Tag: enforced chastity

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Pieces on the board

Chaste Cyclist (of the great eponymous blog) said in response to my last post:

Even though it has only been about 9 months for us, I feel myself drifting ever closer to these same feelings. The other evening when she called me upstairs I found myself wanting to be out of the Steelheart but knew better to ask. I simply wanted to pleasure her…and that is what I got. I have stopped asking to get out.

And it made me have a thought about one of the primary differences between enforced chastity (in which a device is used) and the other kind (in which the man is restricted in how he enjoys his penis but is not in a device). This is just sort of a random thought that started out as a comment in reply to his but I decided to make a post out of.

I don’t claim that one way of doing chastity is better than the other. I’ve seen device-less types claim theirs is superior because being able to employ willpower over a physical restraint shows greater submission blah blah bullshit bullshit. They can think what they want. I simply prefer to say we all get to do things as we like to do them and there’s no one right way to approach anything of a sexual nature. As long as everyone’s on board and happy, you win.

But, it may be the case that those of us in enforced chastity are ending up (or may end up) in a very different place than our device-less comrades. For me over the time I’ve been locked up, I’ve learned to progressively demote the penis as a central actor in our sex. In doing so, I’ve been able to be more completely focused on her pleasure. If the penis is not a factor in our sex (and truly we can have amazing sex without the key ever showing up) then the focus of the sex and its outcome is purely about her getting off as spectacularly as possible. The further out of mind the penis is, the better to have sex that is as partner-centric as possible.

I know for myself, when the penis is out, everything changes. It’s an entirely different act for me, even if most of it is functionally the same. Emotionally and hormonally, my focus is divided. Belle let me out this morning and the entire time I had my fingers in her snatch and was kissing her mouth and nipples, I was thinking about what came after. I was imagining the penis in her. I was resisting the urge to climb up and take her before she was done. After she came, I basically did just that. She never told me I could, but I slowly moved in that direction until she guided the penis in with her hand. It was an amazing fuck for both of us, don’t get me wrong, and of course I didn’t come (URRRRGH) but since I was free and hard and she was naked and writhing the drive to be inside her was crowding away in my mind.

Again, I’m not making a judgement call. I’m making an observation. Having a locked up penis makes a man much more focused as a lover. Personally, that’s a satisfying state of being for me. If the goal of chastity is to create in the locked parter a state of focus, an effective way of doing that is to demote his penis to a secondary or even tertiary player. Take the piece off the board, so to speak. Nothing does that better than a tight tube keeping his hard-on in check.

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Counting the stages and keeping my mouth shut

About a week ago, I tweeted…

Which pretty much sums up how it works most of the time. I can get to the point where I want to come so badly that I start at the second stage and only find my way to stage three about four hours later, but most days not. We can call them the three stages of denial.

But maybe there’s a fourth. See, Stage 1 there, “I hope she doesn’t let me come,” doesn’t even activate until she hands me the key to the Steelheart. It’s like the penis is a tiny Dr. Evil frozen away in its orbiting Bob’s Big Boy. Out of sight, out of mind. So really, the first question is whether the penis even gets out.

This morning, Belle didn’t let it out. It’s usually the case that the little Dr. Evil defrosts on Saturday mornings we’re not doing anything in particular. It gets let out, I get her off, then I stick it in, but she decided to leave it be today. On the one hand, I like getting out. A lot. More than I crave orgasm at any given moment, I crave sensation from the penis. Feeling her hand on it, feeling it hard and free, pressed against her, rubbing against her skin, sliding into her hot wetness. Just feeling. The Steelheart provides both no sensation in that when I touch it and grab it and claw at it all my hand feels is perfectly smooth, numb hardness that never changes but then, on the inside, it’s high pressure. Intense, consistent, unyielding resistance to my excitement. So yeah, having an erection that can be touched and feels good is something I look forward to.

But I also don’t think I deserve to be unlocked. Being locked is the default. Being unlocked is the exception. Not a treat or a reward or whatever. I hate it when I expect to be unlocked. I’d rather assume it’s not going to happen and be pleasantly surprised when it does than the opposite. Of course, when she wants it out, it should come out. It’s entirely up to her. I just don’t want her considering me and my cravings in that decision. I don’t want her to be nice to me just because.

So when I wrote that tweet last week, it was after we fucked and I didn’t get to come. Which, being solidly in Stage 3, was a relief. But when I was in her and sliding the penis in and out and losing myself to the amazing feeling of that the intensity of Stage 2 made me say to her how badly I wanted to come. I immediately felt bad for saying it. After, I apologized.

The thing is, there’s no reason for me to tell her. None. Because it doesn’t fucking matter. If I say anything about coming, one way or the other, I’m trying to influence her and that’s bullshit. Especially when the fucking penis is inside her at the time. If she wants me to, she’ll tell me. Otherwise, it’s business as usual. Maybe I want to, maybe I don’t. Who cares. That’s the deal. I don’t come until I do and I don’t whine.

Maybe a part of me just wants her to know, “OMG, I’m so being denied right now!” but, of course, she knows that. But another part of me, the part that sits way down my brain stem and acts more than it thinks, is trying to put its finger on the scale of her decision. Maybe she’s considering it and by saying something it’ll cause her to lean towards letting it happen. I hate that part of me. That I can’t always keep it stifled. I’ve spent a long time learning how to keep it as far away as possible from the button that makes me come. Now I just need to learn to keep it from my mouth.

Orgasm denial and enforced chastity all boils down to managing conflicting urges and desires. I want to fuck you but don’t let me out, GAH coming would be awesome, I better not tell her. WHY DID YOU TELL HER!? Lock me back up, no keep me out, be nice to me, BE MEAN TO ME. Seriously, it’s stuff like this that makes me think being a top would be exhausting work. Subs are annoyingly complicated. We’re lucky anyone puts up with us.

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Mile marker

A reader calling themselves “Dev” said just over a month ago in a comment…

Thumper, I have a question for you, but I’m worried it will just piss you off. Hence I am leaving it in comments so that you don’t feel like you have to reply at all. But, have you considered that maybe you’re really not OK with the dent? I mean have you really given yourself space, allowed yourself to consider whether it’s OK for you? (I don’t mean medically, but personally.)

I think sometimes people don’t allow themselves to go down certain mental roads (like bisexuality, for some people) because they’ve assumed a priori that those roads are not OK or lead to bad places. Like a kid in college who might be too afraid to really ask themselves, do I really want to be a doctor or is it just my parents’ idea? Sometimes our persistent feelings are trying to tell us something that we should listen to.

I’m not saying that’s what’s going on here. I just want to nudge you to be sure you are giving your own thoughts and feelings proper respect and listening.

I never went back and answered that though I thought about it several times. Since I’m in the mood to write, I’ll do it now.

For those of you unfamiliar with “the dent,” I mean come on. Try and keep up, will you? The first mention of it is here. Then I whined about it when I was depressed, last time in the post linked to above in which Dev commented.

I will admit that there were times when I wasn’t OK with it. I mean, obviously, because I kept bringing it up and I didn’t need to. I could have totally never mentioned it to any of you people and who’d be the wiser? But I feel that people read my blog and perhaps even try and model some of their behavior on what I write about and it almost felt like if I didn’t say that wearing a chastity device can do something like that to a penis (even if you have to wear it for a really long time), I’d be breaking some kind of covenant. I said in my second post that I’d always tell the truth and that includes avoiding lies of omission.

There is something I’ve never said about the dent. It happens to be right at a point where the shaft of the penis had a bit of a natural bend in it to begin with. I recall when I was a teenager I though I bent it by jacking off too much with my right hand (which is hilarious — like it’s a Gumby penis or something). Even to this day, when I’m allowed to jack off (feh, right) I am conscious of which hand I’m using because of that natural bend. Then, at some point, I made a video of me putting on one of the devices I’ve made that kind of video for. I can’t recall which one at the moment and don’t feel like seeing which it was. In any event, I was just out of the shower and my skin wasn’t totally dry and had that kind of clingy thing going on that skin can have when it’s very slightly damp. As I pulled the penis through the ring, was a bit too forceful and I gave the shaft a bruise. I remember it being very slightly visible on the video and much more visible moments later. I actually watched the bruise form and darken. That bruise, as I recall, was about where the dent is today. Right about where the natural bend is. In fact, the bruise was on the right side and bend is on the left side.

I say all this because I think now that it’s entirely possible the dent isn’t from wearing a too tight A-ring all by itself. It could be because I wore a device when the penis was bruised and that didn’t allow it to heal properly. Honestly, I don’t know for sure. But it’s possible.

As my depression deepened, my issues with the dent started to become almost obsessive. My mind worried on it in those times when I was just starting to go to sleep or when the tight pressurized tube woke me up in the early morning. I imagined that it was getting worse and worse and would eventually impact my ability to use it. I can say without hesitation that there’s no sign the dent has changed at all, for better or worse. Whatever caused it, it appears to be stable.

All that being said, I’m not answering Dev’s question. She asked, “have you really given yourself space, allowed yourself to consider whether it’s OK for you?” I think now that yes, I have. And it is. Really.

As I said the other day, “being a locked man isn’t something I do, it’s what I am.” I feel that all the way down. At the very, very bottom, though, lives a tiny little serpent of doubt. And my depression and anxiety feeds that little snake until it becomes like Jafar at the end of Aladdin and then all it does it try and stoke my insecurities and issues and blow them up into things that keep me up at night.

I won’t go so far as to say I’m not a little insecure about the dent. Just a little. As crazy as it sounds, I worry about what someone might say someday if they see or feel it. Someone besides Belle who’s already said she likes it. That is crazy. Like it’ll ever happen. And even if it does somehow, like I said, being locked isn’t what I do, it’s what I am. In what universe is someone in the same room as the unlocked erection who isn’t aware of that? None.

I tend to think of it more now like a tattoo. Or perhaps the scar left over from a cesarean operation. It’s a mile marker on the journey that is my life. It’s not the same as it was but, honestly, had I known it was a possibility, I don’t think I would have changed anything about how it got there. Except maybe take my time pulling the stupid penis through the A-ring that day.

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Gymboree

I’m probably done going to the personal trainer I’ve been seeing for…man, almost four years. The reasons are several but can be boiled down thusly:

  • His motivation strategy basically involves a bunch of macho bullshit I can’t stand.
  • The routines have become repetitive and dull (mostly because it’s a decidedly average gym space).
  • I don’t feel like I’m being “trained.” More like I’m paying him to be my gym buddy (set up my weights, spot me, etc.).

Note that Belle sees him too and will continue to do so since while I’m over him she certainly isn’t and in fact would like him to be over her, literally (which is why he’s called her gym boyfriend at our house).

I’ve found another local gym with trainers and have an appointment with a younger hot one this afternoon to see how it works out. He’s a lot more expensive than the old guy, but there are more options at that gym like classes and what they call “supervised workouts” where someone just helps out with spotting and such so I might be able to craft a solution that is equal to or maybe even a little less than what I’m paying now.

The gym is only a year old and is really nice with all kinds of cool shit and no typical  bullshit gym machines. It also has a proper locker room with a few showers. Since I’ll likely have a much less regular gym schedule than I have now, it’s probable that I’ll be getting there from work or whatever and won’t always be able to come in my gym clothes like I do now. Which means changing in the locker room and perhaps even needing to shower, depending on the time, and, of course, I have this extra interesting shiny tube where a guy’s dick usually is. I brought that all up to Belle last night and she was like, “Yeah? So?”

I mean, of course. Just like when I started going to see a trainer in the first place. She doesn’t want me to be out of the device. Ever. Not unless it’s on her terms. Going to the gym is not on her terms so I will apparently have no clemency in that regard. On the one hand, little fluttery butterflies of nervousness, but on the other, a tube-filling sense of security in that this is not a game this is us and I need to deal with it.

So I’ll deal with it. I’ll look for times that mean I don’t need to shower or can arrive changed and if that’s not possible I’ll figure out a way to change that minimizes the chances another guy will see it. I don’t want to flaunt the Steelheart. I don’t believe in that. But I am conceptually OK with someone seeing it (or evidence of it) inadvertently through just living my live. I don’t advertise but I’m also not going to be ashamed.

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HNThumper LXX: Further faux clit action

In the shower this morning and, yet again, I found myself fingering the wet ‘n soapy penis in the Steelheart like it was a clit. Like last time, I was thoroughly enjoying myself when I realized I was breaking the “no playing with it” rule. Sigh. And after just saying how Belle can trust me.

In any event, I captured the following image of my hot, forbidden, faux clit action.

Continue reading “HNThumper LXX: Further faux clit action”

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Theater and artifice

I saw an image on Tumblr recently that was of some guy wearing a clear Holy Trainer 2 with one of those numbered tags like Belle uses to keep track of my emergency key though its lock. The little plastic tag was the only thing “locking” the device onto the guy. Someone had reposted the image and added a comment to the effect of put a real lock on there and then we’ll see how hard it is to wear.

Trust and enforced male chastity is a funny thing. Some men (myself included) go to great lengths to find themselves in a device from which they can’t escape. I had the penis pierced almost entirely because I wanted to be locked in a device that couldn’t possibly be removed. I advocated for Belle to get a steel device and I even designed and had manufactured a new way of fixing my PA inside the tube so that escape was impossible without the key. But then I get to carry around a key to the Steelheart secured only with a little plastic number tab that nobody but me keeps a record of (meaning I could swap out the number whenever I wanted since I know where Belle keeps them and no-one would be the wiser). Belle was even going to just leave her unsecured key here at the house when she went on the overseas trip she’s on now.

Most men, it seems to me, who get their dicks locked up want it that way. They’re complicit in their chastity and, like me, even though they don’t need high security, they crave it anyway. I’d argue that if you let someone lock you up and then you cheat by backing out or stealing the key or whatever, that you really shouldn’t be locked up in the first place. Enforced chastity is a promise you make to your keyholder that supersedes whatever device they use on you. The device is a physical representation of that promise. A deterrent to protect you from weak moments, not the enforcer of your keyholder’s will. You, as the one being locked up, are the ultimate enforcer of their will. Your keyholder’s desire to keep you chaste resides within you, not the lock.

Of course, chastity doesn’t require a device. Perhaps it’s the case that unenforced chastity is the ultimate expression of submitting to one’s dominant parter, but that misses the appeal of a device. There’s something important in the physical talisman you carry with you. The one they put on you. There’s the sacrifice you make by putting up with the thing all day long, every day they choose to leave you in it. There’s the discomfort (sometimes greater than others depending on the device) you endure when aroused. Wearing the device, accepting its control, enduring it — those are also valuable acts of submission.

Belle totally trusts me regarding my chastity. She knows that even if I could, I would not cheat. Sometimes she leaves her key out in the open for days where I left it for her, even when she’s not around, because she knows I would never use it to let myself out without her permission. After all these years of wearing a device and all those possible orgasms and solo jack off sessions that will never be and the profound changes living like this has had on me, mentally and physically, being a locked man isn’t something I do, it’s what I am.

That do vs. am thing can be a source of comfort. Last night, I was really turned on and trying to sleep. My mind was trying to go through doors I wouldn’t let it because once past them, it’d be engaged all night long and I’d never get rest. After struggling with this for a while, I laid on my back and put my hand on the warm, hard steel between my legs and stroked the smooth surface of the unfeeling tube with my thumb. I told myself, This is who you are. And it helped. It calmed me down. It didn’t take the horniness away, but it put it in perspective. I’m not the way I am because of some external force. I am this way because it’s what I want to be. For her, for me, for us. Enforced chastity, orgasm denial, submission are fundamental to me. I can’t imagine anymore not being locked up. I can’t imagine having an orgasm whenever I want one. I am too far past all that now.

So if a little plastic tab is all you have between you and your dick, so be it. Enforced male chastity starts in your heart and your head, not your penis. A locked cock is a symptom of being a chaste, not the cause. Get that in your head — understand that anything beyond a simple plastic barrier is theater and artifice — and everything else follows.

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HNThumper LXIX: Rubbing day

I’m going to get a massage today. This is a Good Thing™ but, as usual, I’m carrying some steel between my legs and my masseuse is not privy to that info. As a result, I have to bust open my emergency key since Belle’s in Hong Kong until next week.

This is a perennial struggle for me. Right now, today, the last thing I want is to see the penis. I’m so grooving on being locked up I’d be more likely to break the key in the lock than use it to escape, but that’s what I have to do because I’m not an asshole. I woke up this morning gripping the hard, hot steel around the remnants of my morning wood and felt that electric craving for its contents buzzing in my chest wrapped in an insulation of submissive contentment. I know I have to get out for an hour this afternoon. I know it. But the spoiled little rabbit inside me does not want to! NO! DON’T WANNA!!

[insert adorable little fuzzy foot stomp]

FullSizeRender 27Bah. Whatever. To keep the chain of custody in order, here’s a picture of the key safe with its current numbered tag along with the tag Belle left me to resecure the key before I leave the massage room when I’m done being rubbed by the adorable hipster I pay to do it. I will not unlock myself until I’m getting undressed for the rubbing and I’ll immediately relock myself before getting dressed and leaving the room. Later, I’ll post a picture of the key with it’s new number.

And yeah, I know it’s not Thursday, but if you can stand yet another fucking picture of me in the Steelheart, I have one waiting for you after the jump…

Continue reading “HNThumper LXIX: Rubbing day”

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The settled unsettled

I recently read a news item about a guy with no penis giving great sex advice on Reddit. It may or may not be true because, you know, the internet but what he’s saying sounds real to me, a person who still has a penis but rarely if ever uses it to pleasure his partners.

Belle used to prefer achieving orgasm from being fucked. She needed to be on top controlling angle of penetration, depth, speed, etc., while I concentrated on her nipples. Most women, from what I understand, actually can’t come this way. They need clitoral stimulation instead of or in addition to penetration, but it was how Belle got off. That was then. Now, thanks to the fact that I often have a difficult time keeping my own orgasm at bay long enough for her to get there and, more often than not, I’m locked up, we’ve resorted to fingers and lips and tongues to get the job done. The other day, we tried the old way and she just couldn’t get off. My denial and chastity has retrained her pussy to like it better when the penis isn’t inside her.

This weekend was a good example of how things work now. Saturday she asked if I’d go down on her which I always find funny because, YES, I am always down to go down if that’s what she wants. I’d do it fucking daily if she’d let me. I like nothing more than when she sits on my face and grinds away on my mouth to her heart’s (or whatever’s) delight. It’s been a while since I was able to really tuck in so, once she was sated, I nuzzled into her pussy and savored everything about it. She let me fuck her after and she was incredibly wet and open, almost as though she had already fucked someone else.

The next morning, she was taking a while to get off from my fingers and then the vibrator. She tends to get self-conscious when this happens though I told her I didn’t care how long it took. Getting her off is my sex. I crave it. Her moaning and squirming and the feel of her wet pussy and her hard nipples in my mouth. I’m wired to enjoy her enjoyment. So as long she’s liking what I’m doing, I’m happy to do it forever. After a bit, she did come and it was one of those orgasms that starts low and slow and builds to explosion.

So yeah, you can have amazing sex without a penis. I’ve had the best sex of my life keeping the one I was born with locked in a steel tube. Penises may be designed for one thing, but that thing can be had in so many other ways if you’re willing to try and find them.

So you might think this is all well and good and boy haven’t Thumper and Belle found the Promised Land. At times, I think that’s right, but the issues I’ve been having with my stupid brain lately have left me feeling not so confident. As I’ve written about recently, the darned dent has, at times, become a very large issue for me. Depression and anxiety are not logical things so there’s no need to unravel the illogic of how this has left me feeling at times, but something what is at worst a cosmetic issue has sort of driven a spike down into the heart of what I consider a key element of my sexuality. It makes me question the last seven years of my life and the kind of sex I like and who I think I am. That’s scary stuff.

To be clear, there is nothing functionally wrong with me. The penis works exactly as it always has, it just feels and looks a little different. Why, if denial and chastity have given me such real contentment, should this be a problem? When I’m feeling good I convince myself it’s not a problem. But I’m not always feeling good.

I thought this was settled for me.

Chastity and denial are just as much a commitment to Belle as my marriage vows were so it’s fitting that the two pieces of metal I wear as a result of both should leave me similarly marked. I feel just as weird when either of them are absent. I can’t imagine what life would be like without them and have no intention of finding out.

The dent on my finger doesn’t matter since the ring that made it is nearly always covering it up. The dent on the penis is only apparent when Belle wants it to be. And in those times, it’s a reminder to us both of how my commitment to her has left me altered, inside and out.

I am surprised to find myself bothered by the dent at all. I used to think I had moved on from being so centered on the penis. To really accepting that I am not the kind of man who measures his worth by the length of thing between his legs. In fact, I’m not really the kind of man who thinks his penis is all that important. It is not central to my sexuality. If anything, its absence is. It’s not critical to my sexual pleasure. Or Belle’s. I’ve become so used to it being a deadened, weighty, shiny steel tube that only feels pressure when I get turned on or the occasional pinch from inside. The Steelheart is a really significant part of who I am. Of who I imagine myself to be. I am it and it is me. I suppose it’s no surprise that to have all that challenged would freak me out. It’s why I didn’t want to be locked up when Belle was gone a few weeks ago. It’s why I was not enthusiastic in putting it back on yesterday morning.

I’ve been writing this blog for seven years yesterday. Seven years discovering and learning about who I am. About how I’m different. I hate that these feelings have put that on a shaky table. I will never be normal again, but I wasn’t ever normal before. Not for a single day of my life. I am how I should be, dent and all.