Libéré en étant enfermé
Did you know universally beloved sex advice columnist Dan Savage had two – count ’em – two T&D/chastity-related questions in two weeks? As he said, it’s a trend!
The first question dealt with penis desensitizing and can be found here. The second involves the eternal question of denial and prostate health and can be found here (after the question from the lady who’s husband likes to fuck around).
I hope next to hear them talking about this on the View. A guy can dream, can’t he?
Good god, it’s been a little stuffy around here lately! Isn’t this supposed to be a sex blog?! So get on with the sex, already!
Well, we did have sex just one lonesome time this week. It was nothing I haven’t described here before (you know the drill: she abuses me a little, I make her come, we go to sleep). I continue to be amazed at how my entire being has adjusted to not having orgasms. She gets me all worked up with the biting and scratching and the general abuse and all I want to do in return is give her pleasure. Once she’s had her orgasm, I get all sleepy and a form of contentedness envelopes me. Yes, I’m still horny. Horny as hell. Twenty-four hours a fucking day I’m horny. The carnivorous butterflies have returned and I find myself clawing at the device, desperate to get my hand around an honest-to-god hard-on, but all that’s separate now from our sex. When we have sex, it’s all about her. Whatever she gives me during those times is gravy. The main course his her ecstasy. I derive satisfaction from hers.
Speaking of the device, it’s been sixteen days. She mentioned to me yesterday that she thought she was going to let me out the day before, but after a few minutes, decided not to. Just because. Just because she could. Still no indication of when my incarceration might end. I’m doing my best not to ask, but jesus am I getting claustrophobic in this thing.
It may be my best friend at the moment, though. She’s told me that I won’t have any pleasurable orgasms in March, and that’s just a week old. Did I mention I was horny? Fucking god, I’m horny. All that clawing at the device is probably a pretty good indication that, once granted access to that particular thing attached to my body, I’d be somewhat preoccupied with it. According to the Covenant, I’m not supposed to use it in a way that gives me pleasure without her approval. So, assuming I wouldn’t get that, maybe the best place for it is exactly where it is at the moment. I have will power, but no man’s perfect.
And, finally, to complicate everything and potentially cause problems with our weekend fun, Belle’s come down with something. Her throat hurts and she feels crappy. I’m pumping her full of zinc with the hopes she’ll feel better later. If not, it’ll continue to be quiet on the sex front.
There seems to be a lot of never-ending web chatter asking and discussing why men like to be denied, locked-up, etc. I can’t answer for all men, obviously, though I’ve been thinking recently about what makes me like it and I think it might apply to many other men. For me, it’s above and beyond simply being a common ground where many of my kinks come together.
Belle and I have been married for eleven years. For the past several, leading up to my infidelity, we had what the textbooks refer to as a “sexless marriage”. We did have sex, but on average less than once a month. After my infidelity and the exploration of our relationship that immediately followed, our sex life picked back up. In fact, it was better than it had been at any point in our entire marriage. Then, we got kinky.
As I’ve said before, I “discovered” my denial kink late one night while surfing the web for sex toys. I stumbled upon a site that sold chastity devices and was off to the races. Prior to that, I knew little and hardly thought about chastity, denial, or D/s. Certain elements of those things kept coming up in the porn I liked, but the inclination to engage in them never coalesced into reality. Because we were in a very open and communicative mode, it wasn’t hard for me to show Belle what I wanted to experiment with and she, because she’s wonderful, agreed to try it all out.
What has become obvious to me now is that by engaging in that kind of play – by transferring to her total control over the most basic expression of my sexuality – I have, in effect, bound her to our sex life. We can never drift apart again since, for me, she is the only way I can get any kind of sexual relief. She cannot disengage because I will always be there, horny and desperate. In effect, my denial is like a little bell tied to a fishing line indicating even the smallest change in status.
It’s not as though this is the primary purpose of our arrangement. I found chastity and denial and immediately had a deep and visceral reaction to the idea. Never did the cause and effect of it flash though my mind or even enter my conscious thought until much later. In short, I am not using this to achieve the end of keeping her engaged with me sexually. That’s just a happy side effect.
So, as I’ve read more stories on teh interwebs from men who are desperate to get their vanilla wives to plug in to their domination and denial fantasies, I can’t help but wonder how many of them are doing so, consciously or not, in order to “trick” their wives into being more involved with their sex lives. I can’t imagine anyone going so far as to bring enforced physical chastity into their relationship unless it tripped one of several kinky triggers for them, but who knows?
The bottom line is, moving in the direction that Belle and I have places a tremendous load on the woman in the relationship. Especially if she’s not instinctually dominant or sadistic. Yes, there are a lot of benefits for her, but they come at a cost. And the man gets what most men want more than anything else: A partner intricately and permanently involved in a prolonged sexual adventure.
The issue seems to have been that I was not acting submissively enough. I can see that. In fact, I haven’t been feeling very subbie since Sunday’s ruined orgasm (which leads me to think it wasn’t as ruined as I thought). She picked up on my changed demeanor and reverted out of Belle Fille, owner of Thumper’s cock, mode and back into my wife of eleven years. This was me giving her mixed signals. I totally get that.
I asked her, next time that happens, to call me on it. Not so subtly, she should say my attitude needs adjusting and if I don’t fix it myself, she’ll take care of it for me. If, of course, I don’t want to adjust it, we can call a time out and discuss the arrangement of our power exchange, but for the past few days I just drifted out of tune somehow. I did recognize it, but didn’t connect that with how I may have been acting the other night. I was probably too aggressive, definitely did not respect her control as much as I should have. So, I’m taking full responsibility. Hopefully, she’s better prepared with how to deal with me next time I drift.
During our conversation, she reaffirmed that she does see the benefit of our arrangement. She’s not just doing this for me. I need to hear that, of course, because if it ever turns out to all be an act to make me happy, the potency of the exchange will evaporate. I need to know she appreciates the benefits of the exchange – basically, that she’s getting something out of exploiting my condition. That warm, tight, unfair feeling I get in my chest is what I get out of it. That’ll only exist if I know she’s not just playing along.
In other related news, I’ve now been locked-up longer than any other previous stint. Fourteen days. No idea when I’ll get out. She’s not dropping an hints and I’m not asking.
In the past few months Belle and I have fought just a handful of times. I attribute that to our having strengthened our relationship overall in the wake of my infidelity last year. Better communication, more intimacy, and frankly, less resentment towards each other has kept us from tripping on the small stuff. Now, apparently, we only fight about big stuff.
I have no idea when last night’s conversation turned the corner from a discussion of how we deal with my increased sexual interest vs. her non-interest to an all out screaming slugfest that, at one point, had her telling me to sleep downstairs. And it’s still so fresh and intense that I’m not sure I’ll be able fairly relate her point of view. I do know that the entire D/s framework that we’ve built around our relationship is barely standing this morning.
The evening started out great. We were laying in bed, making fun of the news and generally being wise asses with each other. Lots of laughing. Then, the TV and lights went off, she told me to get naked as usual, and I folded myself into her. For me, approaching two weeks without a proper orgasm, that kind of contact with her in that unclothed state makes me think of pretty much one thing. When she moved my hand to her breast, I took that as a positive sign. Apparently, though, she didn’t want sex and only wanted me to hold her. Most nights, she assumes her roll as Belle Fille and shuts Thumper down. Last night, she was my wife and I was (apparently) making her feel guilty for not giving me what I wanted. This initiated the conversation. I said I didn’t need sex from her every night, but that I did need to see some engagement by her in the power exchange dynamic. She said she felt inadequate to the task, didn’t want to always be playing the game, and worried that I was unhappy. Eventually, the conversation burrowed all the way back to the infidelity and her fear that somehow her denying me (to which, of course, I’m a party) would lead me back to the frame of mind that allowed the infidelity to occur. Then, at some point, there was yelling.
Of course, the whole D/s thing was totally shattered. I felt ridiculous as the only naked person in the room, doubly so with the stupid polycarbonate attached to my dick. I very nearly got up and removed it about a half dozen times, but I never did. Somehow, it was the last vestige of what we had built up and to remove it would signal a total collapse. I didn’t want it on me, but I wanted it off even less.
I suggested to Belle that perhaps this type of dynamic was inappropriate for us to play with. If she could tie it somehow to the years of issues that led to the infidelity – a position I can’t understand as I see the attention and commitment to our D/s as proof of how far we’ve come from that time – then it was either not the right thing for us in general or it was the wrong time for us to do it. If she’s going to have a hard time dealing with my perpetually high sexual needs, to the point of us having a screaming fight, then we needed to get rid of them.
I don’t know what all this means. I don’t know where we are now. I am completely taken aback by what happened as I was pretty happy with where we were immediately prior to the fight and had no idea it was coming. Further, I have no idea how I’ll feel if we pull the plug on our D/s experiment. We’ve invested so much into it. It’s become something of a compass for me. If it were to suddenly disappear, I fear we’d be adrift. At least temporarily.
Obviously, we need to talk.
No, I’m not. But I feel fat. I am on the fatter side of what’s acceptable for me. I’m in the far suburbs of Fatsville. I can see the glow of it on the horizon. I am unhappy about that.
I’m six feet tall and weigh something like 215 pounds. If you saw me, you wouldn’t think I was too bad, but I’d much, much rather be at least 25 pounds lighter. Why am I telling you this? Because now it’s out there. I have to do something about it. I mean, I tell you guys everything, right? I can’t just pretend I’m a Brad Pitt look-alike and tell you all about how the wax splatters on my hard, rippling abs now, can I? Nope. I’m telling you because by doing so I’m keeping myself honest. It’s out there. I am going to lose 25 pounds.
OK, that’s out of the way.
I have been wearing the CB-6000 since the 19th of February. Twelve days. I’m pretty sure my record is thirteen, so yay for me. The thing is, the device is unbelievably comfortable now. It hasn’t woken me up in days. In fact, it feels so normal and natural that it’s starting to feel like an extension of me. I’ve totally adapted it to my life. Yes, it’s still a bit of a pain depending on what clothes I’m wearing, but there’s nothing I used to do that I can’t still do except pee standing up. Oh, and beat-off. Oh, and fuck. But besides that, the poly and I are living very well together at the moment.
So of course, it’s time to screw it up! I’ve been on the fence regarding what ring size to wear and have been in the 1.875″ ring this time around. My comfort is getting so ridiculously high that I’ve decided to finish this stint in the 1.75″ ring. Why? It’s not a lot more secure than the 1.875″ ring. It won’t be more comfortable (at least at first). I guess the best answer I have is the same mountain climbers use: because it’s there. Stay tuned for whiny missives on sleeping issues.
Belle and I tried to ruin my orgasm on Sunday morning so I could fuck her better with her cock. It all started OK, but she decided she wanted me to work on her a while before we got to me. Mistake number one. My Belle’s orgasms are not unlike freight trains. Once they get going, it’s hard to stop them or change tracks. In this case, I started working on her with my fingers. Once she was on her way, she decided I wasn’t going to stop. She wanted to come. But, she wanted me to make her come with my mouth. Super! But, after it was all said and done, the starting and stopping and thinking about it left her with a fair to middling orgasm. Not nearly as good as it could have been. Plus, there was the little issue of me, out of the device for the duration. She wanted to know if I could ruin an orgasm by fucking her. I thought I could, but really, why? She already had her go. I was just the redundant horny guy in the room who needed to put the plastic back on. Nope, she wanted me to ruin an orgasm inside her. Okey-doke, I’m on it.
Since I had such a focused purpose, hadn’t come in ten days, and knew she had already had her O, it took a remarkably short time for me to get to the place where I could spurt. I started to come, but never stopped fucking her. It was intense. The sensation coming off my head of the cock was almost off the charts, and not in a good way. I kept on going until the little soldier plopped out, all squishy and soft. I was panting and tired, but did not feel as though I came. One orgasm, perfectly ruined.
Lessons learned:
Of course, the other way to ruin an orgasm is to abandon it. Next time, I’d like us to experiment with that.
Reading this blog recently, you may get the idea that I don’t think we ever get anything right. Well, the past weekend was filled with mistakes and missed opportunity. That’s OK though. We need to figure this stuff out, right? Trying and failing is a far better prospect than not trying at all.
I somehow ended up on “Mistress Lori’s World of Chastity” (AKA chastitytube.com, the site that sells Lori’s tubes), and noticed a nifty little thing I had not seen before. It appears to be a thin stainless rod bent in such a way as to fit under and down the tube of a CB-3000 or 6000 in order to hook into a PA ring. It’s ingenious. At first, I couldn’t imagine what would keep me from just slipping it off, but then I remembered, “Oh yeah, I have testicles.” Anyway, I’d love one of these little gizmos, but they’re selling them for $100. American. Seriously. Well, good luck with that, Lori.
The other thing that I found interesting was this little piece of text placed not once but twice on the page:
All of the piercing jewelry that you see on our pages are a patent or patent pending. The entire concept of securing piercing jewelry device by the means of any piercing is protected under one or more patents or patent rights belonging to either Lori Lancer or Lancer Enterprises.
Patent or copyright infringement will not be tolerated. 6/9/97
Wow. So all those guys on the web with expensive little bent wires meant to keep wieners stuffed down tubes aren’t just copycats but actual patent thieves?! I wandered over to Google’s patent search site and looked for “Lori Lancer”, “Lancer Enterprises”, and “male chastity piercing”. Nothing. Nada. I can’t find any patents on chastity security (though to be fair, I only looked for about three minutes and, as I’ve said, I’m not a lawyer). Not saying Lori’s site is lying, but I couldn’t find anything.
In my searching, I did find an interesting little nugget: A. Frank Miller’s CB-6000 patent. I’m guessing that by the time the 6000 came out, there was enough cash flowing in from the business that patent protection made sense for them. In any event, it’s kinda cool to see the thing that brings me so much frustration described in detailed legalese.
My brain is fucking with me. It keeps firing off the little signals that, in the past, would precipitate a masturbation session. “Hey, wouldn’t it feel nice to jerk off? Let’s go have an orgasm!” And I, being a dense male, say, “Sure, sounds great!” followed half a second later with, “D’OH!” Ever show a dog a ball and make like you’re tossing it but really don’t? Know how the dog runs after the ball anyway? That’s me whenever my brains tells me to beat off.
I was getting kind of down this week. The last time I was able to touch Belle was on Saturday. Sunday she wasn’t interested (and we stayed up late watching the Oscars), Monday she was tired from staying up late on Sunday, Tuesday she was at a work thing, got home late and was just not in the mood, and Wednesday I was out late at a work thing. Four solid days where I never even touched my wife in a sexual way, let alone got to lick her nipples or nuzzle into her pussy. I asked her Wednesday before I left for my thing if she liked not letting me grope or otherwise come on to her. Because, of course, as a servile husband, if she likes what I don’t, it works, but if she doesn’t like what I don’t like, it’s poison.
Turns out, yeah, she does like controlling when I touch her. In fact, the conversation led her to ask me just how badly I wanted to touch her. Was I feeling deprived? I said yes, I was, and then let tumble out how much I wanted to put my hands on her and exactly what I wanted to do with my hands…along with other parts of my body. She gently reprimanded me and said that’s not what she asked. I revised and simplified my answer. Yes, I felt deprived. That’s good, she said, because that was how it needed to be. And that made it all OK.
Finally, last night, the stars aligned. We were in bed, she was in the mood, and the atmosphere (candles, iPod, etc.) was all set. But, she still wouldn’t let me touch her. I had to lay there for 15 minutes just talking. When she decided it was time, I felt like a trained Doberman being told to attack. She likes it gentle, though, and I did my best to restrain myself. Nothing for me, of course. She barely touched me. Her orgasm, though, was remarkable.
I was taken aback at how it felt to finally touch her breasts, to have my hand between her legs, her nipple in my mouth. The wave of relief that went through me was palpable. So you can add this extra dimension of denial to my collection. No orgasms, no stimulation of the cock, no sexual contact at all with my wife’s body. She controls all those things now. All I have left is what happens in my imagination. And that, absent any path to physical sensation or relief, increases the density of her control over me and sends my frustration into the clouds. I’m very happy to be wearing the CB6K as not having it would severely test my will.
Speaking of the device, I had to take the KSD-G3 off the other day. I use the one wil the shallowest rib more to keep the cock positioned well than for security, but the other morning I woke up with the acute sensation of it biting into the top of the shaft. Sure enough, there was an angry red line where it had made contact with the skin. This is not unusual, but the intensity of the bite that morning was atypical. No idea why.
The past few days have had me in grown-up clothes (dress pants) which have necessitated me wearing my most stealthy underwear. I have several pairs of tight, low-cut briefs that push the plastic down between my legs and back into my pelvis. This is very effective at hiding the package, but when combined with lots of sitting (four hour meeting yesterday, for example), it can leave me feeling pretty raw and sore. The ring, only on the right side for some reason, cuts into my flesh and that problematic spot behind the right post gets red and irritated. Luckily, today, I’m in some very forgiving boxer-briefs and am wearing my most baggy, chastity-friendly pants. Everything gets to swing a little more freely.
Here’s what I think about porn (at least, the porn I like): It’s fantasy. An escape. Total unreality. Just enough basis in real life so that it’s not outrageous and unbelievable (it needs to be just believable), but honestly not so far removed from a cartoon. Porn is not about the mundane mechanics of how sex should or does work, it’s about turning people on. Porn is not a guide to sex any more than The Lion King is a guide to wildlife. It should be reasonably well-written with all the words spelled correctly and with acceptable grammar. Basically, it shouldn’t look like it was pecked out with one hand (if you know what I mean). That is the standard I have tried to follow as I’ve continued this story.
Please note that the events I’ve depicted here have no basis in any personal experiences, except that Belle and I did once spend a very nice (very vanilla) weekend in Montreal in a room not unlike the one I describe in the story. I am not representing real life here and I am also very clearly not trying to describe some kind of ideal life through fiction. I would not want what happens to the guy in this story to happen to me (not all of it, anyway). Life is life, porn is porn. They are not the same.
Anyway, with that outrageously long preamble out of the way, let’s continue. Last we saw our protagonist, he was bound to a chair, a red dildo up his ass, on display in front of the windows of the hotel room he shared with his wife. Night was beginning to fall. Soon, it would be hard for anyone to miss him…
I’m currently relistening to Maymay and Sara’s Kink on Tap podcast, espisode 6 – Teasing and Denial. I first heard it when I was just starting to explore T&D and found it to be incredibly helpful. Now, several months later, I’m finding myself nodding along and better understanding many of the themes they discuss. I’m actually getting more out of it now that I’m a bit more experienced. I can’t recommend it enough.
The next episode in the series was a continuation of the T&D conversation, but this time with Tom Allen. I look forward to hearing it again and capturing any nuggets of info I may have missed the first time around.
Sadly, Tom’s was their last KoT. Maymay and Sara have moved on to other projects, but I still hope that one day they’ll find the time and interest necessary to revive the podcast. It was terrific.