Tag: enforced chastity

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Two birds, one stone

Responses to two commenters that I, in my fevered brain, think tie together into a unified arch.

First up, palemale said:

I am a little disappointed that you were allowed to orgasm. So many site have men claiming to be in chastity for a year and they just aren’t believable. You on the other hand seem exceedingly truthful and I was hoping that Belle would deny you an orgasm for a full year.

A year.

OK, we’ll come back to that.

Disappointed? Well, not me. Not this time. I think there’s a point up to which I want to be denied longer but after which I’m really OK with being released. This time, when she told me two months in that I was going to orgasm, I was able to shift from indefinite denial mode to really wanting to come mode very quickly. I’ve become so accustomed to being denied and, frankly, enjoy it so much that it has to be a really long time before I get there. A few weeks wouldn’t cut it. A month wouldn’t. Two months – at least this time around – was enough. Yeah, I was prepared to go longer. I would have loved if she had made me go longer. But it didn’t make much difference since I was ready.

With regard to other blogs, I can’t say of course. I think some of them are pure fantasy. I think others are truthful. The thing I’ve come to realize is each guy is unique and each guy is at a different point at the path in their orgasm denial journey so what’s long for me might not be for another guy. And, of course, being in chastity and being denied orgasm are different things. Belle seems to be treating them as one and the same (i.e., I will be locked up and denied for at least three months). Honestly, without the device, I don’t think I could be denied three months. I’d never make it. But I digress…

A year. I’ll admit that a full year is a personal goal. But, until such time Belle decides that’s going to happen, it will remain just a goal. I don’t yet know if there’s a difference between two, three, six, nine, or twelve months. And if you get to a whole year, what’s next? Indefinitely? Forever? The thought makes my heart race, I admit. But again, it’s not my decision.

Palemale went on to say:

I particularly liked your comments about the let down you feel after being allowed to orgasm. I would love to hear more about the specifics how your natural urge to have sex changes with exceeding long periods of denial, even denial of milking your prostate.

Which is related to what the next commenter, NaamPC, said:

Myself, if I had been released after two months of captivity and told I could cum, my first though would have been, “Bend over, please.” After all, you have been doing what and how much with her with so very little for yourself that by denying yourself the very first cum after your incarceration being inside of her, and letting your hand do the work, it seems to me you cheated yourself out of that experience.

I didn’t feel cheated at all. Because, and in regard to palemale’s question, I find that the longer I go the more I want come by my own hand. Or, to be more precise, the more I hope she’ll let me come that way. Of course, I want to fuck her, too, but when I dream about it (and claw at the device and writhe and grind into the mattress), more often than not I want to get a hold of it and pull an orgasm out. I also crave to be inside her, but that’s not equitable anymore to having an orgasm (that is, fucking ≠ orgasm). Those are separate urges for me now. Remember, I was denied not just orgasm for two months, I was also denied access to an important part of my body (for all but a day). When locked up, I am physically disconnected from something I’ve had easy access to for over 40 years. The urge to reconnect with myself becomes just as strong as my urge to connect with her. And, of course, I do connect with her, even when I’m locked up, since I get to make her come with my hands or my mouth or whatever. My connection to her sexual pleasure is so strong now that it’s as if it never existed before.

Long way to say, I desire not just orgasm at the end, I also desire jacking off. A lot.

With regard to palemale’s question about prostate milking, I don’t find it offers any kind of relief from the frustration of denial. It only serves to make me even more horny afterward. I enjoy it immensely while it’s happening, but that’s all. It never culminates into anything that blows off steam.

NammPC then said:

With me, arrangements would gave been made before-hand to let her have whatever time she felt she wanted for herself and after that when it’s my turn, I really am going because it’s my turn. Yourself, you think and feel what you’re going to. That’s my thought on it.

You’re assuming there is a “my turn”. Be that as it may, it’s also true that when the first opportunity to come after a really long time presents itself, the old boner’s on a hair trigger. If she wants a nice long fuck by the biocock, that’s not going to be in the cards right out of the gate. That’s what led to the idea of letting me come in the morning. Didn’t turn out this time, but I still think it’s the right strategy. When she finally did get her ride, I didn’t come and wasn’t really all that close when she did. It would have worked…if only I could have gotten it up.

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5352

For the record, my new key lock number is 5352.

I post this because I know where she keeps the extra locks and I want to be as above board as possible.

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In out up down

Hey, kids! Miss me?

So…what the fuck’s up with you? Sorry for the prolonged radio silence. Started out, there wasn’t much to talk about. For the week or two before Labor Day, things got quiet between Belle and I. No sex to speak of and me locked up tight. It’s the kind of thing that would have made me all introspective and pissy before, but this time there was a more peaceful vibe settled over me. It’s hard to describe, but I was contentedly anxious. I wanted the contact with her very much but also was able to recognize that control over that contact was, as I wanted, totally hers. I would get it when she was ready, not before. We talked a little somewhere in there and I told her not to worry about it. All I wanted was to know that she hadn’t forgotten me.

Then Labor Day rolled around and, as usual, so did my birthday. She let me out after just over two months because the time had come. She wanted to feel her cock inside and she was going to let me come. I had this great idea that she should let me come before she wanted to fuck me so I’d be better able to control myself when the big moment was at hand. She went along with it and allowed me to jack off next to her in bed. That orgasm had been about nine weeks in the making and felt, as usual, amazing. So much better than a normal orgasm. While it was happening – mid-spurt, as it were – I couldn’t breath. I was pumping semen all over my hand and stomach and literally could not take a breath. That’s how amazing it was. Immediately afterward, I was disgusted by all the sticky, creamy stuff all over me. Plus the smell. Ew.

That night was a disaster. She was ready, but I couldn’t get it up. Oh, the irony. She felt like it was her fault and felt bad which, of course, made me feel bad. I don’t know what the deal was, but it sucked. Then she got her period.

I was out for the rest of the week. Belle said she wanted to “air it out” for a while. So I walked around like all the other boys, but was pretty much always aware that things were not “normal” down there. I could feel stuff I wasn’t used to feeling. I slept through every hard-on. It was kinda like being on vacation.

Saturday, we went on a date. She asked me how I was feeling being unlocked and still under the effects of a (relatively) recent orgasm. I kinda shrugged. I felt fine. Truth is, I don’t like the empty post-orgasmic period. Everything feels less interesting and kinda gray and flat. I have grown so accustomed to the heightened sensation of living with all those hormones pumping through me that, while I still really enjoy the actual orgasm when it happens, I dread the time that follows. Which is good, I guess, since Belle told me I was going without for three months this time. She’s thinking Christmas/New Year before I come again.

In any event, Saturday night she finally got what she wanted earlier in the week. All the plumbing worked this time and I was able to hold off long enough for her to ride me to a very satisfying orgasm. After, she let me fuck her until I came, making sure to mention along the way that it wasn’t going to happen again for at least 90 days.

Sunday, the day I was supposed to be reincarcerated, I woke up feeling very much not in the mood. I was pretty happy with my free meat and decided not to bring up that she had intended to put me back in that day. I thought I had gotten away with it, too, when she finally came to bed that night, but she tossed the device at me, lock disengaged. I sighed and disassembled the parts. As I started to put it on, the meat shrank back at the cold metal’s touch. It’s back to being a thing, not a part of me. All day today it’s been pinching and shoving and generally being in the way. I feel encased. And, as usual at this point in the game, very much against the will of my body.

I got a text message from Belle just before lunch. She said,

I forgot to tell you this morning, “Welcome to Day 1” 🙂 I love you. Have a good day.

Three months to go.

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Unchaperoned

Belle and I were apart for the first few days of last week. She was at home and I was in the north woods compound hanging with the family and enjoying the few remaining summer-like days we in the higher latitudes have left before hellish winter descends out of Canada.

Not long after leaving home, I started to feel a twinge in the tube. I knew immediately what it was since I’ve felt it before. The corona of the glans will, from time to time, become irritated and inflamed. I have no idea what causes this, but it usually means I need to come out of the device while things sort themselves out.

This time, though, I was on my own. Belle was 250 miles away. It was just me and my emergency key. I tried extra flushes of warm soapy water thinking it was maybe a hygiene issue and was able to tough it out the first night, but by midday the next, I couldn’t take it anymore. I popped the lock on the emergency key and used it as intended. I admit there was a moment when I worried she had perhaps mixed up the keys between the two locks, but the little brass mechanism turned and slid free of the two steel parts. Shortly afterward, so did I.

And, just as I thought, the corona was not happy. Angry red splotches covered the left edge where the PA fixing made contact with the skin. Slightly less angry-looking marks ran across the top. Very unsexy and very sensitive. All that day I could feel the affected skin move across the fabric of my underwear. Not painful. More like extreme over stimulation.

So yeah, I was out. When Belle called, I told her the situation. She didn’t say much other than she hoped I felt better (or something like that). I had been in for over six weeks with only about 15 minutes of out time and, as usual, everything felt weird. When I went to bed, I put lotion on the complaining area and was annoyed I had to wear underwear since the free and flopping meat coming in contact with the sheets was unacceptably distracting.

Of course, I was very much aware that I was alone and unchaperoned with a very needy cock (damaged though it was). I said to myself I wouldn’t play with it when I took the device off, but there it was like a snake describing all the positive attributes of the fruit I wasn’t allowed to eat. I’m weak, it goes without saying. I admit I failed. I had to reposition my grip to avoid the damaged part, but was able to wank the serpent. I didn’t come, but was surprised at the how quickly and in what volume I was leaking.

My sleep could be described as fitful at best. It seemed like it was hard all night. I woke up several times rubbing it through my underwear or with the underwear pushed down below my balls, fisting the stiff meat. I was awake, but also not. I kept telling myself I shouldn’t. That I was breaking rules. But honestly, I couldn’t stop myself. I have a great deal of respect for the guys who can go indefinitely sans device. That ain’t me.

By about 24 hours later, the redness was a bit better, but the pain was totally gone. In the light of the day, my subbie bunny reasserted itself and, pain or no pain, decided the cock needed to go back in the tube. I left the PA fixing out, though. Honestly, I don’t need the fixing. Playing with the merchandise unlocked is one thing, but I could never defeat the device and cheat with it on my body. That’s a line I won’t cross, even though the Steelheart is easily escaped. In any event, not being sure I had had enough recovery time, I thought it best to remove possible irritation points inside. Worse case, I figured, if the discomfort came back, I’d take it off again.

But the discomforted didn’t come back. Not at all. The 24 hours out was all I needed, apparently. Belle, expecting me out, was happy to see me back in when she showed up. I told her I had been bad and she verbally chastised me for being weak, but gave me points for proactively reasserting her control.

Saturday rolled around and I was heading home, but Belle wasn’t. I’d have another night and most of a day by myself. I removed the tube in order to make a visual inspection and saw that everything was back to normal. The cock was its pale, hairless mole rat self without any marks. I put the PA fixing back in and left the key where Belle would find it.

Everything is back the way it belongs.

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Nope

We were at a nice restaurant last night. Unexpectedly, both the kids were away so we got a surprise date night.

“You thought I was going to let you out this weekend,” Belle said over the caesar and crab cakes, “You said so on the blog.”

“Yes,” I replied, “You dropped hints. You practically told me you were going to let me out.”

“What did I say?” she asked.

“I don’t remember specifically, but hints were dropped. Several of them.”

“Well, whatever I may have said, you misinterpreted it.”

“Really?” Fork full of romaine paused in mid-flight.

“Yes.”

“So I’m not getting out?”

“No.”

Pause. “I thought I was. This weekend.”

“Nope.”

Pause. “And you knew I thought this and you just let me go ahead thinking it?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

Damn.

Looking at the calendar, it’s entirely unlikely I’ll be out in either of the next two weekends. That means I will have been left in the device for over two months at least. At one point, she mentioned our anniversary in mid-October as a goal but she also mentioned my birthday which is in early September. At any rate, it seems as though I need to get any idea of release out of my mind since it’s not happening soon and nothing she says on the matter can be trusted.

—

Back at the ranch, with the candles lit and me naked as directed, I started to get into bed before she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Bad boy. I asked and she let me in.

I knelt on the bed before her, the device that was not coming off glinting softly, and she pulled out the handcuffs. She ratcheted them down tightly, but not too tightly. Then she brought out my collar. Ooooooh, my collar! I love that thing. She hadn’t put it on me in so long. I dropped my head and she attached it snugly around my throat.

“Now you know how the dog feels,” she said.

Whimper.

Finally, she brought out the Japanese butterfly clips. She pulled my nipples out with her fingers so the clips would grab a fat chunk of meat. So there I was, caged, collared, cuffed and clipped. Bliss.

I nuzzled into her with my face, awkwardly trying to balance with my wrists chained together. I wanted to smell her, feel her. Kiss her. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin – her beautiful lips were right there – when she yanked down on the chain between the clips, pulling me with them. Yes, it hurt, but it was all the really good kind of hurt. I was so there. So ready to be abused.

She released the chain and I started back up her body, trying again for the kiss. She pulled me back again, this time I didn’t even make it to her neck. Several more times we did this – me going up, her pulling me back down – before she finally let me get to her mouth. The kissing was all the more fantastic for the waiting. For the work it took to get there. Between my legs, the heavy tube strained to rise, plump full of cock.

She directed me to the side of the bed. She got up and walked around to where I was. I felt the suede lashes gently run down the length of my back and over my ass. Then, the opposite journey, up over my ass then toward my shoulders. Gentle. Soft. A warning.

Lightly at first, so I could get used to the sensation, I felt the flogger fall across my upturned ass cheeks and upper thighs. I arched my back to bring my ass even further up, but in doing so unwittingly exposed my nutsack so that when she hit me with the first really strong stroke, the lashes also found my balls. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but the full force of the flogger striking my sack – already pulled tight by the erection filling the tube – made me see stars and scream into my pillow.

She alternated back and forth between the flogger and the crop. I was free to cry out as loudly as I wanted since the house was empty. It stung (especially the really hard blows), but the pain – all of it – was warm and almost soothing, in a way. More than once, my reaction to the blows caused the cock to flex and I felt slugs of precum travel down the compressed meat. I was so. Fucking. Loving it. As usual, I lost track of time. Also as usual, as soon as she was done, I wanted more. More and more and more. And harder. I still don’t know how deep I can go when I feel like that. When the pain is all good and I’m really humming. What’s my limit?

Mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved it. Every second. And I love her for doing it for me.

She backed me out by again running the flogger lightly over my back and ass. Then she uncuffed me. Then, sadly, the collar came off. Finally, the clips came off the nipples. Twin flares of pain shot up as the little jaws unclamped. I laid next to her as we went to bed. Loving her. Adoring her. Wanting to fuck her so goddamn badly. I told her so.

“I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it,” she replied sleepily.

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HNThumper XXIV: Road trip

Didja ever jack-off in the car? You know, like on a long road trip? Hours and hours of endless road stretching out before you…bored…thoughts turn downward.

I know at least two other guys who’ve done this. Maybe three. Anyway, if I know that many, I’m sure there are lots more. Yes, it’s true, I’ve jacked-off on long road trips. And yes, I know it’s way worse then texting while driving (at least for a few seconds there at the end). One time, on a drive back from Chicago during the first summer Belle and I were a thing, she jacked me off while I was driving. Those were the days…

Just because I’m no longer able to pleasure myself on long road trips doesn’t mean I don’t still get the urge. My most recent drive was no different. Of course, whipping it out now can be a glare hazard, but whip it out I did just to feel the sun warm it through the steel. Just to run my fingers down the shaft of the numb tube. Just to feel the longing of what I couldn’t have.

And yeah, to take a picture. Because I’m a perv. Apparently.

Continue reading “HNThumper XXIV: Road trip”

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Seafaring

This morning, I’m for some reason suddenly kinda blown away that this whole enforced male chastity thing works at all. That you can lock a bunch of stainless steel (or polycarbonate or silicone or…whatever) onto what is a very tight, moist, presumably delicate part of a man’s body and just leave it there. For days, weeks, months, or (for some lucky/poor SOBs) years. And, you know, for the most part, nothing happens. Shit doesn’t fall off. There are (and I’m serious about this) no long-term adverse issues. It’s kind of crazy if you think about it. Such elastic things we are.

I’m also amazed by the realization that I have no idea when my last orgasm was. I can’t remember it. I know it must have been in June, but since that was the recent nadir of my blogging activity, there’s no record of it. Like most guys in my position, the time, date, and circumstances of my orgasms have typically been of high importance to me. But now, suddenly, I’m adrift in a vast orgasmless sea with no idea where the shore is or was or which direction I’m heading. On the one hand, it’s kind of liberating. I’m not looking backward at one and I’m not (literally and figuratively) looking forward toward another. I just am (and they are not). Don’t get me wrong; I still want them. A lot. But wanting them is better then having them. At least for me (at this moment).

Belle locked me up around the 6th of July. I think I had been without orgasm for about two weeks at the time, so that would have me at almost two months now. In the old days, six or seven weeks would have equalled three or four dozen ejaculations, mostly into the bathroom sink or onto my hand or stomach. This is better. Way.

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Fixing the fixing

Have I mentioned I’m trying to post every day in August? I am. Why? No idea. Just seems like a fun thing to try. I don’t really think enough happens to necessitate 31 posts, but we’ll see.

As I alluded to on Saturday, Belle let me take the PA fixing out of the Steelheart. I woke up feeling a nasty pinch in there and assumed it was the fixing trapping an errant fold of skin in a way it normally doesn’t. I’ve felt something like this before and it’s ended up turing into a sore spot that’s ended my stint in the device. While the PA solution is almost always sufficiently comfortable, there isn’t a lot of room in there generally speaking and, as the old saying goes, shit happens.

Turns out, there were no visible signs of a problem. I was only out for maybe a minute (as long as it took to remove the fixing and my PA ring), but I couldn’t see anything wrong. For the rest of the day and most of Sunday, I was on my own recognizance. The meat feels different in there when it’s not secure. It moves around a lot more and feels kind of jiggly. Unlike the CB6K tube, this one’s big enough that the meat has some freedom of movement. It’s somewhat distracting since I’ve become so accustomed to the static feeling the PA fixing provides. It keeps the cock pinned to the backside of the tube.

Also, being technically able to remove the meat drops the hotness level for me. As I’ve said before, I like it better when I have zero control. With the PA fixed inside, that’s exactly what I have. Zero control. It’s not that I was tempted to squeeze out a surreptitious wank, but knowing I could made the device feel like a fancy stage set as opposed to a serious piece of bondage equipment.

At some point over the weekend, I asked her again how long we was going to leave me in the device. Part of me wants to know, part of me doesn’t. I think she’s doing a good job right now keeping me guessing. Of course, it’s constantly on my mind. I know we’re approaching uncharted territory with regard to duration, so every day I look at it hanging off of me and wonder if today will be the day. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.

She again refused to tell me if she had a specific date in mind. Minimally, not before late September was all she’d give me. That would be about two and half months. I’m so committed to staying in for every second she wants me there that I need to be careful in listening to my body and any signs it tries to give me saying it needs out. Obviously, part of me really wants out, but the rest of me wants to do what Belle wants and show her that I can. There would need to be some pretty severe physical damage to make me ask for it to be removed at this point.

Sunday evening, Belle wanted the fixing back in. She knew I didn’t need it out anymore so, when I was about to start my evening cleaning regimen, she brought the key to me and removed the lock. I rinsed out the tube and ran a hot washcloth over the meat (leaving the A-ring on) and put the whole thing back together, but left the key in the unturned lock.

Getting into bed, she asked, “Where’s the key?”

“Right here,” I answered, pulling my encased package out of my pajama bottoms. “I left it for you. I don’t get to turn the lock.”

“Exactly,” she replied as the brass lock engaged and the tiny chance I had to access my own body was taken away from me.

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Kept key

We’ve experimented with a couple different things with regard to giving me access to Belle’s key in such a way that it’s available in case of an unexpected situation, but not too available so that I can use it without her knowing. The newest and, I think, the best is the Steelworxx Key Safe.

Essentially, it’s a little steel tube with a notch cut into the top and a hole drilled through in the opposite direction. It’s custom made to fit the long keys of Steelworxx integrated locks, though I assume it would work with keys in a variety of sizes. The key slips into the notch and a numbered plastic single-use lock snaps though the holes and the key. Very simple and very effective. No combinations to deal with, no tape or stickers or anything else. The key goes in, the lock goes snap and you’re done. QED.

The only real downside to the thing is that it’s crazy expensive. When I first saw it, the euro was trading a lot higher to the dollar and the cost was simply too high. Currently, the two currencies are more equal and the price goes from unrealistic to simply unadvisable, considering what it is. I assume the costs are in the labor since it’s really just a smallish piece of metal bent and welded into a polished tube, then cut and drilled. I expect certain handy fellows could put one together for about $1.50. In any event, the final cost, including shipping, was €57.97 which converted to about $75 or so. That included a bunch of extra locks.

While it’s clearly not for the chastised bunny on a budget, the Steelworxx Key Safe is a simple, smart solution to a common problem. Highly recommended.

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The hills are alive

No, I haven’t posted in a long time. Well, I’ve posted twice in the past two weeks, but they weren’t real posts. Of course, I come to you today with several theories to explain my lack of motivation (like, you just knew I would, right?).

At some point along the way here lately, I’ve become somewhat self conscious posting about what I’m feeling. Part of it is the charge that’s been leveled at me (with some justification) that I over-analyze stuff. Guilty! I mean, this is my fucking blog, right? So what’s wrong with me writing what I want or what feels right to me? If I want to gaze longingly into my navel until I fall in, who’s business is that? That’s how I should be thinking, but it’s hard not to think about all of you, my audience, and what you want from me. I suppose that’s a trap a blogger should avoid. In any event, I’m going to try to get over trying to live up to your expectations since, as hundreds of individual people, that would be impossible.

The other thing is, prior to my last orgasm, I have to say I was sort of blah about where I was and what Belle and I were doing. When I write things here, I’m speaking to Belle as much as to myself and I guess I didn’t want to leave her with the impression she was doing anything wrong. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that sometimes, things just don’t click. Constantly elevated levels of hormones are not a cure-all and can’t be expected to leave me in a permanent state of euphoria. It was helpful to see Steve in kinda the same boat at the same time. It’s obvious that a big part of how denial makes one feels in mental and not just hormonal. Even so, for pretty much the past month I’ve not been feeling very submissive at all. Not really all that into the chastity thing.

Since Valentine’s Day, when she last made me come (“made” since I really didn’t want it), things have been looking up. I’m a lot hornier than before. I can feel the latent energy of my desire collecting in my extremities. I find moments passing by where my need to grasp the cock is so palpable it sets my teeth on edge. Following a chat the other morning, it seems clear that Belle’s intention is to leave me in the device all the time and only let me out when she has plans for its contents. So, apparently, we have reached that “be careful what you wish for” point (even though I hate that term) where she likes the chastity device more than I do.

In any event, I also realize that the beneficial emotional effects of denial can’t be expressed as a simple line graph that always goes up the further I get from my last orgasm. Besides the attitudinal factors, it’s clear that my body has been rewired as a result of withholding orgasms. It’s not producing hormones like it once did and, even when I’m in the middle of having sex with Belle, doesn’t always respond as vigorously (which is, I think, where the urban legend of enforced chastity ruining a man’s ability to have an erection comes from). This isn’t bad, it just is. I can’t depend on the hormones alone put me in a happy place. If you think about it, it’s not unlike that period after you fall in love and start to settle into a relationship. After the happy little cherubic Cupids leave, the work is in maintaining a healthy frame of mind during the ups as well as the downs.

And that gets back to not talking about how I’m feeling. This blog, as I said way back at the beginning, is my journal. Being that, and assuming I write what I’m feeling at any given moment, it’s going to give Belle (and, of course, you) much more intimate insight into what I’m thinking moment by moment than if it were the old fashioned diary-type journal, written on nice velum paper and secured with a little lock. The trick is for Belle (and me) to not feel like we need to address every little valley I enter since it’s not realistic to think my emotional state will always and forever be Julie Andrews cresting the hill and throwing her arms open to celebrate the majesty of life in the Austrian Alps though song. Sometimes, it’ll be not so great. Sometimes, it’ll suck. To expect anything else is silly.