Libéré en étant enfermé
I had to go into enforced chastity’s no man’s land today: The other side of airport security. Belle, who’s in NYC, didn’t want to let me stay out any longer than necessary. Therefore, I’m posting this photographic evidence that I am back in and locked up.
Before:
After:
Note the date (on the paper and of this post), the numbers on the locks, and their condition in each picture.
Back in the can today. I woke up and the little annoyed spot was 86% healed. Not sure what it is about the skin in that area of the body, but is seems to put itself right faster than other skin.
So, I worked out this morning all free and floppy (figured there was no reason to make stuff grind down there any more than necessary), showered without rubbing for the genie (bonus points should be awarded), and locked the device back into place so I could greet the day in the manner in which I have become accustomed.
All great, right? Wrong! I’m in my first meeting of the day and start to feel an odd little twinge from the area where the bottom of the penis joins with the scrotum. There might be a name for that little bit but Wikipedia is failing me. So anyway, I slyly shift my seating position and give the device a little shove in order to unpinch whatever little bit is being squished. No luck. The odd little twinge starts to grow a bit more insistent and I start to shift in my seat in a vain attempt to sort it out. Again, no luck.
It’s at this point that the sensible part of my brain (the one I clearly inherited from my mother who is nothing if not a picture of Midwestern sensible) starts berating the rest of my brain for thinking this whole chastity thing is hot. The meeting over, I retreat to my office and reach not so subtly down my pants to pull the whole device away from my body. This is often a way to “reset” whatever little bits of skin have become trapped by whatever little bits of steel.
Fucking hell, that hurt! Jesus! I’ve never actaully felt anything like that. A strong, intense burning from that otherwise nameless intersection of tender male parts. I frantically started rooting though my bag looking for the emergency key, but as soon as I start I know I won’t find it. It’s safely nestled in my nightstand drawer where it’s been for months. FUCK.
I retreated further to the server room. It has a lock on the door and is infrequently entered. Once behind the door, I pulled down my pants to do a visual on the tortured meat. Lifting up the tube to get a look at the spot sends such an intense stab of eye-watering pain that my knees almost buckled. It’s so bad I halfway expect to see blood. How could there not be? But there isn’t.
After more gingerly approaching the lifting (actually, more pushing the nuts out of the way than lifting of the tube), what I see instead is a little ball of penis skin trapped somehow under the edge of the tube right at the base of the penis. I’ve never ever seen this. Nor do I have any idea why it’s trapped, but the trapped skin has turned white from the stress of the pinch. Without a key and with no ability to reach down to that part of the device on the inside, I started to pull the device away from me while simultaneously trying to work the shaft back with my other hand, pulling the skin on the very flaccid little member from the top hoping to free it on the bottom. It was a motion similar to what I’d do if I was trying to pull out, but of course, that’s impossible. All I wanted to do was free the pinched bit.
I can’t say why it was pinched or what caused it to be so stubborn in getting itself unpinched but I know the very nanosecond it got free. I felt a cool wave of relief wash over me starting at my shoulders, going up over my head, and down my front. And just like that, the pain was gone. The Wicked Pinch of 2011 was no more.
I’m enjoying a temporary reprieve from isolated confinement thanks to a small hot spot that popped up under my scrotum. It’s in a weird location (as in, I don’t normally have problems there) and is reminiscent of the issues I used to have with the plastic CB6K. I suspect it’s from going to bed one night sans lube. In any event, I got out this morning and will probably be OK to go back in tomorrow.
Later in the week, Belle goes out of town again, so at a minimum, I’ll be secured for that. I mentioned in an off-handed kind of way that could leave me out for the duration of her trip, but the idea was not met with much enthusiasm. One tricky bit will be on Thursday when I need to go though airport security. I’m not flying, but my kid is, so I need to escort him through to the gate and wait with him. This’ll mean I have to go though the deal of breaking my emergency key out the day of and then resecuring both the penis and the spare key when I get home. I’ll be posting those images here along with a clear view of the number of the plastic tab holding the key in its housing. Trust but verify, as a former president used to say.
Belle finally wanted some action this morning. We were laying in bed being lazy and she said those magic words.
Just in time, too. The continued absence of my ability to pleasure her was starting to eat away at me. It actually seemed like a physical thing wedged between us. I will say it for the hundredth time, if I can’t turn my sexual energy towards myself, then I need to put it somewhere. If she’s unavailable, then it all curdles inside and I get grumpy and depressed. There just isn’t enough of that frisson I was talking about the other day to keep my furnaces stoked from being denied both my own pleasure and hers. She played it as best she could, but a few more days of it and I would have gone south big time. Even though I felt very far away from wanting to do it at the moment she said I could, it was seconds before all the boards lit up across my body. I did so desperately want her.
I tried to savor the opportunity and go as slowly as possible. While playing with her nipples, I climbed up on top of her and pressed the steel against her pussy. All around I could feel it’s heat but not on the penis itself locked away in the sensory deprivation chamber. I reached down and rubbed the short hard tube in and around her lips like I used to do in the old days before it was between us, but could feel nothing whatsoever where it counted. The sensation of feeling my thighs inside hers, my stomach on hers, my chest against her breasts and the taste of her mouth in mine all at the same time caused a strong pang of loss to erupt in my groins. I wanted in her so bad. I wanted the penis to feel hot and wet. I wanted to fuck like it was still a cock.
I got lost in the moment and Belle had to remind me what the point of the exercise was. Regretfully and with great effort, I moved down until my face was buried between her legs. I lapped and sucked like a starving man until she came with such intensity that she pushed my face away so I didn’t get to feel the orgasm flash through her pussy with my tongue. As she basked, I laid my face right inside her wet pubs and breathed in the singular scent of a woman. When it was time to go, I anointed myself with her pheromones. I could still catch little whiffs up until the time I showered.
The hardest part of living like this, for all you budding chastity/denial aficionados, is not the part where she strokes you, licks you, fucks you and leaves you throbbing hard, dripping, and desperate for more. No, that’s the good part. The hardest part is when she doesn’t let you, for whatever reason, have access to her body.
The situation should be familiar to anyone paying attention. I am locked in the device as often as possible. If it were not for real life getting in the way, it would be essentially permanent. I have no way to stimulate myself and Belle chooses to play the version of this game where she will sometimes touch me everywhere but the penis. She doesn’t see the need to let it out except when life, health, or orgasm require it. What I want more than anything is her. Her tits, her pussy, her everything. I want to ravish her.
So I’m pretty sure the last time she let me get her off was the day I got back from my camping trip, five days ago. On Sunday, we took the kids to summer camp. The oldest will be there until the end of the week, but the youngest gets back tonight. That means we had two nights of kidless living. I had hoped for some quality Belle ‘n Thumper time.
There was a bit of Thumper-centric activity on Sunday night. She put the wicked clamps on my tits and punched me in the nuts. The clamps, which hurt like a motherfucker, felt really good from the second she clipped the on. I was ready. The pain/pleasure conversion motor was humming in high gear. She yanked on the chain connecting the clips a bit which is fucking crazy intense. These things are so nasty that even shifting my position causes them to chew the soft pink nipple meat as they turn with me. It can be so overwhelming that it feels like I’m in a deep, dark cave and the only thing I see is two brilliant white lights burning in the blackness. They usually leave extraordinarily thin cuts on my skin, though so superficial that bleeding is never a question. Leaving marks is cool.
Anyway, yeah, so I have god’s perfect nipple clamps on and she starts hitting me in the nuts. There’s really no pain here, either. At least, by the time the sensation gets to my brain, it’s been transmuted into something else. I craved more than she was giving me, so I got up off my back (where she had told me to lay) so that I was on all fours over half her prone body (and yes, all this movement made the clamps gnaw and chew). I was hoping this would give her a better angle on my nuts, and I wasn’t disappointed. She balled her hand into a little fist and punched my sack, pulled tight by the straining penis in its cage. I reached down and held the tube in my hand to minimize the risk of getting the thin skin at the base of the tube pinched from her assault and to give her blows a more even base to strike against. In my head, I was begging her to hit me as hard as she could. I wanted something that would take my breath away and make me crumple over her like a doll. I wanted to feel it in my guts. But I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t ask her. Something held me back. It could have been a combination of self-preservation and residual guilt for wanting this kind of attention. I don’t know. But I never asked.
When she was done (indicated by her pulling the clips off my tits), she kind of shut down and said, “I hope you can fall asleep,” or something very similar.
I admit, I was profoundly disappointed. I wanted in her pussy. I wanted to eat it up. I wanted to feel her writhe and moan and spasm to my touch. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. I got very still and quiet.
“Thumper, are you OK?”
No. But I said, “Yes.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not important,” I replied because, by rights, it shouldn’t be. I signed up for this. I have this thing on the penis which ensures there is nothing I can do except make her come if I want anything like a release for myself. I didn’t want to ruin an otherwise enjoyable experience by getting all moody, though I was. The best I could do was keep it from affecting her. So I ate it and let her go to sleep.
But I didn’t. I was up until after midnight and then awake at least three times with stifled erections so powerfully contained that I needed to get up and walk them off. It was a crappy night’s sleep. But that’s what I signed up for, too. In the morning, she said she was surprised I hadn’t blogged the night before. Usually, when I can’t sleep and am left feeling funky, that’s what I do, but I specifically held off until now because I wanted better perspective.
Next night, she had a work dinner thing and I had drinks with a friend. I got home about 8:30 and the house was hot but the pool looked inviting so I took a skinny dip. Our backyard is enclosed just enough to leave a bit of risk in this action, so that hit a few of my buttons. Regardless, swimming in the nude is 136% better than swimming with a stupid suit on and the water was glorious. The dusky sky reflected beautifully on the water’s surface.
Belle got home somewhat later and I was hoping that she’d want my attention, but no dice. We watched Niel Patrick Harris (upon whom she has a massive crush) on the Daily Show and she fell asleep with her hand in my crotch – palm on the tube and fingertips on my nuts. It was nice, but ultimately did nothing to give me what I needed. I wanted her fucking snatch but she wasn’t giving it up.
Finally, this morning, I woke up well after she did as usual and, before getting dressed, she sat next to me in bed and again stroked my nuts. It drove me crazy, especially when she got dressed right next to me few minutes later. The kidless window is closed now since our youngest gets home this afternoon.
So anyway, I am trying my hardest not to let this maddening lack of Belle time get me down. I am trying to remind myself that this is part of the deal. That I wanted to be out of the decision making loop regarding sex and to be frustrated and horny and denied and treated arbitrarily and unfairly. I really, really don’t want to put anything back on her because the deal is I have no right to do so. I am not entitled to her and should accept what I get with gratitude.
Yeah, that’s the hardest fucking part. And in case you’re wondering, no, it doesn’t get any easier with time.
I decided yesterday to go commando. I hardly ever go to work or into the world like this anymore, but yesterday was warm and I was wearing roomy, breezy shorts and the muse moved me. While getting dressed, I simply left the underwear on the bed.
Once I got to work, I was walking across the parking lot toward the building and enjoying the stiff breeze blowing against me. The really hot weather had moved out the night before and the cool front was kicking up the atmosphere a bit. After I got about three-quarters of the way across, I realized that the wind was pressing my clothing to my body and, as I walked, the perfectly clear outline of my tube was plainly visible, rocking back and forth with the motion of my legs, under the thin fabric of my shorts. There were others around and about the doorway and in the lot, but I can’t say who saw what (if anything). So…commandos beware. It didn’t stop me from doing it again today, though.
I woke up last night with some nasty pinching at the end of the tube. In my rush to get back in, I neglected to replace my chunky 4ga PA ring with the space-saving 8ga ring I usually use in the device. That was a mistake and one I’ve made before. I’d get up and walk around to bring the swelling down only to crawl back into bed and find myself in the same spot 15 minutes later after I fell back asleep and the nocturnal hydraulics kicked back in. I could have popped my key (had I woken up Belle, I would have been in trouble), but toughed it out until this morning when I asked Belle if I could borrow hers.
As I took the tube off, I found the insides to be coated with slimy precum leakage. A strong whiff of male ejaculate wafted up to meet me. I had to act fast as Belle was standing right next to me and her presence (and potential observation) combined with the leakage-induced slipperiness of the meat combined with the generally horny as fuck condition I’ve been in since I got home didn’t leave me a lot of time before the blinking and light-shy penis figured out its shell had been removed. I pried the big ball out of the 4ga ring, removed it, slipped in the thinner ring, snapped in the smaller ball, and got the device reassembled and locked in record time. I felt like one of those guys who can disassemble and reassemble his rifle in the dark. Even now as I sit here and type this, I can feel the difference.
In other nerdery news, I still find the base of my scrotum to be adjusting to the ring again. Even with lube, I’m feeling periods of burning. That might be due to the fact that I’ve had zero support down there for well over 24 hours now. No underwear means the meat has to support the device all the time. Just thought of that. Hmmm…
Dietmar has a new toy to drool over. It’s called The Looker 03 and sports a PA “shackle” (damn, but if that’s not a sexy word) that’s reminiscent of a Steelwerks Extreme lock.
I see this and my immediate, visceral reaction is, “Woof!” But I have a few concerns:
But, goddamn, it’s sexy. I know I’ll be going back and looking at it again and again.
Did I mention it’s got a shackle?!
Belle gave me the key yesterday morning just as she was leaving for the day. I admit I asked for it, but she gave it freely. She left me there in bed (I had the day off and was supposedly sleeping in) so I rolled over to her nightstand drawer and took the Steelheart out of the flowery little drawstring bag she put it in when I left two weeks ago.
Getting the ring on was difficult. For one, I was doing it all by touch under the sheets, but my nuts (which have never popped through the 40mm ring with ease) seemed a bit larger than usual. The wince when the right one went through (the larger of the two) was intense. Then there was the penis. Frankly, it just wouldn’t cooperate. Once I had the nuts though, it was sporting a pretty healthy semi and getting it to follow was a challenge. Once that was accomplished, the hydraulics had simply progressed too far to imagine the tube going on.
I thought this was funny. I’ve put the damned thing on maybe a hundred times now and haven’t found it to be so maddeningly arousing in a long while. Tired of waiting for it to relax (and aware that the ring itself was working against me), I got up and filled a baggy with ice cubes. Getting to the freezer from the bedroom and then back to the bathroom was tricky since by that point the penis was tenting out my pajama bottoms pretty well. I had to hook the head of the thing into the waistband so it wouldn’t flop all over. I thought that by walking around, getting the baggy, getting the ice, etc, it’d go down on its own, but no dice. It and I knew what was going on and about to happen. In the bathroom I left the ice on it so long it got numb, but didn’t really go down all that much. It took a really long time, but finally it was soft enough to push the tube on and squish the recalcitrant penis meat down into it. Once the lock was in place, it tried to get hard, but of course couldn’t. Neener, neener! Gotcha!
I’ve said before how wearing a device all the time stretches out your nutsack. Well, it’s apparently the case that the stretching is not permanent because for the rest of the day it burned at the base of the ring. I lubed it several times but could always feel it pulling on the skin. Today, it seems as though my scrotum is broken back in.
Unsurprisingly, the 4:00 AM wake-up call from down below felt exquisite. I got up to relieve myself as usual (takes the worst of the edge off the compression), but absolutely reveled in the feeling of being confined when I got back to bed. I reached out to her sleeping form and laid my hand on her arm. Everything had returned to normal.
Yeah, I got it bad.
Pain, Pleasure and Denial is a newish chastity and denial blog I only recently discovered written by a guy calling himself goodhubby. It’s sometimes hard for me to get too invested in these (ironically) because they so frequently flare up, go like crazy for a bit, then fade away, but I like this guy. I like that, like me, he over-thinks spends a lot of time analyzing how denial is working in his head and his relationship.
The really interesting bit about his blog, though, it that’s it written by a top. This is an exceedingly rare combination, I think (at least in the blogosphere). I recall one blog a couple of years ago like that, but it went dark and was eventually deleted. In that case, the dom thought of chastity as an experiment and, I have to admit, wasn’t written so well that I actually got inside the head of the guy. All he really did was recount their sex, if I recall correctly. In the case of goodhubby, it sounds like his denial (and her control of his orgasms) is a somewhat permanent arrangement. This really turns a lot of preconceived notions on their heads. A top who is denied by the bottom. I look forward to reading more!
In a recent post, he keyed into something Belle and I discussed last night between our marathon talkfest and when she let me get her off.
What has changed, though, is that I no longer seem to see sex as a source, or vehicle, for reaching orgasm. I fully expect not to orgasm, when we have sex. I go into it devoid of that expectation of orgasm. Sex has become about NW’s pleasure (orgasms included), just like it always has. For me, though, it has become a time when my arousal, physically and mentally, will be carried to the very edge, but never released. The edge has become the ultimate goal, with respect to my pleasure, not the orgasm. In fact, despite the obvious want that is welled up, I am mentally averse to the idea of release.
That’s such a perfectly succinct way to put it. I have no idea how that works or what’s going on mentally or physically when that turn happens and the entire purpose of sex has been rewritten, but it’s profound (and, apparently, not necessarily related to submission).
The bit that aligned with what Belle and I talked about had to do with recalling the very first night I didn’t come after sex. I remember she came after I fucked her with the penis (that’s how it happened the majority of the time back then). I remember being in her and doing my usual thing letting her glow and resisting my urge to keep fucking until I came, but only out of deference to letting her enjoy the orgasm. I stayed in a little while longer and she let me fuck her a bit more, but eventually I had to withdraw. The incredible ache that induced in my chest as I pulled a perfectly good boner out of her pussy before it did what, at the time, I thought its job was had to be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, especially since that was well before I think Belle really invested herself in keeping me denied. I pulled out and did not come on my own. She would have let me in a second. I remember laying on my back and she curled into me and stroked my armpit hair and tried to bring me down off the hormonal surge. The penis was cold and wet and hard for a long time and my heart was racing and all my senses were on edge. She, of course, fell asleep way before I did. All the next day I felt like I was on speed, but in a good way. I’d have to go back and look, but I think she let me come the next night. So I was denied for a whole 24 hours.
Now, of course, it’s totally different. The penis is no longer able to get her off and, horny or not, I get instantly sleepy once she comes (though that’s not the same as actually falling asleep). I very seldom think about the orgasm I’m not getting because there’s just no reason for me to have one. If I’m aware of anything, it’s that I always wish it took her longer to get there so I could enjoy her more. That longstanding and popular notion that orgasms are either a) required for the man, optional for the woman, or b) mutually assured, just doesn’t apply to us. The very definition of sex that I carried around for three decades is gone.
Belle used an interesting phrase to describe this. She say’s I’ve “nicely evolved” into what I am now. The implication that evolution leads to a superior form was not lost on me. It’ll be interesting to see how a top “evolves” in chastity to a submissive female. How they both evolve, actually.
I get home tomorrow. I will have been away for something like 11 or 12 days, depending on how you count. I really need to be back there.
Previously, I expressed a concern that being free for so long would tempt me to do things with the penis I probably shouldn’t. First day away, I admit I diddled a bit with it, but as I got further and further from Belle, my interest in it lessened more and more. I’d wake in the tent, snuggled into my sleeping bag, with the penis stiff and hard, but I had basically no desire to play with it. I gave it a few wanks to see if I could kindle a response, but there was nothing. For more than a week, it became just this little tube of meat I urinated through. It was as if the spirit of my sexuality was left behind with her and all I took with me was the useless machine it normally animated.
But, as I’ve driven the many miles back to Belle, the penis has started to become interesting again. This morning, the first time I updated The Portfolio since I headed into the woods, I found my hand wrapped around the hard flesh, pumping it furiously and feeling the heavy PA ring knock around at the end of it. My scrotum tightened up and I felt the electric fire starting to build inside, but I stopped well short of orgasm (though a little leaked out). Then, for the rest of the day, I was very aware of the unencumbered condition of my crotch. Even peeing became somewhat erotic in a strange way. I could feel the stream passing through my prostate and my fingers on its skin would cause the penis to respond by chubbing out and looking very tempting.
It occurred to me at some point over the course of the day that it’s been about a month since Belle last let me come, so it’s only natural that I’d find the penis needy, though it’s reawakening as I get closer to her is more than little interesting. I’m still at least two weeks away from my next orgasm as Belle previously said I wouldn’t have one before August. I find myself craving two things. First, her. Her presence, her scent, her warmth, and her pleasure. Second, her control. Cold, hard steel locked onto the penis keeping it out of reach and less of a distraction. Maybe its stirring is driven by the knowledge both it and I have that its days of freely knocking around down there are coming to an end.
Less than 24 hours to go…