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The christening of Mr. Darcy

Belle Fille likes penetration. Yes, she also likes my tongue and my fingers and her vibe, but she really likes fucking her cock. Which, of course, presents a problem. The first and most obvious is that she also likes to keep her cock locked in a steel chastity device. That makes fucking it rather inconvenient. The second problem is, when she lets the cock out, it’s usually been a while since it’s come and my stamina is for shit. If I don’t maintain total concentration, I’ll squirt. Easily 3 out of 4 times, I’ll come before she does, nearly always without permission.

Which is what led me, several months ago, to buying a strap-on cock. Belle’s very particular about what’s put inside her and claims the cock on me is the perfect size. As has already been established, I am five and five eighths inches long when erect and about one and a half inches in diameter. Not huge, but nothing to be ashamed of either as it places me at the very top of the penis length bell curve. As luck would have it, Vixen Creations offers a little bit of heaven that measures almost exactly the same size as me. They call him Tex. So I bought him and a vegan harness with straps that go around both my legs so as to leave room for my steel tube in between.

And then it sat. For months. Belle knew I was going to get it, but she wasn’t eager to try it out. I’d bring it up occasionally, but when the opportunities presented themselves, she’d demure and have me do something else. I remained (mostly) patient.

In an attempt to entice her to give it a shot, I gave Tex a new name. Belle’s favorite author is Jane Austen and her favorite book is Pride and Prejudice. In that book, there’s a character named Mr. Darcy who, in the BBC television adaptation, was played by Colin Firth. Colin Firth is, according to my Belle, a fine looking man and is on the list of the three men she’d be willing to have sex with other than me (the other two are Pierce Brosnan and George Clooney, so the chances are pretty slim). So anyway, I naturally named the dildo Mr. Darcy.

Then, after months of gentle prodding and subtle cajoling, last night was to be the night. Belle Fille would finally allow me to pleasure her with Mr. Darcy.

We started out very slowly. I had already lit all the candles to help set the scene and she had already had me remove my clothes. We laid in bed and talked for quite a while. So long, that I was sure she was getting cold feet again. I prepared myself for this so I wouldn’t appear disappointed. It is, after all, entirely her decision if, when, and how she’ll come.

After a bit, she asked, “So, is it best for you to have it on during the whole event or should you make me wait in the middle. I don’t like waiting.”

“Then I’ll have it on the entire time.” I inserted Mr. Darcy through the rubber O-ring and made sure the curve of his erection was centered just like the real thing. Then, I put my feet through the harness and pulled it up over my hips. I had already adjusted it to be snug, but not too tight. The two leg straps nestled in between both sides of my nutsack and my legs, then met up along my ass crack. The base of the dildo sat on my pubic bone and pushed the biocock down and out of the way so that it was very close to a natural positon.

Not wanting to move too quickly, I laid on my back next to her and let everything soak in. It all looked so real. I saw my legs bent at the knees in the background and my hair-covered chest in the foreground and in between was sticking up a very familiar-looking cock. Its color was lighter than my skin, but its shape and proportions were perfect. We both sort of marveled at the sight.

As we laid there, continuing our little chat, I found myseld holding it and squeezing it just as I would Belle’s cock.

“You’re such a guy,” she said.

As we started to kiss, I had to will my hands off the thing. I wanted to keep stroking it even though it wasn’t about to go soft and I couldn’t feel anything anyway. It just felt nice having that familiar shape in my hand.

I started in with the typical pre-game activities and soon found my fingers flitting over her clit and probing her pussy. The natural fluids were doing their thing, but I was worried about there not being enough lube. As I moved up over her body, I put saliva into my hand and rubbed it up and down Mr. Darcy’s shaft. The material from which it’s made feels remarkably lifelike when wet. It’s soft and spongy on the surface and more firm in the middle. Not unlike an actual cock.

I lined Mr. Darcy up with Belle’s waiting pussy the best I could. For not the last time, I realized how much of the feedback from the biocock I rely upon when fucking. Of course, with a real cock, you always know if you’re lined up and she’s hot and wet. With Mr. Darcy, I had to use my fingers to make sure everything was in place. I ran Mr. Darcy’s head up and down the soft, wet lips of her pussy and she moaned just a little. Then I slid it into her.

I’ve thought about this moment a lot over the past few years and I always knew, logically, that I wouldn’t feel anything. But still, it was very strange being in this familiar position, making these familiar motions, and feeling absolutely nothing. I could feel her body moving receptively beneath me just like when it was me inside her, but that’s where it ened. It took a few seconds to make sure he was lined up inside her properly and his angle of insertion was correct. It was close to being in the right spot on me, but was off just enough that I had to shift my normal positon slightly. This allowed me to suck on her nipples more easily, though.

As I was fucking her, I had to reach down occasionally to make sure I didn’t pull all the way out. Again, with no sensory feedback, I was sorta flying blindly. Her reactions were good, but after a few minutes she asked, “What if I want to fuck you?”

Which I took to mean me. As in, the cock on me. “You’d have to unlock me,” I replied.

“No, what if I want to fuck you? As in, on top.”

“Oh! Well, tell me to roll over.”

“OK, roll over.”

So I rolled over and made sure Mr. Darcy was lined up as she slid down his already slick shaft. I started to buck my hips in a reciprocal fashion, much more so than I dare to when she’s actually fucking me. I found it difficult to keep up the right rhythm since – again – I couldn’t feel Belle move over the cock she was fucking. I eventually figured out that if I placed my hand on the small of her back, I could maintain the correct pace.

The next way I realized strap on fucking was different than the other kind was that I was getting tired. The actual work that fucking entails seems to be masked by the sensation of doing the fucking. Absent that, it’s all just a lot of moving around and I felt myself starting to tire, though not enough to stop. I just think it’s funny how much work fucking your wife turns into when it’s not actually you getting up inside her.

I sucked and licked her tits as she rode Mr. Darcy freely. Looking up at her, I saw her face contorted in pleasure, her eyes mostly closed and her mouth in a permanent O shape. She was obviously enjoying herself, but not in the way she does when fucking me. I could tell it felt different to her. I could tell she was fucking a different cock.

After a bit, it started to become apparent that something was not quite right, though. She had been going too long. Eventually, she called it and rolled to my side. To finish her off, I brought out Pink. She came so hard that she dug her nails into the side of my throat, clutching my carotid artery. I took it as long as I could before crying out in pain.

As I took the harness off and pulled the wet Mr. Darcy through the O-ring, I couldn’t help myself but suck his length into my mouth. I cleaned Belle’s juices with my tongue before placing him back in the nightstand. Can’t do that with a real cock.

The postgame report is good. While he didn’t make her come, Belle enjoyed Mr. Darcy and says we’ll get to use him again. Next time, she’ll let me stay on top longer to see it that helps her get off. Also, if I find myself beneath her, I’ll probably not fuck back with such vigor. In any event, I hope that with practice Mr. Darcy will be able to give her the kind of pleasure I can’t when I’m locked up and not allowed to come.

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Soapy

In a comment to my previous post where I discussed the possibility that Belle would require me to stay locked in the device while I drove across country in a 10-day camping and hiking trip, reader Chasten_slave said:

I have gone canoeing and hiking in my device before without any issues. I have done yard work and even moved to another state while locked in. So the only thing stopping you is you.

Actually, the only thing stopping me is Belle Fille, in theory. It’s her decision. In fact, she’s already decided that that’s what’s going to happen (a decision made easier, in no small part, by another reader called Chaste’s claim that’s he’s fought fires while packing). As I laid next to her in bed this morning, full tube and biting ring both fully engaged, I thought how lovely it would have been to be able to jack off for a week and a half had she decided the other way. But, somehow, also knowing that I wasn’t going to – that she wasn’t going to allow me to – was differently, yet still just as powerfully, exciting to me.

I preparation, I’ve filled three 32 oz. Nalgene bottles with water and blue antibacterial shower gel. I can measure six fillings of my hygiene bottle from each allowing 18 cleanings – not quite two per day. I’ll also take a fourth empty bottle to accept the used liquid (to be emptied at strategic opportunities). In addition to all that, I’ll have a plastic tray, about 8 by 14 inches in size and 2 inches deep that will catch both the soapy water and clear rinse. I’m counting on the tinted windows of my truck’s shell and some strategic out-of-the-way parking to make sure my daily ablution can be performed discretely.

Seems like a lot, but my experience with the Steelheart is that it tends not to drain well and gets dirty easily. That accumulated cruft can actually irritate its contents and drive me to remove it. Now that Belle’s put the expectation on me that I’ll come home as I left, I want to make sure to remove any excuses – valid or otherwise – to make sure I don’t fail.

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It lives!

Male Chastity Forum is back!

Kinda. The site was apparently hacked and has been resurrected, but without all the old accounts and posts, alas. For those who knew it in its previous life, you’ll remember it was a fairly sensible collection of people discussing the topic with a minimum of stupid pronoun capitalisation crap and hot pink CB-3000/French maid combos.

Not, of course, that there’s anything wrong with fucking with pronouns and wearing lacy stockings and pink plastic if that’s what you’re into. It’s just that I’m not and the other big forum site I’m aware of is massively overrun by people we are. So it’s hard for me to fit in there. It was so bad that I toyed with the idea of starting a forum myself specifically not for the excessively feminized (not, of course, that there’s anything wrong with them). I’ve got lots of experience managing a large forum, so I could have done it. But then again, I have lots of experience managing a large forum, so I also know it’s a thankless timesuck, so I decided to wait for MCF to come back.

One of the things I especially liked about MCF back in the day (before it was hacked or whatever) was the seemingly large number of gay device wearers who were there. Maybe that’s what kept the French maids out. Anyway, it was a great place and, hopefully, it will be one again. I encourage you to go check it out and, if you’re so inclined, create an account and add your two bits. Unless you’re wearing a device and a dress right now. In which case, there’s already a large and vibrant community out there for you (and you know where it is).

Not, of course, that there’s anything wrong with that…

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Push me, please

The other day Belle said she wasn’t sure what I meant when I said I wanted to be pushed. As in:

First and more importantly, I want to be pushed. Pushed in every regard. I want her to hurt me a little more than I can stand. I want to be denied past the point at which I beg for release. I want her to set high expectations with regard to my service. If there is a knob somewhere that turns to ten, she should set it to eleven. I want to do all these things because that’s what this particular submissive wants more than anything: To show his dominant partner that he can go farther than he thinks he can for her. And then, once I achieve that goal, I want to be pushed past it again. In everything. Always. Make me prove how badly I want this. Because while I may not enjoy the moment of any particular act, it will, in retrospect, fill me with warmth and happiness.

I tried to explain that there’s a desire within me to go far beyond my comfort zone if for no other reason than she’s asked me to do so. I pointed her to Maymay’s post related to this (is there anything he’s not written about?) and also sent her a couple of Sarah Jameson’s emails that, I think, touch indirectly on it.

Sarah Jameson, for those who don’t know, writes the Male Chastity Blog. She’s a “normal” woman, not unlike Belle, with a husband who likes abnormal things, not unlike me. She writes with confidence and, while I don’t always agree with her, find that she’s right far more often that not (at least IMO). Besides the blog, she also sends out a multi-part email newsletter on the subject of…wait for it…male chastity. Why an email, I can’t tell. If it were me I’d put it all on my blog and not make people wait for it all, but whatever. I recommend it, especially for those just starting out.

So anyway, in part 11 of her series, she asks, “Just how long can a man wait?” Her initial response sends an electric shiver down my spine:

Well, the truth is… your man doesn’t have to orgasm ever. As in NEVER.

But then she give what I think is the best advice I’ve read on the subject:

Over time I’ve come round to the way of thinking that you should keep your man in orgasm denial for at least 50% longer than he asks for and thinks he can stand.

Why?

Because in the early days, while you’re still working out the ground rules, he’ll be basing his own estimation on insufficient knowledge. To HIM, fresh into male chastity, even a week seems like an eternity.

So if he thinks a month, make it six weeks; if he thinks six months, make it nine months; and if he thinks a year… woe betide him.

This is nothing to do with domination – this is to do with playing the game he’s asked to play and keeping HIM within the rules.

I don’t agree, however, that is doesn’t have anything to do with domination. I think it does, at least for me, because it certainly has something to do with submission. My submission has no value if it entails only that which I am willing to do on my own. It only gains value, to me, when it crosses out of my fantasy bubble and starts to make me squirm. It would become zen-like to be taken far out of my zone – to be made to truly suffer – for the benefit of my top. Often, I feel as though Belle humors me and, as soon as I seem to become uncomfortable or inconvenienced or whatever, she’ll pull back. But that’s just when it’s getting good!

Her next message, conveniently enough, covers “what to do when he claims he can’t take it anymore.” This, I thought, was particularly insightful:

He WANTS to orgasm as a fleeting thing; but he CRAVES denial long-term. It’s how it works with most men. And when they’re begging with their blue-balls, they really do mean it.

But if you don’t give in, he’ll thank you, I promise. Don’t feel sorry for him – he’s getting what he wants, and that’s more than most people in the world ever get.

Belle specifically asked me to explain this bit of ironic drama the other day and I couldn’t. Sarah doesn’t explain it, really, but she perfectly captures it. In the moment, there are times when I want the orgasm badly. Palpably. Like, life and death. But, what I want even more is for Belle to deny it to me, especially if I really, really, REALLY want it. See point number one above.

The next bit is also terrific advice:

I know from John [her husband] that feeling of wanting to come all the time is amazing for [men]. Yes, when you’re making love at that point it can get a bit uncomfortable, but it soon passes. Rather than feeling sorry for him, try empathy: share his feeling without taking responsibility for it or for making it better.

Yes, yes, yes. “Oh, poor baby, I know it’s hard…” Not guilt, not confusion, not sympathy. More like, “Look, fucker, you asked for this so you’re going to get it and, while I can empathize with your situation, there’s not a damn thing I’m going to do about it other than pour honey on your agony.” But, you know, nicer than that.

Or not, because, in fact, that would be a fucking hot way to put it…

Of course, I’m talking about more than just orgasm denial. I’d like her to require me to wear the device past the point I beg for it to be taken off. I want to provide any and all service to her (house, body, whatever she asks) past the point of comfort or convenience. I don’t want her to be a bitch or some über domme, just to set for me very high goals and expectations. To understand that when I’m in a place where most people would be unhappy (and even if, in that moment, I am unhappy), that I’m actually where I need to be.

I know this is hard for Belle to wrap her head around. It’s all very weird and alien and a million miles from how she’s wired to interact with the world (and her husband). I can’t expect her to understand why I am the way I am. I don’t understand that myself. But if she can figure out what all the buttons and levers do – how to leverage my kinks – I think we can use them in a way that will make both of us more satisfied.

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Woodsy

In about a week, I’m leaving for a 10 day camping trip. I only mention this because Belle had told me I would be left unlocked while I was gone since I’ll be with a group of folks who are otherwise unaware of my…condition. But then, night before last, she told me she wishes she could leave me locked. And honestly, I wish I could be, too.

The device and I are on pretty good terms at the moment. The first night she put me back in it, I was so excited that I didn’t fall asleep until 3:30. Last night, I fell asleep OK but woke up several times for the customary reasons. Eventually, I’ll sleep right through that stuff, but I’m still in adjustment mode. I’d feel the steel ring and tube containing the straining meat and a happy little ball would start bouncing around inside me and I’d be wide awake for a while until things settled down. Right now, the device, as a symbol of our dynamic, is on the right side of things. I’m happy so I love it. Wearing it because she wants me to makes me feel very good. She told me last night she liked my attitude better when I’m locked. A small thermonuclear detonation went off inside me to hear that. I know we’re back on the right track. I can feel it.

So anyway, I was thinking about what she said. She wished she could leave me locked up on my trip. And I think it’s possible. This won’t be like last year’s trip when I backpacked into the Rockies. This time, we’re going to be driving into Northern California. In fact, I’m driving all the way out there, so nasty TSA metal detectors aren’t a factor. Also, I’ll probably be sleeping in the bed of my truck (inside the camper shell – what, I don’t seem like the truck type?) so I’ll have a modicum of privacy. I can bring the soapy water I need with me (even though it will be verrrry cold) and take care of things out of sight and sound of the others.

That’s not to say there won’t be other inconveniences. I’ll need to make sure I’m properly shielded when answering the call of nature, for instance. And we’ll have to see how the Steelheart likes hiking around. But, as far as I can tell, it’s all perfectly doable. Remember the part about pushing me? This is a perfect example. She wants me locked. She shouldn’t really consider my inconvenience if that’s the way she wants things. That’s pushing.

Besides, worst case, I’ll still have my emergency key.

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Kept key

We’ve experimented with a couple different things with regard to giving me access to Belle’s key in such a way that it’s available in case of an unexpected situation, but not too available so that I can use it without her knowing. The newest and, I think, the best is the Steelworxx Key Safe.

Essentially, it’s a little steel tube with a notch cut into the top and a hole drilled through in the opposite direction. It’s custom made to fit the long keys of Steelworxx integrated locks, though I assume it would work with keys in a variety of sizes. The key slips into the notch and a numbered plastic single-use lock snaps though the holes and the key. Very simple and very effective. No combinations to deal with, no tape or stickers or anything else. The key goes in, the lock goes snap and you’re done. QED.

The only real downside to the thing is that it’s crazy expensive. When I first saw it, the euro was trading a lot higher to the dollar and the cost was simply too high. Currently, the two currencies are more equal and the price goes from unrealistic to simply unadvisable, considering what it is. I assume the costs are in the labor since it’s really just a smallish piece of metal bent and welded into a polished tube, then cut and drilled. I expect certain handy fellows could put one together for about $1.50. In any event, the final cost, including shipping, was €57.97 which converted to about $75 or so. That included a bunch of extra locks.

While it’s clearly not for the chastised bunny on a budget, the Steelworxx Key Safe is a simple, smart solution to a common problem. Highly recommended.

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Weekend sex

We did have some nice episodes this weekend and since it’s been so long since I wrote about the sex parts, I’ll relate them to you now…

On either Friday or Saturday, I went to bed highly expectational that something was going to happen. I was sporting the free meat so almost anything was possible. She told me to get naked and I snuggled up against her, nuzzling her tits through the fabric of her pajamas and running my hand over the outline of her mound. She lifted her top and I latched on to her nipples, licking and sucking each one in turn. My blood rose pretty quickly and the soft spot just under the high point of her crotch that told me I was on her clit. I pressed down with a circular motion. Just seconds later, she started to come. I could feel her heat and dampness through the fabric and flicked my tongue over erect nipple as her head went back and she whispered in breathy insistance, “I going to come.”

And she did. And it was really fucking hot. She said it made her feel like she was 16 again and we were fooling around in a car. It was all so rushed and determined. I was left feeling like the man of steel and, after allowing her time to bask a bit, I asked if I could enter her. She seemed to hesitate and I thought for a second she’d refuse, but she pulled off her bottoms and opened up for me.

This was the first time I fucked her with the new ring in and, more so than any other I have, I could feel its gravity move though the head of the cock and slide against the wet walls of her pussy. My PA piercing has  taught me there are nerve endings inside the cock as well and, that night, as I fucked her slowly and deliberately, trying to feel every centimeter of her sex slide against mine, all the little nerves were firing. I love that new ring sofuckingmuch.

In the hight of the passion, as the urge to speed up and spew reached its zenith, the fact that I was not allowed resonated in me like a struck bell. I felt suddenly and immensely grateful that I was with a partner willing to take on control of my release. I thanked her for accepting my cock and reiterated how right it felt that she decide when I come. As I was fucking her and as I was grappling with the rising, desperate need to ejaculate, I embraced with all my being her right to refuse me the pleasure. It was not going to happen.

I fell asleep pressing as much of me against as much of her as possible, hard, sticky cock between us.

The next night, or maybe the one after that, she abused me. She started off slow and gentle, just how I like, caressing every part of my desperate sex and stroking the cock until an orgasm was just beginning to bubble to life. Then she started slapping, lightly at first and then with more determination, my balls. Eventually, she was striking them with force and I was gasping for breath, drawing my knees up instinctively, and clutching at my aching sack. The pain would radiate for ten, twenty, thirty seconds or more before receding, then I’d slowly open my legs again. That’s the most delicious part. My higher brain, with its weird chemistry and crossed pleasure wires, fighting my lower reptile brainstem’s blind protective instinct. Each millimeter my legs moved apart was a minor internal battle. Then, she’d place her loose fist against my nuts, draw back, and strike them again.

This kind of pain is, for me, the beluga caviar of masochistic pleasure. Certainly an acquired taste, it’s also very intense. I couldn’t do it every night, but sitting here now, encased, reliving the unique radioactive agony…I want it again. A lot. I’m getting all dreamy just thinking about it.

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Reboot

I ended my last post (of any significance) from almost a month ago this way:

I desperately want to find myself back in the pre-London subspace. I don’t think one weekend can fix everything, but I hope it’s the beginning to the way out of the particular rough patch.

The weekend I was looking forward to and those that came after – until the one just past – did not see the situation improve. In fact, it got worse. So bad, in fact, that there were times I thought our 21 month experiment in power exchange was coming to an end. But it didn’t.

I don’t even know where to begin. To be honest, I have no desire to retell the past three plus weeks. Short story is, as I’ve been eluding to for a while, things just lost steam. I felt like Belle had started to take things for granted and wasn’t really exerting much effort to maintain my headspace. As if, once set upon my subbie trajectory, I’d just keep coasting indefinitely. My chastity started to feel like incarceration. My desire to server her evaporated. Finally, when we had sex, I shed any submissive or denied pretense. I fucked her like the old days and came. Then, when she told me it was time to get back into the device, I refused (politely). Clearly, the lowest point of our new D/s dynamic had been reached.

Then, sometime last week, we finally had The Talk. Even though unlocked, I had refrained from orgasm – too afraid really to let go of the last tattered shred of our arrangement. I was getting horny, though, and we were going to have to come to some agreement. We were either going to end this chapter of our sex life or we’d have to address the issues at hand.There was a lot of emotion and she cried and I felt like shit. We hadn’t really moved forward, but I felt like the barrier had been broken. Something was going to happen, just not that night. This past weekend, we talked some more. It was better this time. More constructive. Things are back on track. I still haven’t come, though she has, and I’m horny as hell and, maybe most importantly, she’s locked me back up and I’m OK with it.

While it may not be popular in some circles for me to say this, the fact is my submissive feelings need to be tended. The more she denies me and teases me and pushes me (more on that later), the more deeply I feel my submission. I have attached to myself this rabbit metaphor, so I’ll stick with. My subbie side is not unlike a rabbit in that it’s easily spooked and difficult to get out of its burrow, but once coaxed out, it can be tamed. Stop feeding the rabbit, and it’ll leave again. That’s how my submission works. That’s not how everybody’s works, but it’s how mine does.

So I suggested a few things. First and more importantly, I want to be pushed. Pushed in every regard. I want her to hurt me a little more than I can stand. I want to be denied past the point at which I beg for release. I want her to set high expectations with regard to my service. If there is a knob somewhere that turns to ten, she should set it to eleven. I want to do all these things because that’s what this particular submissive wants more than anything: To show his dominant partner that he can go farther than he thinks he can for her. And then, once I achieve that goal, I want to be pushed past it again. In everything. Always. Make me prove how badly I want this. Because while I may not enjoy the moment of any particular act, it will, in retrospect, fill me with warmth and happiness.

Second, not all of this needs to fall fully-formed from Belle’s imagination. She lives this role in a very lonely state. We hardly talk about her side of it and she has no peers to turn to. It’s all internalized and, when she starts to slip, it only builds and builds until she assumes she’s a failure at it. Then, instead of talking about it, she tends to lock up. Hard feelings on both sides get exacerbated. We spiral downward. Instead, I asked her to think of our dynamic like she would a superior/inferior relationship at work. She can’t possibly have all the answers all of the time. When she feels herself at an impasse, I’ve encouraged her to ask me for ideas. Just like at work, she’ll choose the one that feels right to her and I’ll go along with it. Also, I’ve encouraged her to come here and write about what she’s thinking or struggling with. I know there’s no end to the advice she’ll get from readers like you. In short, there is no need for her to shoulder her role all on her own. And I honestly do not expect her to always know which way to go next.

Finally, I poposed some guidelines with regard to sex. I think, on average, it’d be nice to have 2-3 sexual encounters a week. These can be fairly simple to more involved, but one every seven to ten days (especially when I’m locked up for weeks at a time) just won’t work for me. I’ll get depressed. The little subbie bunny will go back into his burrow. Neither of us want that.

Good god, look at the time. I started this post not just because it’s been a long time coming but also because being back in the device and back on the path to subdom left me distracted and sleepless. There’s much more I could say and what I have said I’m sure I could have said better, but now it’s time for sleep.