night.
It’s interesting to me that I can post pictures of my junk online but writing down my fantasies like this makes me feel more vulnerable and nervous. I guess that’s because it’s a peek into my head while all the HNT in the world doesn’t give you much more than a surface view. I know that the story is from the part of my fantasies that will remain firmly planeted in Fantasyland, but maybe that makes it even harder to reveal.
“It’s nearly November, Thumpie.”
“Yeah…?”
“November’s your month.”
“No it’s not. You said December was.”
Pause. “I did?”
“Yes! You said December!”
I pulled up the relevant blog entry on my phone and showed her.
“Oh,” she said, “You’ve still got a ways to go, don’t you?”
Fuck.
—
We were out Saturday night on a date when that exchange took place. We saw a movie and were having a late dinner (by Midwest standards). Apparently, she forgot I was being punished. Had I just gone along with it, I’d be coming in a matter of days. As it is, 30 more days before it’s even an option.
After we had that misunderstanding resolved, she surprised me by telling me that once I come in December, she plans on leaving me out for up to two months during which time I’ll be allowed to do whatever I want. She says she recognizes I’ve settled into a nice place living without orgasms and she likes what I’ve become, but she wants to see what I’ll be like if I go back to living like I used to. As if I’m Pinocchio and she’s the Blue Fairy come to turn me into a real boy. Regardless, she says I will be locked up and denied again at some point and she expects me to be whiny and complain about it when it happens but that I will have no choice.
This news has left me with mixed emotions. On the one hand, as soon as she told me her plan I wanted immediate release. Why wait, I asked. Let’s just go now! But no, I have 30 more days, like it or not. Knowing that I will not only come in about a month but likely come a lot has got me so horny I can feel it in my teeth. She’s perfectly happy watching me squirm over it.
Then again, I admit to also feeling a sense of loss at the prospect of regaining this element of my life. When you live as I do with a deep well of desire never far away and a piece of equipment immovably affixed to your body, there’s a certain sense of specialness that goes along with it all. The device and my denial demonstrate that someone cares for me enough to take on the responsibility of tending to my sexual release. I’m not like the other boys. Once it’s off and I can squirt away to my heart’s content, I become like any other guy who can masturbate in the shower and come weakly whenever he wants. After living as I have for the past three years, I don’t ever want to go back.
Which, of course, is not to say I don’t have the raw desire to jack off daily. Of course I do. That’s nature. It’s my lizard brainstem pushing to execute its programming (and right now, it’s pushing pretty hard). But enveloping that is the belief (perhaps enhanced and perpetuated by the very hormones it produces) that being denied my orgasm has made me a better person. Once I come (and I will, a lot), this sense of “enlightenment” will evaporate. That’s the thing about denial. It’s like a perpetual motion machine. Once you start, you want to do it forever but once you stop, you barely want to do it at all.
I think what Belle wants to know is if any of my “better spouse” mojo will stick after three years of building it up or will I revert to what I was. I think I know what will happen. Knowing that she’ll eventually force me back to where I am now is a comforting thought.
Belle let me out of my confinement last Wednesday night in anticipation of our family trip to New York the following day. I had been encased for two solid weeks at that point, but I didn’t get much chance to enjoy my freedom since we were up late packing and the alarm went off in the wee hours of the next day so we could catch our flight. Then, three nights with the four of us in a Manhattan hotel room didn’t exactly lend itself to any penis play time.
But that’s not to say I didn’t get something out of it. Like any great city, New York is all about walking. Having not seen the light of day for so long left the head of the penis extraordinarily sensitive. As I’d walk, the motion would cause the penis to move against the fabric inside my pants and I’d find myself very distracted. What’s more, I’d eventually develop a raging boner, all from nothing more than incidental contact with my clothing.
We got home very late Sunday night and Belle told me I’d go in the next night. Monday morning, I found myself edging in the shower. It’s been two months since I came and I’m too weak to keep my hands off when I have the opportunity. Getting out of the shower, I decided to conduct an experiment that would provide me with practical information and make sure I didn’t spill any seed.
I’ve played around with lidocaine cream in the past and found it to be a really good way to temporarily deny myself the ability to orgasm even without a device in place. Recently, I’ve read several accounts of men in my position who’ve used it to allow their partners full penetrative sex while removing worry that it’d make them come (like this one). I told Belle this and she seemed somewhat interested in the idea since the most limiting factor of my denial is her enjoyment of riding the erect penis. Also, I have felt guilt in the past in not being able to give her this activity that she likes so much.
So, I bought a new tube of the stuff, this time at a 5% strength versus the 4% cream I’ve used in the past. What I wanted to find out was A) how long would it take before the penis was numb enough to safely use, and B) what parts of the penis could I leave with sensation and still not be concerned with orgasm?
First off, this stuff ain’t cheap. I got a 2 ounce tube (this one, marketed as an anorectal cream – sexy!) and paid $50. I don’t recall how much the 4% cream I got last time was (and I can’t find it on Amazon any more), but it wasn’t anything like that much. The 5% version is more expensive, but I figured it’d also be 20% faster/longer lasting. Good news is, it doesn’t take much of the stuff to do the job so we should be able to get many session from the one tube.
The reason I wanted to know how long it took for numbness to set in is, of course, I don’t want to leave Belle waiting. Plus, I wanted to know how much advance planning it’d take to use. Turns out, I was sufficiently sedated after about 10-12 minutes (which is a bit faster than the 4% cream). I could still feel a little, but not enough to come. I applied it only on the head and maybe 30% of the end of the shaft, making sure to use the PA ring to get it down inside the urethra, too. I left some of the shaft with sensation since I’m worried that total lack of penile feeling would make keeping an erection difficult. Interestingly, once it had taken affect, the penis felt warmer than it had before. I assume this is because its skin couldn’t feel the air around it anymore. In any event, that was my clue that it was ready to try. I washed the remaining cream off and towel-dried the meat.
I jacked off pretty intensely for about 10 minutes. For most of that time, I had the sensation of wanting to come (my nuts even drew up as if I was about to), but I could never quite get there. It was like having a sneeze ready to come out, but never being able to get it out. I could feel the lower half of the penis pretty good, so my brain knew what was happening, but all the nerve endings in the business end were silent. After maybe 15 minutes, I started to feel like an orgasm was about to happen and I found myself edging again, even with a mostly numb dick. Unlike last time I tried this, there still was sensation in part of the shaft and that seemed to be enough after a long while to move the internal machinery in place. Next time, I’ll make sure to apply the cream further down the bottom of the shaft as feeling in that area seems to be integral in achieving orgasm even when the head has none. Also, if I have the time, I might also apply a second coat.
I think Belle wanted to have sex last night, but it was not to be. She told me I could stay out one more day, but I find being unprotected to be maddeningly distracting. Especially after two months with at least one more to go. Based on that, she allowed me to lock myself back up. After she fell asleep, I did (though not before giving the penis one last round of wanking). If she wants to use it tonight (or whenever), I can get it out quickly enough. If she gives me 15 minutes of warning, I can even make it safely fuckable.
I woke up at 5:00 AM for the first time in days with the incredible pressure of a secured erection. It was intense, as always, but not in a way bad. The discomfort was actually comforting. It’s a feeling only a happily denied man can appreciate, to be sure. The feeling of not being tempted by the annoying penis and there being zero chance of accidentally squirting. It felt safe and secure and perfectly natural.
Trying out my new phone’s brilliant camera, as applied to HNT, and simultaneously celebrating the third anniversary of the first time I was locked into a chastity device. I was such a pup back then.
I was supposed to be out last weekend. Belle had said I would be, but it didn’t work out that way.
The plan was for the family to go camping with another family we’re friends with at a local state park. Not real camping since there would be electricity and a bathroom nearby (with real running water), plus about a hundred other people in neighboring campsites. Not at all like I’m used to. But, in a tent with a fire so it would kinda sorta feel like camping. Earlier in the week, though, Belle had returned from a business trip with a cold that did nothing but get worse until Friday rolled around so it was just the boy and I who went.
The Steelheart came along, too. Belle had forgotten about it. There were several times I thought to say something, but I never got around to mentioning it to her. So I was still locked (as I have been for two straight weeks). I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to do about it. It wasn’t like being in the device would get in the way of any of the activities we were doing and it was only for two nights. My biggest concern was one of hygiene. Turns out there were hot showers there for the “campers” so Saturday morning I was in there swishing myself clean. Well, cleanish.
I observed something interesting, though. As any guy who is often locked up knows, it’s not always spring fresh down there. And what I’ve discovered is how long it’s been since a good cleaning isn’t necessarily a correlating factor to how it smells. Urine is, after all, distilled continuously and from constantly varying sources. Sometimes, it’s apparently odorless and not unlike hot water while at other times it’s not (as in the morning, for example). What I found was, as contrary to common sense as this may sound, peeing is one way to freshen up one’s steel tube, especially if it’s done after recently drinking a lot of fluid.
So anyway, I came back in reasonable working order and have been feeling pretty randy since Belle has recovered from her illness. She very subtly drove me crazy a few nights ago night by stroking my head and resting her hand on the device, finger tips brushing lightly against my tight scrotum. The next morning, we had some aggressive snuggling that left me feeling a little light-headed. I’m pushing eight weeks since my last orgasm and have only been out of the device for maybe 7-10 days total. I’m minimally seven weeks away from my next orgasm, though it’s hard to say since I’ve only been told “Decemeber”. It could be longer than that.
Anyway, I was moderately turned on this morning but not as frothed up as I can be. So I was surprised to find that I had passed quite a lot of thick, ropey white goo during my morning leak. Not only that, but I kept leaking all morning long, even after my shower. That slick n’ slippery stuff just kept drip, drip, dripping out of me. Plus, I have to say, my nuts felt absolutely massive to me. Fat and swollen as I groped them in frustration.
Last night, she finally let me get her off. Her pussy was so wet and so hot that just touching it made me moan. It’s remarkable how just feeling her there can electrify me. In the past, it was just a junction to get past before inserting the penis. Now, I crave just that. When she came, I had two fingers in and felt the post-orgasmic spasms perfectly. For me, more moaning and an overwhelming desire to bite something. For her, bliss.
Once we had settled down to sleep, me spooning into her from behind, she rapped her knuckle against the device which was at about the same spot as her hand.
“I just love that steel tube,” she said.
*wimper*
Today is the third anniversary of Denying Thumper.
Still going strong.
Had I more time, I’d get all introspectively Thumpery, but I’m rushed today. Couldn’t let the day pass without a post, though.
I’ve only just noticed that Tickleberry.co.uk appears to be…dead. It was one of the very first sites I found three years ago that helped me wrap my brain around this nascent chastity kink I was getting into. It was full of some really excellent practical information. Not only that, they had some freakin’ hot videos of sexy guys being tormented by evil women.
I admit to never having purchased from them, but they were in the UK and the shipping charges were prohibitive. Plus, most of their stuff I could get from a US seller. Anyway, I’m sad about this.
Poor Tickleberry. Ye shall be missed.
