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About that key

Kiki, from the fantastically named blog The adventure of a dick in a box, commented on my last post…

Glad to hear the key turned up!

Yes. About that. In actual fact, we never found it. We ended up using my emergency key. When the time comes for her to lock the cock back up (tomorrow night, I’m told), she’ll use the back-up lock and keys we bought last time one of the primary keys went missing. Such are the things you need to be prepared for if you end up in a device with a custom lock.

I meant to mention all this in my previous post, but forgot.

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Hers

Earlier in the week, Belle let me out for a fuck. Not just that, but she let me come, too. It was one of those maintenance fucks in that she didn’t want anything out of it except to let me pop one inside her. Apparently, she felt I needed it. I didn’t even get to play with her tits. I tried to stretch it out and enjoy the sensation, but it’s impossible for me now. I used to pride myself for being able to hold off until after she came, but I’m lucky to fuck for more than a minute or two now before losing it.

The next day, she asked me how I was doing in a way that we both know means how is Thumper doing. As in, how is her submissive, orgasm controlled husband? In the past, I would have had either mixed emotions or been downright upset from having an orgasm, so she’s careful to check in with me to see how I’m doing. I appreciate that, but I feel I’ve moved past those fits of pique. I was thrilled to come, more than thrilled to be allowed to fuck her. Somewhat disappointed that she didn’t want to come because I so much enjoy making her do it, but I leapt at the chance to get the dick wet.

Just one orgasm is never enough to blow all the steam off after a month or so of denial, so I was still very interested in action, even more so since the cock was free and flopping around. She hasn’t let me come again, but for several nights, she would grasp and stroke the cock, putting me in quite the state, before she closed her eyes to sleep, hand still wrapped around her hard, quivering cock. It’d slowly, slowly deflate as she drifted off. I was wide awake, of course, and once picked up my phone to look at porn. Its flaccid state was replaced with rock hardness again, still in her hand, though she was asleep. I’m allowed to look at porn, but felt nervous still since its effect on me was very evident. Had she woke up just a little, she’d have know what I was doing. The thought of her “catching” me hard and horny left me feeling embarrassed, though I can’t say why.

Before I left home for one night (another reason she let me out since I was flying), she let me get naked and I came on to her as forcefully as I could. She ignored the cock totally as my hands and mouth moved all over her. It ached it was so hard. I wanted inside her again. I wanted to come again. She wanted to come, too, and she let me give her an orgasm, but with my hands. Then she rolled over and slept, never having even acknowledged the hard cock and my obvious desire to use it.

My trip was overnight and in a hotel, but I shared the room, so there was no monkey business. Now I’m back and still horny and I can’t wait to see her. I can’t wait to get back in bed with her, to feel her body next to mine, to press the cock – hard as it will be – into her drowsy form, even if she basically ignores it again. As I said above and have said before, I am totally comfortable with her controlling the cock and my orgasm and she is doing it perfectly right now. She can lock it up, stroke it, let it come, leave it alone, smack it around, slather it with Icy Hot, or let me fuck her with it. It is hers. What it does and feels is hers. What I do with it is up to her. Everything is hers.

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Keyless

Belle’s lost my key.

I just like saying it. Belle, my keyholder, has lost the key to the inescapable steel trap she locked onto my body. Yes, that key.

No biggie.

If you remember, she locked me up before she went away last week (wisely not trusting me to be alone with the cock). I gave her the key back when I was done. The next time I saw it was a couple of days later when my son (of all people) showed it to me and asked me what it was for.

“Uh,” I said, “Where’d you find that?”

His friend had found it on the floor of my son’s room. Very weird. So I took it back and, redirecting him from his original question like Obi Wan Kenobi, told him I’d give it to his mom. I placed it in my pants pocket. Which pair? No idea. No neither of us know where it is now. Maybe it’ll show up in the laundry.

Not that it’s at all necessary. She appears to be wanting to keep me locked up until at least Valentine’s Day. She hasn’t come out and said that explicitly, but I know how she works. She likes holidays. So that’s still a few weeks away. If not Valentine’s Day, then maybe St. Patrick’s Day. It’ll turn up. I’m not worried. Much.

And if not, there’s always the emergency key.

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The year of the rabbit

Yesterday was the first day of the Chinese new year. The Year of the Rabbit. Oh, the irony.

I talked to Belle last night and she’s supportive of whatever I do (then we had sex and she told me I still had to be locked up no matter how bad a day I had and that, in the end, she likes to see me squirm and suffer – sounds cruel, but context is everything). She doesn’t think I should stop writing this blog, but would understand if I did. Well, I’m not going to. Not yet. I’ve decided that writing here might be too important to me to allow it to stop on anyone’s terms except mine.

I want to make something very clear. Yesterday’s post was not in direct response to anything Maymay said. Sure, he was a catalyst because his were the first and most rude of all the comments I received, but I did not have him in mind when I wrote it (regardless of what he might think). But, as long as we’re on the subject, I have decided that I don’t need him or his drama. Thanks to modern technology, it’s fairly simple to amputate him from my life. I won’t remove any existing links from here to anything he’s produced in the past, but I will not be engaging him here or anywhere from this moment forward (this was my final shot, sent in anger, which I now regret, but it is the last). I’m sure May’s a very sincere person and fine fellow to share a drink with, but his view of the world and mine are clearly very different and I simply don’t have the energy or interest to try to reconcile.

With regard to the main point most people are taking issue with – that I am trying to tell everyone from all walks of life how they’re supposed to live their lives – I’m sorry if that’s the impression you have. It’s not my intent. I feel I attempted at various points to say I was talking to people like me in situations like mine, but I’m willing to also concede that I could have done it differently or better. I’m very happy to engage with those who are interested in having civil and measured debate, but I totally reject the notion that the number of visitors my blog receives every day should have any bearing whatsoever on how I express myself. This is still a personal blog about my personal life. It is not a platform for any kind of activism. This is the story of one aspect of my life. Period.

So anyway, back when I said “everyone” should live like I do, I honestly meant it in the same way one might say “everyone” should try that new steak place out on the highway. Yes, the world is full of vegetarians who never eat the dead flesh of other animals, and by saying “everyone” should eat at the new steakhouse one would, of course, not be challenging anyone’s choice to be vegan. That’s ridiculous. At least, I think so. If you are not the kind of person for whom my advice from the other day applies, then ignore it. Don’t tell me how it can’t possible apply to you and by suggesting it should I’m being sexist or genderist or whatever the fuck. If everything I say here has to be scrubbed against the multiverse of human sexuality before it sees the light of day, what will be left? I’m not trying to be insensitive. I’m not trying to exclude. But, as I think I’ve said now about a hundred times, this blog is about me, my sex life, and my love live. If you’re experience is outside mine, then chances are I’ll never be able to speak to it adequately. You might even be occasionally offended. It won’t be intentional.

Now let’s rewind and say Maymay had taken a slightly different tack the other day. Something that started, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but have you any idea how much that bothered me?” Would I be writing these words today? Probably not. But that’s not how we started and that’s not how things progressed, so here we are. Maybe half of you will stop reading me now. So be it. I have to be what I am and I have to think what I think and I can’t possibly write anything different.

Lastly, I’ve debated leaving comments off. The feedback page is still working and several of you availed yourselves of it yesterday. I’ve decided to turn comments back on not because I’m dying to be validated but because I’d like to get this “police state” bullshit behind me as quickly as possible. If I need to, I’ll turn them off again and depend on the feedback form from now on. We’ll see.

I now return you to the Year of the Rabbit, already in progress.

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Crossroads

Belle and I started a journey two+ years ago that has led to much discovery, evolution, insight, and – more important than anything else – contentment and intimacy. Now, just when I feel I’ve really started to understand how things can work between us, at the very moment when I feel actual revelation has occurred in our relationship, I find what I write has attracted vociferous criticism. This is because…why?

Is it because I’m exploring concepts and ideas that don’t apply to every sexual being on the planet? Because the anarchic bisexual polygamists are being denied a voice in my extraordinarily personal life? Are you feeling slighted because I, in my selfish exploration of my own sexuality, have forgotten that not all of you are like me?

It doesn’t really matter. This is very personal for me. This is my fucking life. When I am attacked for feeling the way I do, it is an attack on me. Call it criticism, but it doesn’t feel that way. Frankly, my skin’s not thick enough. It is a confrontation I did not seek and do not want. It tears at me and gnaws at the back of my mind. I feel like I’m accused of being a person I’m not and that I think things I do not.

I said in my second post…

The reason I started this blog, though, was not to categorize, compare, and contrast all the various practices (though that might happen along the way). None of the sites I’ve found seem to be written for me or my partner. There are elements of nearly all of them that appeal to me (and my kinky side), but when I think of how I want orgasm denial (OD) to work in our relationship, I can’t find an analogue. So, since we’re at the very beginning of our exploration and I don’t have anyone other than my partner with which I can discuss it, here I go. Maybe this will prove helpful for someone else.

I don’t pretend that Belle and I achieved perfection or that how we relate to one another will stop evolving, but we are far enough along that I really don’t need to blog about it anymore. I feel as though, now that I’m a “pre-eminent blogger about male orgasm control”, that what was mine has been taken from me. That I’m no longer allowed to think and feel the way I do because, you know, they’re not really my thoughts anymore. They belong to all of you. Because there are so many of you now, I can’t explore and describe what happens in my head and my pants.

So it becomes a matter of simple math. Does my blogging give me more than it takes? For the past few days, it’s taken far more than I get. And I’m not willing to let it. Don’t forget, I don’t do this for you. It’s for me first, Belle second, and the rest of you are a very distant third.

I haven’t spoken to Belle about this yet and that gives me pause in pulling the plug. It’s entirely possible that we’ll decide I should continue, in which case, I will. It’s entirely possible that after a certain period of time I’ll want to come back here and continue the story. But right now, today, I don’t want to. And that really bothers me. If we decide to stop, I will mourn. Denying Thumper has been such an important part of my life. It’s hard to imagine not having this thing I do or think about every day.

In order to assure those of you who might look upon this action as some kind of ego-stroking maneuver, I’ve disabled comments on this and all other posts. I’m not looking for praise or encouragement or anything else. I’m not seeking attention. I’m simply trying to decide if this is worth it anymore.

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Further heretical musings

Belle’s back, so all’s right in the world and order has been restored. We had a lovely time last night talking, not about anything specific, just stuff. My libido is in neutral since she’s got her period and isn’t much interested in anything, though I can feel it rumble a little way down deep when I kiss her soft, full lips.

I’ve been thinking more about this idea of “giving” one’s right to orgasm to one’s partner. On the surface, this seems like such a strange and radical idea, but how different is it from committing to life-long monogamy? On the face of it, that’s just as strange a notion, especially given how we as a species have evolved. Also, it seems from my narrow and jaundiced perspective that our culture seems to expect women to essentially promise their orgasms to their mates. Male masturbatory excess is practically venerated while the idea that a woman might touch herself for pleasure still seems to be an issue for many (including women).

Of course, in light of recent events here, I’ll intercede at this time and say what I am talking about applies specifically to monogamous relationships between one man and one woman. I cannot and will not attempt to suggest that this applies to the gay, transgendered, polygamous, left-handed, Martians, or Green Party members. Edited to add, “…and anyone else who thinks I’m full of shit. Feel free to consider my ideas worth what they cost you to read them.”

So anyway, this “gift of orgasm” thing. I do not believe, in any way, this should be construed as kinky. Why? It’s a simple extension of monogamy. In practice, I’ve found that tying all my sexual release to my partner has drawn me closer to her than at almost any point in our marriage. So why isn’t this implicitly or explicitly part of the marriage vows? Why should the idea be considered so strange if the benefit (as least as has been demonstrated in my relationship) is so great? We exchange rings, why not our right to independent orgasm as well?

Of course, for me, layering on the control, power exchange, and bondage aspects of enforced male chastity make the whole thing hotter and  more fun. But all that’s just frosting.

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Your rights

I woke up this morning to find my previous entry described as “disgusting”, “ridiculous”, “callous”, “contemptible”, and even icky by someone who I’ve previously had a pretty good relationship with. Maymay then went on to say:

You are the pre-eminent blogger about male orgasm control on the entire Internet, on par with Tom Allen. You are political whether you like it or not.

If you want to treat your sex life as wholly personal and not the least bit political, then you can not blog publicly. Otherwise, and I’m not sorry about this, you can’t have it both ways.

First of all, I have no idea if I’m pre-eminent. I doubt it, though I really have no idea. I suppose it’s a compliment, so I’ll take it as such. The idea that I cannot blog about my sex life if I refuse to politicize it, though, I have to totally reject. It is my sex life. Mine and Belle’s. Period.

I thought I’d take a moment to clarify your rights as a reader of my blog. You can ignore me, think I’m an idiot, agree with me, live your life according to my direction, find me entertaining or abominable, tell your friends about me or hide me in a box under your bed. You are free to feel anything you like about me. I have no product to sell so you don’t need to buy it.

HOWEVER, I am also free to feel whatever I want to feel. I am free to express myself in any way I like. I am free to contradict myself, be an ass, a saint, or a buffoon. That’s how blogging works. If by doing so I abdicate my position in the blogosphere, so be it. I cannot spend too much time thinking about how my words will be interpreted or if what I’m thinking or feeling or experiencing aligns with someone else’s conception of what’s Right or Proper. I have tried desperately to ensure that everything I talk about here is authentic and mine. I have achieved this with varying degrees of success, but will fail utterly if I start to color my words based on my “position”.

What I right yesterday? I don’t know. Will I feel that way next week? No idea. But it describes what I feel now, and really, that’s all this blog was ever meant to be. I am inclined to express the professional athlete’s absolution, “I am not a roll model”, but I don’t know. Maybe I am. In any case, I’m not perfect. I will never be beautified by anyone nor should I be.

You have the right to not read me. I have the right to say whatever I want. It’s as simple as that.

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Denial is a river in Egypt

The other day I mused on the subject of orgasm control vs. orgasm denial. I don’t know if I actually came out and said it that clearly, but that was the point of the post. Right now, Belle denies me orgasm (rather severely). Denial of orgasm is a form of orgasm control, of course, but it’s not at all the same thing. Orgasm control does not imply denial, though it’s a direction it could take.

ANYWAY, point being (and the point I made in my previous post) is that I firmly believe orgasm control is Right and Natural. There’s nothing kinky about it. It’s totally clear to me now that literally every man in a relationship should have his orgasm controlled by his partner (no, I’m not ignoring you gay guys, but I need to leave you out of this for clarity’s sake). I know that sounds very out there and draconian and like I know what’s best for the entire world. Can’t help it. You can disagree with me if you want, but it seems that, for a man, the act of committing himself to a woman would take on so much more significance if he was also committing one of the critical things that defined him as a man: his orgasm. Not only that, it would make it much more difficult for his partner to drift away. If he really meant it and lived up to his word, the two would be forever locked in a symbiotic feedback loop.

Yeah, like I said, out there.

Of course, there are probably a bunch of men who don’t want their orgasm controlled by anyone. That’s fine. It’s a free country. I think they’re wrong, but that’s my right, too. Everybody should be doing it this way.

I only bring it up again because it seems to have developed into a little meme. Sarah Jameson sent one of her email updates the other day on this very subject. She starts out…

Hi Thumper,

Gee, it’s like she wrote it just for me!

She continues…

I had an interesting conversation with John last night about the difference between orgasm control and orgasm denial.

Because they’re not the same thing, even though we tend to see them and talk about them as if they were.

Our conversation was prompted by a couple of emailed questions from a lady who wanted to know, in effect, what I and other women get from subjecting (or treating, depending on your perspective) our men to orgasm denial.

I honestly tried to figure out which bits I should quote with the idea that maybe she wouldn’t want me spilling the entire thing here in a public forum, but I found at the end, “Share this email with a friend or lover. Thanks.” While we’re obviously not lovers, I shall, for legal purposes, consider you all friends. For the time being, anyway. If you like what see, go to her site and sign up.

For many men… male chastity isn’t about orgasm denial… it’s about…

Orgasm Control

Of course, orgasm control then gives rise to the likelihood of orgasm denial, but it’s not always a given. I know from my inbox, many women don’t practice orgasm denial in the sense they always allow their man to come whenever they make love, but they don’t allow it at other times.

Is this orgasm denial? I wouldn’t call it that, but then I’m not the final arbiter of these things, and neither is anyone else.

To my own way of thinking orgasm denial is both more long term and more explicit, meaning we engage in lovemaking and John doesn’t get to come. To me, allowing him to come every time we made love, even if it was only when we made love, well that would be more just orgasm control.

Now many will argue these arguments and discussions are irrelevant and unimportant (and if that’s the case for you, then for you they are).

But I, think they are important, and I know many agree with me.

Why do I think they’re important?

Because to John and to other men, the distinction is very clear.

To John…

Orgasm Control is the Key

Meaning, while he loves orgasm denial for the feelings it gives him, both physical and emotional, and while his full year of orgasm denial is going to drive him up the wall with pleasure and frustration, the real deep satisfaction comes from my orgasm control.

In other words, his greater pleasure, long term, comes from knowing I am the one who gets to choose when he comes. And while if I chose to let him come every single time we played around it would probably take something away from the game, it’s also true that allowing him to come once a week, once a month, or even at random times would be just as pleasurable for him as the full year is proving to be (even though he’s not even a full month in yet).

Just food for thought, I suppose.

Fact is, for most men, at least in my experience, it’s the orgasm control not the orgasm denial that’s important, and as a woman I admit I find the former much easier to understand than the latter.

I have no idea what drives the need for orgasm denial. I think that the desire to be locked up, at least for me, eventually grows out of being denied in that it’s just easier to live when the cock has been removed from the table if I’m not going to be allowed to come anyway.

Case in point. Last night, Belle was out of town and I was feeling a little horny. Even thought it’s been almost a month since the last orgasm, yes, it was just a little. But I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t look at porn, I didn’t try to self-abuse. I didn’t do anything. Because the cock was off the table. There was no point. In the past, that would have saddened me (and it may again at some point), but for the time being, it just made everything easier. I know that, had she been gone and the cock hadn’t been locked up, I would have spent a great deal of time playing with it. Not being able to was a great relief. It’s taken me more than two years to think that way and it’s required a total commitment on my part to Belle’s control (and denial) of my orgasm.

The second part of my mini-meme theme is from a new blog, Delving into Deviance. It’s written from a dominant woman’s POV and includes a post called “Orgasm Control”.

Fuck toy and I enjoy control, but I don’t like putting him in chastity for too long because I enjoy his orgasms and I enjoy riding him for ages and then coming together. In fact, for his impending birthday I’m going to make him come till it hurts, and that’s a very exciting idea.

That’s the flip-side of orgasm control, obviously. Over orgasming. That sounds fun, too.

However, all of these are things that he can do with me. He’s not going to be allowed to come on his own anymore. That isn’t to say that he’ll come any less often or that he won’t be allowed to watch porn. Just that his orgasms always have to happen with me. Being so intimately tied in with his sexual pleasure will be fun. Just as Thumper’s said, I have no problem with men’s masturbatory habits generally. Masturbation isn’t a problem or anything. And sometimes, if I’m sleepy, I may allow him to simply masturbate beside me as I snuggle up to him. But always sharing that moment will, I think, be rather magical and deepen his submission.

Sometimes he won’t be allowed to come, and there will certainly be plenty of times that he doesn’t get to come as soon as he’d like too (I love edging). However, realistically, most days he will have an orgasm because I enjoy watching him in that moment. I love his face, his noises, his surrender. It’s beautiful.

In the beginning, when for me this game was all about denial, a dynamic like this would have been very unsatisfying. Now, though, I think I could live indefinitely as described above. I’m not asking or suggesting Belle change anything, but like I said, I am now totally and completely committed to Belle owning my orgasm. I will come whenever and however she lets me and I’ll be thankful for it. I won’t push for any specific duration and I won’t be disappointed, regardless.

I want to be tortured, and I want to be made to squirm, and I want to be pushed, but more than any of that, I want Belle to always control my orgasm. Always. Because that’s how it should be.