The one about ass play that lacks a pithy title

Belle caught up on the blog yesterday which means she also caught up on my butt plug endurance project.

“Are you OK with it?”

“Sure. I don’t understand it, but I’m OK with it.”

I have always been excessively self-conscious about anal play and my enjoyment of it. It’s not something I generally talk about with Belle since she’s shown no interest in it at all (and has drawn a line around it from a participation standpoint). In a way, blogging about it is a kind of therapy in that I really get to own it. I find it to be generally empowering and freeing to write about it bluntly, share the occasional image, and just revel in the pleasure I find there.

But, I’m still vulnerable. Her innocent and totally unpointed remark about not understanding my enjoyment of anal play made me withdrawn emotionally like a snail whose eyestalk got tapped. I didn’t show those feelings to her since I didn’t want to guilt her out, but I did take a break from the WMCBP for a few hours as I regrouped internally.

How do you make someone understand why you like something they don’t (and really, how is it different from chastity which she’s exclusively interested in only from her side of the key)? Specifically, when it comes to anal play, it seems to me the first thing that turns people off is the fact that it deals with something most of us have been brought up to think is dirty and should be avoided. It’s unhealthy, even. I suppose some people are simply unable to get past their aversion reflex. I was brought up pretty much the same as everyone else, but for some reason I’m able to separate the mechanics of how one gets to the point that they can experience healthy anal play and the real pleasure every man is physiologically capable of experiencing once in the proper state. It’s really no more unpleasant than changing a baby’s diaper, most of the time, or more complicated.

Anyway, assuming you can get yourself past any squickiness and actually get to the pleasuring part, it’s really fucking great. I’d bet your anus and your lips are about on par with one another in their degree of sensitivity (they’re mirrors of one another, after all). And the prostate is nothing but pure molten awesome if you treat it right. Men are just wired to really like playing with their asses if they ever bother to try.

From a young age, I craved playing with my ass. I was originally introduced to the idea when I was quite young (six? seven?) by an older neighbor kid (ten or twelve, I’d guess). I suppose some people would look at the interaction and see something sinister, but I’ve never really felt that way. He was just a kid, too, though several years older. My friend from across the street and I would go to his house and he talked us into doing all kinds of things. To ourselves and one another. He never participated, as far as I can recall. Just directed. Perhaps he grew up to be a molester or maybe he was just curious and wanted to experiment with his particular brand of sexuality. I don’t know. But that little taste unlocked for me a curiosity to discover what anal play could be. And I suppose I’ve never looked back. Sideways once or twice, but not back.

Perhaps the furtiveness of those early explorations and the fear of getting caught (I remember the older boy warning us about ever telling anyone about what we did — not a good sign for him, I suppose) is what’s stuck with me to this day and causes me to be hesitant about being open with Belle. I know, I say that, but I write all the things I write here and it doesn’t seem to add up. It’s easier for me to write than to speak, especially about this kind of thing. I knew she would read the posts about the plug sooner or later as she always does. So I’m not exactly hiding. But I doubt I’d have ever volunteered the information on my own.

It just occurs to me in rereading this that back when masturbation always lead to orgasm and I’d make anal play a part of that, as soon as I came I’d become borderline disgusted by what I’d done. I’d try to get the toys away from me as quickly as possible and even once recall throwing them out afterward. Again, that’s doesn’t sound healthy. Now, since masturbation never leads to orgasm, I never get back to that place. I still find I have a general ebb and flow sort of tidal kind of interest in playing with my ass, but there’s no post-orgasmic guilt-ridden crash.

I had originally thought this post was going to be a little review of some new toys I got from Mr. S (and I’m sure I’ll get back to that at some point) following my use of them this morning. Instead of crashing after I came (because I didn’t because I’m locked in the Steelheart and aren’t allowed to in any event), I had to will myself away from one of the toys in particular. I’ve developed an intense infatuation with it and it was making me feel some really incredible things. Eventually, I had to tell myself to stop. So no, I never get to that bad stage now. I just hover in the clouds. Maybe that’s what make it possible for me to write about it.

In any event, like I said, this post didn’t go where I thought it would. That’s why it doesn’t have a nice little bow on it now as I wrap it up. All this is what it is. I really like getting fucked in the ass. I like wearing plugs (and yes, the WMCBP is still in place). I know I shouldn’t feel anything bad about that, though it certainly feels like I’ve got a headwind in moving towards a point of self-acceptance and comfort.

Plug run

I was getting ready for my run yesterday and decided I really didn’t want to be unplugged during. I admit, that’s not logical. I run better when there’s nothing up there (as you would expect), enjoy it more, etc., but I’m also slightly compulsive about some things (you don’t say) and I’m obsessed over keeping myself plugged until Saturday (Friday night, minimum).

Thinking that the issue with the WMCBP was its mass, I thought I’d switch to a plug I hadn’t used in a long time: The njoy Pure 2.0. The Pure is a lovely, lovely thing. So smooth and shiny and, I had forgotten, really dense and heavy (one and a third pounds compared to the MWCBP at 1.1 lbs). Turns out, the smooth part makes it particularly poorly suited for running (though the narrow handle is better than the other plug’s large stoppers).

I wasn’t a half mile in when I realized it wasn’t going to work. It’s so damned heavy and smooth that with every impact it was trying to slip out and I had to focus very specifically on gripping it. If I let my mind wander, it’d start to move down again and more than once I felt more of it slipping back in than I thought had moved and was worried it’d fall right out. My flimsy running shorts wouldn’t have done much to stop it. I kept a look out for a secluded spot to pull it out and found one at about 1.6 miles into the run. It only took a few seconds to reach back and grab the oval handle and slip it out. It was totally clean (as I expected it to be) and I was able to hold it in my hand the rest of the way. Well, I had to swap it back and forth because, oh, did I mention, the fucking thing is heavy! At least I got a little arm workout from it.

My obsessive spirit guilted me out the rest of the way. Back in the driveway, I immediately slipped behind my truck and put it back in. By that point, my poor little sphincter was all tuckered out from fighting it so I eventually had to go back to the WMCBP. Much wider, but more to grip and significantly more comfy. That big boy’s not coming out accidentally, that’s for sure.

Other than that, no issues. Remarkably easy, actually. Sleeping last night was easier since Belle was home. I did wear it to the gym this morning. It was biceps and triceps day which meant preacher curls which meant a particular combination of bench and weight and motion that drove the plug in very deeply.

I find there are times when the plug’s a distraction and I’d rather it not be there but there are a lot more when I either stop thinking about it or really enjoy the feeling of it. The Pure plug was both distracting and enjoyable (prior to the run) in that it’s curved shape draws a bullseye on the prostate. Already puffy from more than week since the last orgasm and three days of contact with the other plugs, the Pure gave it quite a poke. Perhaps if the WMCBP hadn’t already opened me up as much as it had or I had been wearing more supportive clothing like a pair of jeans it would have stayed put better.

Of course, not everyone’s into this kind of thing or likes it, but it does seem to me that this part of a man’s anatomy is wired for significant pleasure potential. The low-grade buzz from the weight and heft of the plug and how it moves with me as I do is more than a little hot. I wonder, now that I’ve found this door and gone through it, how far down this rabbit hole goes (pardon the simile). How will my normal fluctuation of interest in anal play change because of this? Will I more often than not want to be plugged? How will Belle react? No idea, but nearing the halfway mark in the revised goal of one week, I can’t think of anything that would keep me from making it (except if Belle told me to stop, of course — she’s in charge).

Plug life

Saturday morning, I tweeted…

Because, as I also tweeted, anything worth doing is worth overdoing. The notion of leaving a butt plug in place for an extended period in one I’ve toyed with before but I could never make it past the first night. After a dozen hours or so I’d freak about not sleeping due to the sensation and I’d wimp out. I think one time I made it to midnight.

Then I read unixslut’s post I linked to the other day and the idea came back. She infers that she’s plugged all the time since she mentioned it as part of her daily routine. Since it was Saturday and I didn’t have to worry about sleep so much, I decided to give it a shot.

I started out with the Rattler since it’s not as impressively built as the XL World’s Most Comfortable (WMCBP). I took care of hygienic necessities, put it in place, and went about my day. Even went for a four mile run.

I’ve run several times with the Rattler so that was no new thing. I noticed my average pace was up a bit with it in there. Not sure if I was just having a slow day or if the plug affected my time. I could feel it banging around as I ran and if you were running with me you would have heard its clickity pinging. Four miles and no real issue and no desire or need to take it out when I was done. By the end of the day, though, I decided the Rattler was the wrong plug to use for an extended trial. It’s just too long. When inserted, and counting the rubber connector between the plug and the base, it’s about 5.5″. Too much of a good thing.

Interestingly, the XL WMCBP is 18% heftier than the Rattler with a 6.5″ circumference but the Rattler is 18% longer. In this case, as in most issues of phallic size, girth is preferable to length. The WMCBP really is the world’s most comfortable. Bonus points for the way the WMCBP almost always causes me to express a slug of clear precum as it settles into place next to my prostate. Its long, sticky string hung off the end of the Looker’s cage as I flexed my kegel and felt the big plug nestle into my rectum.

The first night went very well. I was, of course, totally aware of the plug as I laid there since it’s more than a pound of dense metal but it wasn’t distracting for some reason. I fell asleep rather quickly and didn’t wake up until a relatively reasonable hour. There was a bit of concern as to what it would be like to wake up plugged (and the possible hygienic issues), but everything was great. Nothing out of the ordinary or especially unpleasant.

I didn’t run on Sunday, but I did do some errands (shopping, etc.). The mass of the big heavy plug was my constant companion. It’s hard to forget it’s in there, but not impossible. I realized at some point that this little experiment was going pretty well and the part of me that always wants to overdo everything was telling me I’d probably miss the sensation of being filled and plugged and that I should keep going past my original 48 hour goal.

Last night was not as good as the first. After a day and half in place, I noticed the plug moving around inside me more. Presumably, my rectum was adjusting to its heavy guest and felt more open than it had the day before. The previous night, it felt like an inert mass. Last night, it was a lot more alive. Every time I’d shift of turn over, the heavy slug would quite noticeably shift into a new position. Laying on my stomach was especially distracting since it felt like the plug was hanging down inside me, suspended from its base. Over a pound of metal squashed my prostate flat and sent a steady thrumming signal to the antenna that was the Looker 02’s urethral insert. That, in turn, caused the penis to swell accentuating its plugged state and the fact that I was plugged from both ends. It was excruciatingly sweet torture. One week’s denial is just enough to get me good and horny and my especially invaded state fed my imagination’s furnace. When I get like this, I can’t not let sexual fantasies run roughshod over my sleepy brain. But I never seriously considered taking the plug out. I had a goal.

Eventually, I did sleep, but it was late and I was up early. Not because of the plug, though once up, its presence helped keep me that way. As I write this, I’m about an hour out from my 48 hour goal. I do admit that I have grown attached to the feeling of being filled and plugged and will keep this little experiment going. Minimally, I’d like to double the original goal. On the outside, one week is a nice round number. We’ll see. The two biggest practical issues I’ll need to deal with will be running (going to try again this afternoon, depending on how much energy I have by the end of the day). Not sure how practical it is to go for another 4-miler with a pound of aluminum in my rectum bouncing around. The other is my trainer. I’m pretty sure the base of both the plugs would be visible through workout clothing if he had me on my back with my legs in the air (ahem). So I guess we’ll just have to see how daring I feel tomorrow morning.

Twitterer schwuld00d pointed out a blogger who strives to stay plugged 24/7/365. I don’t know that I’m capable of going that far. My interest in playing with my butt is one of those things about my sexuality that waxes and wanes. Some days, I have less than zero interest in it. Others, it’s about all I can think about. Right now, I really enjoy how it feels and want to feel more of it. By the end of the week, who knows?

Piece of ass

Then I found myself completely alone for hours. Kid one is at prom(!), kid two is at a movie with a friend, Belle’s in China. And here I am, by myself without even man’s best friend to keep me company. No, not the dog. He’s here. I was talking about the penis.

So I thought it might be time for some good old-fashioned ass-pounding prostate milking. Alas, no real men have raised their hands for the job so I’m left to my own devices. The devices in question being the growing assortment of dildos and plugs at my disposal. (Not Belle’s, of course. Those are for her.)

I’ll spare you the details and say only that it was a good night. I was able to go to town on a dildo I’ve had for many years and had acquired as the result of my eyes being bigger than my anus. The beast is 10″ long and has a circumference of 7 1/4″. And I rode that fucker long and hard. All because I had time and was patient, used plenty of lube, and worked my way up with smaller dongs first. Note, some of those ten inches were wasted as there’s just not that much room inside me, but I bet I got more than seven inches of it.

The milking was successful. I produced prodigious quantity of clear, sticky precum which dripped and hung off the Jail Bird in long ropes that swung around with the rhythm of the action that was forcing them out. I also made a smaller quantity of milky ejaculate (without the ejaculation, of course).

The main reason I mention this is because near the end of the evening’s activities when I was astride that giant dong in a position not unlike a reverse cowgirl and the satisfaction of the sensation was humming through my entire body and my prostate was zinging with electricity, I had this feeling that everything would be so much better if I could stroke myself as I was fucked. And, way in the back of my brain from a dark little corner, I heard a tiny voice.

You can back out of the Jail Bird.

And I was like, You know, I could.

And this is what happens to a guy. When you juice him up real good and either tease him to pudding or fuck him until he’s a quivering jellyfish, he is no longer thinking with his brain. Like you need me to tell you that. I defy any guy who hasn’t come in three months to basically have sex with himself for ninety minutes and not almost lose his shit like I did.


After I had had my fill of King Dong, my calmer head prevailed. I knew what I had to do — bring out the big gun. I retrieved the Steelheart. But even that caused conflict because part of me said I should make sure I get nice and clean in my post-workout shower by taking the Jail Bird off and not putting the Steelheart on until I was done. Because, you know, nothing untoward has ever happened in a soapy hot shower. And I really should be as cleans as possible. Belle would want that, right?

I ended up putting the Steelheart on before the shower. After, I went looking for a solution to the free key issue. I needed to get that thing out of my reach. The key safe will only fit one key at a time so I resorted to using a little envelope and taping it closed with the date from today’s paper firmly affixed. Then I stuck it under Belle’s statue.

I’m not saying I would have pulled out at some point or used the key to take the device off and leave it that way long enough to get in trouble. In fact, I was good and didn’t do what I’m expressly forbidden from doing and was able to control myself. But placing the key out of reach gives me piece of mind to go along with the piece of ass I had earlier. And I need that right now.


Some interesting questions from Fetlife member imposedsensation (who, by the looks of his pictures, is a sexy motherfucker):

Looker 02:

Any thoughts on swimming with the Looker 02? I’m curious whether it would be dangerous to have pool water (chlorinated, but possibly kind of dirty) traveling up the plug pipe, if you will…

Also concerned that the chlorine might corrode the integrated lock–I believe brass will corrode, although brass was a preferred metal when it came to pool design years ago, before plastic. What do you think?

My only other thought is that I tend to shrink to a really, really small size when swimming–I’m hoping the plug will keep everything in place until I shower, when presumably I’ll grow back to normal flaccid state. I’m thinking I’ll be keeping my suit on for that!

The Rattler:

I purchased a rattler after reading your review. Does the ball ever get stuck in your rattler? I had a situation where the ball was lodged in the top of the conic section at the top. It took a lot of beating and attempts to heat and cool the device to finally get it unstuck. Mr. S was willing to send it back for repair, but I eventually got it free. If this is normal, then I’m not going to send it back, but if mine is defective, I’d like to have it repaired. So, just interested in your mileage on this one…


Pretty sure I’ve been in a hot tub with the L02 on. Can’t remember if I’ve been in a pool with it, but I wouldn’t hesitate  to swim while locked unless the pool you’re in is ridiculously chlorinated. And even then, I’d probably give it a shot. Remember, stuff doesn’t craw up the insert and hang out. If the pool water in question did work its way in there, it wouldn’t be in contact with much of you and it’d only be there until the next time you took a leak. As I said in my review, urine washes the tube out and even leaks out the sides a bit. I found it to be self-cleansing system that gets flushed about six times a day.

I’ve been wearing those brass locks for a long time now and they’ve developed a nice patina, but haven’t come close to corroding. Even if they did, that’s a slow process. You wouldn’t find your shiny new lock all green and crusted shut back in the locker room after a single swim. If you’re really worried, you (or whoever is holding the key) could give the lock a test turn from time to time. But no, I wouldn’t worry about that.

Yes, unless you totally turtle and find your dick actually indents into your body, the insert should keep you situated until the warm blood comes back and fills things back out. The insert extends past the A-ring, so you’d be good. (Also, keeping your suit on while you shower is cheating.)*

With regard to the Rattler, I’ve found that whatever the little doodad that rattles around in there is, it does, from time to time, get lodged in the top point. In the case of mine, all I had to do was give it a whack against my palm to get it loose (though one time I was “wearing” it and had to perform bit of a hop on a solid surface to get things moving around again). If you’re finding that it’s happening all the time and it’s as hard to get loose as you’re saying, I might consider an exchange. That doesn’t sound normal.

* I’m kidding.


So I had this dream. Vivid. In it, I was being fucked by a man. In fact, a man I’ve been fucked by before. There was no actual plot to the dream that I can recall. Just him fucking me. Oh, and the device. I was locked up, of course.

It’s been coming back to me lately. Usually when I’m partially asleep or just waking up. Not that I have had the dream again (as far as I can tell) but the memory of it is there. Lingering. Of just being fucked. Being a hole for some big dick to use. Not romantic. Just fucking.

The funny thing is, I still have contact with this guy. Not in person. We play iPhone word games against each other. He was not only my on-again, off-again high school kinda-boyfriend, he was the best man in my wedding to Belle. He’s one of my oldest and dearest friends and has what is in my opinion one of the world’s perfect cocks. Not super long (above average), but thick. Nice and fat.

Anyway, yeah, it’s been in my mind. I can’t get it out. He’s a long ways away so I don’t have the risk of bumping into him. That would be oddly embarrassing. I remember one time, a long time ago, I had a dream where I had sex with a woman I work with and the next day I could barely look at her. It took me a week before I could talk to her normally.

I haven’t told anyone about the being fucked dream. Well, not until now. Certainly not that I can’t let go of it (or that it won’t let go of me). I don’t know how it is for other bisexuals in monogamous hetero relationships, but my desire for being fucked waxes and wanes. I’m waxing gibbous at the moment, if I had to guess. It’s not directly related to being horny since I’m almost always horny and I am not always thinking about the buttsex.

The obsession has led me to realize I’m almost exclusively a bottom (not just in the BDSM context). When looking at images of men having sex, I’m drawn to the receiving guy. When fantasizing about sex with a man, I’m always receiving. I never fantasize about fucking a man. Back when I had actual sex with men, I didn’t really enjoy fucking them. If I’m going to be inside someone, I much prefer women (and one in particular). I don’t know why I never really thought about it before, but I’m a total bottom in every sense of the word.

Why does any of this matter? I dunno. Just that it and this NYTimes essay on bisexuality have been bouncing around in my head. When you’re bi and in a monogamous relationship, I suppose there’s always a bit of you that’s going to be frustrated. Maybe my frustrated halves are merging. Before one of you says it, yeah, I know there are lots of ways to receive the kind of fucking I’m craving from Belle, but she’s never expressed any interest in that whatsoever. So I guess it stays where it is. Bunking with the other frustrations.

Clinically punching the little fucker

I’m home from my trip, but still technically on vacation so, in combination with needing to wait around for a guy to fix our washer (hoping, of course, he’d be hot, though I was sorely disappointed) I decided to stay home yesterday. After the non-hot appliance repairman had gone, my thoughts turned to my predicament. Of course, the desire to get off was strong but my ability to do so was nonexistent, so I made due. Perusing my options, my eyes landed on the njoy Pure wand. I love both my njoy toys, the Pure Plug 2.0 and this wand.

It’s been a little while since I got the Pure wand wet so I had forgotten how gobsmackingly good it is at tickling a prostrate. And by “tickling” I mean “punching the little fucker out”. I got warned up with this nifty little inflatable butt plug I got a while back. Not sure I’ve ever mentioned it here, but it’s exactly the thing you want for that filled up feeling. Totally deflated, its circumference is 4.6″. At three pumps of its bulb, that stretches to 6.25″. Six pumps is 7.75″. I only measured it to eight pumps (8.75″) so I can’t tell you how big it was after 12 pumps, but that’s how many times I pumped it. I pumped it up, thought, “Oh my fucking god,” then let all the air up only to pump it up once or twice more the next time around. Unsurprisingly, that pressure against my prostrate squeezed out a fair slug of goo.

Once I had my fill of that (literally), I got the wand. I decided to well and truly try to milk myself. For the uninformed, “milking” is what it’s called when one massages one’s prostrate sufficiently to cause seminal fluid to express without ejaculation. Some people (like Belle) worry about that fluid staying in the body for too long (though the science on this is sketchy) so prostate massage is a good way to get it out absent the spasms of orgasm. I’ve been somewhat successful with it in the past, but I’ve read accounts of the stuff just pouring out and I want to experience that myself. After riding the wand for a bit, I decided to get clinical (what I won’t do for my readers). I grabbed a small bowl for catching goo and set a timer on my iPhone for 10 minutes. I decided I’d use the wand to stimulate my prostrate constantly until the timer went off and see how productive that was.

For the first five minutes or so, it was just precum. Quite a bit, to be fair, but it was just the clear salty stuff. After that, though, I felt the most amazing sensation. Almost like needing to pee, but not exactly like that. I had to close my eyes and my breath came quickly and caught in my throat at the intensity of it all. The feeling built and then crested causing me to push down as if I was trying to urinate an then flexed the penis. A long, thick slug of creamy semen leaked out of the end of the tube. That’s milking.

These intense waves of sensation came and went, always depositing a new slug of seed into the bowl. After the timer went off, I decided I wasn’t half done and reset it back to ten minutes. The productive period of milking started about five minutes in and lasted for about ten minutes. After that, it felt good (if too good can still be called good), but there didn’t seem to be much left in me. All told, I’d guess there was about two tablespoons of fluid in the bowl, about half creamy and half clear (of course, it didn’t go to waste). I read somewhere once that in some men, the milked fluid expresses internally into the urinary tract and not down the urethra. I peed when finished and noticed that it ran thickly at first, so some of it did apparently go the other direction.

After that, I put the Pure Plug 2.0 in and left it as I showered and left to run some errands. It’s a fantastically comfortable plug with its only downside being the oval handle with has some severe edges. Even so, it can be in there for a long time, if you want it to be. Feeling its incredible heft shift and push against my abused prostrate as I walked and moved at first was amazing but eventually started to be too much for me to take. I got home a few hours later and removed it with a pop. No extra leakage, of course, since I was already well drained.

Today, I can feel the prostate sitting in there brooding over its abuse. Regardless, I am temped to see if I can coax any more juice out of it.