Tag: enforced chastity

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Reconsideration

[I]t may be the case that the weight of the goal is somehow sitting on her shoulders in a way that ruins the game for her.

Belle read that like aloud last night as she closed her laptop.

“What?” I asked, “Did you read that for a reason or were you just admiring my prose?”

While she said my prose is right fine, she told me that sentence resonated with her. So, that’s that. End of the goal.

Me: “So you going to let me out now? Do I get to come?”

Her: “No.”

And yeah, I feel stupid for even bring the idea of  the goal up. Especially when, as I predicted, some would argue that men in my position expressing any kind of opinion regarding  how their relationship might play out are secretly seeking to control those to which they have supposedly ceded control. I reject that point of view. I have to. Otherwise, how would I ever be able to communicate my needs? If every idea or suggestion was a powerplay for the reins, it’d be impossible for anyone on the lower-case side of the slash to help the upper-case side know what’s working. I assume even those in a dominent role are concerned about the well-being of their subs.

But I digress. None of that bullshit has anything to do with Belle and I. There was an idea, it was tried, and we rejected it. I believe I presented it in a way that best respected our dynamic. My only hope is that she didn’t feel compelled to do it.

Whatever. It’s no biggie. We move on.

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Willing prisoner

Belle and I had a date the Saturday before I left on my trip. It was at a nice restaurant, one of her favorites, though I remember when the space had been a hot dog joint and, truthfully, I liked it better back then. In any event, we had a long and, for me, difficult talk about Where We Were with regard to the whole chastity thing.

Last week, in a comment, I used the metaphor of a pond in trying to describe what it was like being a man in near constant chastity. It’s not a perfect analogy, but the combination of my sexual drive, desires, emotional state, and need for intimacy – what I’ll call my sexuality for short – is like a pond. When the water’s moving, things are good. A nice chop on the surface makes me feel energized and gives me the buzz I crave when locked up. Certain things get the water moving better than others. Porn can be like dropping a little pebble in the water. Having permission to play with myself can have a pretty good effect. Getting Belle off makes a decent size splash while her teasing me and leaving me panting for more is like dropping a boulder. Some combination of all these things is necessary to keep the water moving, though the driver – the most important element – is anything having to do with connection to Belle. Right now, we’ve gone about a month and I’ve only been able to be sexual with Belle once in all that time. At the time of our dinner conversation, it had been about three weeks. The water had stilled and become like glass.

What I eventually was able to say to her is that I need to know she’s still involved in my chastity. That doesn’t mean, necessarily, that we’re having sex, but it does mean I still have an idea that she’s aware of my status and what I’m going through. The few simple words she gave me on her birthday are a good example, but then Friday night came along and, from what I could tell, a wide open window of opportunity presented itself for us to have sex, but we didn’t. No words, no explanation. She just sort of rolled over and that was that. It was very frustrating for me (and not in the good way) because I crave some really good, really sexy quality time with her. Badly. It’s not just that I want sex. I want connection. I want intimacy. I want to exchange our pleasures. I want to send a strong current of energy along whatever line binds us together. And, if she’s not in the mood for it, I need some recognition of that. Not explanation. Not apology (god, please, not that) just words. That she knows what I want and that it’s still not going to happen because she gets to choose and she chooses no. But in the absence of any of that, I am left to stew in my own juices (literally and figuratively). And that’s a Bad Thing.

I think we may have started to confuse the health of our larger relationship with the health of our D/s slash chastity overlay. It is an overlay. Something stacked on top of the foundation of our love and commitment. I suggested that if we find ourselves in a place where we’re not able to connect for a long time (either because of distance or the ebb and flow of emotion) that we put the chastity overlay on hold. Maybe even the orgasm control and denial overlay. We should not look at that as a failure or a sign of relationship troubles. As long as we keep communicating, it should be OK. As in all other things, communication is the key.

The thing is, she can disengage from our chastity game pretty easily but I cannot. I’m in it 24/7 for as long as we’re doing it. I never stop playing the game. I can’t. Eventually, without context and without recognition and without communication, I start to feel disconnected. Adrift. Resentful. It will not be the end of the world if one of us says to the other, “You know what? I’m just not that into this right now.”

Which is where I was last week. I want to do this with her, but not the way it was happening. We left the meal with the understanding that I was still not allowed to come, but would be free for my trip. Last night, I was super horny and needing her, but it wasn’t going to happen. She asked how I was feeling and I said it was very hard being out. Very hard. She had said I would go back into lock-up on Sunday, but seeing how distracted I was with whatever I couldn’t keep my hands off of in my pants, ordered me back in on the spot. I went in the bathroom and put the device back on. Nothing happened sexually, but I felt better knowing she was thinking about me and the cock and my issues. I am desperately horny at the moment but I’m also just as desperate to feel her body. I fell asleep last night fantasizing about her laying me on my back and straddling my face. I imagined my hands reaching up to her breasts while she smothered me with her wet pussy, pushing and grinding it into my mouth for her pleasure. God, I need that. I need to feel her, taste her, make her come. I woke this morning with a highly pressurized tube and, for the first time in five mornings, wasn’t able to grab an erection. It felt pretty good.

The picture in this post is a little voodoo doll I picked up in the airport on the way home. I thought it was cute and pretty well perfectly summarized our relationship. I am a prisoner, literally. Her willing prisoner. My well being is in her hands as much as mine. The chastity device I wear is both a symbol and an assurance of my dedication to maintaing that status and, as long as it’s going to remain a positive force, requires us both to be engaged with one another. We both know this but, like anything else between two people, we sometimes need a reminder. Maybe that’ll be the doll’s job.

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Mailbag

A reader calling himself Dave sent in the following via the feedback page:

A comment and a couple of questions… I don’t know how you find the pics for the portfolio, but you get the most stunning collection of ‘art’ porn I have seen. Very nice.

Thanks. The Portfolio is a distillation of over 200 other Tumblr sites dedicated to the distribution of smutty pictures. I go through them and select the ones I think best represent my editorial vision for the collection. The only hard and fast rule I have is that no guys will ever be shown either having an orgasm or immediately afterward. Dripping is fine, but if I don’t get to come, then neither do they. I tend to shy away from pictures where women appear to be being objectified in a standard, boring way and prefer images where she’s shown as the center of attention. I like the boys as much as the girls and like the more obvious female domination shots, but find most to not have the aesthetic I want. Basically, I’m nothing more than a curator of my specific view of what’s floating around the Tumblosphere. I’m glad you like it!

Now the questions. I have a desire to go into long term chastity (just need someone to act as the keyholder) but:

A keyholder is not technically required, but personally, I don’t think I’d do this unless there was another person participating. Good luck to you on finding that special someone.

1. how do you keep your balls shaved while locked up? Just looks ‘problematic’

Oh, it can be. Some hair just can’t be gotten to with the device on, but I’ve become adept at pulling skin around and shaving off what I can. The trick is using a razor blade that’s too dull for your beard but still has enough edge to cut the hair. If you grow hair on your shaft as I do, there’s not a hell of a lot that can be done about that.

2. I have been told that long term chastity can be detrimental for a man.. that we need to be ‘drained’ every now and then or it can cause prostate problems. Old wive’s tale? I presume you have done some research in this regard.

I think that’s a largely overblown issue. Our bodies are already designed to eliminate fluids from the prostate (some men have nocturnal emissions, for instance, though I never have). Personally, I’ve found that I drip precum pretty freely and will also expel seminal fluid while going to the bathroom (both number one and number two, if you must know). I am not a doctor, obviously, but am firmly in the camp that all the evidence out there is contradictory and inconclusive. In my opinion, there is no well-documented need for a man to be “drained” and, all other things being healthy and functioning, should be able to go without orgasm indefinitely.

PS.. love the blog.. would love to sit down with you over a  few beers and have a looong chat.

I love having the blog as an outlet and the being able to interact with the readers like this and on the Chastity Forums, but yeah, I do have a deep longing to actually talk to others about this. A few beers and long chat sounds great to me, too (though based on your IP address, the flight over would be annoyingly long).

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Squeaky clean

Air travel stinks. I was talking to my coworkers as we flew back yesterday and one of them remarked that when she was young her family dressed up to fly. How it was such a big deal. Now, planes are nothing more than busses with wings. Endless charges for such luxuries as baggage and rude attendants and knees pushed up into your chin for three hours. Man, I’ve had it.

Anyway, I’m back home. Finally. Night before I left, even with a numb dick, I couldn’t fall asleep. It was a combination of being really horned up and having had a glass of iced tea with dinner. That little extra jolt of caffeine mixed with the hormones kept me up to four in the morning so I got maybe two or three hours of sleep. The tossing and turning went on so long, the feeling came back to the cock and in my delirious half sleep, half awake state, my hand found it again and again. I’d edge myself then control would come back and I’d roll over only to find my fevered brain reinserting all kinds of pornographic thoughts before me and the cock would swell and the whole thing would start over again. I knew that if I just came I’d likely fall asleep quickly, but I resisted the best I could. It was one of the hardest evenings of orgasm control I’ve had in a while. The barrier between pre and post orgasm was membrane thin and, by the time I pulled up and stopped stroking, I was leaking great quantities of ejaculate. I didn’t get the tingly sensation of orgasm and the thoughts and desires came back quickly enough for me to know it wasn’t an orgasm, but it was a very close scare. In the future, even if Belle lets me go to these things unprotected, I should probably bring the Steelheart along for those times I feel I’m losing control. When it’s in place, even if I hold my own key, the Rule of Law descends and my relationship with the cock changes completely.

Got home well after Belle went to sleep last night so I’m still free. I took the opportunity to clean out the Steelheart tube thoroughly this morning. I find that when I’m locked into it for weeks at a time (as I just was – essentially a month), a type of build-up appears at the end of the tube. It appears to be some kind of mineral-type stuff that I assume is left there by frequent contact with urine. It clings to the steel and can’t be cleaned out with soap and water, but I’ve found soaking the tube in a vinegar bath loosens it up enough that it can be wiped out.

I took the opportunity afterwards to take the above picture. I shows how tight things are in the end the tube with the PA fixing and 4 gauge ring. All that squished with the penis meat into a 2.5″ long steel cage. Time will tell when the meat is again so squished. Belle’s given me no indication when she wants it back in there.

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Not feeling it

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I’m on my business trip (the one I mentioned the other day) and, as promised, Belle let me go unattended. The issue this presents for me is I’m in a room by myself with a cock that hasn’t been relieved in five weeks or so and the damn thing keeps looking at me. It’s at times like these that I wish I was locked up because frankly I can’t keep my hands off of it.

Belle knew that was going to be the case so she’s allowing me to play with it while I’m here. I admit to having done that, but not just while awake. I had three distinct dream episodes last night that involved me having an orgasm. All I remember is snippets, but in the first I was essentially me and I was jacking off and thinking I could “accidentally” come and no one would be the wiser. In the second, I was a woman and coming hard, but without the mess, of course. Not sure who was doing the stimulating in that one. In the third, I was young and had strange hands on me making me come. It wasn’t violent or anything, but that one woke me up to a dark room and a very stiff member.

So, yeah, I have been diddling with the tube steak a bit, but I’ve employed a new tactic in making sure I don’t go too far (as in my first dream). Several times now I’ve applied a cream containing lidocaine, a topical anesthetic. I’ve had it a while now but haven’t had time to experiment with it. I grabbed it while packing figuring four unlocked days would be a good opportunity.

In any event, the cream is white and odorless and actually makes a pretty good masturbatory aid at first. Then, about 15 minutes or so after application (the time in which it’s hardest to wait), the surface of the cock starts to feel somewhat numb. Sensations are dulled, yet still there. I can still (barely) feel the head of the cock being stimulated by my fist. Thirty minutes in, it’s lost nearly all sensation. At that point, another application of the cream pretty much removes all surface feeling. I can still detect the pressure of my fist internally so it doesn’t quite feel like someone else’s cock, but none of the skin is returning any sensation whatsoever. The cock remained quite hard each time because I was still feeling a hard one in my hand, but no matter how much stroking I gave it (and I gave it a lot), I never got remotely close to orgasm. In fact, thanks to my PA ring, some of the cream got inside the cock as well so that when I peed, I didn’t feel the stream leaving my body. Weird.

Yesterday, I was able to play with this stuff in the afternoon before I got ready for dinner and found that even showering with hot soapy water didn’t bring back sensation. The hot water ran down my chest and, even though I saw it streaming off the end of the still chubby cock, I felt absolutely nothing. In fact, feeling didn’t come back for hours. The good news is, this means I could potentially use this stuff with enough warning when Belle wants to fuck me with no fear of coming or diminishing her feeling through contact with me. I’m not entirely sure I’d stay hard, but I had no issue with it the two times I used it so far. The cock is just numbed, not paralyzed, after all.

I assume I’ll have to use it again tonight. I am significantly horny. As long as I use the lidocaine, I can stroke and stroke to my heart’s content and not fear any kind of unfortunate accident. It’s kind of like chemical chastity, in a way.

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Drift

It has been said before (in fact, I’ve said it before) that chastity is not celibacy. Those who think locking up a cock and/or denying a man his orgasm means there will be no sex are doing it wrong, period. Chastity is about better sex, more meaningful sex, and a closeness and intimacy not unlike that found in the halcyon days of a relationship’s beginning. If that’s how it feels more often than not, then things are working as they should.

Belle got home last Friday. Last night was, perhaps, the first night in which her jetlag wasn’t a factor and she wasn’t trying to go to sleep at 6:30 in the evening. But (there’s always a but) she had a business dinner and got home late, tired, and on her period. I knew it was out there, her period, but was hoping it’d hold off a few days. At least until I left on Sunday. But no.

So, since Belle came home, we’ve had one brief and very Belle-centered encounter. Normally, I wouldn’t complain about Belle-centeredness, but I got the self-abuse thing out of my system in the first week she was gone and have been looking forward to both tending to her and being tended to by her for a long time. It’s hard enough when she’s not there, but she has been there, physically anyway, while I’ve felt myself drift farther and farther away from what I can only describe as my sexuality. My urges and needs and connectedness that makes me a sexual being. And as I drift off into the distance, I feel less and less. Empty and depressed and lonely. The exact opposite of how chastity and orgasm denial are supposed to feel.

I don’t want to blow this out of proportion. I’m not at the end of the world here. But the arrival of the period last night was a blow I had not expected and it left me feeling down. This morning was Belle’s birthday. We all gave her cards and mine said something about how lucky I am to have her. I am. But when the kids had cleared off, she told me she knew I probably didn’t really feel what the card said right at that moment. She knew I was in a bad place and that things were hard for me. Hearing that, I felt like crying. She had said nothing about it before. I needed to hear that she knew even if there was nothing she could do about it.

And now I have and I can keep going a while longer. And maybe I’ve drifted just a little closer back to shore.

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Biking

I went for my first bike ride of the season this past weekend. Just over 13 miles in my spandexish bib bike shorts and the Steelheart. For whatever reason, I didn’t bike much at all last year and can’t remember ever doing it in the steel before, but, since it’s an often-asked question, I can report that it was no problem whatsoever. The compact, less obvious shape of the Steelheart Short was not an issue. The crotch is padded for comfort and that helped hide the tube, though the material directly above the padding was thin enough to clearly show the locking mechanism. Not just the shape, but also the steel. Since I wear a shirt over the bibs, it was well hidden.

Before starting, I lubed up quite a bit and found it was much more comfortable than the CB6K. Not only did the steel not cause any chafing around the scrotum, but the shorter, more downward pointing tube didn’t get pushed back into my pelvis as much. I did find that the entire device rotated so that the tube was pointing to the right and almost perpendicular to its usual position, but that was easily adjusted and didn’t cause any discomfort. The one bad thing I did discover, though, is that I need to sit up slightly in the seat when going over rough bumps (or, alternatively, rotate my hips back a bit). At one point, the tube was in direct contact with the seat and the PA ring was being held in direct contact with the tube so that when I went over a particularly jarring bump, all that force was communicated perfectly from the wheels to the little bit of flesh between my piercing and urethral opening. Oh. My. Gawd, did that hurt. Just the once, though, and now I know better. No lingering damage was sustained.

In other news, yesterday marked the end of my first orgasmless month. Well, four weeks, anyway. Twenty-eight days down, 140-some to go. During those 28 days, I was locked up for all but two and a halfish of them (for travel). I told Belle I felt like I needed a little attention outside the tube. Either direct teasing or being tied up and beaten or just beaten. Something. I’m feeling a little disconnected at the moment. She let me make her come Saturday and that was very nice, but I didn’t see her for two whole weeks and every time she touches me in even half-hearted and innocent ways, I feel a shock and low thrum deep inside. It seems to me that in these few days since she’s come back and is going through the jet lag thing that she’d really rather not have anything at all to do with me. I guess that’s to be expected, but in my state, it’s difficult to deal with. I find the denial and the being locked up makes me a lot more sensitive to her attention (or lack of) and emotional as a result. If I weren’t worried about being called sexist or genderist or some other ist I might say living the way I do makes me act more like a stereotypical woman than a man, but I’d hate to be called any kind of ist, so I won’t say that.

Also found out that I’ll be unexpected travelling for business next week. I will leave it entirely up to Belle to decide what my state will be while gone. No suggestions or anything from me. Whatever she wants. Either I’ll be free as a bird (with clipped wings) or locked like last time.

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New shiny

Belle gets home today. She’s currently over the north North Pacific on a beeline for San Francisco, completing the second to last leg of a four-flight journey back to me. She’s been in China, Cambodia, Indonesia, and Vietnam on this trip. Obviously, I’m very excited for her to get home. It’s been a long couple of weeks.

While she was gone, I picked up a new shiny piece of steel, though not one I wear between my legs. In this case, it was a stainless cuff from House of Collars by Dom Wolf. I’ve been looking at them for years and almost bought one on several occasions. I finally pulled the trigger. It locks on using itty bitty headless torx screws. Here’s what it looks like on yours truly.

There’s lots of reasons I love this thing. First, it’s stainless. I have a real thing for shiny steel. It’s nicely made yet still a bit rough around the margins as something befitting a slave should be (though that’s not really me, is it?). Also, it’s a piece of genuine bondage equipment I can wear 24/7, out in public, that’s practically invisible as such to 99% of those who see it. Over the course of the week or so I’ve had it on, only one person said anything about it but didn’t seem to recognize it as anything other than a chunky bracelet. And it is pretty substantial. It’s not simple jewelry. It feels like a handcuff on my wrist.

Which, of course, turns me the fuck on. After putting it on for the first time, every time I felt its heft shift on my wrist, I thought what it’d feel like to have one on both wrists and on my ankles and even around my neck and the tube contents would swell. I imagine the cuffs around my wrist being locked to the ones around my ankles, a chain attached to the collar, tube dripping…*shudder*.

Anyway, it’s a nice feeling having a little sliver of what’s going on in my pants out there on my arm for the world to see. I didn’t talk to Belle before getting it so it’s not like I’m wearing it for any other reason except that I want to and I like it, but it represents more than just a chunky bracelet. It represents the enforced restraint and lack of control that turns my crank so lustily.

If you’re in the market for such a thing, I highly recommend Wolf’s work.

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Damn dam

As I was preparing myself for the day yesterday, the though occurred to me that there was a chance I’d be confronted by a metal detector. I mean, it was our plan to enter a Federal installation and all. There was the key and there was the device (all freshly cleaned and lubed), but I decided against it. I had been to Hoover Dam several times, but not, apparently, since 2001.

So there we were, in line to the visitors center, and I had already passed by about 56 large yellow signs warning me of the extreme security measures in place, but I looked right though each of them. We were in line for the 90-minute tour, though my mom had already said she wasn’t interested in it (some kind of fobia about being at the bottom of the damn and all that water or something) and the female offspring didn’t seem all that into the idea, though the boy was. Then, just as I was about to cross the threshold into the lobby, I saw them. It was just like an airport in there. Multiple X-ray conveyers and metal detectors. And guys in uniforms. They might even have had guns.

Shit, I thought as a cold wave of inevitability laced with a healthy dose of panic washed though me. Then I thought, I can’t go through there. I’ll set it off, and apparently said it out loud, too. The boy made some kind of acknowledgement, though I was feverishly woking out what to do next and didn’t really hear him.

“Let’s go have lunch,” I blurted. It was 11:30 and the tour was an hour and a half, so it was a plausible cover to get me out of there. On the way back up the escalator, I worked though all the escape options. There weren’t any, of course. The device cannot be removed at all absent heavy tools or the key (which was on the 47th floor of our hotel back in the city). There was no way we were getting in there.

At first, I was very disappointed. Not just because I wanted to see it, but mostly because I was going to potentially ruin it for everyone else. However, when I came up with an alternate plan over a meal of snack bar burgers and turkey wraps, nobody seemed to mind. In the end, we spent an entirely enjoyable couple of hours crawling over the dam, checking out its nooks and crannies and muscular WPA architecture (it really is a beautiful thing).

So anyway, vacation planning affects aside, it’s probably a good thing I’m in it. When I took the SH-S off before we left, I should have done it after my shower since, once again, I succumbed to the sensual pleasures of antibacterial soap applied properly (though without climatic completion, of course). The cock’s siren song is so strong that this morning I saw the key in my dop kit and really, really, really thought about using it. Just a little bit of jacking off surely wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just a little? I can only imagine what it’d be like were it not there.

And, for the record, I did not use the key.