Tag: CB-6000

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Three times

Saturday afternoon, we successfully extracted Belle Fille from the regional airport. She’d spent the better part of a full day coming back from the other side of the world and felt like it. We whisked her home and shortly had her soaking in a hot, sudsy bath.

One of my favorite non-sexual ways to service her is to wash her hair. I don’t do it like they do at the salon. For me, getting her hair clean is secondary to the main event which is to massage her scalp, neck and shoulders and spend as much time as possible just touching her. I sit behind so I have full access, but I have to be careful since I have strong hands and she prefers a firm yet gentle touch. In any event, after I had washed and rinsed and had just finished applying the conditioner, I was cradling her head by holding her along the jawline just under her ears. I was experiencing the greatest urge to reach down and touch her naked body. My fingers remembered the feel of her pussy and I knew I could be there in seconds. There was a time when I would have done just that, but I resisted. I resisted even reaching down and touching her breasts which were bobbing there, half covered in bubbles and water. I just sat there, holding her, my head down, and let all these desires resonate within me. I wanted her badly, and she knew it.

“I used Pink three times while I was gone,” she said quietly.

That got my attention. My head snapped up. “What?”

“Three times,” she repeated. “I used Pink three times.”

I had several opportunities to talk to her over the course of her trip and she never said anything about this. She told me how busy and tired and stressed she was so I assumed she never got around to it. Assumed and not surprised. But no! She did. Three times. The realization of this flooded through me. She, of course, has no restrictions against sexual pleasure of any kind. I suffered while she was gone, unable to sleep or think about anything but her, while she was half a world away with a vibe sticking out of her pussy. The searing inequity of our predicaments burned and delighted me.

—

Saturday night, she was finally next to me in bed. Finally, I could turn over and see her there. My former self, feeling what I was feeling, would have been nothing but hard-charging hands, but this new me just laid there, smiling, and taking the occasional kiss.

Her lips. Oh, god, her lips. Knowing as I did that I was not going to archive orgasm that night – indeed, that I wouldn’t even come out of the CB-6000 – everything else about her was amplified in my mind. The touch of her lips on mine was exquisite. The smell of her breath, the taste of her mouth…all of these details that might normally be missed or minimized on the way towards the inevitability conclusion of the past became my entire reason for being there. Her. All of her. And whatever she wanted or needed.

It’s cliche, of course, but life with orgasm denial is about the journey, not the destination. It’s about driving the slower, scenic route instead of the highway or deciding to cross the country via rail instead of jet plane. Slower travel means greater anticipation for the arrival, but it also means taking the time to absorb the dozens of little details from along the way and letting them – the small pleasures – accumulate and outweigh the one that’s big, simple, and selfish. So I smelled her, felt her, tasted her, and loved every fiber of her – all through my lips.

Eventually, she told me to get naked. I did and embraced her fully, feeling her body against mine – finally! – and pressed into her the hard plastic that had become my manhood. We kissed even more passionately and I felt pressure build in the tube. She started to claw me. Driving her nails into the flesh around my groin, raking them across my back, ribs, and ass. Twisting, pulling, and stretching my nipples. Heavenly. Finally, she took firm hold of my trapped scrotum and began to squeeze it hard while chewing on my neck. The flood of sensory input quickly overloaded me and I actually screamed blissful agony into her pillow. She stopped and I collapsed, panting, glowing, warm with her abuse.

After I collected myself, I said, “Funny, I imagined something sweet and gentle on your first night back.”

“Starting now, it will be,” and she pulled up her top.

Cutting to the chase, I don’t think I’ve ever felt her wetter. Using my hands (and wishing they were my mouth), she started to make sounds like she was coming. They went on and on. Minutes ticked by. Eventually, it ended with a flushed, exhausted crescendo.

Hang it from an aircraft carrier, boys: Mission accomplished.

—

Sunday night and I’m making dinner while she sips her wine and reads Denying Thumper at the bar. She hasn’t spent much time looking at all the thousands of words I wrote for her while she was gone. Too busy, she says. Fine, I think. Not that it would have taken much time, but I guess I’d rather be here with her when she sees first sees them. Nervously, I watch her for reaction. Whenever she give little laugh, I ask, “What?” I walk behind her to see where she is. The waiting is killing me.

When she gets the end of the last entry, she’s crying. I’ve moved her. I come around and hold her and kiss her and thank her for being with me, even though I’m annoyingly complicated and high maintenance. She says I’m her favorite person in the word and she isn’t a big fan of simplicity, anyway.

After dinner, I ask to be released for hygiene purposes. We’re in the bathroom and I’ve got my encased unit exposed, waiting for the key, when she pulls my head down by the hair and just looks into my eyes. She’s waiting for something. Ouch. What is it? Oh! I tell her my phrase, the one that reaffirms my purpose and position. She releases my hair and unlocks the device.

“Tonight, you’re going to rub my back and massage my feet and then I’m going to sleep, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After the cleaning, I bring the lock back to her. She likes to be the one to make it click. We’re in our room and she’s got me by the hair again. Quicker on the on uptake this time, I say the magic phrase and she locks me up. Without warning, she has me by the balls. Really, she’s got my poor, stretched balls in her grip and she’s pulling HARD.

“How was the shower?”

I’m processing the question and the pain at the same time. I don’t really answer as much as I utter an incoherent sound.

“How. Was. The. Shower?” SQUEEZE.

“GOOD! It was good, thanks,” and she releases me.

“That’s nice,” as she leaves the room.

Finally, later that evening, after the massaging is over and she’s smelling of scented oil and is all rubbery and relaxed, I ask her about my release schedule. Was she serious about three times in 2009? No, not exactly. Three more times is what she meant.

I will get to come three more times this year.

I shudder at the thought. The chastity tube instantly starts to throb painfully. Three times. For real. I will only have three more orgasms all fucking year. I’m turned on and terrified. Can I do this? I’m babbling and fumbling and scared as hell while trying to process that yes, for real, she’s serious. She will come and come and I will…wait.

“I know you’re always trying to be an over-achiever,” she says, not incorrectly. “This’ll give you something to blog about, won’t it?”

Fucking christ. What have I done?

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Bad day in chastity

Yesterday was just weird all the way around. I think my issue with the device was that I reassembled it after cleaning using the smallest spacer. Even though it’s only a little smaller than the one up from it (which is what I normally wear), space is so tight down there that the tolerances are small. The ring pain I experienced during the day was, I suspect, mostly the result of not lubricating it properly, but the shorter spacer might have contributed. I know it was a factor in what I faced this morning. I can’t recall ever finding myself so tightly packed into the device as I was then. Just that small difference in tube extension made my normal morning erection (which, as every guy knows, is typically the strongest of the day) push every tiny bit of open space out of the tube. My flesh was extruding out of the side vents and slit like modeling clay and my balls, which are already swollen and sore from frustration, were pulled just that much further from my body and were tight and throbbing. I tried to pee and felt the urine travel down my urethra and then just stop about halfway down the shaft. The end of the penis was pressed shut. This has happened before and usually means I have to flex my kegels to spray it out in tight bursts, but even that proved difficult and it caused the urine to burn upon exiting so I eventually gave up. Probably the most uncomfortable I’ve been in the CB-6000. Odd thing is, it didn’t occur to me to just take it off.

But take it off I did while I was getting ready for work with the thought of moving up to the second largest ring. That’s when I discovered the spacer issue. I was standing there naked (I had just come out of the shower) fiddling with the pieces when I felt something cold on my leg. Looking down, I saw a long, clear, unbroken string of what I assume was precum hanging off the end of the cock and extending to my calf. That kind of oozing has been happening off and on for about the past 24 hours or so. I’ll just be sitting there, shift a little, and feel a small squirt escape into the tube. I wouldn’t have expected this for another week, based on previous experience, but I’m sure my hyper-arousal this week has advanced the schedule a bit.

Finally, I was having a meeting this morning with some of the people who work for me and was doing a lot of getting up and down from my seat to write on the whiteboard. One time, as I sat back down, I left myself turned away from the table with my legs spread and noticed the guy next to me totally checking out the device’s bulge. He played it pretty cool and wasn’t ogling or anything, but I could see where he was looking. As nonchalantly as I could, I turned my legs under the table and dropped my hand to my lap to see how exposed I was. I’m pretty sure he was able to see the ridge of the glans molded into the end of the tube pressing through my pants. I have no idea what he thought of the show, but I can say I’m not too thrilled he got it. I’m not sure what to do about this issue. These are the baggiest pants I have. I guess I’m just going to have to start being more aware of myself or accept the fact that people are going to see it and think…well, I don’t know what they’re going to think. Maybe that I have a very short, fat erection all the time. Eventually, I suppose someone who knows what it is will see it. That’ll be an interesting day.

Belle Fille’s plane departs in about five hours. She’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. I am beyond excited to have her back. My little issue with sleep on Wednesday put me behind in finishing her task since my brain was hardly functioning yesterday evening. I have two more posts to write before I pick her up at the airport. Then, I’ll get to find out her reaction to all my gut-spilling.

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What’s that safeword again?

This morning, I took off the CB-6000 to give it a good cleaning and somehow managed to put it back on using the second smallest ring size. OH MY GOD, it hurts. I kinda thought it was feeling a little tight getting on, but figured I was just swollen or something. Then, in my last meeting, what feels like a vice at the base of my root slowly and menacingly started to clamp harder and harder. Sweet mother of god. If I had an erection during the middle of that, I’d have been a goner – passed out on the floor for sure. Good thing I don’t make swimsuit calendars for a living.

The funny thing is, while rummaging around in the CB-6000 case I happened upon one of Belle’s locks unlocked. I was thisclose to using it, but thought better of it at the last minute (it was purely a cosmetic decision – Belle’s are the little black Master locks which I think are bulky and ugly while mine is a sleek little chrome number). I’d have been really pissed if I had had to break into my key safe because I was too damned tired to know what I was doing this morning.

Speaking of tired…when’s nap time?

UPDATE: I’ve decided to tough it out. The pain’s starting to lessen and I’m getting kind of a thrill from being in the smaller size. What is up with that? All of a sudden I can fit (barely) in these rings that were too small a month ago. Maybe there’s really something to that whole “your penis shrinks in chastity” thing. 😉

UPDATE 2: Whoa, hold the presses. I was wrong. It was still the middle ring. I had neglected to adequately lubricate it this morning. I blame profound sleep-deprivation.

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My other cage

It’s 4:30 AM and I haven’t slept all night.

I am trapped in two cages. One is made of polycarbonate, the other is my entire body. The meat between my legs could be released from its cage, if necessary, but my mind is inseparably fixed within a body crawling with sexual energy. I am exhausted yet I cannot stop images, ideas, and scenarios from passing though my brain and causing the meat to swell and throb within its confinement. A tremulous desire for a woman half a world away vibrates in my chest and sends shivers down my spine. Flashes of electric excitement dance across the length and width of my body as I remember the things she’s made me write over the past week. Her place in the bed is cold and empty. Sleep is impossible. I am drowning in hormones.

On an episode of Kink On Tap, Eileen once said something about orgasm denial’s insidious beauty being how it essentially turns the submissive’s body against itself. I can relate. The funny thing is, I have it within my power to fix this problem. Since Belle has her key with her and all her locks are closed, I had to secure the CB-6000 with one of my own (its key on a chain around my neck – I am essentially my own keyholder). I could remove the blasted thing and quickly stroke myself to a shuddering orgasm. Approximately 23 seconds later, I’d be fast asleep. Did I say that was a funny thing? It’s not funny at all. Truth is, I could never do what I just described. I’m not even sure my body would respond if I tried. I made a vow to that woman that I would never achieve orgasm again without her permission. And I won’t. So…I suffer, pining for my Belle Fille.

*YAWN*

I am happy. It’s good to be alive.

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Unintended consequences

Back on the 1st, I wondered about the future direction of the blog and worried somewhat over how I’d continue to write about something that doesn’t happen. Well, in the short term anyway, I’d say my worry was a bit premature. This task Belle’s left me has apparently stoked my muse. In six days, I posted seven times and wrote 7,000 words. And I’m not done yet. I think there are maybe two more posts I have to make before I’ve satisfied her instructions.

The other side effect of the task was not intended, I’m sure. Turns out, making me write specific things I want during sex has left me thinking about those things all the time (duh, right?). I’m almost manically obsessed with kinky sex with no way to burn off any of my desire. If I’m not writing about it, I’m thinking about it or reading about it. Yesterday was one of the least productive of my professional life. All I could do was think about what I wanted to post and whether I’d covered well enough what I already wrote about. Remember the old Palmolive commercials? Testosterone – You’re soaking in it!

All that’s a long way of saying I’M SO FUCKING HORNY. I feel like thoughts of sex haven’t left my mind for the past three days and I’ve still got three left before Belle gets home. And when she is home, she’ll be tired and all jetlagged, so it’s not like she’ll want much to do with me. Then, on Sunday, we’ll have something like 62 10-year-old boys hanging around for my son’s birthday party. I’m not sure what it is I think will happen anyway since Belle’s already said I might only come three times this year (and I just shot one of those less than a week ago). The only way having her here will make me less frustrated is if she grants me access to the temple (and even then, all it can do is take the jagged edge off). I’m getting to that point where all I want to do is rub my face in her pussy, deeply imbibing her female scent and marking myself with it like a feral beast who wants all the other beasts to know she’s my mate. Somehow, Belle’s figured out a way to tease and deny me into a frothy lather from 15 times zones away.

It’s not like I’m counting or anything, but my erections per hour rate is way, way above normal (way). The CB6K helps me be more aware of them, of course. The smaller ring I’m wearing was biting pretty hard this morning, but I’m continuing to feel like I’m adapting to it. I’ve been applying lotion to my scrotum liberally and noticed it didn’t hurt as much as before, except where it was trapped under the ring. Last night after my shower, I decided to try Maymay’s lubrication advice and use baby oil on the ring and lotion in the tube. Normally, I used silicone lube all over. The baby oil is definitely more soothing going on, but I think the silicone is longer lasting. Also, the baby oil smells like…well, babies. Not super arousing. The reason I’m trying the different lubrication is that I notice the cage started to smell rather quickly after I put it on this time. The lube could be contributory or the piercing might be changing the chemistry down there. In any event, I’ll be baby-fresh for a few days to see what the difference is.

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Packing plastic

As I said in my previous post, I’m finally back in the CB6K after what seemed like forever while I waited for the PA to heal. As I was writing that post, I came to realize how heavily I kink over the silly thing. I adore being locked up. I admit it. I suppose if I believed all the hawt chastity p0rn out there I’d have to say I hate it and wish my dominatrix wife would let me out (in between fucking all those black men, of course), but the truth is I’ve grown to appreciate what it brings to my version of sexual satisfaction (read the post if you want to hear me go on and on about it).

So, what’s different this time? The most obvious thing is the PA. At first, I put the device on while wearing my little door knocker jewelry. The hoop stuck out though the slot at the end of the tube, too big to go in, and held my penis extended all the way to the end of the device. I found after about 20 minutes of this that the strain on the piercing hole was way too much to bear. I switched to a small ball on the end which just passes through the slot so my meat can expend and contract at will. MUCH better. It’ll occasionally pinch the skin on the head of my cock in an unbelievably painful way, but I don’t see that there’s anything to be done about that.

I’m not exactly sure how this is going to work with a captive bead or segment hoop, though. The various security devices one can buy are cables that slip through hoop jewelry as it extends through the slot. Maybe it’s that my hole isn’t entirely healed yet, but that sounds really uncomfortable at the moment. Plus, the location of my hole is such that the ball on that end of my barbell catches on the lip on the bottom of the tube’s “head”. It’s not painful, but it’s a mile from the slot. Besides the stretching issue I experience before, I’m not even sure a ring like that could fit in there. Of course, none of these concerns will keep me from finding out.

I’m very happy to say that I’ve graduated to the middle ring size (1.75 inches). Last time I tried this, the pain was unbearable. Now, for some reason, it’s just bearable. Very much like the first time I wore the 2 inch ring. I think I have a fairly small spacer on, too, so the overall security and size of the device has been enhanced. Granted, my balls are killing me, but it’s a good, productive kind of pain. I know they’re stretching and will eventually settle down. It’s surprising how much more intense the grip of the smaller ring is on what passes for my chastised erections. The difference between 1 7/8 inches and 1 3/4 is gigantic. However, that too seems to be gradually getting more bearable. I wonder if my tolerance for pain in increasing of if there’s an actual physiological change taking place?

So all this leads to me being an idiot in public this morning. I was shopping at Target and, after checking out, decided to hit the men’s room. I stupidly, yet with great confidence, walked up to the urinal and whipped out my hard, plastic buddy. There is a very big difference between peeing with a normal, unmolested penis in chastity and one that has a little steel ball blocking its urethra. Evidence of this could be found in the form of a warm, dark wet spot that spread several inches around my zipper and almost down to the knee of my right leg. Seriously, it looked like I totally pissed myself. Not more than 10% of the urine I produced could have possibly hit porcelain. Luckily, it was early yet. There was no one else in the restroom and the store was not crowded. Plus, I had my shopping bag which was just big enough to block the view of my stupity. It’s entirely possible that the piercing (or, at least the jewelry I’m wearing) has made peeing in lock-up while standing up once and for all a thing of the past.

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Chastise me

As if you didn’t already know, this post is related to the task my Belle Fille gave me prior to leaving on her trip. I am to write on my blog specific things I want her to do to me. I’ve decided, since these posts are specifically to her and for her, that I’ll write them that way. Also, I’m breaking them up into related themes. I’ve covered orgasm denial, pain, bondage, and domination so far. This time, chastity.

—

Belle,

I very purposefully tried to leave chastity out of the previous posts since it’s the crossroad for everything that has come before. It’s the vortex where all my sexual perversions swirl together. With one little piece of polycarbonate, you deny me, hurt me, bind me, and dominate me.

  • Denial. It’s absolute. Not only am I denied orgasm, I’m denied any pleasurable contact whatsoever with my cock. Many times my frustration has been so great that I’ve clawed at the thing or run my fingers over the hard plastic tube as if I was stroking myself. I’m not trying to come when I do that, I’m just trying to achieve some kind of satisfaction. It’s pretty much impossible. Plus, as an added bonus, I am also denied your touch which I crave. When you lock me up, my cock might as well not even exist. You have no idea how many of my buttons that pushes.
  • Pain. The pain comes most intensely from the inevitable stifled erections, especially the ones at night. At first, these tortured me and caused me quite a bit of consternation. Now, though, I’ve be able to rationalize the pain as a symbol of my service and devotion to you. I’ve given you my cock and you’ve chosen to encase it in plastic. The pain I feel is from you, even when you’re sleeping peacefully next to me. Not to be dismissed is the lower level pain I experience all day long from trying to live with a hard plastic device strapped to a very tight spot. Sitting for too long will cause the skin trapped by the ring to burn. My jeans will push the entire contraption into my pelvis when I drive the car which eventually leaves me aching. The skin on my scrotum can be painfully stretched (which is why it feels so thick and leathery when you eventually let me out). I now look forward to all that pain and miss it when I’m out of the device.
  • Bondage. What is the device except a hyper-specialized implement of bondage? When I’m in it and fully aroused and it’s pulling up and away from my body, all the flesh tight and burning, the pressure in the tube seemingly strong enough to explode its seems…yes, that’s delicious. If bondage is basically the acquiescence of physical control to another, then a device like the CB6K may be one of the most perfect bondage toys ever devised. At least it’s the one with the best ROI.
  • Domination. Of course, it’s on me because you dominate that part of my body. You own it. I am reminded constantly, 24 hours a day of that arrangement. Having to always shift when I sit looking for a more comfortable position, being careful not to let it show as it presses in sharp relief through my jeans, always worrying if I’ll be able to relieve myself successfully – it is with me all the time, and so is your control over me.

I have a love/hate (but mostly love) relationship with the thing. I find it’s a relief to get it off, but shortly afterward I wish it was back on. It pisses me off and is a constant distraction, but I pine for it when it’s not there. I’m not saying I want to wear it 24/7/365, but I am saying I want to wear it more than I have recently. Before you left on your trip, you talked about locking me up for the duration of your absence. I begged off citing the still-fresh piercing, but the threat of being encased made me realize how badly I missed wearing it. So much so that I put it on Sunday night and will wear it until you tell me to take it off again. I’m pretty sure my piercing has finally healed enough to allow it (I promise, I’m not pushing it). I’ll be keeping an eye on it to be safe, but last night as I lay in bed with it clamped around my meat, it was like sleeping with a security blanket. You’re on the other side of the world, but still in control of the cock I gave you.

If you’re serious about drastically reducing my orgasmic productivity in 2009, then please leave me in the device for longer periods of time, especially if we’re not going to be together (I wouldn’t mind if I had to wear it every time we’re apart for longer than a day). My longest stint in there has been eight days. Why not fourteen? Or twenty-one? Eventually, I’d like to see what more than a month in lock-up feels like. There’s even a part of me that would like you to lock me away and enjoy all the other ways I can pleasure you so much that you forget all about my little prisoner for an indefinite period. What’s the longest you could leave me in there, anyway? Remember what I said about pushing my boundaries?

I know one of the reasons you let me out is because you crave the feeling of me in you. There’s a part of me that enjoys knowing you’re feeling just a tiny sliver of the denial I am (albeit it a very, very tiny sliver). That being said, there’s no reason why you need to be denied. You can let me out just for your pleasure and then lock me back up again immediately afterward. Even better, I would love you to make me fuck you with a strap-on. The thought of being supplanted by a thing that – based on a comparison of popular features – is superior to my own perfectly serviceable organ while it strains uselessly beneath the newcomer…oh god, I may swoon.

Eventually, I’d like to get a different chastity device. One made of steel and built with my PA piercing in mind. Regardless of what it’s made of or how it works, though, the fact that the device itself embodies all my kinks all rolled up into one neat package makes it the big kahuna of my sexual fetishes. Thank you for letting me wear it.

Yours in every way,
Thumper

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Uncharted waters

It’s been eleven days since my last orgasm. This is a new high-water mark in my denial and there’s no telling when I’ll next be released. When I last went ten days, I was nearly manic in my need for release, but right now I’m in pretty good shape. There are a number of differences this time. Then, I had also been in the CB6K for eight days (which was my longest stint), so there was more than one thing I was looking forward to. Also, that period of denial led up to our weekend alone at the cabin which had me really excited since it was also going to be the first time Belle tied me up and flogged me.

This time, though, she’s been out of town for a few days, so the edge of my desire seems to be off. Even though she got back yesterday, we spent most of the time preparing our house for a party of 50 people tonight, so quiet time was at a minimum. I assume that since we’ll have 50 people over, the opportunity for sexual contact will be low tonight. My next best chance will be tomorrow night. But, oh yeah. I have a fresh flesh wound in my cock.

I did eventually bleed yesterday, but it was diluted and came out the end of my dick, not the hole. I had assumed the blood would come from the wound, but it doesn’t. Even this morning when I found spots of fresh, pure blood in my dressing, it had all come through the natural opening, not the new one. I can report that my nocturnal erections caused some significant discomfort last night. Hope that doesn’t last long. Right now, I can feel it in there and there’s some minor discomfort, but the bleeding seems to have stopped, at least temporarily. Also, I ordered this piece of jewelry for when the majority of my healing’s done. It’ll give something for Belle to hold on to when she’s leading me around.

Basically, I assume I should be climbing the walls, but I’m not. I chalk that up to the cock not feeling like a source of pleasure, but it could be I’m just acclimating. By the time I get to come next, it will have been two-and-a-half to three weeks of denial. That orgasm might just make my head explode.

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D looking for T

Belle let me fuck her tonight and, even though I was not given permission to come, it was quite the relief. It’s only been four days since my last orgasm, but it was four days locked in the CB6K during a particularly nasty menstrual cycle which left Belle not only disinterested in letting me give her any kind of physical pleasure but her very much disinclined to give me much, either. I do like denial, but I find it has to be balanced with a certain measure of teasing. Denial without teasing is just sad. Kind of like a pony without a saddle.

When I first started learning all I could about all the various ways men get denied by their women, I read a lot of femdom blogs and sites. There are many guys out there who seem to be very happy doing little else than housework for their women (while locked in chastity, of course). I mean, they get off on it. I do understand where that comes from because I’m there with them, to a point. However, for me, the service bit cannot be the only form of submission. I need her loving touch and attention, too. It builds a feedback loop where she arouses me but denies release which makes me more interested in helping with the little things which, in turn (I hope), gives her reason to arouse me again which, conversely, causes me to want to do more and more for her. Eventually, it all spirals into a cosmic orgasm and starts to build all over again.

I admit to not really understanding how all this works in my head. I want to make her happy all the time, even on those days I get to come. But, as the days tick by and I get farther and farther away from coming, the need to please her builds. I want to constantly kiss her and tell her she’s beautiful and pick up both the kids for her and start the laundry and cook the food and whatever the fuck else I think she needs because…because…well, just because. I don’t know. Are men really that simple minded? Are we such simple beasts, so easily conditioned into submission? Um, yeah, maybe. I seem to be, at least.

But only to a point. If I’m not getting attention from her in bed, I start to lose my focus and feel sad and neglected. It happened early on when she and I were apart and the affects of the orgasm denial was particularly acute. I need the semi-regular feedback from her to keep all the hormones surging in the same direction. Without it, they start to meander about and bump into one another like drivers in a Beijing traffic circle. Maybe my neediness is a phase. Maybe, with time, I’ll be like other guys who share my perversion and will be satisfied with folding the laundry and mopping the floors at her command. We’ll see.

But tonight I got to fuck. And it was awesome. Four days with little sexual contact and no opportunity to pleasure her climaxed as it has before with me on top trying like hell not to come while simultaneously giving her as much pleasurable stimulation as possible. Playing the part of the big meat fucking machine, solely focused on her pleasure, is quickly becoming my favorite way to be naked with her. When she really gets into it and seems to stop trying to give me any kind of feedback or pleasure – when it’s all about her and her approaching orgasm – that’s when I’m happiest. I really, really like being her tool. I relish the internal struggle within myself right at the moment of her climax when I feel the reptilian urge to continue fucking her only for my pleasure but knowing I cannot. That I will be left ultimately dissatisfied. Tonight, my internal lizard was left ravenously hungry as I was still sporting a pretty good hard-on long after Belle was asleep. Even now, I’m left typing this – exhausted yet unable to calm the buzzing in my head so I can sleep. The lizard will not rest.

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Thumper’s CB-6000 tips and tricks

Hubris. There is no other explanation as to why someone like myself, who has spent maybe a month’s worth of accumulated time locked in his keyholder’s CB-6000, would attempt to tell you how to live with one, especially when there are other, more experienced people out there to whom you could turn for such advice. Pure hubris. Then again, I recall needing to absorb any and all information I could find on this topic prior to locking the thing on my junk for the first time, so perhaps all I’m doing is taking advantage of your desperation for information. Plus, it isn’t like you haven’t been warned. In any event, the usual obligatory reminders that what works for me and my cock won’t necessarily work for you and yours (i.e., YMMV).

UPDATE: This content has been greatly revised and expanded here.

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