Tag: enforced chastity

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Wanting to want to

Strongandsubmissive said in response to the idea of permanent denial:

I don’t quite get permanent denial. I’m not saying it’s fiction only, just that it’s not for me. Perhaps it’s just my inexperience with chastity talking, but part of the fun of the whole process and not knowing when you’ll be allowed out or allowed to orgasm. The perpetual drive to be better and the emotional changes seem to be linked to the idea that “maybe if I’m a good boy, she’ll reward me with an orgasm”.

If you are permanently denied, that mystery or trump card is gone, because you’ll always know what the answer is.

That may work for some, but I’m not sure it’s up my alley.

Of course, everyone’s different. And it’s possible with the knowledge that there would never be another orgasm ever again that a certain edge would be removed from the practice, but for me anyway, it takes so long to get to a point where I actually crave an orgasm over the feeling of being denied one.

Take this morning, for instance. I knew when I put my hand on Belle’s hot, wet pussy that I wasn’t going to get in there, let alone make it a gooey mess. It is an established fact that I’m months away from coming again. What I find is it’s only that knowledge that really allows me to get into it. See, I do not want to come. Not one bit. I want to want to come, but I don’t want to come. If that makes sense. And this is in the face of absolute knowledge that it will not happen. With the possibility of orgasm removed, I’m more free to enjoy having sex with her.

Not every guy is like that. Most men are entirely driven by their desire to squirt. That’s OK. It’s “normal” and culturally acceptable. Other men (a smaller number in practice, but I suspect there’s a much larger unrealized number out there) like to have their orgasms controlled and even limited. An hour, a day, a week. Whatever. Take it as far as you want, at the end they want to come, even if they don’t know when it’s going to happen. I can get to this place, but it literally took me three months last time. Then there’s a third type. The type I think I may be and the type Sarah’s John may be. The type in which it is all about the chase, never the capture. Unending, unquenched desire. The absolute end of orgasm.

But I’m not really in that position and am unlikely to be as Belle shows no interest in it, so it’s impossible for me to know exactly how living with the understanding that I have come for the last time in my life would work with me. I do know, since I just finished a month where she let me come nine times, that I like the denied me more than the sated me.1 Sure, I liked (most of) them. We’re wired to enjoy the feeling of orgasm. But I did not enjoy the wasteland of sensation that followed the afterglow. The near-constant state of being sexually charged and frustrated has apparently changed my basic psychology and/or brain chemistry. At least, I think it has. I can’t really know, right?

In any event, the juxtaposition of this comparatively ejaculate sodden month to the newfound near-certainty that I’d like to stop coming forever is not entirely lost on me. I don’t think this is the hormones talking. I think this is as rational an insight as I can achive.

It’s obvious to anyone who does it that this whole orgasm control, denial, chastity thing comes in many flavors and styles. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t need all these damned blogs, would we? As with so many other things in life, the right way is the way that works for you for as long as it works for you. Maybe that’s the root of the issue people have with permanent denial. Forever is a really long time.

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1 Pretty sure Belle like the denied me better, too, but not, ultimately, better than she likes the feeling of me coming inside her. ↩

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My mantra

Yep, it’s definitely back on. I didn’t fall asleep until about 5:00 AM, so I got about an hour of rest. It gave me lots of time to think.

I really want into Belle’s pants right now. Pants? Fuck that. I want into everything she’s got. She knows it, but she’s not in any hurry. So, as she went to sleep last night, I was feeling a bit of pique. As usual, I wasn’t tired so I ventured out onto the interwebs to console myself and got sufficiently worked up to keep sleep perpetually just out of reach. It would flit by like a firefly only to blink out of existence as I reached for it. Then some scenario or image would intrude into my thoughts and the penis would strain against the tube. Then I’d wait for it to go down.1 Then the little firefly would flutter timidly back. Rinse, repeat.

At some point in this process, I started to feel bad about getting miffed at Belle. I was thinking about my previous post and the spirit in which it was written and couldn’t quite reconcile it with what I had been feeling. Funny thing is, DD accentuated the very thing with a comment she made at about the same time I was thinking it:

I am so glad you appreciate the fact that if she owns it she gets to decide what to do with it, including having it out to play when she sees fit.

Good bunny.

In truth, I really like the feeling of being powerless with regard to sex. I prefer to see it as something she totally controls regardless of how it makes me feel at any given moment (and, in last night’s moment — once I had my head back on straight — the idea that she had left me high and dry was just one more thought that filled the tube and kept me awake). I have always struggled with losing site of this fundamental principle of our dynamic (and makes me question how truly submissive I am).

In my copious free time, I came upon the idea of a mantra. Something I could repeat as a way of centering myself (aka, pulling my head out of my ass). I worked on several versions, but this is the one I settled on:

You own the penis. I gave it to you.
You control our sex. I asked you to.
Your pleasure is my pleasure.
This is how I wished things to be.
Thank you, Belle Fille, for making it possible.
I love you.

The first couple of tries sounded too me-centric. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? So I worked more of us and her in there. Also, recognition that it’s only through her cooperation and ability to put up with me that this works at all. The critical component is the reminder to myself that I was the one who brought us down this path in the first place. And that even though it was my idea, by embarking on this adventure, I relinquished sole ownership over how it developed. No, I’m not her slave. We’re still partners. But I am clearly the minority stakeholder and need to remember that she has the controlling vote. And, after all, I really don’t want it any other way.

We’ve had mantras before. Simpler ones that she’s ask me to repeat occasionally. But this one seems to tie together all the salient attributes in an unambiguous way that my brain can’t wiggle out of. I hope she likes it and I hope she decides to make me say it to her every single day.

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1 Funny thing is, whilst locked up, erections are more fleeting. It takes a lot of concerted effort and/or some really intense stimulus to keep a boner boned. They spring into action quickly and deflate just as fast. The physiological equivalent of a fruit fly. ↩

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Forever

I happened upon yesterday’s post by Sarah on the topic of permanent orgasm denial. In it, she said (among other things) the following:

We are def­i­nitely lean­ing towards per­ma­nent orgasm denial, but we do have some con­cerns, none of which are to do with John miss­ing out on them (it’s really more about what I’ll per­haps miss out on, but that’s another story).

I think that neatly summarizes the issue for us, too. A lot of men assume that when they orgasm it is an experience all their own when in reality most women also seem to get a lot of enjoyment from the event. The ones that don’t are typically fictional (though I’m sure there are some real ones out there, too).

Honestly, this is something I didn’t really understand until I stopped having orgasms, but Belle likes it when I’m inside her and also, I’m pretty sure, likes it when I come there. My assumption had always been that women weren’t especially into the mess since it’s practically entirely up to them to clean it up afterward. Personally, back in the days when the occasional man would fuck my ass, I didn’t especially enjoy the aftereffects. I mean, there’s no place for it to go (and it didn’t really have much of a reason to be there) so it had to come out eventually and I just found the entire thing kinda gross. For the record, only three men got to do that without protection and only one of them was iffy, but that was like twenty-some years ago.

But anyway, as undeniably hot as the idea of never being allowed to come again is for me, I’m not sure I’d ever want it unless I was confident it was what Belle really wanted, too. Our recently concluded month of relative freedom was, I think, more about Belle pining for some old fashioned bunny loving more than anything else. I have no reason to expect her appreciation for that kind of sex will ever change, so I have no reason to expect she’ll ever really and truly end my orgasms.

Yesterday evening, as we laid in bed, I was curled up into her and craving her pussy. I pressed my hand to it through her pajamas and, with my face near her breasts, it was all I could do not rip her clothes off. She wasn’t having any of it, though, and told me she quite liked to see me miserably desperate. She also said I should expect the kind of sharp contrasts like I’m going through now in the future. Hard denial followed by relatively lavish releases. Nine times in one month. That probably doubled my entire output for the year.

So I went to sleep pretty horny. Interestingly, when the morning wood woke me up, it didn’t feel at all like someone had kicked me in the nuts. There was intense pressure from the tube, but I liked it. Instead of trying to get rid of it, I flexed the penis so it would be more intense and even rolled over on my stomach so blood would rush to the area. I didn’t expect to adjust so quickly. Next step will be sleeping through the wood. Once that happens, I’ll know things are back to normal. But I digress.

I guess what I’m getting at is that male chastity and orgasm denial might, on its surface, appear to be mostly about male orgasms. But it’s not. And as badly as I want to hear her say someday that I will never come again (and I do, really), there’s no way I could live with that situation unless something big and drastic changed with Belle and I knew for a fact that she would still be able to get whatever it is she wants from sex (even if that thing happens infrequently). There are many trade-offs in a relationship where the man doesn’t get to come, but in the end, asking her to ultimately sacrifice something so important to her is unacceptable to me.

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Petites bouchées

A few little things…

One, this is just fucking gorgeous. Want. It.

Two, I had forgotten the…er, joy let’s call it, of nut-crushing morning erections. I was up three times between 4:30 and 6:00 walking it off.

Three, even though I’ve been out for more than a month, I am so back in now. Loving it. Totally in that “why would anyone live any other way” place. It’s got to be fairly psychosomatic, but my whole perspective on Belle has changed. I’m really zoned in on her. For instance, we just had a short and rather mundane sort of phone conversation, but as soon as she answered the phone I felt a funny tickling thrill in my kidneys just from hearing her voice. I’m still a little giddy. I really, really like her voice.

That is all.

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Familiar ground

Saturday, Belle told me to take a bath and jack off. I was allowed to come. Knowing that it was probably my last time for a while, I drew it out and spewed copiously. Would have been better has she been with me, though. I have clearly been conditioned to feel that a solo shot is inferior to an accompanied one.

Yesterday, I was told to stay out of the device until today since she might want to have use of the penis one more time. That didn’t happen as it turns out, so I went to bed feeling a little hornier than usual (but not too horny considering I had just come the day before).

This morning, the day had arrived. I woke up with a boner pressing into Belle’s ass, cognizant that it would likely be the last for several months. She told me I was going to stay locked up until our Spring vacation at the end of March. We got to drowsily laze in bed since she has the day off. The boner didn’t subside, partly because I was naked and next to her warm body, partly because I knew the luxury of waking with a fully realized erection was about to end.

In the bathroom, I took the Steelheart Short out of its fuzzy sack for the first time in weeks. I had neglected to give it a proper cleaning before storing it away, so while I showered, it soaked in vinegar (which eliminates the scale that develops with weeks of wear, either from my urine or our relatively hard water or some combination thereof). After soaping myself up, I indulged in some final stroking. I took the big PA ring out since it’s not the one I use inside the device so I was jacking like the old days, all the way over the head and back. I felt the thin, pliable skin of the shaft stretch and flex over the firm meat, the thrill of electricity as my fingers grazed the coronal rim, the sympathetic sway of the scrotum keeping time with my pumping fist. Sensations at once so familiar but also so out of place.

Now, the penis is back in its home, swelling against the confinement even as I write this. In our bedroom, Belle turned the key through my parted bathrobe. Then we kissed. I do love her so much.

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Control

First off, happy new year, everyone!

In response to yesterday’s post, Celtic Queen said:

It’s not so much the absence of orgasm that drives my hub but the control he has handed over and the randomness with which he is allowed to orgasm. He says he feels “lost” without the device, uncentred and unhappy and hates the feeling of his penis re exerting control over him.

Of course, it’s going to be somewhat different for everyone. I agree that the lack of control aspect is key. I don’t know that I could (or would necessarily want to) do this by myself. Belle is clearly the controlling partner when it comes to the penis and what I get to do with it and that’s pretty awesome. I suppose control and denial are not welded together and that either are valid dynamics alone or in combination with other aspects. Yesterday, I was only addressing the denial part since it’s the thing that’s been missing for the past month. Obviously, I’m happiest when they’re served together.

Speaking of which, I know there must be many men reading this blog who wish they were being controlled and denied by their partners (or, conversely, some women who wish they could talk their men into being denied and controlled). I think that limiting a man’s sexual release to only those times he’s with his partner (or has explicit permission by them to do it himself) is a really valid alternative to chastity as Belle and I do it. While I’d lose interest in the dynamic as soon as I came, it was only a matter of a few days or so before I was interested again and, therefore, interested in her. While I was still coming, I was still dependent on her for the pleasure. I think a guy who hasn’t been able to get his wife interested in control and denial would be well served by living as if he was anyway. That is, don’t come when you read the chastity porn. Reserve that for when you’re with her. For a woman in a similar situation, this kind of arrangement might be less intimidating for her guy.

Anyway, I also totally get CQ sub’s point about feeling lost without the device. I’ve written several times how I feel incomplete when I’m not wearing it. I haven’t worn it for like six weeks and I’m really ready for it to return. I suspect it’ll be tricky readjusting (and not just mentally), but I’ve missed it. I thought about asking for it yesterday, but she said Sunday so I didn’t.

What day is it again?

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Four after ninety-nine

I’ve started this post like three times. When it comes to writing for my blog, my muse is my frustration.

So, yeah, she let me come. Two times in each of the last two weekends. I know I reported here before that she was going to let me do essentially whatever I wanted to do with the penis, but the rubber’s hit the road and she’s told me I can’t come without her being present.

And, honestly, I’m perfectly happy with that. In fact, the other night I was begging her never to let me come without her again. She cautioned me to think about what I was asking for, but I was all rapturous and liked how her hand felt around the very stiff meat and maybe wasn’t thinking too terribly deeply about what I was saying. Regardless, I meant it (and still do).

Therefore, I am not, at the moment, Thumper denied. I am at best Thumper restricted. I can pleasure myself and fiddle around with the penis but orgasm can only happen when I’m with Belle. So far, that’s meant in Belle, though I don’t know for sure if that’s part of the rules I’m working under. I’d like to feel an orgasm of my own doing, but she hasn’t let me.

The orgasms she’s let me have were interesting in that they were all different. The first, after ninety-nine days of denial, really wasn’t all that good. How could it have been? It was more like sneezing after feeling one coming on for a long time but being unable to make it happen. Not so much pleasurable as it was just a release. The next day was number two and it was a little better, but still just OK. Then everything cratered. Belle went to NYC and I lost any and all interest in sex or sexual thoughts. Even this blog curdled for me. I couldn’t think about it. It embarrassed me. So I ignored it. I also sank into a shallow depression that probably wasn’t entirely driven by the sudden change in my brain chemicals but couldn’t have been helped by it. I was pretty miserable.

Then the next weekend came around and my libido stirred like a sleepy cat in a sunbeam. I came twice more and cratered again, but only briefly. At least these two orgasms were pleasurable. By Wednesday, I was feeling horny again (which was quite the rebound). It’s amazing how low I go now after I come. My sex drive doesn’t just drop to zero, it goes into negative numbers. It creates a vacuum.

Yeah, so anyway, this shift in the rules isn’t at all what I thought it’d be. I’m very happy to find I’m not entirely free to do as I please because I don’t ever want to live like that again. I’m also pleased that Belle seems to be getting whatever she wanted out this little experiment. I’m sure she’s missed getting fucked by an apparently normal male and I’m also sure a girl likes her guy to squirt inside her every once in a while. But, if I’m honest, I’m also looking forward to the day we can go back to “normal”. After two weeks, I still can’t get used to this squishy floppy bit of meat between my legs. It’s just not right. (The DCR, BTW, hasn’t been on that much. Belle hasn’t wanted me to wear it.) And while I like the idea of coming, the aftermath turns me off (literally and figuratively). I’m actually kind of afraid of it.

I don’t know. I’ve been so far away from normal for so long now that even this not normal approximation of normal leaves me feeling off kilter. I’m still controlled and there are still rules and I like that, but it’s not the same. I’m not complete without that steel tube. I miss its company and crave its confinement. I want to see my reflection looking up from my crotch, not a pink prick. I’ve thought of locking myself up during the day just to feel it again, but have resisted. I will remain as I am without complaint for as long as Belle wants me to, or course, though I look forward to the day she puts things back they way they should be.

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Regret/relief

We were laying in bed, talking.

“What are you doing down there?”

“Where?”

She lifted the covers and saw my hand wrapped around the stiff penis.

“There.”

“Nothing. Just…nothing.”

“You’re jacking it.”

“Only a little.”

“Maybe it’s time to put you back in.”

She got the device and brought it to me. I waited until the erection had subsided enough to push it all through the little ring. Each testicle, swollen with desire, went grudgingly before popping through with a twinge and a yelp. The penis, in that transitional state between plump and stiff, pliable enough to push through if I thought about anything else than what I was doing in front of her and at her direction. I put the security fixing though the PA ring and stuffed it and the still-chubby penis into the tube. I had to force the tube and the ring to join, compressing the swelling contents so the pieces would align. I held the package up to her and she slid the small brass lock into place and turned the key.

“There, that’s more like it. That’s how you should be.”

She placed her hand on the package, but I only felt her finders on my balls.

In my chest, I felt a wave of emotions. Regret that access to the penis was gone, relief that it wouldn’t be a distraction anymore. Satisfaction that my status was no longer in doubt (had she forgotten about me? did she have plans for it?). But mostly just a warm blanket of love and affection for the woman who kept me this way. I sank quickly and deeply into the comfortable fuzziness of my submission.

“Thank you.”

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Say hello to my little friend

Belle let me out on Saturday. The idea was she was going to have me put lidocaine on the penis so she could fuck it without having to worry about me enjoying it too much. But then one kid had a friend over and other went to a party with a bunch of other preteens and needed to get picked up at 10:30 and, the next thing you know, she’s asleep and I’m all drowsy with a totally numb wiener.

Next night didn’t work because (duh), football (she’s the fan, not me) and then it was Monday and yet another football game (and besides, it goes without saying that Monday is not the night anyone has sex) and now it’s Tuesday and she’s at work dinner thing and, well, so it goes. All the while I’ve had to deal with a free penis. Like, four whole days. This is excruciatingly difficult for me since, as they say, the flesh is weak. It’s especially weak 82 days since it last had an orgasm. I usually get my mornings to myself and yesterday the penis and I had a pretty good time (check back on HNThursday). Too good a time, actually, and I eventually covered it in the handy lidocaine so it’d stop bothering me. This morning, I went right for the stuff and slathered it all over to help blunt the distraction. Belle said something about needing to lock me back up soon, but I don’t know when that’s going to happen.

What I do know is I’m only about two and half weeks from an orgasm and a promised “break” in which I’ll get to come whenever I want for a while. I’m fixated on this. Whenever I think about the penis or get turned on by Belle or whatever, my mind goes straight to how it’ll feel to finally get to have an orgasm. And not just one. As many as I like, apparently. It sounds ridiculously indulgent, even as I write it out. As many as I like. Imagine getting to sit down as soon as you’re done trick-or-treating and eat the whole damn bag of candy. That’s what this impeding spurtathon feels like to me.

Several weeks ago, I ordered a double cock ring from Steelworxx. I just got notification today that it’s been shipped which means it should get here right in time. I bought it because, the truth is, I just don’t like how it feels not to have anything at all around the penis. Totally natural feels unnatural now. I also like that it locks and even if I get to do with the penis whatever I want, Belle can still hold my key. That’s important to me.

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Escape Proof

While drying off from my shower this morning, I decided to make the attached video to demonstrate how inescapable the Steelheart Short is with its continuous PA fixing in place.

As you can see, pull all you want, there’s no way out of this thing.

[wpvideo BHamNIKT]

For the overly geeky in the crowd, this video was produced entirely on an iPhone 4S using iMovie.