Tag: enforced chastity

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Nurturing my nature

Today, I’m feeling it. More than usual, lately. That sort of random and free-floating non-orgasmic anxiety that results from extended denial. I keep thinking about the penis. Keep having flashes of needy images. It out and hard in my hand. Stroking. Just jacking it. Sometimes while being fucked. A lot of non-specific erotic explosions at random moments.

The rule of Belle’s that I don’t play with it unless she tells me I can doesn’t much matter recently since I only get out of the device at those times she wants to fuck me. Typically, I get out the night before and am back in before noon the next day. I don’t have any opportunity to obey or cheat. I might be out four or five days in a month. So it’s a moot point. This morning, though, I expect I would have cheated. I have the need to feel a hard penis and milk it. To lick up my own ejaculate and feel it silky smooth over my tongue. I feel the need for some me-time. The time I don’t get anymore.

I am not complaining. Instead of getting to feel the pleasure of jacking off, she allows me to enjoy the feeling of being in her pussy. That’s the only penis-centric action she’ll let me have. In a weird and unexpected way, it’s frustrating because she’s taken away the way all men first realize what sexual pleasure can be. All men masturbate (those who can, anyway). The popular culture will tell you it’s a poor substitute for fucking someone, but in fact, a lot of the time masturbation is done only for the joy of masturbation. I can’t even remember the last time I masturbated like that. I think it was right after she let me fuck her and then allowed me to ruin an orgasm for the sake of my prostate. So, she was right there. Since then, though, only her pussy. Intentionally or not, she’s ratcheted up my already well-developed dependance on her for pleasure.

She’s nurturing my nature.

By nature, I’m all about sexual service. I want her to have pleasure above mine at all times. Even before we initiated the D/s overlay to our relationship, I always wanted her to come first. I’m obsessed with her pleasure. Big Blue is, to me, a natural extension (so to speak) of that desire. In any event, I’m wired to please before anything else. The denial and the chastity and the rest have all reinforced and extended that inclination. The other night, right after she got off on Blue so well, she told me I could fuck her. But, even though I had been hard as a fucking rock before Blue, I couldn’t get it up after. Not because I didn’t want her. I did. But we had been to a nice dinner before coming home for sex and I knew that, had I been on top fucking her, she would have been uncomfortable. I couldn’t stop thinking about that. I’d roll off and she’d play with the penis and I’d kiss her face and hold her head in my hand and the penis would start to stiffen but as soon as I got between her legs, it’d go flat again.

It even extends to why I like to fuck her. Of course, for all the obvious reasons, but also because I know she likes to be fucked. I know she likes to feel me on her and pumping into her. She like to feel my ass muscles flexing and my moderately hard and muscular arms wrapped around her, holding her close and tight. Basically, she get’s off on the feeling of a big man having his way with her. So, in my mind, half the reason I fuck her is because it feels good to me and the other half is because it feels good to her. That thought never leaves my mind. It can’t because if it does and I get too much into the part I feel I’m playing and I’ll lose control over my ability to stop the orgasm that invariably wants to manifest.

What I’m saying is, I don’t know that I’ve ever fucked anyone in my life for my own sake. Not once that I can recall. I’ve never used anyone as a hole for me to put the penis in. That’s just my inclination. I have been used as a hole more than once, but even then, I don’t have residual bad feelings about those times. To a certain extent, sex has always been about service to me. Now more than ever.

It’s even extended to a rewiring of my autonomic orgasmic responses. When I’m locked up and she comes, I start to feel the effects of the post-orgasmic refractory period. She comes, I feel sleepy and laconic. If I had an erection, it goes away. Rarely am I so turned on that this doesn’t happen. If I’m not locked up and she lets me fuck her, the quasi-refactory period starts after she tells me it’s time to stop. Often, I can feel that it’s time to stop before she tells me. Even when I’m still in her and having a good time, I can feel the penis start to lose pressure.

I even feel as if I know her orgasm as well as I ever knew mine. Sunday morning, after the night with Blue, I did as I usually do and tried to get her off before she was going to let me have a do-over from the night before. I could tell that it wasn’t going well. She asked for Pink and I, shortly after turning the little vibe on, knew it wasn’t going to work. I can just feel it. Like I’m tapped into her pleasure centers somehow. Enough to know that her orgasm wasn’t a lost cause so that I went back in with my fingers and got her off in matter of just a few seconds. I knew where and how to touch her. I knew that it would work.

I know I’m rambling.

I think about chastity and denial and how I sometimes wonder why everybody doesn’t live this way and why it’s good for some but not others and how sometimes, like with us, it goes really fucking deep and ends up with me never wanting to be allowed to come, forever wanting to come. Sexuality is such a crazy thing. So complicated. Infinitely complicated. Trying to interpret it is like trying to identify the individual pieces of glass while looking through a kaleidoscope. Seems to me that, when it comes to successfully using chastity and denial in a relationship as we have, it would be helped if at least one of the partners thought as I do. Pleasure is a service. Theirs should be a priority over your own.

You have to start somewhere.

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Chastity at the gym

Been in the Looker 02 recently. Couple of random observations regarding it and my thrice weekly personal trainer sessions.

  • He’s made me do Supermans recently (and today). This is a totally cake excercise for me usually, but, since I’m basically putting all my weight onto my hips, it ends up feeling like I’m being impaled on the L02’s urethral insert. The other day, I had to do them rolled out onto an exercise ball. Not painful, but like, “Oh, yeah. I’ve got this thing shoved up me. Right.”
  • Shoulder shrugs are a standing exercise where you lift a bar hanging down around your hips using your shoulder muscles (like a shrug, right?). No issues except for when, instead of sliding smoothing up and over as it would with an unencumbered penis, the bar gets caught by the rigid cage of the device and noticeably flips it up and then back down. It just looks in no way natural.
  • When you’re laying down on a bench doing decline crunches, the odd little lump in one’s workout shorts will often be visible. This can also happen when you’re doing any other kind of recumbent bench press, but is more pronounced when you’re laying in a position where your head is lower than your knees. In particular today, while doing barbell skull-crushers, the penis felt like it was moving down the insert while I was exercising (like, I could feel the insert sliding along inside the shaft of the penis), making the entire package at least feel a lot more present.
  • Occasionally, my sessions will end with my trainer stretching my hip flexors by laying me on a mat and pushing my knee forward into my chest while my other leg stays flat on the ground. Lots of stretchy crotch bits being stretchy and pulling the shorts flat along the line of my legs except, of course, for the bits that don’t stretch and just stand up all perky and weird. Bad enough, but worse when one of the other gym rats is standing there looking down at you and your trainer and chatting while your pronounced little bump sits there being pronounced. Worse yet when you’re wearing the only gray shorts you have rather than the black ones you normally wear and you notice that not only is the lump prominently visible, you can even see the bars on the sides of the L02’s cage and the ridge made by the device’s lock pressing through the material.

When I first started working out with this guy, the idea that my condition would be noticeable by him was mortifying. Now, even when I may be getting busted by other random gym goers, I just let it roll off me. I haven’t a clue what anyone thinks if they’re even noticing the weird little lumps and bumps (and I’m pretty sure they are) and I really don’t care. I’ve wondered if the trainer would ever bring it up and what I’d say if he did. He’s also Belle’s trainer. I think I’d probably come clean, but I don’t know for sure.

In any event, for the prospective chastity device wearer, all these things are totally doable while locked up. Doable while being as stealthy as possible? Maybe not so much.

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Mailbag

A couple of quickies.

Reader Rudi writes:

I’m reading your blog for some months. You’re doing a good job by writing about your feelings and the effects of the chastity thing on your relationship.

I read that you have children. They must sometimes feel your device, as they climb on your lap or you’re hugging them. Are you never afraid that they discover your secret?

Sure I am. I try to keep things situated so that unintended contact with oddly hard bulges is as unlikely as possible. My son’s 14 and can barely bring himself to acknowledge my paternity most days and has quickly mastered the fine art of the bro hug, so he’s not a problem. My daughter is 10 and likes to hug and snuggle so, when standing, I usually turn my hip into her and hug her kind of sideways. Whenever I’m in bed or sitting or whatever and she comes in, I’ll shift my legs or place the TV remote next to the device or otherwise make contact harder and/or plausibly explained by something else. I’ve even gone so far as to move her hand if it gets too close. The girl can be quick, though, and I know she’s hit it before, though it wasn’t more than a glancing brush.

Keeping them out of our sex life is one of the reasons I like silent devices. Integrated locks and lighter PA jewelry make a big difference.

Bob bloviated:

Having been locked into my metal cage for a few weeks I’m starting to find out some of its flaws.

Did you ever find yourself chafing at areas where the cage/ring was deep in folds of your skin?  How did you combat both moisture & chafing?

Chafing is minimized by using a persistent silicone-based lubricant like System Jo Premium. I know a lot of sites (and even some manufacturers) call for water-based lubes, but it dries too quickly and then it’s useless. Others promote the use of petroleum jelly, but I found that to be too sticky. A small dab of JO under the balls at night and in the AM after I shower is all I need. I don’t even use that all the time when I’m in the Jail Bird or Looker (the rings are little bigger).

Which, of course, leads to fit. It could be your A-ring is a little too tight. Assuming your balls don’t turn purple and go numb when you get hard-ons, it might only be a little too tight (like Belle’s Steelheart). If it’s tight, lubrication is more important.

Another thing to consider is support. I can get some irritation like you describe if I go commando (not enough support) or wear tight underwear (too much support). I really like John Sievers Natural Pouch styles. It’s the Goldilocks underwear.

With regard to moisture, are you talking outside the device or inside? Looking at your blog, you appear to have an open cage device, so you’re probably talking about moisture outside. I make sure I dry very well after showering. I don’t generally have issues, but find that when I’m in wet conditions a lot (like on the boat or by the pool or whatever) it can get uncomfortable. Again, it’s about fit. The tighter the A-ring, the greater the issues.

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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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More mailbag

This, from reader AB, came in right after I posted the last one:

After ordering an ill fitting Steelheart, I’ve bought the sizing rings from Mature Metal to try out some “mock” chastity. I’ve been wearing a larger ring around the base of my cock, which is tied onto another ring around the bottom of my shaft. I think i have a good size picked now due to fact that when flaccid, it’s almost unnoticeable, yet doesn’t move around.

My question to you is in regards to getting hard in chastity. When i get hard (and i do get fully erect without a cage to contain it), my junk has a dull ache, not quite pain, but almost, and the skin turns purple-ish (not flesh damaging extreme, but obviously showing that the cockring is too tight when erect).

Is this a normal part of the chastity experience? I’m imagining that this is why guys have trouble sleeping, but just want to be sure before shelling out more cash for a new device.

Your description of the sizing set-up reminds me of the Double Cockring I got from Steelworxx. With that, I ended up ordering the penisring (which is what Steelworxx calls the ring that…wait for it…goes around the penis!) to be just about the same size as the erect penis shaft (maybe just a tad smaller). I wanted to feel some grip, but not have the throbbing and purplish thing. 

Remember, though, when the penisring is attached to a chastity tube, you’re not going to get fully erect. Not even close. In my experience, the penisring and tube shouldn’t be any bigger around (or longer) than the normal size of your flaccid member. You don’t want to give it more room than that so as to avoid the issue you’re describing. I mean, yeah, it’ll still throb because it’ll be locked into a steel trap, but in a good way, and, as I’ve said before, smaller tubes and cages are more comfortable overall than bigger ones. I know for a fact that the penis on me doesn’t get purple in the Jail Bird, for example, but I know it would if the cage wasn’t there to keep shit under control.

Also, regarding your cages, does the jailbird have any of the pull out pins, and if so, what is your review on them.

Never messed around with them. I did use something similar in concept with the CB6K. They made the device a lot more uncomfortable (not always in the bad way) and perhaps made it a little teenie bit harder to pull out, but not much. A soapy soft penis can get out of any predicament. I’d think of them more of a CBT thing than a security thing, but I invite other readers who have used them to chime in.

in your SH-s, how much space did you leave to accommodate for the PA, as well as the tube size (with the addition of the PA fixing)

I think you’re asking how much additional space I left in the tube for the PA. Not much. The different devices measure tube and cage length differently, but if you see the comparisons of Belle’s SH-S and Jail Bird, the usable space inside them appears to be about a quarter inch different. I certainly wouldn’t allow for more than that.

Are you going to try wearing a PA with the JB? I find I can’t do that due to pinching. I also can’t use it for security with the JB for the same reason.

And finally, you blog is so hot. I would gladly suck your cock and let you lick my armpits.

You’d be sucking steel, but that could be hot, too. The armpit thing we might be able to work out, depending on how Belle feels about it. In either event, thanks for the compliment!

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Mailbag

Reader thehonourmethod opined:

I’ve been following your blog for some years now. I think you have a very refreshing outlook on male sexuality, one that chimes with my own experiences over the same period.

I too came to this ‘male chastity’ experience following an infidelity (well, several, actually). I introduced my then-partner to the concept at the same time as a full confession. In retrospect I overdid it and only ended up hastening the end of that relationship. Still, it was an interesting experience, hopefully for her as well as for me.

It’s pretty easy to overdo things at the beginning, idnit?

One of the things that I discovered during this rather turbulent period of my intimate life was that, although I came to the concept of ‘male chastity’ as an ostensible ‘cure’ for infidelity, it quickly became apparent (both to myself and to my then-partner) that it was actually just another way of me obtaining sexual gratification at her expense. Albeit, not ‘gratification’ in the traditional sense. But you know all about that…

In my opinion, chastity play (especially the long term flavor Belle and I employ) is an advance relationship technique. It’s not a cure to infidelity all by itself. I reject that notion mostly because stock chastity devices are so easy to defeat. The only cure to infidelity is to address the issues that led to it in the first place (or restructure your relationship to allow for outside activities so it’s not being unfaithful). I think the communication and openness necessary to do chastity well is exactly the kind of infidelity-snuffing thing I’m talking about, but the resulting chastity play is the effect of the cure, not the cause of it.

When I subsequently got together with one of the ladies I’d met during my ‘summer of love’, I wanted to keep this concept going but without the more disturbing implications (e.g. that if she didn’t lock me into a chastity device I’d probably cheat on her).

I’ve got a feeling that your relationship with ‘Belle’ is quite unique in the sense that this dynamic is genuinely present but you are also capable of genuine mutual intimacy.

I did buy my current partner a chastity device to lock her cock in but, although she found it very amusing – charming even – , there’s not the slightest chance of her ever taking it seriously as lifestyle accessory.

Why is that? I ask only because there was a time when Belle didn’t take the devices all that seriously (or even liked them that much), but she does now. At least as seriously as I do. She’s not into them for the sheer gear-heady gadget lust reasons I am, but she totally appreciates their purpose and role.

What I’m wondering is, what do you think about the role of the actual ‘device’? Is it ‘just’ a kind of metaphor, which is used to represent and provide a talking point for the kinky / intimate nature of your relationship, or does it play an ‘actual’ role, without which the dynamic would no longer work?

I ask because my partner and I are currently in a ‘long-distance’ phase of our relationship and I find that our intimate communication is enhanced if I act ‘as if’ her cock were locked into a chastity device, even though it isn’t.

There are two main problems about this. The first is that, although I am now three weeks in and only have another month to hold out until I see her again, there may be a moment of weakness. I really don’t want to have to confess that I have failed in my mission; even worse to keep it a secret (I do sometimes neglect to tell her about infractions, although I am always truthful if asked).

The second is that, although the whole beauty of the dynamic that is thus set up is due to our increased intimate long-distance communication (especially concerning her tell me about her sexual dreams, flirtations or – in a perfect world – orgasms), sometimes she tends to forget or ignore what I’m going through, assuming that it is as easy for me to simply refrain from sexual activity as it apparently is for her.

My question to you is: would you consider a ‘male chastity’ relationship dynamic that didn’t rely on a physical device to be ‘more ideal’ than one that did? Could you imagine discarding the reliance on devices and simply using her word instead? Would the dynamic be enhanced or destroyed by taking such a step? Or do you think I should renew my efforts to persuade Her to take responsibility for our intimate communication in this dynamic by ‘requiring me’ to wear a device?

I hope to hear back from you! Either way, keep up the good work!

The perennial question. On the one hand, if you don’t use a device, you’re not really in chastity. On the other, if you need one, you’re a pathetic sub with self-control issues.

We’ve done it both ways. Obviously, we mostly do it with the device. I like it better and so does Belle. For me, it’s a talisman representing her power and my position. Also, I’m into bondage and like the, well, bondage. I like feeling my erection compressed and fighting the steel. I like feeling the heft of it swing around as I move and have grown to prefer the feeling of my balls being kept orderly by the A-ring. I’ve talk about it kinda recently.

When I’m on my own recognizance, the entire thing has a different texture. It’s much more distracting since the penis is always there and often reminding me of the fact. It’s more likely to respond to stimuli and I’m forced to engage more willpower. I won’t say one way is better than that other as a way to do orgasm denial  (no, you can’t force me), but for me, no device is a lot harder. We have chosen the enforced brand of chastity for us. It’s just a better fit, so to speak.

You say you’ve already cheated (not on the relationship, I mean the no diddling thing). You don’t volunteer this information, but admit it when asked. To me, that says you need the help of a physical device. Your “first line of defence” device (ie, your brain) isn’t yet up to the task of controlling your dick. Honestly, I can’t even imagine trying to be good (ie, not playing with it, let alone resisting orgasm) when separated from her for weeks or months at a time. It would be nearly impossible for me, I think, so I don’t say this with any kind of judgement.

So how about this. How about, when you’re away from her, you’re in a device, but when you’re not, you’re not. She doesn’t have to see it or deal with it or anything. All she has to do is hold the key. That way, you’re less likely to cheat (but unless you’re pierced, even that will still be possible) and get to enjoy the feeling of being kept. Tell yourself you’re doing it because she told you to. Don’t let your brain fuck around with the chicken and egg conundrum. Just don’t do it. If she buys off on this idea, you will be locked up because she told you to be. Period.

I’d also advise trying to get to the bottom of her not taking the device seriously as a “lifestyle accessory.” Does she know they come in sexier finishes? Belle didn’t really get into the devices until the first metal one came along. If she’s really GGG about all this and it’s no skin off her nose either way, it seems like you should be able to come to some agreement about it. Perhaps, in time, she’ll come to appreciate what the device can help you bring to the relationship, just like Belle. Maybe someday, she won’t even think of letting you be alone with your dick all free and floppy. But you can’t get there until you impress upon her how you feel about it and how important it may be to you.

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Das penis

Bondagebuddy asked:

I’ve been following your blog for well over a year now and obviously enjoy it. However, I’m curious about one thing. Why do you always refer to your penis as “the penis”? It is still very much a part of you. I think you are to be commended for your devotion to chastity, but it is noteworthy that proper reference is never mentioned.

Early on, Belle and I had kind of a contract that said I wasn’t allowed to refer to it as mine anymore since I had given control of it over to her. I was supposed to call it “her cock” or “the cock” or whatever. Some time later (I can’t find the post at the moment found it), I stopped thinking that the noun “cock” was the proper term to use since cocks have a very specific (to me) connotation about them. They have attitude and purpose and even a bit of pride and in general seem to me to be somewhat aggressive. The member I carry around isn’t like that, in practice or intention. It didn’t feel right to me to call it that so I started calling it by its more clinical term. It’s a penis, not a cock, even if it’s unlocked and fully erect.

When I first started at this blogging thing I’d read this kind of twisted phraseology and roll my eyes (the whole personal pronoun capitalization thing still bugs me, but I get it and why people do it). They’re confusing (as you’ve demonstrated) and cause sentences to sometimes be awkwardly structured. Honestly, I find it to be a bit of a pain to not be able to just write the very plain and straightforward “my cock” and, every time I have to do it, I consider just dropping the practice entirely.

The reason I don’t (even though Belle’s no longer invested in what possessive I use) is because awkwardness and inconvenience are part of the chastity experience. Referring to it as “the penis” is a literary reflection of wearing a chastity device all the time whenever she wants me to regardless of how I feel about it. To me, talking about it like it’s a thing separate of me is a perfectly honest way to write. It reinforces the reality that I don’t control it and can’t use it how I want. Even when I’m unlocked, she’s explicitly forbidden me from playing with it absent her permission.

At the moment and under the terms of our dynamic, I don’t really have a man’s cock. It’s a penis. And it’s not mine.

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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.