Apparently, supporters of apocalyptic nightmare scenario Presidential hopeful Rick Santorum are trying to fix his “Google problem“. I would very much like Mr. Santorum‘s problem not to be fixed, so I’m posting this as my admittedly small effort to help ensure the only way that hateful, anti-sex man gets in the White House is as an invited guest of the President.
Just for good measure, Santorum.
I am wired.
Can’t sleep. Vibrating with frustration. Earlier, I used the Pure to pummel my prostate senseless. Now, I’m tired. So tired. But humming. And clutching. At the steel and it’s living contents. Feeling the gland inside my body swollen and tender and the device heavy and so perfectly locked.
Belle sent me a text from New York. I didn’t see it until 24 mintes later. In my writhing and tossing and clutching, I missed the thrum of the phone.
Just in an elevator with Jay-Z
Once I saw it, I texted back, “Are you still awake?” I wanted to talk to her so bad. To admit my condition. To admit I abused myself without her permission. To ask – no, to beg that she let me get myself off. To put me out of my misery. I’ll accept any condition. Any punishment. I have a key, secured by a plastic tag. Say the word, Belle. Please. Let me out. Let me come. Fucking hell, I want to come.
But she didn’t answer.
I put the cruel little clamps on my nipples and pulled and twisted and felt the white hot pain and heard my little moans in the quiet dark bedroom and realized I could not hurt myself enough. The pain was not pain. No pain at all. It was all going right to the cock. As the clips chewed and bit the tube filled and was made tight by the meat. The needy meat. I pulled the clips harder. Harder. The nipples stretched and screamed and I twisted and pulled and pulled. Finally, even their mean little teeth couldn’t hold on and first the left, then the right slipped off with a pair of brassy, tight-springed snaps. Now the nipples sting. But I need more. I need so much more.
I need my Belle.
I work with a lot of women. It’s just how things ended up, but at my company, most of the people are of the fairer sex. So I’m sitting at a conference table with three of them yesterday and the topic of Anthony Weiner comes up (you must know who that is by now, right?).
Now, I’m a guy who knows a thing or two about putting pictures of my junk up in public. Yeah, I do it like all the time. I am obviously without issues in that regard. I get a little thrill from it. Why else do it, right? I can tell myself it’s educational or some shit like that (and a few of them are, to be sure), but at the end of the day, I get something from knowing that thousands of people saw my bits and pieces. That’s not exactly what Mr. Weiner did. He sent photos to individuals who presumably knew who he was while I broadcast mine to everyone under the guise of my secret identity (no, really, my name isn’t actually Thumper). What this means is, obviously, I will find a soft spot in my heart for penis picture perps.
Back to the women. They were unanimous in their condemnation. Not just that he was married (more on that in a bit), but that he did it at all. And how that made him some kind of freak. A pervert. Or whatever. And I defended him, to a point. They asked, “What kind of person does that?” and I replied, “Lots of people. Lots of otherwise normal looking people.” Because it’s true. Not just me, but obviously a metric shit ton of others (there’s even a fucking word for it). It can’t be that everyone who snaps a quick pic of their member and sends it out is a borderline sexual predator (of course, the context of the sending is important). I’m just saying, all things being equal, I see nothing wrong with this behavior.
Of course, not all things were equal. For one, he lied about it. Proves yet again that the lie is always worse than the act. If you’re a person who is in a public job with a recognizable name, it is only a matter of time before you’re…ahem…exposed. I get how the charge of doing it anonymously isn’t as high, but dude, have a back up plan. Get your story straight before you get caught so when (not if) it happens, you’ll just get up and keep going. But no, he lied. And then he tried not to lie within the lie (“can’t say with certitude”) and the whole world comes apart and he’s crying behind a podium and the law’s looking into it and fucking hell man, what were you thinking was going to happen!? It could be that the only way this worked for him as a sexual outlet was by purposefully willing himself into thinking he’d never be found out. That’s probably true. On one level, he had to know it would happen, but it worked better for him if he pretended otherwise.
There are parallels in this for me. I have lots of pictures of myself here. Lots of pictures that, if they were to “get out”, would clearly have some affect on my life. I actually expect that they will someday. Sooner or later, how I have no idea, someone I know IRL will stumble upon this site and see the cock, locked up and otherwise. They’ll read all about our sex life and how I like to be tied up and beaten and dominated and all the rest. My plan for when (not if) that day comes will be to admit it. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. Can’t help it. In a way, it will be a relief when it happens. I abhor secrets.
The big issue with Weiner, though, is his wife who presumably did not know about his photography hobby. Had he only been single, how much simpler this would be (assuming none of the girls were underage, consensually received the images, etc.). But no. For me, it begs the question; Is what he did “cheating”? As a guy who actually did cheat, I’d say no, dick pics are small potatoes (especially when wearing one’s boxer briefs). As far as we know right now, he never met with or fucked anyone he sent photos to. But I am apparently in a very small minority of people in my opinion. The aforementioned females all thought he was off-leash. I’m not sure if this is a gender thing, but all the people I know who have criticized him for the act of sexting have unanimously been women (keeping in mind I’m surrounded by them daily). I guess my biggest issue with him is that he probably lied to his wife about it when it all blew up. I don’t dig betrayal and dishonestly, though as I said, I probably don’t consider the pictures themselves as an act of full-fledged betrayal.
It also bothers me to be reminded once again that we are a sexually fucked-up people. I spend so much time reading the words of others who, perhaps aided by the anonymity of the web, are so much more connected with their sexuality and exploring it and reveling in it that I forget the nearly everyone else is all bunged up and freaked out by it. That’s too bad. It’s the one way I wish we were more like Europeans in this country (well, that and the socialized medicine).
This was all pretty random, as have been my thoughts on the subject. I’m perfectly prepared to be convinced I’m wrong on a few points. I’m also perfectly prepared to see us move on from these ridiculous titillating voyeuristic side-shows and start focusing our considerable talents on things that really matter.
Usually, when I’m quite here, then there’s something going on in my head. That hasn’t been the case recently, I just haven’t had anything to talk about. Part of it could also be that she let me come again last weekend. We had been up at the family vacation compound for the holiday and she unlocked me for no apparent reason. Then, on Monday night, she let me fuck her and come in one of those purely functional ways – she waiting patiently with her top still on, me fucking like a naked mad rabbit. It had only been, what? A week? So indulgent of her.
In any event, unlike last time when the two squirts took the wind out of my sails for almost a week, this time I felt the stirrings again after about 48-72 hours. I measure this mostly by my relationship with the device which, typically, was strained immediately after I came but was back to normal by Wednesday-ish. Now I’m in that period of enhanced hornitude that comes about a week after an event and lasts for about a week. Belle’s out of town again starting Monday night, so there may be some sleepless times ahead for me. If she allows me to abuse myself, who knows?
My enhanced state of being was put into sharp relief today as I took care of a few random chores for Belle Fille. I was driving around the city lakes near where we live and, this being the first really nice weekend of the year for us (winter having ended about two weeks ago and not scheduled to return for another six), there were many fine examples of the human form on display for me to ogle lecherously and cause me to squirm uncomfortably in my bucket seat. As a person who admires both genders equally, I had plenty of things to distract me as I drove languorously around the broad circumference of the lake. I am so. FUCKING. Horny.
Aaaand, that’s about it, really. I have little new to report. Just thought I’d drop by and let you know that nobody died or was otherwise preoccupied with excessive navel-gazing. Just us, living our lives like normal people.
No penises today…
The answer to the question, “Why hasn’t Thumper posted recently?” isn’t “Because he had an orgasm,” it’s “Because he had two orgasms.”
It all started about ten days ago. Belle told me she was going to let me out for the weekend and I’ve found that once the meat knows its freedom is set at a fixed point in the future, it starts to get irritable. On that Thursday, I was dealing with an odd pinch in the tube and no shifting or pulling would make it go away. Finally, I asked for Belle’s key so I could remove the internal pinchy bits but she decided to just let me out altogether a day earlier than scheduled. And, of course, upon inspection, I found nothing wrong with it. It was just bitching.
That Saturday morning, we had sex. I got her off using Pink, the hard cock being essentially ignored by her. Not a bad plan on her part because it had been two months since the last time it had been of any use and its effectiveness as a pleasure object would likely have been limited. After she came, she let me mount her. I tried my hardest to make the experience count since I was not sure she’d let me have more than one shot this time around. I was doing OK at keeping a good pace and varying the tempo so I could just feel her soft, hot wetness slide along the hungry shaft, but at a point much too soon for me, something snapped. I would describe it as a mutiny in the control room of my brain, but it wasn’t like that. More like a rerouting of control around my brain. The lizard brainstem and lower half of my body essentially told my brain to fuck off and that they were going to handle the action from that point forward. I literally could not stop. My only function and my only focus was being a meat piston. I fucked the shit out of her…for about 28 seconds.
Then I came in a way unlike the more recent events. No tingling, no feeling of being pulled inside out, just grunts and flexing and surging and the need to fill her up. Fill her with the cock and fill her with the seed and make damned sure nothing else happened until that was over. I cannot say it was the most fun orgasm I’ve had, but “fun” is a concept unknown to the lizard brain. It was function. It was like when two dogs start going at it and you have to turn a hose on them to make them stop. The basic need for all living things to pass on their code drove my hips into her and pinned her to the bed with the cock until the transfer was complete and, finally, felt its own sense of animal satisfaction at the effort.
Sunday night, she gave me a handjob. I thought she’d let me come, but all the way up until the final moment I half expected her to pull her hand away so there was a bit of a race going on internally between her stroking and my getting all the ejaculatory mechanisms lined up in time. I grasped the headboard, hands up over my head, as she pulled the orgasm from my body. It was actually quite wonderful and left me feeling dopey and fuzzy sleepy warm. But, she wanted me back in right then, so she rubbed the sticky goo on her hand all over my chest allowing its stench to fill my senses. Then, she handed me the key and sent me off to the harsh white light of the bathroom to reaffix the steel and clean the goobery mess from my chest hair. I did it, reluctantly. My fuzzy sleepy warmth was all washed away by the experience. I came, and I liked it, but I was not allowed to bask.
For the better part of the week after, it was this thing. This annoying, clinging, intrusive alien sitting in my pants. Almost immediately, the internal security bits were biting me again, so she let me take those out, but that didn’t make my mental opposition to being encased any less severe. Just the opposite. None of my usual routines work the same way when the PA fixing and ring aren’t in there. With them, enough space is held open to allow water to be easily flushed though, but without them the stupid meat is easily squished and squashed and blocks the free flow water in and urine out. The end result of all this wasn’t as bad as I probably felt it was, but for days it was like canned meat swinging between my legs. Nothing good about it.
Things started to shift by Thursday. I was to drive a few hours away that day and be apart from Belle for two nights. Suddenly, the idea that I had to have the fixing and ring in place was paramount. Their absence made me feel incomplete rather than inconvenienced. My device was not whole and neither was I. That morning, Belle left me with her key and I dutifully tended to the total securement of the cock with no ill feelings or surreptitious squeezes. She had given me an opportunity to make it right so the idea of taking advantage was furthest from my mind. I put in the ring, threaded the fixing though it and then slid the still-flaccid cock into the tube and felt along with it the sensation of warmth and comfort and security. It was like putting on my favorite sweatshirt, not an implement of bondage and sexual frustration. I was where I was supposed to be and it felt right.
I was back home by Saturday and she let me give her an orgasm. I had the palpable feeling of being a human sex toy as it was all about her and not at all about me. She didn’t care that I would be left horny and caged and unable to sleep. That was my place. I should get used to it. I was cleaving to her as the orgasm pulsed from between her legs and I grunted along with her moans. I was coming, too, but though her pleasure. As expected, I slept fitfully.
Now, a week in to a lock-up of undetermined length, the meat and its cage have settled back into their symbiotic relationship. It’s a part of me again. I look in the mirror and I see it and it looks like me. Its contents don’t. That thing looks like the other. The intruder. But it’s OK because the lock is on and it can’t get out.
Funny how that works.
Over on The Portfolio, an anonymous…what? Not reader. Not over there. Well, I guess they’re a reader. Whatever, here’s what they said:
Last year my Wife became very demanding about me wearing the CB all the time full time. Its getting close a year now and she has only become more demanding of me. This year she has 11 orgasms while I only have had 8 ejaculations.
She seems to think nothing of taking hers and denieing me mine and in fact has many times told me, “Males don’t need to ejaculate”.
I feel like if I told her, “I want to stop wearing the chastity device.” she would get really mad and not allow it.
I’ve grown into this place and she keeps me here.Do you feel like this sometimes?
I’m not sure how you feel. I read it one way, and it sounds like you’re not having a very good time. I read it another way, and it sounds like you’re getting off on it.
I supposed I’ve felt both ways. We all have rough spots, after all. It’s a hard thing to wear a device, but it’s also supposed to be enjoyable. If you’re not enjoying yourself, it doesn’t really matter if males need to ejaculate because males (as well as females) need to feel like they’re being cared for and loved by their partner. Again, if you’re not enjoying yourself, you need to speak to your wife immediately (and feel free to take the device off) to figure out what you’re not getting out of the dynamic.
If you are enjoying yourself, yeah, I’ve felt that way, too. That warm and fuzzy sensation of having no power and no control and living entirely at her whim. That’s fucking awesome. If you are enjoying it, I think you’re a lucky guy because your wife has clearly taken to her role.
Reader Larf666 said:
I’m wondering what your experience is whith the relation chastity and cognitive work. When I’m in a CB for longer then a week, I start to get very distracted, have I hard time concentrating for a long time in row, etc.. My mind keeps going to hot places and hence, I have a hard time getting my day job done… Do you have similar experiences? If so, how do you cope with it? Do you get use to it?
This is a huge problem for me, actually. I’m more than a little ADD to begin with and long-term denial ends up feeling like there’s a three-year-old following me around constantly asking questions. Can I have a sucker? When will we get there? I have to pee! Can I watch TV? I’m hungry! Can I have a pony? Tumblr makes that worse because I know there’s a veritable flood of arousing pictures just a click away.
The way I get around it is by having a job that requires a lot of interaction with other people. When I’m in a room with a whiteboard and a group of others, I may get momentarily distracted by the occasionally hot person or some otherwise inconsequential detail of their person, but it allows me to be distracted enough that I forget my other distraction.
Just on Friday, I was at an all-day offsite thing with a bunch of strangers. I found the content sufficiently interesting and the environment allowed me no screen privacy so the online distractions weren’t an issue, but all I could do was sit there and listen. Then, after lunch, a dude sat next to me who I was totally into. On the surface, this guy was not my type at all. Normally, I’d not give him a second glance. But in my enhanced state, I didn’t really give a shit about his face. He was taller than me by a few inches and showed a fairly well-developed body under his clothes. Not ripped, just really strong. Broad shoulders. Meaty thighs. Nice…sigh…just about everything. Normally, when I see a guy who gets me off, I fantasize about them fitting into me, but this guy was different. This guy I wanted to be manhandled by. I wanted him to be a disgusting pig of a man and totally use me, then throw me away like yesterday’s paper. It was palpable.
What was I saying? Oh, yeah, distractions. Totally been there. You don’t ever really get over it or used to it.
Kayle wrote:
Hey Thumper;
I found your blog last week, and I’m really, really impressed by it! It’s amazing how devoted you are to her, and every one of your blog entries seems so honest and easy-to-read.
The reason I’m writing is because I work for EdenFantasys as a member of the Blogger Relations Team. We’d LOVE to see you getting involved with us. One of the main ways that most bloggers like to start working with us to write a basic post in exchange for a product. I’ve noticed that you have mentioned pleasuring your partner multiple times, and I think we have items that might make things even more fun.
She went on a bit more, but you get the idea.
In short, I’ve agreed to post reviews in exchange for stuff. This isn’t the first time I’ve been contacted for this kind of thing, but it was the first time the person doing the contacting sounded like they actually read the blog and found the content engaging (as opposed to the “Dear [inster blogger name]” kind of stuff). Also, EF is my favorite adult toy site and the first place I look for new things. They have a terrific assortment toys, though not necessarily of fetish items (for the hard-core stuff, I like Stockroom — also because their models are hot), and the actual site is a joy to use. My favorite feature is the “view actual size” option they have on many items. You move a little slider until the on-screen image of a credit card or end of a $20 bill matches a real one to get a very accurate idea of whether or not the item you’re thinking about will really fit up your ass (or other orifice of your choice). I make websites for a living and am a harsh critic of lousy ones. EdenFantasys.com is awesome.
They also really seem to give a shit about the community they sell to. They have a ton of content on their site, from extensive video reviews to blogs to an actual magazine with real articles and everything. Yes, they’re obviously trying to make a buck off us, but they’re also really into what they do and it shows.
And that’s why I’m very excited to enter into a relationship with them. If all I was going to get was free dildos and stuff, I wouldn’t do it. As a blogger, all I really have is my reputation. The brands I choose to associate with will obviously affect that. I have no problem whatsoever associating with EdenFantasys.
And no, the preceding three paragraphs are not part of the deal. I wrote all that because I wanted to.
In the future, if I’m reviewing something I got for free, I will be crystal clear about it. I still have a few things I want to write about with regard to various toys and I’m sure there’ll be more like that in the future. In those cases, it will also be clear that I bought them just like anyone else. Also, if I don’t like something I get for free, I’ll be honest about it and won’t just say something good to keep the gravy train running. Promise.
With that, I’ll close this missive. There are more things for me to say (like, for example, the fact that Belle let me come last night), but the day’s a-wastin’.
Not much of a preface for this one except to say that, for whatever reason, the juxtaposition of denim, skin, and stainless steel is one I find remarkably sexy.
[I]t may be the case that the weight of the goal is somehow sitting on her shoulders in a way that ruins the game for her.
Belle read that like aloud last night as she closed her laptop.
“What?” I asked, “Did you read that for a reason or were you just admiring my prose?”
While she said my prose is right fine, she told me that sentence resonated with her. So, that’s that. End of the goal.
Me: “So you going to let me out now? Do I get to come?”
Her: “No.”
And yeah, I feel stupid for even bring the idea of the goal up. Especially when, as I predicted, some would argue that men in my position expressing any kind of opinion regarding how their relationship might play out are secretly seeking to control those to which they have supposedly ceded control. I reject that point of view. I have to. Otherwise, how would I ever be able to communicate my needs? If every idea or suggestion was a powerplay for the reins, it’d be impossible for anyone on the lower-case side of the slash to help the upper-case side know what’s working. I assume even those in a dominent role are concerned about the well-being of their subs.
But I digress. None of that bullshit has anything to do with Belle and I. There was an idea, it was tried, and we rejected it. I believe I presented it in a way that best respected our dynamic. My only hope is that she didn’t feel compelled to do it.
Whatever. It’s no biggie. We move on.
Just to recap, I was feeling a little down, Belle and I talked about it and I suggested maybe, if she wasn’t feeling like playing the game right at the moment, that we could take a break. Then everyone was like, you know what you should do is take a break, and I’m like, well, it’s not up to me (and yeah, I know that deep down inside it is up to me as much as it’s up to her, but I’m not going there).
Then this weekend rolled around and on Friday she told me, again, that, all things being equal, she’d much rather have me locked up than not. She actually prefers the cock to be locked in a steel tube over it’s natural state. And I have to tell you…woof. That’s like pouring gasoline on a fire for me. It’s exactly what I need to hear, even though she’s already told me this before. Her reason remains the same — control. She likes knowing exactly where it is and what it’s doing (nothing) to the alternative of me being able to have my way with it whenever I like. But I crave the reinforcement of hearing that’s what she wants. I know that makes me sound pathetically needy, but there you have it.
It also helped that she then proceeded to alternately caress my balls and smack the hell of out them. I fell asleep curled into her, tube painfully tight and balls aching warmly.
Last night, she read Friday’s post and the comments. While she rejected the idea of taking a break when I brought it up, she said, based on the comments, that she’s now considering it. The past 72 hours have been very healing for me. She paid some attention to me, let me stick my fingers in her wet pussy and feel her come, and told me I was exactly as she wanted me to be. I feel like I’m gaining altitude again. That’s not to say she’s still not really feeling like dealing with the whole chastity thing, so if she wants to take a break, I’m fine, but I want her to know that right now what I want is what she wants. I sense a hesitancy on her part. The last thing I want is for her is to be doing this solely out of some sense of obligation, so if she’d rather not, I’d rather not. If there’s something missing that she needs — something I can give her or make happen — I hope she’ll tell me what that is.
The thing that keeps coming up, both in our conversation and in some of the comments, is the six month goal. In my opinion, that’s got nothing to do with what’s happening between us and in my head. I’m “only” six weeks in, anyway. If it’d had been four months since the last time I came, then maybe, but it hasn’t. I’d done six weeks before. I’ve done twice that. It’s not the duration, it’s what happens or does not during the period. I can imagine a situation where I was only two seeks denied and still be feeling the way I was a week ago. Now, it may be the case that the weight of the goal is somehow sitting on her shoulders in a way that ruins the game for her. If so, she should end it. I would have no problem with that. I’d prefer it over her struggling. Yes, it was my idea, but I honestly believe and respect the fact that she controls what happens. She can modify it in any way and I will comply. She could say I’ll come when I come, I’ll come right now, or I’ll come on the next February 29th. Whatever. It was just an idea I had, that’s all. She makes the law, not me.
So, to recap the recap, she’s considering a break. Ironically, I’m in a way better place today than I was this time on Friday, but she may not be. In which case, a break might be a good idea. But whatever, I do what she says. The cock belongs to her. I just want us both to be happy.
