B.Y.O.D.

D/s is weird. Weird in that from the outside and to the uninitiated, it looks like the D side of the slash is in control but from the inside it’s clear that’s not true. It’s the lower-case consonant that sets the parameters of the dynamic (limits, boundaries, etc.) and, therefore, the rules the D has to follow. So no, the D’s power is not limitless. They call the shots and the sub wants them to, but the shots they call are enumerated by the sub. But it’s not always the case that the sub’s Dominant is all that interested in calling shots regardless of which are available to them.  

Some of us came to understanding our submissive nature later in life after pairing up with an unsuspecting partner. That can be catastrophic if the partner is not in any way cool with their other half’s inclinations to submission and unable to indulge them. Of course, that’s not me. I have a great spouse who’s willing to make all kinds of accommodations, but she’s not sexually dominant. She’s not naturally motivated by or wired for it. Seems to me guys in my boat (S.S. Subby McSubface) have two options. They can hope and wish and push for their wives to be active dominents or they can accept their wives’ more passive dominance. I think of it as the Mistress vs. the Goddess

Before I go any further, the usual caveats about this being from my point of view and not in all ways encompassing of the infinite diversity of human sexuality apply, etc blah blah.

The basic difference between the Mistress and Goddess, in my mind, it that Mistresses demand submission and Goddesses accept (and perhaps even expect) it. Some women (and men, but that’s not what I’m talking about) get off on playing within those boundaries established by the sub and pushing buttons and seeing how far they can go. Call them sadists or whatever, but they’re wired to find pleasure in how the sub responds to them. But my thinking is most women aren’t wired like that and while they may come to appreciate the benefits of having a submissive husband, they just aren’t going to ever be the kind of parter who will be forceful in asserting their dominent position. In those cases (more or less the case I’m in), the sub needs to find a way to project their submission onto their partner in kind of the same way religious devotees worship a theoretical deity. They need to construct in their minds a suitable target for their submission taking advantage of the topography of their surroundings. I know I’ve done this with Belle. At least she’s a tangible person who can interact with me and not some invisible sky friend throwing lightning bolts down from the sky or killing my crops with drought. 

I say all this because recently our D/s dynamic kind of sputtered out. Sometime around the beginning of March I started to feel it slip away to such an extent that I found no pleasure in wearing a device (though I did for a little while only because it was expected). Then, she let me out just before leaving for a trip and forgot to tell me to go back in and I didn’t remind her or put it back on by myself. When she got back, I said I didn’t want to wear it and she didn’t push it. This kind of thing has happened before for short periods, but the big difference is, other than when she initiated, I also pretty much lost all interest in sex, too. I tried to look at porn but I just couldn’t. Like, it wasn’t just uninteresting to me, it kind of annoyed and even disgusted me. I never touched the penis and never even thought about it. Not sure I even had an erection outside of the nocturnal kind and/or when Belle wanted me to. 

So, what the fuck, right? In unpacking this with the therapist Obi Wan, I came to understand that I was kind of like a religious person whose faith had been shaken. Not because of anything overt that Belle had done, but because of life. She’s been very busy at work and traveling and, I’d say, in a grumpier mood than usual. Any one of these things or even the combination of them over a short period I could deal with, but this was sustained for weeks and longer. Long hours at work followed by more work when she got home followed being absent and then perhaps flavored with my own issues led to a general collapse of the dynamic’s infrastructure. Even in the best of times, I need it to be bigger and more elaborate than she needs it to be so I’m by necessity “holding up” more than one half of it. When the footings on her side got a little crumbly, I couldn’t do it anymore and it fell down. 

But my submission and our rules are too ingrained to disappear completely. Instead of unilaterally disengaging and doing my own thing sexually, which is what happened years ago and led to all kinds of issues in our marriage, I simply shut down. If I can’t get a hard on looking at porn I can’t jack off and come without permission and that means I never have to deal with the reality of what that would have meant. My sex isn’t just mine anymore and acting like it was would have been too much to deal with so I just packed it all up in a box and put it on a shelf. But my sexuality is a big part of who I am so this left me dispondant. 

I never really said only of this to Belle. I didn’t want to be perceived as being unsupportive of her and what she needed to do with her job. So I just let it all happen. In general, Obi Wan thinks I don’t do enough to ensure my needs are being taken care of in the relationship. He thinks I tend to avoid conflict with Belle. He’s probably right. Of course, “ensure my needs are being taken care of” is an interesting concept for a sub, but it makes sense when the D/s dynamic as seen as an overlay to the foundational relationship. My needs are, to a certain extent, for my needs not to be taken care of, but only in the dynamic. Down in the foundational relationship, I was feeling neglected and maybe a bit taken for granted.

Again, Belle didn’t do this on purpose. She wasn’t being a terrible spouse. But I didn’t say what I was thinking because I was afraid it would cause her to think I was not being supportive to her needs and I didn’t want to get into a fight about it. 

Last week, we were away on a family vacation. Except for one night, it was close quarters for ten days. I hoped and expected that the trip would be when I turned a corner on all this. Not sure if it’s because of my expectations, but by the end of the trip I found myself a lot more interested in the penis that I had been for nearly a month. To the enxtent that yesterday I put the Looker 02 on. Porn was all of a sudden super hot and had I not locked it up I would have been pulling on it. This is not to say I or we are out of the woods or there won’t be some backsliding. Belle’s still busy. No reason to think that will change. Maybe this is just a little bit of sunlight breaking though some clouds or maybe a high pressure system is settling in. No idea. 

Obi Wan thinks Belle and I should see a therapist together. He even gave me some names of kink-aware people he knows (he doesn’t really do couples). I don’t know if we’ll take it that far or if we’ll figure it out but ourselves. Time will tell. 

Pussy first

Belle and I are in Hawaii for Christmas. I’ve never been here before since previously I was a Caribbean snob (and might still be; jury’s out). We’re staying in a redonculous house sitting on a lava rock-encrusted beach. Crashing waves, lively tide pools, and sizzling sunsets galore. Oh, and the occasional gecko slinking by.

When we travel together, Belle’s less stringent with the device. I’ve been free since we left home Sunday morning and remain that way today. I brought the Steelheart in case she wants me in it, but so far no. I find it a challenge to stay focused on my position when I’m not locked up. To not act needily neglected because there’s nothing locked on me. The feeling of the penis moving around in my board shorts or the PA jewelry sliding through the piercing can be quite distracting and that leads to me letting my eye off the proverbial ball. In turn, that can lead to unexpected moodiness and me being too pushy in bed.

To help remind me I don’t control the penis (or feeling like she’s somehow forgotten that), I’m wearing the aluminum cock ring whenever I’m not locked. It’s light and comfy and, when the penis isn’t surging, it’s hardly there but, when the penis is, it’s just tight enough to be very there. In a way, it’s more maddening than the Steelheart because it makes the penis harder and fatter and more sensitive when it’s turgid but that enhanced state is also an effective reminder of possession and control. Even though it ratchets up the feelings of stimulation when the penis is hard, it also keeps me centered.

There’s the old trope that men are simple and woman are complicated. Seems to me this mirrors our respective anatomy. Penises are all outward and obvious. When they’re hard, you know what’s going on. Pussies, though, are less obvious. To take their barometer (without sticking your finger in) one usually needs to gather a variety of inputs from a woman’s body and then divine what she’s thinking or wants. Our culture places an urgent priority on hard cocks. Once one appears, it needs to be attended to until it’s no longer that way.

But for me and our dynamic, that’s not the case at all. The penis, when it’s out, will often be hard when we’re close and intimate. Belle’s not nearly as likely to fall into the cultural bias trap that it needs attention when it’s like that, but it still occasionally happens. I’m totally invested in the idea that a hard penis between us means nothing more than when it’s a hard steel tube between us. Still, it’s all too easy for my reptile brain to overpower my rabbity sensibilities and make me pushy in those situations which, in turn, can lead her to letting me do things she may not really feel like doing.

To help alleviate that, our new rule is when we’re in bed and being close, rather than me intimating her desires through a filter of perception that’s biased towards pushing parts of me into her or waiting for her to say, “Thumper, get me off,” I’ll know she wants to take things further if she touches the penis. Until she gives it a touch (in a way that’s more than obviously incitental or accidental contact), I’ll assume she’s content with hugging and kissing and my hand caressing her ass or whatever. This morning, she never touched it so we never moved beyond simple affectionate snuggling and petting even though the penis was achingly hard and eventually leaking. She felt no pressure from me and I knew exactly where she was and what she wanted.

Because penises are obvious and pussies are secretive, penises tend to get top billing in sexual situations. Our entire dynamic is about reversing that paradigm in the extreme. The pussy is all powerful and penis is not. I’d say the pussy is first and penis second, but it may not even be second. Even if she wants me to get her off, that doesn’t mean anything involving it will follow. In a way, FLR femdom-type dynamics are all about reversing the concept of penis entitlement. The pussy is entitled to whatever it wants. The penis is entitled to nothing more than the pussy is willing to give it.

Anyway, this “no sex until I touch the penis” rule made this morning exactly what she wanted. Intimate and sweet and warm and tender with no pressure other than the hard grip of the metal ring around the straining erection. But that’s not her concern in any way. She snuggled in and was very happy. And so was I.

Demonstrations

Over on the Twitter, a friend asked me the following (slightly edited) via direct message:

In many posts you often describe Belle as sniggering or finding your struggle amusing (or trivial?) What I feel like I know of the relationship you have an incredibly loving bond. My question: is her resolve so clear that your whimpers just don’t faze her (kind of impressive?) or is there a sympathy or empathy there that we don’t hear much of? My hardwired vanilla sensitivities battle my “you know what the game is” sensibilities.

Belle has her own “hardwired vanilla sensibilities” and as much as I’ve grown in our dynamic and learned what it means to truly submit and let go of my control over our sexual relationship, she’s learned how to tailor her actions and attitude. Is she sympathetic? Empathetic? Probably. Does she find my struggles amusing? Definitely. I know there was a time when her conditioned “vanilla” response would kick in and she’d feel guilty about what I was going through. We’re way past that now. She doesn’t have a guilty fibre in her being over what she puts me through. If so, she does a good job hiding it.

Our dynamic is like that of a sadist and a masochist. To an outsider, the things the sadist does to their partner the masochist can seem truly awful. Abusive. But the masochist’s wiring is such that the pathways that carry pain and pleasure are mixed and crossover so what would be abuse in one setting is actually an expression of love. Of giving one partner what they need to feel fulfilled. If they’re a true sadist, they get the same kind of pleasure from inflicting the pain. So it’s a symbiotic kind of thing.

Belle’s no sadist. At least, not a physical one. She has developed a mean sadistic streak regarding my denial and chastity. Part of that is based in the knowledge that it feeds my masochistic needs. Part is that she knows there’s a tangible benefit to her by keeping me denied. A little part of her actually likes making me suffer.

So as much as this weekend hurt and caused me mental pain, inflicting it on me (and continuing to do so) is, in my estimation, a demonstration of her love for me. And enduring the pain is part of my demonstration of love for her. Yes, I desperately wanted to come. More than I have in a really long time. But after the moment was over, what I wanted and continue to want more is for her not to factor my desires into the algebra of her dominance over me. When I come again, I want it to be completely on her terms and only as a result of her needs and desires.

The longer I wait, the more it pains me and the desire gnaws at me, the more I’m demonstrating my love to her and, I know, by making me go through it, she’s demonstrating her’s back.

Sleepytown trolly

“I’m going to help you sleep tonight.”

I’ve been struggling with sleep for the past few days. A bought of denial-induced insomnia.

“How?”

“By letting you give me an orgasm.”

Unf. “I don’t think that’ll help me sleep.”

“What would?”

“You letting me come.”

Snort. “That’s not going to happen.”

Whimper.

“You don’t want to come anyway.”

Whine.

“Say it. ‘Belle Fille, I don’t want you to let me come.'”

Whimper again. Squirm.

“SAY IT.”

Quietly, “I don’t want to you to let me come, Belle Fille.” It was truth, but being forced to say it was like a high heel grinding my inner sub into a tight, hard corner. The kind of space where it’s most content.

“Of course you don’t. You want to get me off and then, because my orgasm is your orgasm, you’ll get sleepy after and fall asleep.”

I had my doubts. Especially when she started talking about her “boyfriend” and how he’d never say anything like that to her. That he and his big cock always came. All I could do was whimper into her nipple as she said these things and I fingered her clit and thought about this mythical alpha male who’d likely laugh at the locked penis and the way she kept me.

“I’m going to make you work for this one, Thumpie. I’m going to enjoy myself.”

URRRRRGH.

It did take a while. She got wetter and I kept sucking and fingering but I never felt her start to get close. Eventually, she took over her own tits and was tweaking and twisting her nipples while I watched and kept my finger on her snatch, rubbing and flicking and penetrating in all the ways I know, through hours and hours of practice like a musician knows his instrument, she liked best. Even that wasn’t enough for her and she got her vibrator and gave it to me but quickly took it back leaving me nothing more than a spectator to her self-pleasuring.

She came, slowly and deeply, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel her pussy clench against my fingers or her back arch or any of the waves of ecstasy that go with her orgasm. I didn’t share it. I heard it and saw it, but I didn’t know it like I usually do. It didn’t go through me. I was just the fluffler that got her into position.

Of course, I don’t begrudge her anything. We have sex so she can come, always, and however she wants. We never have sex so I can come. Whatever we do, if it’s what she wanted, is what we should have done and I don’t have a right to take issue with any of it. She’s right that even though I may crave my own orgasm I never want her to give it to me. I don’t need any orgasms. I only get them when she wants to feel me come in her. Even that can feel more about her than me.

She was left drained by her effort and its successful culmination and I was left pretty much as I was before. Tired but not sleepy and now that much more wired and trying to push images of her and another man out of my mind. She fell asleep quickly and I tried but couldn’t connect with it. I kept thinking and tossing and feeling separation angst (I have some trips coming up) all the while trying to keep sexual images and thoughts as far away as possible.

At about 11:30, I got up and took the last Tylenol PM in the house. I don’t like taking it but I could feel the kind of panic in me that usually unspools into zero hours of sleep. Then I went in the living room and read more of the book I’m getting through. By 12:30, the pill was taking over and I was yawning. I sent back to the bedroom, stripped, crawled in next to her, and tried to get on the road to Sleepytown.

Eventually, I did.

Why in the hell?

This post is written as a primer of sorts for those just discovering an interest in male chastity or for someone who’s just been introduced to the subject by their partner. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Please feel free to add your POV in the comments.

I suppose the vast majority of the uninitiated (ie, muggles) would have no idea why any man would want to subject himself to enforced male chastity (which I’ll call EMC for this post because that’s a lot of letters to keep typing out) or, conversely, why any woman would want to do it to her man. They might also wonder about all kinds of other kinks like D/s and masochism and bondage but I don’t think I’m qualified to try and suss out the motivations of those of us who are wired to enjoy those things. But, I think I can try and break chastity apart to help see the value of it in a relationship.

Of course, I’m a guy and I’m married to a woman who I’ve been with for more than 15 years and that’s the aperture through which I see chastity and can write most intimately about it. Additionally, I think chastity play comes in lots of variations and flavors and the way we do it and how it works for us isn’t necessarily the way that will work for everyone else. I’m not saying it is. But I am saying that my experience talking to others on the subject and reading other blogs, etc., has made me understand there is a broad similarity to our stories that suggests a common foundation for relationships like ours.

111004_getitVenn diagrams are those charts that have two or more overlapping circles that represent different things. Where the circles intersect show how these things, when combined, make a third thing. If I were smarter or more talented at such activities, I’m sure I could make one for EMC, but I’m not so I’ll hope you know the concept and just move on. In any event, EMC can combine several kinks and motivations together into one package: Dominance and submission (D/s), sadism and/or masochism (S/M), and bondage (put it all together — what’s that spell!? — BDSM). But, I don’t think the main practical, real-world benefit of EMC is necessarily kinky at all. And I don’t think it needs to be practiced that way or considered as kink.

At the very heart of EMC is the concept of orgasm control (OC because we’re making acronyms today). OC is what you get when you decide, as a man, to stop rubbing one out whenever you get a shadow of an urge to do so and let the energy and desire build until it can be put to a practical purpose. I think of OC as fundamentally an internal thing and not part of a D/s power exchange dynamic (in which case, it’d be orgasm denial, but I’ll get to that later).

Why would a guy want that? To what end? Aren’t orgasms wonderful and best enjoyed like peanuts at a ballgame — frequently and in plentiful numbers? I have so many thoughts about this, but I’ll try and boil it down. First off, yes, orgasms are wonderful. We are literally designed to crave them. In a way, we’ve been created through evolutionary forces to become addicted to the hit of chemicals that flood our brains when we have them because in many cases that means we’ve spread our seed and satisfied life’s mandate to multiply. And when we’re young (teenage years through the twenties and thirties, depending), men can’t get enough of them. I recall jacking off so often at one point my dick became raw from the friction, but I kept doing it anyway because OH MY GOD I had to. On top of the evolutionary forces at work, our culture conditions men to value their sexual release over most other things and to revel in our ability to do so. There is a lot of pressure, both physical and social, behind frequent orgasms to be sure.

But, as we grow older our ability to squirt as often as we once did usually declines. The reserve of sexual energy we carry around with us starts to ebb and the time between feeling the need to come stretches out. I think of this energy (and I can’t think of anything else to call it) as a natural resource with a purpose and function in the confines of our relationships. Jacking off is great, but most guys want to follow their biological imperative to procreate and put that stuff into a warm, wet, living hole. But, as it happens for people in long-term monogamous relationships, there are a great deal of factors that work against a rewarding sex life as time goes along (repetition, kids, jobs, health issues, etc.). We develop grooves in our patterns that become the opposite of sexy and motivating and that leads men to follow the path of least resistance (i.e., jacking off to porn).

Note that I am not making any kind of argument or judgment against porn. I actually quite like it and think enjoying it is perfectly natural and not something we should be ashamed of. I also tend to reject most claims of “porn addiction.” If a guy ends up spilling over porn too much, then he’s wasting this energy I mentioned that would otherwise be used in his relationship. It’s self-perpetuating in that wasting his energy though an interest in fantasy can lead to a lack of interest in the reality of his partner causing her to become resentful or angry or hurt (or all of those things) which in turn only reinforce his porn consumption habit (and is therefore labeled “addiction” far more often than it should, IMO). In any event, as that energy resource becomes more scarce and life and familiarity conspire against a fun, sexy relationship, using it up on porn reduces his interest in trying to recapture the spark between he and his partner.

Of course, relationships (typically) contain two people and he alone is not responsible for maintaining it. Usually, there’s plenty of blame (if you want to use that word) to go around. The reason I fixate on him and his orgasm is I think it can, through OC, be used to bring a sexual relationship back into shape.

So, long way to go, but here we are at the doorstep of what OC can mean in its simplest and most direct form. If a man chooses to only have orgasms when he’s with his partner, then he’ll quickly learn to think of her again as the source of his sexual pleasure. It’s not an automatic thing and she needs to be fully invested in the idea and prepared to take on the responsibility of playing her part, but when done correctly they can both find themselves back into a state not too dissimilar from when they were first together. He’ll naturally become more interested in what she’s thinking and feeling and invested in her happiness and she’ll see and appreciate that. It can help knock a lot of frost off and get the gears turning again.

In no way is this kinky. Zero level kink. I’ve found in my marriage that Belle sees it as a demonstration of my commitment to her and our relationship. That’d I’d give up my “right” to come as often and wherever I like and save it all for her. Sure, for us there are a lot of kinky things layered on top, but at its core, this is what EMC is about.

Some people who grok this concept think it’s some kind of magical palliative that will fix whatever ails a relationship. That’s not at all true. All relationships need a foundation of communication and trust to succeed. Orgasm control (or orgasm denial — getting there) or chastity are stacked on top of those elemental aspects which must be present. But, if the basic necessities of a reasonably healthy relationship are working, then I’ve found focusing one’s orgasms on one’s partner can draw the two more closely together than perhaps they’ve ever been.

All that said, this is a post on my blog and therefore it cannot end at the simple control of orgasm. Truth is, a lot of men (most, perhaps) who are into this idea are also into wanting to take it further. From self-control of orgasms to no control over them. That’s when it turns into orgasm denial (OD). The “denial” part can be scary and confusing, but what it really means is the man isn’t able to come when he wants or feels like it, even during or after having sex. Women are often socialized in our culture to think this idea is massively cruel and will feel guilt at not letting him orgasm each and every time the opportunity presents itself, but for those men wired a certain way, this only amps up the impact of OC and is something they actually crave. There’s no rule as to how long he should be denied orgasm. Some women let their men come once a week or once a month. Some longer. Far longer. Some never. But realize, few if any start out that way.

For us, it was pretty much that I’d come every other time we had sex. Then it got longer. Once a week or so. I found the longer I was made to wait, the longer I wanted to go. I started to crave the crave, so to speak. I would rather want to come and feel that desire build inside me than actually do it. And once Belle let go of any socialized guilt and became more confident in the control I happily transferred to her and, most importantly, learned that I was a better partner to her when I wasn’t coming, my denial became second nature. I now have no expectation of orgasm when we have sex. She usually makes me wait many weeks, even months. When I do get to, it’s because she wants to feel me do it inside her much more than she actually wants me to come. As crazy as this might sound to someone just starting out, we’re both much happier this way.

And yeah, technically, OD is kinky. It’s a form of D/s. Power exchange. I get off on not having control as I’m a natural submissive and Belle gets off on having that control over me, though she’s far from a Domme and would never describe herself that way. A lot of couples end up like this. Women who never fantasized about dominating their partner even once find a way to do it that works for them. They back into a dominating position as they see the benefits of investing the time and effort into it has on their partner and their relationship. Because of this, Tom Allen has described OD/EMC as a “gateway kink.” That’s entirely true, in my experience.

Beyond denial is the practice of enforced male chastity. That is, using a locked physical device to maintain control over not only a man’s orgasm but also his ability to access his body as he has his whole life and even his ability to achieve an erection. Not every couple gets to this stage. Some women are simply squicked out by the whole thing. Some men can’t handle the physical demands of being locked up, even for a little while. Some woman think he’s not truly being denied unless he’s also demonstrating sufficient willpower to keep his hands off himself unless she says it’s OK. All that is valid.

On the other hand, some men get off on the added layer of control the device represents. They get off on how they need to modify their lives to accommodate it and how it’s always with them and always, in every scenario and situation, reminding them of the control their partner has over them. It ticks the bondage box really well and can even be made to fill a need for masochism. Finally, I think penis restriction is, in itself, a distinct fetish that EMC uniquely satisfies. For whatever reason, there are a lot of men that get off on being locked up. More, it seems, all the time. The profusion of devices at pretty much any price point in recent years has either fuelled that interest or is a direct result of it. Probably a bit of both.

The desire for a device by either the man being locked up or the partner holding his key can also be practical. In our relationship, Belle doesn’t even allow me to play with myself. I want to abide by that rule and try very hard to do so when I’m not locked up (which isn’t that often), but it’s hard. She knows I won’t come without permission and thinks I’ll avoid self-stimulation most of the time, but if I’m locked up, she can know for a fact I’m following her rules. Chastity devices allow an additional layer of deterrence to be added to a couple’s dynamic and some of us (like me) need that.

In summary, the one thing I want to leave with someone newly exposed to the idea of EMC is that it should not be viewed as weird. There should be no shame felt for wanting it. Human sexuality is ridiculously and wonderfully complicated and manifests in many ways. I believe there to be millions of men interested in some aspect of what I’ve described here with a sizable chunk actually practicing it in some way with their partners (or alone). The more you get into the subject, the more you realize that “kinky” is a highly subjective term. Most people are interested in something they or someone else would think is kinky. The sooner you let go of any fear of exploring sex beyond the traditional way it’s portrayed in a lot of media, let go of concern of judgement, and realize we’re all sexual beings of some kind with needs and desires as unique as we are, the sooner you’ll find satisfaction and happiness. Sometimes, in ways you never, ever expected.

Confidence game

Pursuant to my last post, Belle got home from her trip pretty horny. She was still on SoCal time so didn’t feel like going to sleep at her usual hour, though I also wasn’t sure she wanted to have sex. She knew I was pretty turned on because it was a day starting with a consonant but I just laid there and let her pet my head and back for a while and didn’t push it. Then she told me to close the door.

By the time I was back to the bed, she was naked. She told me I wasn’t getting out and I probably whimpered. As soon as I touched her snatch, I found her to be soaking wet. Not kind of turned on and ready to go wet. Fucking dripping wet. As if we’d been messing around for an hour instead of just starting. I moaned into the nipple in my mouth and sank my fingers into her heat.

Really, all I can say if UNF. I wanted her badly but I wasn’t getting out. The Steelheart bit down hard as my fingers and mouth made her squirm and moan and whisper dirty little things into the top of my head.

She came awfully hard. I wanted to bite her nipple I was so turned on. She could tell. She knew how bad I was. She just told me it was good for me. It was the best thing for me. Though I wouldn’t admit it, it was what I wanted.

There is nothing sexier in the whole fucking world than confidence.

Three weeks, three squirts

I mentioned a few posts back that Belle was going to keep me locked up for three weeks straight. This was more an accident of timing than anything else, but it was also a result of her just not feeling the need for a hard penis when my chance came along and therefore seeing no purpose in letting the one on me out of its confinement. Then she was out of town for a weekend and, even though we had sex after she got back, it was a quickie and was more about my tongue and her clit than anything else. Finally, yesterday, she let me out. And it felt so fucking good to have a real, unrestrained erection.

Too good, actually. She had to warn me to settle down. I get a little rambunctious when she lets me out. Kind of like a dog who sees his leash. It only happens for one reason, really, so when it does I start jumping up on her and wagging my tail and panting and such. I think she likes it when I get excited like that, but also needs me to focus on the task at hand: her.

Feeling your wife’s hot, wet pussy when you’re locked up is a certain kind of torture, but feeling it when you’re not but also not allowed to just fuck the shit out her is altogether another feeling. So much promise and potential and anticipation, made all the more intense by three fucking weeks of being under lock and key. I was rock hard and 12 seconds from coming and only my middle finger was wet. Then she told me to get inside her.

She hadn’t come yet. I think she wasn’t too far off (I am keenly attuned to her orgasmic processes) but she wanted to be fucked so fuck her I did. And she liked it. Vocally. And that expression of pleasure was too much for me. As she liked it more and more, I lost any pretense of stamina. I got far too close to coming before I stopped and the leakage inside her was every bit three weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration. After that, we needed the vibrator to finish her off. It came away from her covered in my juices more than hers.

Early this morning, I was woken up by the sensation of my nocturnal hard-on rubbing against the sheets. The opposite of what normally wakes me up at that time, except this morning I got to grind it into the bed in order to feel more. I’m not allowed to stroke it, but I so wanted to. All I could get was the contact friction against the mattress. I suppose even that was breaking the spirit of the “no playing with it” rule, so I (eventually) stopped fucking the bed.

When Belle woke up, I jumped her and again went too fast for her. She didn’t make me fuck her first this time, so when she was done and allowed me access, I found an unwilling partner in the penis. Even if I’m out and she’s wet and inviting, if she already came, it will often go soft. That’s how well trained it is now.

Luckily, my Belle knows me and gave my (still kinda rough and sore from earlier in the week) nipples a healthy twisting. The direct line from them to the penis electrified and the erection was back in a flash. I got lost in the fucking to the point that I was about a stroke and half away from coming when I finally stopped myself from going over the edge.

That’s when I realized I was expecting her to tell me to come. For whatever reason, my interpretation of how Belle keeps me left me assuming that today was going to be the day and so I didn’t do anything to stop myself from going right up to the orgasm. With that notion still in my head and nearly an entire orgasm’s worth of spunk in her pussy, I started to fuck again. I find my aversion to ejaculate is so complete at this point that the feeling of fucking through my own has become a turn-off, but I was counting on that orgasm so I pressed on. So much so, that I added whatever was left inside me to what came before, but the word was never given. I never came.

I asked her about it after. Told her it felt like today was going to be the day. She laughed. Not unlike two weeks ago when she never let me out, the idea that I would come now never entered her mind. I honestly have no idea how long it’s been since I last came (which she likes very much), but it’s apparently been long enough that I feel like doing it again. Or, at least, I want to feel like I want to again.

As we laid there in (her) post-orgasmic snuggle session, I started to drift off. She thought it was funny that I acted like I had come even though I hadn’t. I could feel in my balls the tightness and weight of being very much denied release, but the rest of me really did feel like I had come. Snoozy, warm, fuzzy. Except in my crotch where this afternoon’s blue balls were brewing. Back in the day, denial like this would leave me wired and bouncing around, but not anymore. Further indications of conditioning.

Right after breakfast, I asked when she wanted me back in. Often, this is a vague kind of thing. It would be understood that I’d need to be locked up sometime before bed. Occasionally, I can stretch that to Monday morning. But she said, “Right now,” and I was like, Oh…OK. So I marched myself into the bathroom, showered off the morning’s fucking and running, trimmed the hair I usually can’t get to, and locked the Steelheart back in place.

She never even considered it

The penis was very annoying Sunday morning. It usually only wakes me up (when it wakes me up) sometimes between 3:30 AM and 4:30 AM pushing and squeezing and straining against the Steelheart. Sunday, though, it did it four times starting at only 12:30 AM. Then again a few hours later then again at 3:30 then again at 4:30. Or maybe I should stay still at those times since I don’t think it stopped trying to be hard the entire time.

Things were not helped when Belle woke up. Saturday morning she had left bed before I woke up so there was no naked play time, but Sunday she was looking for my services. She made me close the door but did not retrieve the key as I thought she would. I was left locked up the whole time, though she did stroke my balls and perineum and then hit my nuts a few times just to mix things up. The intensity of the attempted erection was perhaps even more painful than the nocturnal ones as I got to work sucking her tits and fingering her snatch. She came hard and all I did was grind my steel package into her thigh.

In the glowy part afterward, she commented on how I was looking at a good long lock up since she’s going to be at a spa weekend with her sister and mother next weekend. She’ll leave Friday morning and not get back until Sunday afternoon. She apparently has no intention of  letting me out at any point before she leaves or the weekend following her return so that’s three solid weeks of steel time.

Sounds bad, but in thinking about it, that’s not so far removed from normal. With the exception of doctor’s visits, I was locked up pretty much the entire time since we go back from vacation at the beginning of April. She lets me out on the weekends if she wants me to fuck her, but the best I can hope for then is being out from Saturday morning to Sunday night. The last time I got to be inside her, I was only out about three hours.

In any event, I suggested she could have let me out Sunday morning for some pussy time but all she did was laugh a little and say, “You know what’s funny? I never even considered it,” before not doing anything at all regarding penis freedom.

I don’t know at this point which of us wants my chastity more. She really likes knowing what I’m not doing with the penis when she’s not around (if you were to ask her, that’s the first thing she’d say regarding what she likes about my chastity). I’m certainly not allowed to have an orgasm without her, but she equally doesn’t want me to have any pleasure from the penis at all without her (preferably, the only pleasure I get from it will be when it’s inside her). This has the effect of focusing me rather specifically on her and her pussy which is, of course, the ultimate intention of leaving me locked up in the first place. When she doesn’t let me out and I feel how hot and wet I make her, a gaping chasm of desire for her opens up in my chest. Looking back on how we were when we married, I’m sure it would never occur to either of us at the time that eventually we’d arrive at a relationship dynamic founded on her leveraging control over me through the denial of my sexual pleasure, let alone that it would be so successful.

I wanted in so bad on Sunday morning that I climbed up on top of her and pressed the Steelheart against what I knew was a soft, wet, and inviting opening.

“Like you’re going to feel anything,” she purred.

“I don’t. I don’t feel a thing,” I whimpered into her neck.

“Exactly.”

Dancing around the paradox

I’m told the commenter I reference in this post is probably a troll. Doesn’t change the thesis of my post, but if so, he should rot in hell for being a lying douche.

A reader calling themselves maxnsue left a comment on an older post discussing the concept of permanent orgasm denial. In part, they wrote…

I am in permanent orgasm denial at my wife’s request. [That’s all you have to know as the rest is probably bullshit.]

There’s a lot to unpack in that comment and I’ve only included three-fifths of it here, but the critical element I want to focus on is the fact that the reader’s wife [assuming there is one] was the one who made the decision to permanently take his orgasm off the table.

Right now, it’s only been something like three weeks since I last came. For some, that may sound like a long time, but it isn’t for us. Now that the kidney stone unpleasantness is behind me, my ability to feel and enjoy denial is back as it hasn’t been in months. And I mean back. It is not any kind of hyperbole for me to say that I feel at my best when I’m denied. When external downer forces like the kidney stone thing aren’t present, this, right here, is the way I want to be forever. Like I said the other day, sure, I crave orgasmic release, but I do not want to come.

There’s a kind of Zen-like dance men like me need to perform regarding orgasm. I don’t want them. I want to crave them, but that’s different. I want the need to come to claw at me in the moment I’m in her and on the edge. I want to feel it push at my higher brain as if my life depended on squirting inside her, but that’s it. I would be honestly disappointed if, when she gets home later this week, she let me come. Now that I’m feeling it again, I want to keep feeling it. I never want to not feel it. This is what I hope to be forever.

But not having orgasms is only one part of the denial Oreo (not the creamy center, obviously…maybe an Oreo is the wrong metaphor). The other half is knowing I don’t control my own orgasm. I could beg and cajole Belle to leave me like this forever, but it’s sweetest when it’s her will at work and not mine. If I were to make too much of a production about being permanently denied it would take something off the experience. Whatever happens, it has to be her choice. It took me years to really get that, but I get it now.

So yeah, maxnsue’s situation is very appealing to me. I get where he’s coming from and really appreciate the allure of it. But that kind of dynamic only works when it happens organically as theirs has. It’s perhaps the fundamental paradox of D/s. Being too prescriptive to one’s dominant partner to the point of them doing exactly what the sub wants makes what the sub gets less satisfying. The best bet for everyone concerned is to establish rubbery, bouncy boundaries and then let the top push the sub to them (but not necessarily over them).

Belle gets home tomorrow. I don’t know if she has plans or has spent any time thinking about my state, but I hope she leaves me as I am. I do not want to come. But, if she says I have to, I will. Nowhere is it written that a sub will always want what their dominant lets/requires they have.

When absence becomes a verb

Had to live through another sleep-deprived night yesterday that was maybe 70% caused by hormonal denial build-up and 30% sick kid up in the middle of the night. Seems like these all-nighters don’t come as often as they used to, but the resolution of my recent kidney stone thing has allowed my libedo to come rushing back like someone turning the tap on Niagara Falls. I tried to write a post yesterday, but my foggy dementia from lack of sleep made it not so great.

The thing I was trying to get out was something you’ll either get because your Rorschach patterns of kink and proclivity resembles mine sufficiently or you won’t. As I said, I’m really horny, but I have no desire to play with the penis. Well, I mean, if I was told I could, I’d do it in a millisecond, but the overlapping factors of submission and obedience and faith and trust all soaking in a hot bath of hormones cause me to not think of it as a pleasure object. Not something that is right for me to focus on or have access to or have any rights over. I had to remove the Steelheart the other day because of the kidney thing and felt a great craving to get it back on as soon as I could. I had legitimate access to a free stick of meat filled with all kinds of wonderful pleasure receptors and honestly wanted nothing to do with it. Because the pleasure received by returning to the condition in which I was placed and expected to be (and how I was expected to act) overwhelmed the other kind of more immediate and direct pleasure.

Same thing happened yesterday. I had to get out for the doctor visit and found myself actually resentful at the disruption. I have gone to the doctor locked up before, but not when it involves the thing being locked, so I do understand why it’s necessary and all that, but it pissed me off more than I was expecting. Once the visit was over, even before I was out of the building, I felt the need to be back in the Steelheart the same way I need that first shot of caffeine in the morning. A hungering edge to be contained again. Feeling the cold steel wrapped again around the shaft of the penis brought a palpable sense of relief and comfort to me.

And it goes beyond that. Belle has said I look odd to her when I’m not in the Steelheart and the pink meat is flopping around naturally. That, as I’ve said, she honestly prefers me to be locked up (both from how it makes me look and act). And I like that. I’m more than OK with that. I want that. Men are conditioned by culture and probably even by evolution to be driven by this idea that they are somehow measured as men by their penis and how it measures and what they do with it. But in our relationship, she’d rather I not use it on her. She’s grown to favor the kind of sex we have that leaves the penis in it’s trap. She’d rather it stay where it is most of the time and remain absent from the dynamic.

But, of course, it is part of the dynamic. It can’t not be. But its contribution now is its absence. What it’s going through by not being allowed out and the void left behind when you’re having terrific and rewarding sexual relations with a man without depending on his cock. In spite of it. In fact, in neither of my sexual relationships is its absence considered a problem. Drew, commenting on the photo I posted last time of the free penis, said something to the effect that it’s not even how he thinks of me. That he wouldn’t know how to relate to me if I had a free penis with him. He also prefers the steel and honestly has no interest in getting to what’s inside.

And I do not miss my freedom. I don’t miss being able to play with it whenever I want and I don’t miss not being able to stick in people or that they can’t touch it most of the time. After just a short period of denial and chastity, it becomes who I am. Not a thing we do. Or a thing on me. When it’s working, it is me. Even when it wakes me up at 3:00 AM. I rarely if ever think anymore, “Man, I wish this thing was off me.” I almost always think, “Man, I wish this thing would stop trying to break out.” The craving for the thing locked away and the sensation that comes from it never goes away, but it transforms. That energy transmutes into something positive.

Anyway. There’s a little mid-week trip down the physiological rabbit hole that is my sexuality. I could go on, but it’d just get tiresome.