Tag: D/s

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The end (and the beginning)

The other night, in the middle of the night, I was seriously fucking horny. Like, the kind of horny that wakes you up. I kept finding my hands on Belle and putting them under her bed clothes and generally getting all worked up by feeling the hot, smooth skin up and down her ass and up her back and all that. I’d fall asleep for a bit, wake up and do it again, the tube would get all full, then I’d fall back asleep.

Next day (yesterday, actually) I asked her if I was bugging her when I did that. I didn’t want to bug her but honestly couldn’t stop myself in that half asleep horned up state without her coming out and telling me to stop. No, I wasn’t bugging her, she said. She kind of liked it.

Not sure what we talked about then, but I mentioned something to the effect that if I ever did bug her too much, she could always just let me come and I’d be manageable for a little while. She scoffed at that saying I’d also get all moody and pissy and grumpy and she preferred the hot and horny version of me over that. She keeps saying that I was a pill after she made me come over July 4th, but I still think I was pretty OK with it. Whatever.

That led me to asking something about when my next orgasm was going to be because if there’s one thing a guy in denial likes to talk about it’s his denial. We’re all over that shit. A few other things were bandied back and forth before she just came out and told me something she’d already decided.

I wasn’t going to come again.

She won’t go so far as to say “never” because that’s a long time. Suffice it to say she has no plans whatsoever to let me come and is inclined to leave me in my current state indefinitely. As far as thinking about orgasms or wondering when they might happen or whatever, I might as well stop because they’re not on the table. They’re not next to the table or under the table. They’re not in the room with the table or in the house with the room with the table in it.

Of course (OF COURSE) as soon as that sunk in (while I was hugging her and kissing her neck and generally feeling very submissive and lucky, etc.) a little part of me suggested I remember what an orgasm felt like. I tend not to think about that, but now, for some reason, it seemed OK. So I did. I thought about the mental fireworks and the wave of release and the euphoric afterglow and…how I would not be feeling that again. At least not intentionally. At least not for a really long time.

I remember back when we first started at this and my denial periods could be easily counted in hours and reading about guys who were permanently denied orgasms and how I thought, OH JESUS FUCK WHO WANTS THAT!? It was both scary but, I should have known, terribly stimulative. But here we are. I have no problem admitting I’ve wanted this. I think it’s the next logical extension of the path we’ve been on.

Some might wonder what the point is of living a permanently denied life. Some might think that taking the orgasm out of the equation might somehow alter the outcome such that its no longer appealing. Basically, some guys, even denied and locked-up ones, might still like the idea of occasionally coming (or, at least, the promise of it). I get that. That’s not me.

I’ve changed a lot. I’ve stopped directing my desire for sex at Belle as if its something she owes me. I still want it, yeah, I and still feel OK making her know I do, but I don’t feel compelled to push her on it and don’t feel in any way slighted if she doesn’t produce. Not like I used to. I’ve written on this recently so I don’t need to dwell, but at some point, I feel like I passed the “me” phase of sex. Now it’s minimally “us” and, more often, “her.” And to me, that’s what’s natural and right. Orgasms change how I feel about that. They short circuit it. I don’t want to come because when I do it fucks with how I like my brain chemistry to be.

I guess what I’m saying is I’ve willingly traded in my ability to orgasm so that I’m left in this constant state of needing and wanting and totally subsuming my needs to her will. For some people, that might sound scary or even unhealthy. It is, for me, the most total and comforting and satisfying submission I can imagine. We have sex when she wants. Period, end of story. How she wants. Period, end of story. The only release and climax I get is whatever I can sap off of her when she comes. I don’t come because doing so upsets the balance we both prefer.

I’m not concerned about the health implications. I ejaculate plenty. At least if “plenty” can be defined as “every week or two when she lets me inside her and the penis leaks semen right after I get close to coming.” It’s kind of like milking, really. Or ruined orgasms. I get myself up to the edge and then stop and it comes out. Lots of it. Prostate problem solved.

Now that we’re here, I’m going to try and change my behavior a bit.

  1. I will never ever ask Belle if I can come. Not once. This is the bed I wanted and I’ll have to lie in it.
  2. I will never ever tell her I want to come, even if I do. She already knows me well enough to know when I’m feeling that way. She can assume that if I’m fucking her, I will be feeling an intense desire to come in her.

I don’t know why I feel it’s important to do these things. Maybe it’s because she’s made this decision and I need to show that I respect it and will live by it. Maybe it’s because in the past I may have sent mixed messages and I don’t want her to feel even a microscopic iota of guilt or doubt. Maybe it’s to show that I’m ready to live like this, fully and completely. It almost feels like a new commitment between us. A new level of marriage or something. As marriage is an outcome of dating, this new commitment is an outcome of our several year experiment with denial. The next stage of the journey is starting.

So, you know, NO, I’m not going to say this is the route everyone should take. But I’m very happy she’s decided this is our route. I’ll follow her right along it until she decides to take us in another direction.

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Winces, ointments, and fantasies

“I love that sound.”

That’s what Belle said after she gave me the key to the Steelheart and, as I was removing it, I made wincing grunty noises as each of my swollen balls popped through the device’s A-ring. She loves the sound of my balls being released because it means she’s going to have some fun with the penis.

But I wasn’t. Following our previous experiments with lidocaine lotion, reader nagadikandang related their experience with a similar product called Tattoo Soothe. It comes in two varieties, but the one I got is 5% Lidocaine, 20% benzocaine and 5% tetrazine. It’s pretty damned expensive. Fifteen grams of the stuff costs about $30 on Amazon.

However, the additional ingredients seem to make it more potent than lidocaine all by itself. The consistency of Tattoo Sooth is thicker and stickier than the lotions I’ve used in the past. It doesn’t go on as easily and is a little more difficult to wipe off. I applied it, rolled a condom over everything to ensure it didn’t dry out, and waited exactly 15 minutes before removing it. I was totally and completely deadened. I felt nothing. While I used to think lidocaine left me totally numb, if it’s possible, Tattoo Sooth left me feeling even more than totally numb. Like there was a sensation vacuum left at the end of the penis.

That may have been too much of a good thing. I couldn’t get hard enough to penetrate Belle so she could get off. That’s the bad news. The good news is she was a chatty little thing that night.

“Have I ever told you that I sometimes fantasize that you’re a girl? A girl with a cock.”

N-o. Nope. Never told me that. Definitely would have remembered hearing that before.

“Ever had a three way?”

Once, but it didn’t work out.

“Two girls?”

No, one girl and another guy.

“What if we had a three way with another girl?”

Oh, yeah, I’m there.

“What do you imagine that would be like?”

You’d be riding the numbed penis while she sat on my face and the two of you kissed and played with each other’s tits.

“Purrr…”

Then we talked about the flirty policeman.

“I imagined that I took him into one of those below-street brownstone entrances, under the stairs, and fucked him right there…”

Ung. Yeah?

“His cock was so thick and fat I had a hard time getting it in…”

The one and only deficiency she’s admitted to feeling about the penis is its relative lack of girthiness. She doesn’t like them long, but she likes them hefty. I’m not hefty, but the imaginary policeman lover was.

At one point, she demonstrated on me how she sucked the cop’s cock, but of course, I couldn’t feel it in the parts that mattered. I could feel the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips, but only at the base of the shaft where it did me no good.

It’s interesting to me that in her fantasy encounter with the cop, she was clearly dominant. In my fantasy, he was, but she told it to me as if she was the aggressor and controller of the encounter.

As I said, I couldn’t get hard enough to let her fuck me (which could have just as easily been a little bit of stress I was feeling regarding how long the numbing agent would last), so she sat on top of me and ground her pussy against whatever condition the penis was in. I didn’t know because I could feel nothing. But she did come.

Afterward, she told me I could fuck her. And I did, after a good deal of coaxing, but I felt almost nothing. Just enough to get hard from the activity, but not nearly enough to ever come from it. Not even close.

As I fucked her, I told her how I wished my orgasm was something physical I could actually give her. Take it out of my body and place it in her hand. I saw it as a small red gem glowing steadily. I told her how I dreamed of watching her close her fist around it and squeezing it until it shattered and its dark pieces fell out onto the floor. Extinguished. How that would leave me with an hollow place that would only be filled with an unquenchable desire for something that was physically unable for me to achieve.

I fell asleep before the penis came back to life. The next morning, she let me fuck her again, only this time I could feel it. I got close to coming several times and leaked a few surges of sticky ejaculate into her before she told me my time was up. She left me out of the device until this morning when, while kissing me goodbye for the day, she whispered into my ear that I needed to lock myself back up.

So I did. So I am.

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Focus

Something I was thinking about late last night when, in one of those random moments of wakefulness, I reached over and spooned into Belle and let my hand run under her nightclothes and over her smooth ass and the contents of the Steelheart pulsed and craved. It directly relates to my previous post about finding a Zen-like place to keep all my pent-up desire.

I mean, I wanted her. I needed her. Her pleasure is mine and I am really, really wanting to feel that. Distractingly so because it’s been so long since I had it. In the early years, it was remarkably easy to find anger in that. To want to throw all the internal stress out at her. But I don’t anymore. I know she knows how I feel and I know she’ll take care of me eventually. In due time. Not yet.

The way I was able to get through this period last night was to, as they say, see the glass as half full rather than half empty. Yes, I’m desperately needy, but I’m also exactly as I wanted her to keep me. Exactly. I am locked up, unable to touch my own body or attain a normal erection or in any way pleasure myself. I’m totally under her control in that way as I wished to be. It’s all I wanted for her to control my sex and now she does, completely. The best part is, she wants me this way. It’s impossible to imagine that she would have left me unlocked while she was gone last weekend. That’s just not an option for me anymore. And while I was unlocked while I was gone the weekend before (unavoidably, perhaps), she put me back as soon as I got home. I rarely get to stay out for more than a night at time now unless something external intercedes or it’s a special occasion. So I have the best of all possible situations. I’m locked and controlled because that’s how she wants me. That’s how she prefers me to be. I asked for exactly this.

Back around Labor Day, we talked some about that. How she considers my willingness to be locked by her a romantic gesture. She sees my sacrifice of orgasm and self-pleasure as a token of my dedication to her and our marriage. She finds comfort knowing what I’m not doing when she’s not with me. I allow this to happen to me because I acknowledge it makes me a better and more attentive partner. It makes our relationship stronger.

Yes, of course, that’s all true. But it’s not like I don’t get anything out of it.

And what I get out of it is what I concentrated on last night. The feeling of the hard steel pressing up between me and the mattress, squeezing my wannabe erection. The knowledge that I wasn’t getting what I wanted in that moment but I was getting all I wanted in the bigger picture. How, in only the way possible in this kind of dynamic, even not getting what I want is exactly what I want.

I’m desperately horny for her. That’s the reason we do this. We have sex when she decides. Period. I’m supposed to crave what I have no control over. Her pussy. The penis. Our sex. Everything. I’m not ignored, even though circumstances have conspired to make me feel a little neglected. I’m actually quite loved and cared for.

That’s what I focused on.

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Cop tease

As I said the other day, Belle’s out of town. She’s visiting her BFF in NYC and, from what I can tell, having a wonderful time.

Yesterday, she FaceTimed me from the BFF’s apartment. She was on a couch in the living room and the BFF and her husband were on a another. I can hear them, they can hear me, etc. It’s like being on a conference call.

So we’re chatting about whatever, where they’re going to dinner that night, etc., and then she tells me about this cop. Apparently, while they were hanging out in Little Italy and walking around some cop winked at Belle. Not just a “Hey there,” kind of wink. More like a “How you doin’?” kind of wink.

Belle then continued to explain to me, with some enthusiasm (I mean, I can see the fire in her eyes as she tells me this and that its about the same color as her beautiful red hair), how exciting this was for her, how big the cop was (pretty big, I guess), and, of course, how cute he was (natch). All in front of the BFF and husband. Who does this? Who tells their husband how hot this cop was who winked at her and how she’s thinking of going back to try to find him, etc., in front of other people?

MINE.

Of course, this made me very hot. I didn’t know exactly how to respond knowing these other people who aren’t (as far as I know) clued in to our dynamic were right there, so I tried to be non-committal. I made a joke about how he wanted to protect and serve her and said something about how’d he’d use his nightstick on her if she was lucky (to which she said, “Yeah, I hope so.”). Otherwise, my insides were all fluttery and my balls tingled and my free hand went in my pants and squeezed them. This was all in good fun, but it was right up my humiliation and cuckold fantasy alley.

What I wanted to say was how fucking crazy it made me to think of her with this big cop. Of her down on her knees and unzipping his tight blue uniform pants and sucking his thick cock as it sprang out at her. I wanted to know just how big he was (over six feet? six-four? six-five?), ask her about his ethnicity, how much hair he had, and all that. I thought of his beefy hairy ass flexing with each thrust into her soaking and hungry pussy, her moaning with each deep penetration, and how she’d come at the very moment his seed would be spilling out of her in surging spurts.

Gah! Yeah. All that.

But, the BFF and her husband. So I made my jokes and tried to keep my voice calmly measured. But that’s what I thought about all the rest of the night as I clutched the hard steel and, obviously, into this morning. It makes me shiver, even as I write this.

Belle gets home late tonight. Too late for anything to happen, I know, but I can only hope she’ll let me eat her up. I want my face in her pussy where I can imagine I can still smell the cop’s sex clinging to her.

Ungh. I got it bad.

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Hyperactive mojo ball

Belle went out of town for the weekend yesterday. She won’t be back until Sunday night. Last weekend, I was out of town. The four days in between she was on her period. I don’t think we’ve had sex in two weeks. Le sigh.

If you’re a man (like me) who is sexually frustrated (uh, yep) and is married to a woman who locks his penis up because he can’t be trusted not to play with it all the time when she’s not around (guilty) and, even if it wasn’t, you’re not allowed to come anyway (you’re looking at him), you can deal with this kind of situation in one of three ways. I know because I’ve done them all.

  1. Be a whiney bitch. Feel sorry for yourself and act like nobody in the world appreciates what you’re going through.
  2. Get mad at your keyholder. See number 1. You’re miserable, she doesn’t appreciate you or your sacrifice, and why doesn’t she realize this is time you’re never getting back? Life is unfair and she’s worse.
  3. Fucking chill out and get all zen on this shit.

Regular men without the locked dicks or prohibitions on ejaculation can nip all this in the bud by nipping the fuck out of their buds (or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays). When you can’t do that, though, the brain chemicals and emotions and unrelieved reproductive fluids all gel together and form a hyperactive mojo ball that floats somewhere down behind your belt buckle, occasionally jetting out solar eruptions into your balls and cock or up into your brain making it foggy and unfocused.

Think of it like the core of a nuclear reactor. You can’t just let those things sit around anywhere. They need to be covered and maintained. In the wrong hands, they’re explosively deadly. When handled appropriately, all that power can be harnessed for good.

When I was first dealing with this stuff, I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know how to deal with the surges and the compulsions. Belle didn’t either, of course, or even really understand what I was feeling. But at some point, you figure out how to envelope all the crazy fluttering and need to do something and jitteriness. It’s still there. I can feel it right now. Physically. In my balls and in my chest and in my guts. Tingling and tickling me. But it’s not sending me into a bad place. Sure, it makes me want to look at a fuck-load of porn, but emotionally, I’m stable.

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you how to do this (so maybe you don’t want that book I was talking about after all). How to refocus and learn to draw on the energy at the moments she decides are right is key to being able to live with denial. I don’t know if those who are only denied for short periods can ever have enough time to figure it out (or even need to). That’s not my life experience, of course.

I recall early on someone left a comment here that’s not too much unlike what I’m saying. The horny guy in me railed against what he was saying. Pushed back on it hard. Hated to hear it. But the guy I am now gets it. All the way down. It’s not always easy. We’re playing with a kind of fire, to be sure. But whatever and however it works, it makes things better for us. That’s all that counts.

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Temporary insanity

Denial does some crazy shit to your head. At least, I find myself thinking and feeling things I doubt I’d have ever felt or thought back when I was having orgasms on a regular basis.

First example. The other morning, Belle and I were having sex. Which is to say, the penis was pushing with all its might against the Jail Bird’s bars while I fingered her and sucked her tits, etc. There was a hope she’d let me out and fuck me, but it wasn’t looking too good in that regard and she had already come so I figured my window had closed. But, the key-like thing was unexpectedly produced and the Jail Bird was off (grudgingly, as the penis was nearly totally hard at the time) and I was on top of her and ready to go.

And at the very moment of penetration, the most remarkable sensation of gratitude came over me. Literally in a cool wave I felt from head to toe the second the tip of the penis felt the hot, wet confines of Belle’s snatch. There was a time in the less than great days of our relationship where I felt resentment at Belle for not having sex with me. I felt entitled and it made me angry at her for not letting it happen. Of course, there were a lot of other things going on back then, but I felt a real sense of injustice at the fact that she had all the power in that regard.

Now, it’s all been turned on its head. Of course, she still has all the power over sex. When, how, what. And now I fucking love it. The difference is, obviously, it’s a consensual thing. I’ve willingly given up any claim or entitlement as her husband and have embraced what I think is her natural right to manage our sex life as she sees fit (even with my suggestions or input, she makes all the final decisions).

And that feeling when I entered her. That feeling of pure blue gratitude that she’d let me do it. That she was willing to indulge my desire for it solely for its own sake. It made me so happy. It made me feel so cared for and loved. It wasn’t a new sensation, to be sure. I’ve felt that way before, but not often so sharply and acutely. It was remarkable.

The other example was from yesterday. I was sitting with an employee in a coffee shop and I was giving him performance feedback, etc. It wasn’t the easiest conversation, actually. Not confrontational, but not warmly positive, either. We were sitting across from each other and the sun was coming in behind him and all of a sudden I thought several things all on top of one another.

I wonder what his cock is like…? I bet it’s a fat one.

I wonder if he’s ever gotten a blowjob from a guy?

God, I want to suck his cock.

NO, seriously, what in the actual fuck is that all about!?

Thing is, I don’t find the guy especially attractive. He’s not bad looking (could be considered cute by some), but he’s not my type in any way. And I’m literally old enough to be his father. I’ve never had any kind of sexual thought about him in the seven months I’ve known him. And, in the middle of this pseudoreview, I was thinking seriously impure things about him for about 3.7 seconds. It was one of those middle of the sentence, train of thought losing, stopping and saying, “…um,” kind of moments.

This sort of thing has happened before. I recall once being in a professional situation with four young women (two employees and two clients) and suddenly feeling intoxicatingly turned on by all their hair and nice smells and pretty clothes. It’s all so sudden and intense and real. I assume it’s hormones. Has to be.

Of course, it happens most with Belle.

The thing I’m really curious about is how those sudden flashes of sexual desire work with otherwise straight guys. Do they ever feel that way about another dude? Or no. My presumption is that the constant (usually) low level of sexual frustration would act as a corrosive element against the expected sexual norms imposed upon us by society (assuming, as I do, that most of us have a small touch of the gay hiding within). I know that I think about cock A LOT more now (hence the several and gratuitous cock shots on The Portfolio – such as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,  etc.), but I think about everything sexual more now. Do those straight guys ever feel an unexpected stirring around another dude? Or does their compulsive Tumblr surfing ever turn up an image of a big hard dick that makes them pause and stare? Does it freak them out?

Honestly, I’d be surprised it if it didn’t happen.

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Mailbag

Reader sg4esubby reached out via the FetLife and had many nice things to say as well as a question for me:

My first question is how has the introduction of chastity affected your day to day relationship dynamic as well as its long term dynamic?

Gah! I mean…whew. That’s, like, the biggest question you could ask. My only response can be this entire blog has been an attempt to answer it. In short, the increased emotional and physical intimacy that the overlay of chastity and orgasm denial has allowed has made my relationship with Belle perhaps stronger than it’s ever been. We’ve been married coming up on sixteen years and I’ve never been more into her (and her into me, I think).

But notice what I said there. “The increased emotional and physical intimacy that the overlay of chastity and orgasm denial has allowed…” That’s the secret. A clear and honest exchange of what we want and how we feel has led directly to where we are today. Of course, I think there’s a lot of special elements that denial adds into the mix, but it’s that openness and communication that’s really made our relationship better.

He went on to ask…

The second question is actually more geared toward your wife should she have the time to offer a response. We’re both curious as to her experience adjusting to controlling your orgasms and discovering the changes that took place as a result of that new control. Be it a more submissive husband or a more pestering annoying husband or anything else that she experienced.

Again, super broad question. Unfortunately, Belle’s not kept a parallel blog along the way so all you have is my take on it. Belle’s not usually been eager to contribute here and I’m not sure where she’d even start on this. Maybe if you could break it down into more bite-sized bits.

An anonymous source inquired:

Dear Sir,
I’m sorry for using this way of contacting you in this matter but I have to admit I find myself unable to register onto chastityforums. I must have been trying for like twenty minutes but I’ve been unable to find the bunny’s name.

Can you offer any advice?

Nope. Assuming you’re trying to find out my real name. I don’t put that out there. This is mostly out of consideration for Belle.

I misunderstood. It’s apparently in reference to a security question I set up on the Chastity Forums a long time ago and forgot about. The answer, of course, is “Thumper.”

Jesse asked:

Hi, I have a question about effects of chastity.  There seems to be a lot of conflicting information on the topic online so I figured I would contact someone personally who has first-hand experience.  Have you noticed the size of erections diminishing or the ability to achieve an erection after being in chastity?

This is a total urban legend. I’ve been locked up maybe 70% of the time (or more) for the past several years. I’ve had thousands of erections compressed and constrained by various tubes and cages. The penis is the same size erect now as it’s ever been.

You don’t say if you want it to be true or not. Most of the people I’ve seen discuss this online actually do want it to be true (or are happily claiming it is). I get that. I really do. But, fortunately or unfortunately (depending on your thing), penises are what they are and seem very difficult to change in either direction.

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Rolling a twenty

the big twentyI clearly remember the first time I played Dungeons & Dragons. It was the summer between sixth and seventh grade and I was over at my friend Steve’s house and he and a few other friends were about to start a session and one of them loaned me a character to play with. I had no idea what I was doing, but I loved the fact that this game (right at the dawn of home video gaming — not even sure the 2600 was out yet) required someone to tell the story we were in and all we had was some paper, pencils, and colorful dice, along with our imaginations, to be able to enjoy it. And, of course, our destinies weren’t fixed since we had to keep making decisions along the way.

Decisions such as mine to try and pick a lock on a door with this other dude’s character. I guess I was playing a thief, but not a very good one, because the lock was booby-trapped and the character was poisoned. I had to roll an icosahedron (fancy word for a twenty-sided die) and get a 20. Rolling a twenty is a very difficult thing to do since, obviously, you only have a one in twenty chance of doing it. I remember how all the other kids leaned over me to see what I rolled (and how the Dungeon Master in particular had a gleam in his obviously sadistic eye) and how the dude whose thief I was playing was especially sweating it (since once that character was dead, it was dead…for the most part). I, as I said, had no idea what was going on except all of a sudden I was expected to do this thing that everyone told me was just not done.

But I did it. Twenty.

And I was hooked. I played pretty faithfully well into high school, made a bunch of my own characters, bought little lead figures, all the various books (which I still have), multi-colored dice, and even played the role of Dungeon Master myself from time to time. I remember going home that night and enthusing to my mom about this awesome new game and the monsters in it and the weapons (like the vorpal blade — I specifically recall telling her about the vorpal blade) and how I suddenly knew what I was going to be doing for the rest of the summer (besides watching Price is Right). She gave me a lot of those “yes, dear”s and “uh-huh”s that moms are occasionally required to give their excited kids (whereas my dad eventually told me how D&D was a tool of the Devil, but that’s another story).

I also remember two girls named Anne and Pam. They were best friends and had attached themselves to the circle of guys I was hanging out with. We’d get together to play D&D at one or another’s houses while our parents were at work and Anne and Pam would always seem to be around so they got sucked in. Not that they wanted to. I have to admit I have no idea what they would have rather been doing since I was a self-absorbed teenage boy and they were outnumbered by a bunch of others just like me, but for some reason they decided to half-heartedly play along (we also played a lot of Diplomacy which they also soldiered through without enthusiasm, but I’m not going to talk about that because I’m trying to make a point here).

And the other day it occurred to me how much kink is like Dungeons & Dragons. I suppose I cannot be the first person to make this connection, but they both involve fantasy sessions where one person is in charge and others willingly submit to their authority. They both are replete with rules and traps and interpersonal dynamics that are only clear to those with experience or a willing guide. They both have friggin’ costumes and personas their players use to escape from the mundane world. Really, it seems to me, the same source of energy that feeds one’s involvement in a game as deep as D&D is where kinksters go to energize for their play sessions.

And, of course, there are adult, real-life versions of Anne and Pam involved. Namely, for me and those like me and many reading this blog, I’m talking about our spouses. My mom didn’t need to get all that into D&D to appreciate how much I liked it. She was on the outside. Our wives, though, (or partners or whatever you have), like Anne and Pam, do. And there’s no reason to think they’ll be any more enthusiastic about it than Anne and Pam were. Except Anne and Pam could have just walked away (they did, eventually) whereas our spouses don’t have that as such an easy option. To them, we’ve suddenly discovered a vast and compelling obsession with a complicated game they previously had no interest in playing (or maybe that it even existed) and, worse part is, the rules are obtuse, unclear, and often being generated on the fly by their suddenly enthused partner.

Imagine that from their perspective.

No, really.

If you’re lucky (like I am), your partner is willing to learn the rules (or, more correctly, establish them with you). If you’re not, they aren’t. But in either event, rushing into it and trying to go from Vanillaville to a fantasy sex slave cuckold in permanent chastity has about as much chance of success as my rolling a perfect twenty almost thirty years ago. It could happen, but nobody can remember seeing it for themselves.

So anyway, think about that. Think about how much guys like us expect our partners to digest and change and how impatient we generally are about it because we’ve just found this awesome new game! No, really, you’re going to love it! Really! There are no Player’s Handbooks (well, there are some that try to be, but the rules aren’t so well defined). There are no Monster Manuals. This shit is complicated and often unexpected with its arrival in a relationship. At least from their perspective.

You can drop a guy into a D&D session without guidance or warning and tell him to roll a twenty and it’ll be OK. You can’t do that with the person you share your life with. You need to go more slowly.

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Devil fruit and other news

I broke a rule the other day. I had just finished a book on my Kindle and I went and bought another. For $15. Except, I’m not allowed to spend any money without Belle’s approval, am I? I even need permission to spend two bucks on the App Store. This is supremely annoying, but I guess I shouldn’t like all the rules.

I admitted I did it, at least. Belle said I’d have to be punished and ruminated on that for a few days. In the end, she decided that I’d have to eat some banana. I loathe bananas. I don’t like how they smell, I especially don’t like their slimy texture. I don’t understand why anyone eats them. I offered to pay the $15 back (how, I don’t know, though my ATM withdrawals seem to be a bit of a loophole in the “don’t spend money” thing). But she didn’t want money. She wanted me to be punished.

It wasn’t a lot of banana. Just a few slices. She was about to leave the house yesterday morning when it went down. It was left-overs from my daughter’s breakfast and, having seen them in advance (I should have tossed them out, in retrospect), I feared this would happen. Belle didn’t specify how I had to eat them, just that they had to eaten, so I cut them into halves and swallowed them each whole with a swig of Diet Coke (my morning caffeine delivery beverage of choice). Gagged twice, once pretty seriously. She was there, all dressed in her work clothes, impatiently waiting for me to finish. Almost literally tapping her foot. It was awful. Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me ill.

Belle was gleeful over the whole thing. Like, ridiculously pleased. Later in the day, in remembering the event, she actually giggled and clapped her hands like a little girl. She really got into her role as the punisher and was quite pleased with herself for devising something so unpleasant. She said to me it had to be bad so I wouldn’t break her rules again. It was pretty bad.

In other news, I’m feeling somewhat recovered from the unexpected orgasm Belle pulled out of me. We haven’t talked about what my expectations should be going forward. It’s been interesting having just one after such a long period without. I don’t think this has happened before. It’s usually at least two, but there’s zero sign another is forthcoming (so to speak). In any event, I still feel different than usual. More horny, more locked up, less happy about it all. Not that I’m unhappy, mind you. Not at all.

In other other news, I’m considering moving my blog from WordPress.com to DreamHost (their DreamPress product, specifically) because of this. Freaks me the fuck out. Frustration that we live in a time where a serious discussion of the kinds of topics I cover here (and the accompanying imagery) could be considered so outrageous and beyond that pale that a company like WordPress would make it all cease to exist without warning or reprieve in a blink of an eye maybe if they fucking feel like it (and they apparently don’t always and it’s hard to know if and when the whim will ever strike them). Terrified that it all could, as I said, cease to exist in the blink of an eye! This site is so personal to me. It is me. I think it’s the manifestation of what blogging is all about. I hate hate hate that I even have to dick around with the idea of moving.

I didn’t choose WordPress.com because it was free, I picked WordPress as a platform because it had all the features I wanted. I chose WordPress.com so I wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of taking care of my own install. Over the years, we’ve paid WordPress not an insubstantial amount to add video and remove ads and have a custom domain, etc. This isn’t a money issue, it’s a convenience and functionality one. But, I’m either left to, as Ferns said, “be prepared and wait” for the day where my site resolves to a page that says my blog has been deleted or take things into my own hands and get ahead of the issue. I’ve already signed up with DreamHost (with Belle’s permission, of course, since it required I spend money) but I’ve run into a problem. Because I’m picky and particular, I want to prepare the blog on DreamHost first then switch the DNS so that to you, the reader of my blog, it all looks rather seamless. But I can’t seem to do that. And it’s bugging the crap out of me.

OBNOXIOUS TECHNICAL BIT

DreamHost wants the blog’s URL to set it up under DreamPress but, as you can see, I’m kinda using the URL for something else right now. I thought about setting up a subdomain for the specific purpose of preparing the blog and then swapping it out for the proper domain when the time came, but GoDaddy (my registrar) won’t let me do that with a URL hosted elsewhere (and mine’s at WordPress — you’re soaking in it). WordPress doesn’t seem to offer this service, either, so I am stymied. I could always use a different URL altogether, I suppose, until it’s time to swap or I could change the domain to be registered with DreamHost (since GoDaddy is, I think, a horrible company anyway) but that’s kind of a pain. I’m not doing anything right now because the simplest path forward is blocked and, have I mentioned, I HATE HATE HATE that I have to dick around with this bullshit.

Any advice or other ideas would be welcomed in the comments.

/ OBNOXIOUS TECHNICAL BIT

Finally, I’ve been meaning to mention Steelwerks Extreme’s new site for a bit. I don’t know how long it’s been like it is now, but I became aware of it about three weeks ago, I guess. For those unaware (and I’m sure that’s not many of you considering where you are), Steelwerks makes some of the most amazingly beautiful chastity devices on the planet. Their construction techniques and materials are absolute top-notch and the fit and finish of the final product appears to be impeccably gorgeous. I’ve always admired their products, but never considered asking Belle to acquire one since it seemed like the only limit to what you could get was your imagination. I found that a little overwhelming. Now, they’ve done a great job “productizing” their devices so, for me anyway, it’s easier to shop and choose and then customize. More like how Mature Metal and Steelworxx merchandise their wares.

classic-pa-chastity-device03So while perusing their new site, I found a model they call The Classic PA. This is kinda of like a cross between the Steelheart and the Looker 02. Simple and lovely and shiny. Like the Steelheart, it’d be completely secure via my PA piercing and, like the Looker, it can have a PA insert. Unlike anything from Steelworxx or Mature Metal, the Steelwerks device is expensive (remember what I said about impeccable, top-notch, and gorgeous?). I asked for a quote for essentially what you see here and they promptly informed me it’d be $2,875 CDN (today, that’s just under $2,800 USD). I knew it would be a lot…but wow. Don’t get me wrong. I think these things are worth every bit of what they charge. But damn.

In any event, I showed the site and the device to Belle and told her how much it was. She was immediately drawn to the beauty of the device but didn’t seemed too intrigued until we watched the promotional video and she saw the key. Again, for the unaware, Steelwerks devices are “locked” with a proprietary screw with an S-shaped screwhead. It can only be opened or closed with a matching S-screwdriver. That screwdriver can be hidden in a wide variety of custom made objects, but Belle liked the lovely necklace option. It’s clean and sleek and totally appropriate for any woman to wear. Currently, Belle keeps the key to me in her purse since the Steelworxx keys are kind of ugly (as are most). Seeing it always on her and nestled between her breasts would be, simply put, awesome.

Short story long, I think it’s entirely possible she’ll be ordering one of these someday. Not right now as we’re in the middle of some other expensive projects around the house, but I know my Belle. This is on her radar. It’s just a matter of time.

Now excuse me while I back-up my blog…

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She kept pumping

The festive July 4th weekend was a time of reflection for me since it was exactly a year ago that Belle let me have what turned out to be the last orgasms of the year and was the kick-off to my longest orgasmless period yet. I didn’t come again until January of this year and that was supposed to be the last time until July of next year. But it didn’t turn out that way.

I’ll back up.

I had been ruminating on how I’d mark this personally significant date (kinda like my independence from orgasms or something), but I never found the time over the busy holiday to sit down and do it. At Belle’s instruction, I brought the condoms and lidocaine with us to the northern retreat so she could enjoy the penis freely and I expected to be let out for that purpose at some point. She did let me out, but we didn’t do anything other than the usual stuff, though she did let me fuck her one morning and it was grand. We fucked like teenagers. Wildly and energetically and the whole time I was enjoying wanting so badly to come but being refused the right. I begged and cajoled. I bargained and justified. But no. It was good. It was how things are supposed to be. I was totally under her control.

I didn’t pressure Belle to use the lidocaine so as the last morning away from home dawned, I figured she just never wanted to give it a shot. As we laid there in bed, Belle started to run her finger along the length of the penis and around my inner thighs and around my nuts. It felt great. The erectile tissue did it’s thing and she wrapped her hand all the way around the hard shaft and started to pump. I splayed out, back arched, and lost myself in the feeling of her pleasuring me. I didn’t think she’d keep going for very long so I didn’t do any of my internal stuff to hold back the inevitable. She was really pumping and I was getting closer but I still didn’t try and stop anything since she wasn’t going to let me come (I thought). Suddenly, I realized I was very close and I said something to her about it. I made it quite clear where I was. She kept pumping.

Inside, the rabbit was appalled. Horrified. This was not supposed to happen. But the lizard, remembering the 17-year-old style fucking from the previous morning and the short leash and tight collar it’s been made to suffer though, was triumphant. He knocked my higher brain offline and rode the crest of the orgasm up and over the explosion of chemicals that seemed to hit every part of my sensory system simultaneously.

It hurt, I came so hard. I can’t say it was enjoyable. It was too intense. But the bubble had been burst. A real fucking orgasm, dreamy dopey hangover and all. Belle commented on how little ejaculate there was, but she hadn’t really been stroking me that long. This wasn’t as much a shot as it was an implosion. I laid there, stunned into paralysis, and felt the great billowing sail of my denial deflate inside my chest. Not sorrowfully. I refused to let myself think of it that way. Belle whispered something about how that was a demonstration of how I wasn’t in control of anything. When I could move again, I snuggled into her and wrapped my arms and legs around as much of her as possible.

Did I want to come? Of course. Desperately. Would I have chosen to come if she had asked my preference? Maybe. Am I glad I did now? Um…I dunno. Like I said, I’m trying not to think of it as a good or bad thing. I’m trying to think of it as analogous to when she hits my balls. Sometimes, I don’t like it. It’s not what I want at that moment. But I take it because it’s a symbol of my lack of control. That’s what this was, I suppose. What does this mean to the previously expressed July 2014 date? No idea.

Typically, I find I need two orgasms after a long denial to feel really sated. The first one is horribly intense and over the top. The second on is fanfuckingtastic. Then I’m totally out of the game for a week or more. This time, she locked me back up within 24 hours. I didn’t want the device. I wanted to stay out. The other shoe hadn’t been dropped. I wasn’t really in the zone, but I could feel the lizard sitting expectantly on the rabbit’s head. Last night, as Belle slept, I was laying there with my hand on my balls and hard, hard tube and yearning to be out. The device felt especially cruel. I wasn’t in subspace at all. I was in horny needy male space. That’s a different thing. She sensed my different attitude before dinner and asked where my usual subbie persona was. “Wiped off my stomach and into a dirty sock,” I said.

Today, I still feel like I’m in kind of a nether zone. Not what I usually feel. Not bad, just different. I am really horny. I mean, horny. Crudely so. My balls tingle and ache a little. I am not a fan of the steel between my legs. It’s a weird combination of things. Regardless of how it feels or how much I like it, it is an excellent demonstration of what Belle said she wanted it to be. I am not in control of my own sex in any way.