Tag: chastity devices

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Nope

We were at a nice restaurant last night. Unexpectedly, both the kids were away so we got a surprise date night.

“You thought I was going to let you out this weekend,” Belle said over the caesar and crab cakes, “You said so on the blog.”

“Yes,” I replied, “You dropped hints. You practically told me you were going to let me out.”

“What did I say?” she asked.

“I don’t remember specifically, but hints were dropped. Several of them.”

“Well, whatever I may have said, you misinterpreted it.”

“Really?” Fork full of romaine paused in mid-flight.

“Yes.”

“So I’m not getting out?”

“No.”

Pause. “I thought I was. This weekend.”

“Nope.”

Pause. “And you knew I thought this and you just let me go ahead thinking it?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

Damn.

Looking at the calendar, it’s entirely unlikely I’ll be out in either of the next two weekends. That means I will have been left in the device for over two months at least. At one point, she mentioned our anniversary in mid-October as a goal but she also mentioned my birthday which is in early September. At any rate, it seems as though I need to get any idea of release out of my mind since it’s not happening soon and nothing she says on the matter can be trusted.

—

Back at the ranch, with the candles lit and me naked as directed, I started to get into bed before she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Bad boy. I asked and she let me in.

I knelt on the bed before her, the device that was not coming off glinting softly, and she pulled out the handcuffs. She ratcheted them down tightly, but not too tightly. Then she brought out my collar. Ooooooh, my collar! I love that thing. She hadn’t put it on me in so long. I dropped my head and she attached it snugly around my throat.

“Now you know how the dog feels,” she said.

Whimper.

Finally, she brought out the Japanese butterfly clips. She pulled my nipples out with her fingers so the clips would grab a fat chunk of meat. So there I was, caged, collared, cuffed and clipped. Bliss.

I nuzzled into her with my face, awkwardly trying to balance with my wrists chained together. I wanted to smell her, feel her. Kiss her. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin – her beautiful lips were right there – when she yanked down on the chain between the clips, pulling me with them. Yes, it hurt, but it was all the really good kind of hurt. I was so there. So ready to be abused.

She released the chain and I started back up her body, trying again for the kiss. She pulled me back again, this time I didn’t even make it to her neck. Several more times we did this – me going up, her pulling me back down – before she finally let me get to her mouth. The kissing was all the more fantastic for the waiting. For the work it took to get there. Between my legs, the heavy tube strained to rise, plump full of cock.

She directed me to the side of the bed. She got up and walked around to where I was. I felt the suede lashes gently run down the length of my back and over my ass. Then, the opposite journey, up over my ass then toward my shoulders. Gentle. Soft. A warning.

Lightly at first, so I could get used to the sensation, I felt the flogger fall across my upturned ass cheeks and upper thighs. I arched my back to bring my ass even further up, but in doing so unwittingly exposed my nutsack so that when she hit me with the first really strong stroke, the lashes also found my balls. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but the full force of the flogger striking my sack – already pulled tight by the erection filling the tube – made me see stars and scream into my pillow.

She alternated back and forth between the flogger and the crop. I was free to cry out as loudly as I wanted since the house was empty. It stung (especially the really hard blows), but the pain – all of it – was warm and almost soothing, in a way. More than once, my reaction to the blows caused the cock to flex and I felt slugs of precum travel down the compressed meat. I was so. Fucking. Loving it. As usual, I lost track of time. Also as usual, as soon as she was done, I wanted more. More and more and more. And harder. I still don’t know how deep I can go when I feel like that. When the pain is all good and I’m really humming. What’s my limit?

Mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved it. Every second. And I love her for doing it for me.

She backed me out by again running the flogger lightly over my back and ass. Then she uncuffed me. Then, sadly, the collar came off. Finally, the clips came off the nipples. Twin flares of pain shot up as the little jaws unclamped. I laid next to her as we went to bed. Loving her. Adoring her. Wanting to fuck her so goddamn badly. I told her so.

“I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it,” she replied sleepily.

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HNThumper XXIV: Road trip

Didja ever jack-off in the car? You know, like on a long road trip? Hours and hours of endless road stretching out before you…bored…thoughts turn downward.

I know at least two other guys who’ve done this. Maybe three. Anyway, if I know that many, I’m sure there are lots more. Yes, it’s true, I’ve jacked-off on long road trips. And yes, I know it’s way worse then texting while driving (at least for a few seconds there at the end). One time, on a drive back from Chicago during the first summer Belle and I were a thing, she jacked me off while I was driving. Those were the days…

Just because I’m no longer able to pleasure myself on long road trips doesn’t mean I don’t still get the urge. My most recent drive was no different. Of course, whipping it out now can be a glare hazard, but whip it out I did just to feel the sun warm it through the steel. Just to run my fingers down the shaft of the numb tube. Just to feel the longing of what I couldn’t have.

And yeah, to take a picture. Because I’m a perv. Apparently.

Continue reading “HNThumper XXIV: Road trip”

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Seafaring

This morning, I’m for some reason suddenly kinda blown away that this whole enforced male chastity thing works at all. That you can lock a bunch of stainless steel (or polycarbonate or silicone or…whatever) onto what is a very tight, moist, presumably delicate part of a man’s body and just leave it there. For days, weeks, months, or (for some lucky/poor SOBs) years. And, you know, for the most part, nothing happens. Shit doesn’t fall off. There are (and I’m serious about this) no long-term adverse issues. It’s kind of crazy if you think about it. Such elastic things we are.

I’m also amazed by the realization that I have no idea when my last orgasm was. I can’t remember it. I know it must have been in June, but since that was the recent nadir of my blogging activity, there’s no record of it. Like most guys in my position, the time, date, and circumstances of my orgasms have typically been of high importance to me. But now, suddenly, I’m adrift in a vast orgasmless sea with no idea where the shore is or was or which direction I’m heading. On the one hand, it’s kind of liberating. I’m not looking backward at one and I’m not (literally and figuratively) looking forward toward another. I just am (and they are not). Don’t get me wrong; I still want them. A lot. But wanting them is better then having them. At least for me (at this moment).

Belle locked me up around the 6th of July. I think I had been without orgasm for about two weeks at the time, so that would have me at almost two months now. In the old days, six or seven weeks would have equalled three or four dozen ejaculations, mostly into the bathroom sink or onto my hand or stomach. This is better. Way.

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Fixing the fixing

Have I mentioned I’m trying to post every day in August? I am. Why? No idea. Just seems like a fun thing to try. I don’t really think enough happens to necessitate 31 posts, but we’ll see.

As I alluded to on Saturday, Belle let me take the PA fixing out of the Steelheart. I woke up feeling a nasty pinch in there and assumed it was the fixing trapping an errant fold of skin in a way it normally doesn’t. I’ve felt something like this before and it’s ended up turing into a sore spot that’s ended my stint in the device. While the PA solution is almost always sufficiently comfortable, there isn’t a lot of room in there generally speaking and, as the old saying goes, shit happens.

Turns out, there were no visible signs of a problem. I was only out for maybe a minute (as long as it took to remove the fixing and my PA ring), but I couldn’t see anything wrong. For the rest of the day and most of Sunday, I was on my own recognizance. The meat feels different in there when it’s not secure. It moves around a lot more and feels kind of jiggly. Unlike the CB6K tube, this one’s big enough that the meat has some freedom of movement. It’s somewhat distracting since I’ve become so accustomed to the static feeling the PA fixing provides. It keeps the cock pinned to the backside of the tube.

Also, being technically able to remove the meat drops the hotness level for me. As I’ve said before, I like it better when I have zero control. With the PA fixed inside, that’s exactly what I have. Zero control. It’s not that I was tempted to squeeze out a surreptitious wank, but knowing I could made the device feel like a fancy stage set as opposed to a serious piece of bondage equipment.

At some point over the weekend, I asked her again how long we was going to leave me in the device. Part of me wants to know, part of me doesn’t. I think she’s doing a good job right now keeping me guessing. Of course, it’s constantly on my mind. I know we’re approaching uncharted territory with regard to duration, so every day I look at it hanging off of me and wonder if today will be the day. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.

She again refused to tell me if she had a specific date in mind. Minimally, not before late September was all she’d give me. That would be about two and half months. I’m so committed to staying in for every second she wants me there that I need to be careful in listening to my body and any signs it tries to give me saying it needs out. Obviously, part of me really wants out, but the rest of me wants to do what Belle wants and show her that I can. There would need to be some pretty severe physical damage to make me ask for it to be removed at this point.

Sunday evening, Belle wanted the fixing back in. She knew I didn’t need it out anymore so, when I was about to start my evening cleaning regimen, she brought the key to me and removed the lock. I rinsed out the tube and ran a hot washcloth over the meat (leaving the A-ring on) and put the whole thing back together, but left the key in the unturned lock.

Getting into bed, she asked, “Where’s the key?”

“Right here,” I answered, pulling my encased package out of my pajama bottoms. “I left it for you. I don’t get to turn the lock.”

“Exactly,” she replied as the brass lock engaged and the tiny chance I had to access my own body was taken away from me.

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Clean up

Belle’s home. Right off the bat, I’m told my permission to enjoy the njoy is over. Also, no self-inflicted nipple torture. Maybe, she says, if I do a good job on my to-do lists over the next several weeks she’ll let me go at it, but not before then.

This morning, day 31 in the tube, she let me out for about 15 minutes to clean up. Not so much me, but the device. After a couple three weeks there starts to be what looks like hard water build-up on the inside of the tube, the PA fixing, and on my PA ring. Not sure if it’s from the water (we do have hardish water) or if it’s minerals from my urine (ew), but if left unattended it can start to be abrasive. Soaking the parts for five or ten minutes in vinegar will loosen them up so they rub off easily.

This never seemed to happen in the CB6K, but that device had more and larger openings and was made of a totally different material. The Steelheart tube is entirely closed except for the hole in the end. I try my best to get extra liquid out, but I can see that the curve of the tube and the way it hangs allows anything still in there to create a small pool just above the hole. The inside of the tube is damp pretty much all the time. So far, that hasn’t been an issue, but it means hygiene in this device is of utmost importance.

The penis always looks so sad when it comes out after a long lock-up. Kind of defeated and definitely pale. I imagine it’s not unlike a prisoner coming out of a long stint in solitary confinement. This time, I noticed a few spots that looked somewhat abraded, but nothing hurt. I’ll be paying special attention to how things feel over the next few days and will probably ask Belle to let me check in again on Sunday.

While the steel was soaking, I washed up in the shower and shaved the little spots I can’t get to normally. I didn’t try to get an erection, but any kind of contact with it causes a reaction. I mean, seriously, I haven’t even seen the damned thing in a month. What do  you expect? It didn’t get totally erect, but it was past the pleasantly plump phase. I was a good boy, though, and ignored the opportunity. Not even one stroke. I put all the steel back on as soon as possible and left the key for Belle to turn.

That’s about all I have today since she was tired when she got home. I was able to sleep naked since she was there to give me permission to do so (I love to sleep that way but only do it when she says I can). I’m really only writing this because I’m trying to blog something every day this month. We’ll see how that goes…

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Kinky or no?

On a recent post, a reader left this comment:

Belle appears to be very serious about having things her way, which I think is wonderful. She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.

On the face of it, this might seem to be a fairly innocuous thing to say, but this same reader then went on (in another comment) and said I lacked “true submissive values” and that I demonstrated too much of a concern for my own pleasure and not enough for hers. You know, that same old bullshit. As a matter of fact, as any long-time reader of my blog knows, I do consider myself something of a selfish sub, but that’s not to say I’m still not a sub. Who in the hell wants a partner, submissive or otherwise, who seems to have no interest whatsoever in their own happiness? Isn’t one of the hot things about topping someone that you occasionally make them wait (or even refuse outright) that thing that they really want? Isn’t that part of the fucking dynamic? If they don’t really want anything other than to please you in some servile, pathetic way…then what?

And besides, I think it’s incumbent upon everyone to be mindful of their partner’s motivations and needs. You’ll just have to trust me on this, but I know my Belle. Better than any of you. She really wants me to have what I want. She wants to give me what I need. It’s just how she’s wired and it’s part of the complexity of structuring a D/s relationship since what I seem to want isn’t always what I say I want and she’s left to decide which she should be thinking about. For example, the other night I said to her that I really, really wanted to fuck her. Like, really. And, of course, that was true. But, what I really wanted, more than anything else at all, was for her to tell me I couldn’t. To refuse me the thing I had a very strong urge to do. Because she can and I like it when she does. See? Fucking complicated!

But whatever. I digress. The real point of this post was to mark the approach of one month locked up and how my dear reader’s comment has stuck with me.

I think she locked me up around July 6. That would make today my 29th day encumbered which, while not a record or anything, is the eve of a bit of a milestone worth noting. Oddly enough, I have no idea what my longest stint in a device is. Seems like the kind of thing I’d remember, but I don’t. I suppose it’s recorded here on the blog somewhere, but it’s not in my brain. I know it can’t be much longer than five or six weeks, though. I’ve either had to bail out due to physical damage or she’s decided she wanted to play with the contents or I’ve had to travel or something before it got much past that point. So anyway, I’m going to say that six weeks is the record duration just for conversation’s sake.

Will I be locked up longer than that? Well, she’s intimated that I may be locked up until our anniversary in mid-October. That’s still 10 or 11 weeks from now. I’ve never done anything close to 100 days in any device, so the prospect is exciting. However, she’s been coy about that and I haven’t been able to pin her down. Our anniversary might just be the next time she lets me come. Or maybe that’ll be this weekend. I honestly have no idea. I do think she’s heard Sarah’s “add 50% to whatever he says he wants” advice and is pondering it in application to me. I would be thrilled to be made to wait longer than my last longest orgasmless duration, but I’d also really want to fucking come way before then…see my earlier point about complication.

In any event, back to the comment. “She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.” While I certainly don’t think being unlocked is kinky, I can say that when I’m in and have been for a while (like now), it’s hard for me to imagine what being out and about is like. Plus, I get to a point where being locked seems both normal and natural for me. I like feeling like this, as hard as it is sometimes, and I like having even the possibility of sneaking in some quiet edging (or more) taken away from me. So, I start to think being locked is normal and natural and I get a happy, warm and even comforting feeling being that way. It’s at times like these that I totally understand that whole “being locked up for the rest of my life would be so fucking hot” thing.

It’s also when I actually do the opposite of what my dear reader wanted. Instead of thinking not being locked up is kinky, I stop considering being locked up as kinky. Like I said, it’s natural. It’s normal. It’s how I should be. So? And then I want to share it with people. I think it’s just human behavior to want to tell your friends when you’ve found something fantastic that’s changed your life. I wish I could find a way to explain it to them (some of them, anyway). But I can’t. Because even though I don’t think it’s kinky anymore, they do. And this isn’t some run of the mill relationship advice. This is my sex life. And I think it’s inappropriate to bring anyone into your sex life if they don’t want to be there. So I’m stuck.

Someday, maybe, after the consumption of alcohol perhaps, certain topics might come up in conversation that would allow me (or Belle, even) to share the secret in a way that seemed, at the very least, relevant. In the mean time, I’m exactly where I want to be. And it feels really good, whether or not it’s kinky.

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Exhibitionist

Back in March, I posted HNThumper XV to the portfolio. Since then, it’s been reblogged by five six people and liked by six others. Certainly, as Tumblr porn goes, those numbers are quite modest but I find it interesting that it seems as though the guys reblogging it don’t get that that’s not me filling out my jeans in such an impressive manner. One guy added the comment, “Damn this is too hot for words!” I don’t necessarily disagree with him. I also find it very hot. But, that ain’t no cock behind the demin.

That particular picture is a worst case scenario with regard to how the device looks under pants. I guess, looking at it out of context, it does look like a big fat penis. Since I know what it is (in fact, am what it is), it’s hard for me to see it as anything other than a big steel tube. While I have more or less gotten over worrying what people think when they catch a glimpse of the occasional bulge in my crotch, it’s comforting to know that, at least sometimes, they’re just assuming I have a really big dick. I suppose that’s because the truth is so far outside most people’s experience that they can’t imagine it’s anything else (plus, you know, who doesn’t want a really big dick?).

In related exhibitionist news, this site’s been getting a record amount of traffic in the past month or so. I can’t tell how I compare to others in the blogosphere, but the numbers are getting big enough that it’s making me pause to gape at them. Back in the day, I’d get a few hundred views a day and just be happy I wasn’t talking into an empty box. Now, I can tell there a number of people are reading the entire blog every day (I assume they’re new to the site) and July’s traffic will be higher than any month before.

I don’t say this to brag or anything. There’s a part of me that would rather those numbers stop growing because the more people who discover this little corner of depravity the higher the likelihood, while still very small, that someone I know will figure out it’s me. If that ever happens, my only wish would be for the discoverer to tell me they know. I don’t actually like having this alter ego and secrets I need to protect. I’d rather be open and honest, though not to the point that I’ll volunteer details of my sexual proclivities for no reason.

There’s also nagging in the back of my mind the fact that I’m playing to an audience now. At what point do I stop being a person on a virtual soapbox saying whatever comes to mind to whoever happens to stop to listen and start being aware of all your eyeballs looking back? Yeah, of course, I always knew you were lurking out there, but for some reason there’s a difference between 100, 500, 1,000, and 25,000. I only wish I had something more profound to share with all you peepers (which is not a passive-aggressive prompt for you to comment how profound you think my blather is).

In assturbation news, Belle’s allowed me to purchase an njoy Pure Wand (see what I did there?). I had previously purchased a G-Force for p-spot play, but have found its floppy tendencies somewhat annoying. I have been able to use it with some success, but, since it’s made of silicone, it’s sometimes hard to practice any kind of precision. The Pure Wand, being solidly made of my favorite material, should prove to be much easier to control and a more productive prostate juicer.

 

Even though it’s not really a fucking tool, Belle says I still need to ask her permission before I get to use it. I had thought she only wanted me to tell her when I was craving a healthy reaming and that something like the G-Force, or soon the Pure Wand, would be allowable under the “clinical” definition she has established, but it now appears as though I’ll need ask permission before I shove anything up my ass at any time for any reason.

The occasions when that happened used to be private, of course. I admit there’s an amount of embarrassment I feel in needing to go to her for permission beforehand, but there’s also a lovely warm feeling of being that much more controlled by her. Bonus points that it was entirely her idea. It’s yet another aspect of my previously personal sex life that’s been exposed to and is now “managed” by her.

In short, I’d say things are going swimmingly for us at the moment. I fell asleep last night with my head on her stomach and my arm wrapped around her waist while she caressed my back and watched TV. It was a simple moment and, to an outsider, a fairly innocent position to be in, but it made my inner sub hum with satisfaction. I know there will be good times and bad and that now is just an exceptionally good one, but I’m not sure she could make me any happier than I was as I dozed there.

It’s good to be Belle’s Thumper.

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Abuse for one

Since coming home, I’ve been hopelessly, desperately horny. It’s not the slow burn kind of horny, either, but the insistent resonating kind that sits up in my chest and makes my arms feel light. I’m pretty much all over Belle whenever I have a chance and I find myself following her around from room to room. I fall asleep clutching her and whenever I stir at night it’s to find her body next to mine and curl into it again. All this latent sexual static hanging around is like shoveling coal into my subbie furnace. I am so feeling it.

In short, fucking awesome.

I was home alone for most of yesterday. Originally, I wasn’t sure which day I’d get back from my trip so I scheduled it off just in case. In any event, hours of alone time would usually mean at least one jack-off session back when such things were among my options. Had I been unlocked, I’m quite sure I would have been edging myself non-stop. However, I am locked and therefore any such behavior is impossible. But still. Damn. I’m horny.

I decided to make due with what I had available.

A couple of years ago, I bought some pants or something from Old Navy that had two clippy things connected by a shoelace. I have no idea what they were supposed to do, but I have three of them (for a total of six clips). I should post a picture of the things. They don’t fit together like a clothespin (where one side presses against the other). Instead, their ends interlock and form a circle when closed. Plus, their springs are more than a little tight. The end result is an absolutely wicked bite that’s far more intense than any device I’ve bought designed for nipple torture.

So yeah, I put them on. My nipple meat twisted between the pinchers and the pain was like twin lasers of pleasure shooting into my brain. A benefit of their clampiness and the way their ends fit together is that they grip incredibly well. I was able to pull them hard – much harder than even the Japanese butterfly clamps – before they’d finally come free. Of course, it’s no secret that the more stimulated one is, the more pain they’re able to tolerate. In the case of yesterday, I simply could not find my limit. These things are friggin’ medieval and pulling on the twisted pink meat caused a lot of pain, but all I could do was hurt myself more. There are few times I’ve felt like that.

It wasn’t enough, though. I needed something more.

Belle has long ago given me permission to milk myself as needed, so solo anal play is a permanent option for me. Thing is, even though I like taking it up the ass as well as the next boy, it’s not a pleasure in which I often partake. Not only is it a bit of a hassle (props, lube, clean-up, etc.), but I find that I have to be in a very particular frame of mind to kick it off. Yesterday, I was in that frame of mind. Fuck, I would have done anything.

I busted out a moderately-sized latex suction cup dildo I bought a few years back. It’s bigger than most men, but not ridiculously so. I find it fairly easy to accommodate while still providing a satisfying sensation. I wasn’t interested in demonstrating any amazing feats; I just wanted to get fucked.

I really don’t understand guys who won’t at least try taking it up the ass. Men are designed to experience intense pleasure that way though the conveniently-placed prostate. Of course, it’s all mental. Worries about cleanliness, whether or not it makes you gay, etc. Bullshit. It can be pure awesome when done right. I did it right.

I’m not sure if the denial makes the prostate more sensitive to stimulation, but there are times when it felt like a fucking supernova was up inside my colon. Being locked allows me to experience levels of stimulation I’ve never been able to before. I would have shot my load way before feeling what I get to feel now. It gets to the point where the penetration and the friction over the radiating prostate consumes everything and I simultaneously want it to go on forever but stop immediately before my head explodes.

Of course, the milking was successful. Like never before, actually. Early on, as the muscles in the region contracted involuntarily, I squeezed out several shots of clear precum. Then, milky white juices started to leak from the tube. Not in a big shot or a steady stream, but slowly and in little dribbles. Even hours later, I was finding a slick mess at the end of the tube. I have no idea how much came out, but it was substantial.

But even then, I wanted more. When Belle came home, I asked her to abuse my nipples when we went to bed. They were still sore from the earlier torture when she placed the chrome clothespins on them and then left them there. Again, it was nothing but liquid pleasure. She left them on for maybe ten minutes, during which time little moans and groans escaped from my throat and my ass squirmed into the bed. She wouldn’t let me mess with her, though, so I went to bed cruising though a mass of abject desire.

This morning, my nipples feel plump and tender, the large muscles in my thighs ache, and I can still feel the assault on my sphincter. Even so, I know for a fact I’d be doing it all over again today if I had the chance.