What I want. Really, really want.

I used to write here several times a week and that meant Belle would read this several times a week. But as I’ve found myself having said most everything I needed to say (several times over, it feels like), the frequency of my posting has dwindled. And Belle’s checking to see what I’ve written has, too. That’s just natural.

So it was a week or so ago when we were sitting in the snug (a wonderfully British word for the TV room off the side of your house) and she was on her phone and found herself here and read something that made her go, “Huh.”

And I was like, “Huh?” A dozen years of blogging and she found something that made her go “Huh!?”

The huh-inducing passage was this from a post expounding on the use of Joe, her strap-on dildo:

I also get off on being denied a me-centric sexual experience and release. Keeping the penis in the Steelheart while she’s fucked cross-eyed is a massive turn on for me (and that, in turn, is basically cuckolding’s next door neighbor). Feeling the penis strain while fucking a dildo in and out of her while she squirms in pleasure is absolute perfection.

“Guess I never knew that,” she said. And then my head exploded.

It’s just the central thesis of the whole blog that’s all. The core to my sexual identity. The very definition of who I am as a sexual being no big deal! I thought but said, “Really?”

Which is to say, the single most important aspect of successful D/s (and kink in general and for that matter life in general) is communication. And while I assumed this blog with its hundreds of thousands of words and lord knows how many posts would count as some pretty elite-level communication, it’s always possible that we’re being misinterpreted. Or perhaps not taken perfectly seriously. Or whatever.

Of course, it’s not Belle’s fault she never picked up what I was putting down. Even though I was putting it down as thick as the Exxon Valdez put oil down on sea birds. Here we are all these years later and whatever needed to click (or the exact right sequence of words to be typed out) clicked (or clacked).

So, to be as clear and pedantic about my thoughts on PIV-style sex with Belle as possible, here is my ranked order preference of the three available options:

  1. Joe the dildo in the harness
    Besides the reasons explained in the above quoted text, Joe is the preferred way to fuck Belle because it takes a great deal of stress off me. It can’t come too quickly. It will always perform. I can think only of pleasuring her without distraction. Without the possibility of feeling the guilt of poor performance or stamina.
  2. Joe the dildo in the harness then me
    There is nothing better than feeling her pussy after it’s been fucked by a tool more of the size she prefers. To feel it opened and stretched in ways I can’t. To be unable to feel the places it reached. It’s maybe the most intensely erotic experience I can imagine. This would be number one except for the fact that I like it so much and think it’s indulgent to allow me that much pleasure.
  3. The penis
    If she hasn’t come and is wanting the penis for pleasure, this is by far the least preferred option. Number three out of three but really like a hundred slots down from the top two.

It’s a complicated thing, to be sure. This morning I got Belle off with my fingers and stayed as I usually am, locked in the Steelheart. The urge to fuck her was intense. Deeply primal, the tube was biting hard when she came. But urges are not the same as what I want. I want to be denied. I want to feel the urge unfulfilled. It’s a form of psychological masochism. Allowing me to give in to the urge would ultimately make me feel guilty. Just because I desire a thing does not mean I should get it. I don’t deserve that. It’s not my place.

Bottom line is, I will always crave more than I get. And in the manual of the care and feeding of Thumper, there’s a part that says (or should say) one is better off, on balance, and can never lose by not giving me what I crave rather than letting me have it.

Ultimately, Belle decides. Always. If she wants to feel me inside her, I should be inside her. If she wants to feel me come in her, I should come in her. I will always do (or try to do) what she wants. But if she’s wondering what I want up high in my logical mind and not down deep in my lizard brain…well, here it is.

Kept

Time really has lost all meaning. I was about to start this post with “the other day, Tom blogged…” and then, when I went to get the link, I realized “the other day” was like more than four months ago. That’s either cabin fever or old age or a combo plate of both. Anyway.

The other month, Tom made this great post about definition and terms related to chastity and denial. Like, what does “permanent” mean? And then, in further discussion, what’s a good term to use for the whole practice of what we do? I’ve often resorted to saying things like “chastity and denial” because they don’t always go together. And if the practice (which Tom suggested should be called “erotic orgasm denial”) is called whatever it is, what word should guys who are locked and denied use to describe themselves? What’s the right adjective? The right verb?

“Chaste” is often thrown around but the obvious problem with that is those of us who are locked and denied, usually, are not chaste. Belle and I have had more and better sex since the penis was locked up than before. “Chaste” means to abstain from sex and that’s the fucking opposite thing that happens while in chastity.

Of course, chastity is the root of the problem because it conflates access to genitals and ability to have sex. It has a very PIV bias. Chaste comes from chastity (or maybe the other way around) so the mess is predictable.

But what I want and have wanted for years and years (this blog and my chastity are now solidly into their thirteenth year) is a single, different word to encapsulate what Belle and I and, apparently, millions of others are doing by locking up one or the other penises in a relationship. One word that isn’t literally wrong or totally made up or just dumb sounding. And then, a word that I really like came to me.

Kept. Belle keeps the penis from me. She keeps me from masturbation. She keeps me from orgasm when I want to. She keeps me at a heightened state of sexual arousal. She keeps the key. She keeps total control over the penis and how I get to enjoy sex. I am kept.

I just…like it. I like how it feels. I like how it sounds. I like the protective nature it implies. The connotation of care. Of benevolent control and discipline. I am kept in this place, mentally and physically and emotionally, because it makes me a better lover and partner and person. Because it is what I need.

When the folks at Holy Trainer reached out to me and offered the new fourth version of their device for me to try out and review, they also offered to customize its “cartridge” (the part of the base ring that receives the lock). I wasn’t aware of this as a thing they did, but you can have image or words put on the device. The first and only thing that sprang to mind was “kept.”

And at first, I was like whatever. I did it because they offered and presumably wanted people to know it was an option when I reviewed it and posted the inevitable multitude of pictures of it locked on me I am apparently unable to stop doing. But I have to say, every time I look down and see KEPT looking back up at me…it’s a soothing, comforting thing. It centers me. It’s powerful.

So yeah. Kept. That’s me. Maybe it’s you. But I like it and will be using it from now on to describe who and what I am. I am kept. By Belle.

The Rules (updated)

The rules under which our dynamic operates have evolved over time, but the last time they were updated was almost three years ago. My previous post discussed a rule I put in place for myself about not touching the penis, but rules I put on myself are easily waived or bent. Rules Belle puts in place carry much more weight. So this morning…

Therefore, here is the updated list of Rules that I follow.

  • I can only come when Belle tells me to and, if she tells me to, I have to.
  • I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.
  • When unlocked, I cannot touch the penis except for maintenance purposes or to swap devices. Never for pleasure, unless she has released it for sex.
  • I am not to volunteer how I feel about having an orgasm and must never ask for one.
  • If I have sex with someone else, the penis must always be locked. No exceptions.

The revised “no touching” rule replaces one that said I wasn’t allowed to play with it. Touching leads to playing so, in reality, this is better. The definition of “playing” isn’t as definite as “touching.”

These are the rules she expects me to follow. I vow to do so. Of course, it’s hard. If submission were easy, it wouldn’t be worth much.

What’s at the bottom of the lake

Since the beginning of September when Belle changed the rules and clarified that my default state is to be locked in a device unless she specifically says I should not be, I’ve been in one about 97% of the time. That includes a couple of multi-week stints of uninterrupted chastity. And I don’t know, but I’ve been feeling different lately. Or maybe not different. That’s probably not right. “Different” suggests something new and how I’m feeling is not new. If anything, I feel the same, just…more.

I think I’ve used the analogy in the past that the longer I go locked up or without orgasm it’s like when a lake dries up and the terrain of the land underneath is exposed. It was always there, just hidden. That’s what it feels like to me lately.

If you’ve been visiting this site for more than 72 hours, you know I identify as bisexual, heteromantic, and submissive (plus, I’m a baseball fan according to Twitter). But even that isn’t enough for me. And I really think being locked and denied has given me more insight into all this. The same way hallucinogens are supposed to allow us to see truths we can’t normally, being under the influence of an easy ever-present sexual craving really allowed me to dig around in all the dark, hard to reach corners. To see the submerged terrain. 

I am willing to concede that how I’m feeling and what I think about myself now would be different if I was having a normal amount of sexual release. I know for a fact that if I had easy and persistent access to the penis, I wouldn’t have the same sense of self I have now. Which makes a lot of this kind of introspection interesting because, in a way, it’s built on shifting sands. Somehow, the things we do and do not combine to alter us or accentuate certain attributes. So what are we really? Could I, in a different relationship and with a different partner, be totally different myself? That’s some existential shit. 
All I can say is how it feels now. And now feels like the truth. It feels like how I’m supposed to be. When I’m bottoming, when I’m subbing, when I’m being used for their pleasure, I’m home. Like I said recently, being a bottom and a sub is not what I do, it’s who I am. So yes, if I were in a relationship or living a life that allowed frequent release and easy access to the penis, I wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe I wouldn’t feel as good about myself. Maybe I wouldn’t even know the difference. But this is who I am. I went down a tunnel not knowing where it led, following instincts, and it came out where I was supposed to be. And Belle went there with me, which I’ll forever be grateful for. 

Moral of the story is twofold. One, don’t live your life according to how someone told you it should go. To how culture tells you you’re supposed to be. Find your path and follow those tunnels. Two, don’t be afraid of the dark in that tunnel. Of the things that are “weird” or what would shock your mom. Because nothing’s weird and I’m sure what’s in your mom’s head would freak you the fuck out right back. We are essentially brains with genitals. Sex for us is by definition cerebral. If you’re not thinking about it, you’re just going through the motions. The point is emotional satisfaction, not just physical release.

So tease those threads. Scratch those itches. Drain those lakes. There’s no telling what you’ll find. I did and I found me.

Tent logic

Exquisitedragon commented on my post about being an idiot in a tent. Part of what he said was…

These days, since we’re in the middle of some very long term denial (200+days) I’m not going to fall off the end of that without her pushing all the buttons to do so! It’s been so long and it’s her prize to take. I’m not crazy enough to go and change that.

And it occurred to me that if Belle was operating under a similar model (as in, denying me for a specific amount of time or to a specific date) there’s no way I would have cheated like that. I just know it. But why?

This may be due to some lingering attachment I have to my orgasm. Like, if there’s a hard goal, then I cannot do anything but respect it. But when if and how I come is seemingly random (from my point of view), respecting my lack of control over that event is more difficult. It doesn’t happen or not according to any observable process so what does it matter if I squirt a little on the side? What harm is that?

The flip side of this, and I think one of the main reasons Belle denies me as she does, is because in the past if she decided to move the date up because that’s what suited her or if I accidentally came too soon, I’d get all mental about it. Plus, of course, she’s come to the realization that denying me orgasm when she really wants to feel me come is also denying herself which is a bit of a paradox.

Bottom line, I need to fully own and respect that I don’t EVER come without permission, no exceptions, no wiggle room, no doubt. That the timing is not mine to decide EVER. That the method in which it happens is not up to me EVER. That I will ALWAYS get caught if I try.

This is my pledge to her: Forever and always, my orgasm belongs to you completely.

Tent me

While away from Belle during a week in the deep woods camping at the end of July, I jacked off twice to completion in my tent.

Why? I can claim the first time was due to me not being able to relax and sleep, but that doesn’t explain the second time. There’s really no excuse. I wore the locking cock ring as a reminder of things but had to take it off due to it rubbing me badly and I didn’t have any lube with me to fix it. I masturbated once it was off. So I don’t know. I’m weak. I’m stupid. I was away from Belle and and far outside my day-to-day rhythms. And I was unlocked.

I am not the same person when I’m locked up. I would never think of taking Belle’s key or opening mine and using it to let the penis out for a quick one. I totally could do that, but I would never. Even if I wasn’t locked up, the chances of me jacking off while at home are pretty distant. I will sometimes fiddle with the penis and get it hard, give it a squeeze and a pull. But to furiously wank on it? So much so that I shoot? No.

But in the tent. Far away from Belle and the sphere of normal life. Without the impediment of a physical device. I changed. That’s all there is to say.

I’m not happy about it. I wish I hadn’t done it. I almost feel like that person was a different version of me. I guess, in a way, it was. It’s also a reminder of how deeply the need to find sexual release is built into us. All of us. How quickly we can regress to the mean. The first time, maybe I had a reason. The second time, I did it because I felt like it.

Belle, of course, knew. Before I had a chance to tell her (and I was going to tell her) she told me. I can’t say what it was exactly that tipped her off, but she could tell. Then, while fucking her the weekend I got home, I accidentally came again.

Maybe because of all the coming, my predilection towards being locked up was at a low ebb and my mom came to town and Belle forgot to tell me to go back in. So on top of everything else, I wasn’t secured for a week while Belle assumed I was. But since she never actually told me to go back in, I rationalized.

So yeah, I’ve been a bad rabbit.

I share all this not because it’s especially hot or makes good reading but to highlight how hard I think being a denied man is. In that tent in those woods, I failed. I did what I wanted and disregarded my previous pledges to the contrary.

It affected my mood. Besides the chemical hits that accompany orgasm, there was the reality of not living as I was supposed to. Not living up to her expectations and even my own. Plus there’s other things compounding that that aren’t for this blog. But I haven’t felt myself, really, since then.

Belle’s recent clarifications regarding her expectations of when I’ll be locked in a device (as in, all the time unless she says otherwise) has helped. I’ve been in the Steelheart nearly continuously expect for a day or so she let me out because I was sick and the two 30-minute periods this weekend when she wanted to fuck. She’d get up and leave the room when she was finished with me and I had to put the device back over the still-turgid and wet penis, shoving and pushing until the lock turned. She didn’t tell me to, she expected it. Living like this has made me feel more myself. Less like tent me and more like locked me. I like that me. Belle does, too.

In reality, it’s a relief to know I am expected to always be in a device. That absent specific direction on the matter, I should always every time be locked. I resent not being in one, anyway. I don’t think of myself as complete anymore if I can see and feel the penis. I would rather step out of the shower and see shiny steel than a fleshy tube. I’d rather feel the comforting discomfort of a constrained erection in the morning than not. I want to feel the heft of the thing swing when I turn over in bed. I want to feel it pressing up against me as I lay on my stomach. I want to feel the hardness of the tube pushing into my balls when driving and wearing my jeans. I want to be able to put my hands down my pants and feel the lock. That’s who I aspire to be. Because it makes me feel more like the me she prefers. Because that me can’t fuck up and come because he feels like it.

My rules

There are several things I need to get to blogging-wise, but I first I want to formalize the newly updated set of rules under which our D/s dynamic operates. There have been various versions of this over the years, but the most recent list has stuck and now there’s a new addition that makes them just about complete (though, of course, I don’t decide that). 

  • I can only come when Belle tells me to and, if she tells me to, I have to.
  • I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.
  • When it’s not locked, I must never play with the penis without permission.
  • I must never volunteer to her how I feel about having an orgasm and must never ask for one.
  • If I have sex with someone else, I must always have a locked penis. No exceptions.

The addition is in the second rule. It used to be that I had to be locked up when she told me to be so. A couple of weeks ago, I was unlocked for a whole week during which time she assumed I was locked. When she found out I wasn’t, she was surprised and my weasely explanation was she never told me to go back in (and, of course, I didn’t bring it up). Since she prefers me when the penis is locked and, absent some extraordinary reason to be otherwise, sees no reason for me not to be, the assumption now is I will always reclock the penis as soon as possible after she lets it out for whatever reason unless she explicitly gives me permission not to. 

The others are pretty straightforward. The fourth rule is written that way because sometimes I want to come and sometimes I don’t but, according to the first rule, she decides when that happens, not me. Therefore, it doesn’t really matter how I feel about coming (either pro or con) and, obviously, asking for one is out of the question. The thing that’s interesting to me about orgasm control and denial is, the longer one goes without coming, it’s often the case that one wants to go longer and actually starts to dread the idea of it. By resisting or complaining or in any way trying to influence the one who decides, one cannot truly be said to have given up control over that part of their existence. I’ve found that once I really let go of all that and thinking on how long it had been and how long it would be, etc., I was much happier. And so was she. 

The last and unspoken rule is that Belle makes the rules and I live under them. Unless I fuck up miserably. That’s the next post…