Tag: enforced chastity

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Hair of the hare

Got a text from Frodo the other day.

“You OK?”

And I was like, what did I do? Did I put something vague on Facebook? I texted back that I was fine, maybe a little grumpy, but otherwise OK. He was asking because my last post here was a while back and I was talking about anxiety and he’s a nice friend, etc., and was just checking in.

Last night, Belle also commented on the lack of posts. I said I just haven’t had anything to write about.

“So have we become boring?”

Gah! No. Sheesh.

I had been thinking I’d write about hair. Icky, nasty, profuse pubic hair and how one deals with it vis-à-vis chastity (and yes, I am exactly the kind of guy to use vis-à-vis unironically and correctly). And then something happened that gave me a good reason to talk pubes. Whew. A blog post was born.

A lot of guys who get locked up also remove their pubic hair. It’s a chastity thing, I guess. Some people (like me) just prefer to keep their bush trimmed (or more) while others get off on the supposedly emasculating aspect of being required to remove their pubes. I get that, but for me it’s a combination of simply preferring controlled hair down there and the fact that once they get to be maybe half an inch long or so, they tend to get caught in the little crannies of whatever device I’m in and get pulled out painfully at inopportune moments.

I keep my pubic hair trimmed to about a quarter inch or so and shorter the closer they are to the A-ring. I also shave the hair from the shaft of the penis (it goes about a quarter of the way up) and off my balls, but that doesn’t always end well. I think hair on the shaft and balls is unattractive and I far prefer the look of clean skin in those places. The tricky bit is being locked up with the stubble that comes 24-72 hours or so after shaving. Whatever device I’m in, the stubbly skin is pressed against itself setting up a significant irritation opportunity. For whatever reason, this was especially bad in the CB6K but can also be an issue in the Steelheart.

IF ONLY there was a way to get at that hair in a way that would reduce stubble or last longer than just shaving that didn’t require nuclear lasers mounted to sharks’ heads. That’s when Drew innocently mentioned a product he uses called ballsBALM (yes, that’s how they spell it…fucking marketing people, I swear). A little voice in my head said with an alarmed tone in his voice, “WHAT? A chemical depilatory on the penis!? The hell, you say.” But I ignored him because Drew used it successfully and it had four and a half stars on Amazon.

Yeah, it didn’t really work. Maybe it got rid of the scotum hair (mmmm, sexy sexy scrotum hair) but the hair on and around the base of the shaft was left pretty much untouched except for some, well, melting that left the hair on my body but all shriveled up and sorry looking. I still had to shave the melted hair balls off (mmmm, sexy sexy melted hair balls).

But you know, whatever, I can still shave. The real problem with the stuff with the silly name is that it burned the fuck out of the penis. On the right side of the shaft was a spot about the size of a small fava bean (or large pea or very small gumball or ridiculously large very small rock) where the skin was taken right off. I didn’t feel this while the burny goo was on, only once I washed it off. And it fucking STUNG.

The thing about penises that live most of the time in dark steel tubes is their skin is more sensitive and fragile than normal ones. I can barely stand to go commando when unlocked even without second-degree chemical burns. If I was allowed to jack off as much as I want, I’m sure I’d get blisters from it. Being perpetually locked up makes the penis a tender little flower of a thing and maybe I shouldn’t be slathering hair melting goo all over it.

Anyway, this explains the picture I posted on Tumblr the other day.

That was all on Sunday. I have been unlocked since. Belle would much prefer I be in the Steelheart and, truth be told, I would too, but no dice. I tried yesterday since the burn is nicely scabbed over (mmmm, sexy sexy penis scabs) but the location of the burn is exactly the spot where the PA fixing comes up and intersects with the edge of the tube and it was too painful. I’m starting to feel the itchy jumpy feeling from having freely accessible penismeat and a healthy craving for playing with it. Being unlocked for this long feels very odd but, on the plus side, I’m getting really good sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

Maybe I can go back in today. If not, it’s up to her, but perhaps we’ll wait until Sunday when I nearly always am locked back up anyway.

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High anxiety

I was supposed to be driving right now. The plan was for me to be leaving on a week long trip into the wilderness (literally — no plumbing, phone, roads, etc.), but I’m not going. The reasons are complicated.

Purportedly, and for all the world knows, it’s a work thing that’s held me back. That is arguably the truth. I can even convince myself that’s what happened too, though I know it’s not the whole truth. To be sure, sticking around would make things better at work (mostly for other people, not me), but had I wanted to go badly enough, I could have made it work. But I didn’t. I mean, part of me really did. But…complicated.

For the past several years, I’ve noticed the idea of leaving Belle and home has made me feel very unsettled. I’d even use the word anxious. Angsty. Nervous. Emotional. All of the above. Nothing about it feels healthy and there’s nothing she’s been able to say to make me feel any better about it. This does not happen the other way around. I don’t like it when she goes away, but if I’m left home, it’s all good. I can handle it. It’s only when I leave, for any reason and for any amount of time (though the longer the time, the worse the anxiety). I’ve been able to recognize the issue but have been clueless about the cause. And, as I said, it’s been getting progressively worse.

So, even though there were people counting on me and the plans for this trip have been set for months and months, I have been really itching to not go. I’d say my mood has been affected for three weeks thinking about it. It just loomed out there sucking in all my energy. When the work issue came up, my mind immediately latched onto it as a plausible reason to cancel. It is plausible, but it’s not insurmountable. But I took it anyway. And now, while I’m greatly relieved to not be going, I feel really bad about letting my friends down and even disappointed that I won’t be there. Nope, nothing healthy about any of this.

It occurred to me the other day that this may be caused by the denial of my orgasms. The brain chemistry behind sex and mating and desire is fucking potent and one of the main reasons to practice denial, I think, is how it motivates one to be so attached and attracted and focused on one’s partner. Belle is more than the controller of my orgasms, she becomes the proxy for most of my real-life erotic urges (not counting the few days each month I see Drew which are simultaneously different but the same in ways I can’t explain). I don’t want to orgasm, but I desperately want to feel the desire to and that desire is totally focused on her (that part is very different with Drew — I never want to come in, on, or around him). Beyond that, she’s the sole arbiter of when I even get to feel pleasure from the penis which is such a basic and foundationally wired thing for a guy. We play with our penises from nearly the time we’re born. But now it’s not there and I’m not allowed and my higher brain does everything it can to control my base urges and live up to that expectation because all that, every bit, is focused on her.

On these trips, which I take maybe three times a year when I’m able, I sometimes stay locked up the whole time, but more often I don’t. I’ve written recently about how I resent external forces making me come out of a device. Anything that, for whatever reason, supersedes Belle’s wishes. That’s at least part of the deal here, but not the whole thing.

So what I’m left wondering is can this go too far? Can all the good forces of denial become so powerful they become problems? An even more interesting question is, do I care? Or, more precisely, at what point does it become such an issue that I have to care?

What I mean by, “Do I care?” is essentially an extension of the risk/reward thing I wrote about yesterday. Everything has consequences, real or imagined or potential. If one of the consequences of being otherwise very happily denied orgasm means I have this ostensibly unhealthy attachment to my wife, is that an acceptable negative for all the good we both feel comes from me not coming? This is the first time I’ve ever felt like I was close to wherever that line is.

Of course, I don’t know the denial has anything to do with my anxiety. One way to find out would be for Belle to let me come like crazy for a few days and see if the anxiety goes away. But I can’t bring myself to propose that (though, in the meta path that leads through blogging about one’s spouse where she can read it, in a way, I just did). Why? Because I don’t come. I don’t ask if I can come. I don’t want to come. I like myself better when my own orgasm is distant, both in memory and potential. Every single bit of me is so invested in this dynamic that I don’t know I’d ever be able to climb over it on my own. And now, by letting my work issues intercede, I don’t need to.

I don’t have a neat conclusion to this and I can’t know the answers to my question. I know that since making the decision to bail, I have felt more than a little depressed because there was no good choice and none that would make me feel better. And I have no idea if any of this is wired into my kinks or not.

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A couple of weird ones

This morning, I woke up with a free hard-on thanks to Belle trying to save a little time the night before by putting me to bed unlocked. I wore my heavy circular barbell in the PA and felt it flop hither and to as the erection moved around early this morning. Extremely distracting.

We slept in fairly late for us and are both still sore from a workout class we took together on Saturday. Really kicked our asses. I was pulling my legs out from under the covers and stretching and rubbing my hamstrings and glutes which are still smarting. By then, the penis was back to its soft n’ floppy condition and Belle took the opportunity to reach out and start petting it.

I really, honestly cannot describe how wonderful that feels. The penis rarely if ever feels pleasurable touch like that and the sensation of her fingers lightly brushing its lengthening form, under and up and over and down and around, made me purr and arch my back and bury my face in a pillow. Then it sprang up and she started to give it ever-so-gentle strokes and it felt like I was going to combust into a ball of angsty horniness. I knew I should reposition myself so I could start showing her some attention (she is, after all, the focus of our sex) but the sound of leaking precum smacking at the end of the penis and the feeling of the heavy ring moving inside it with each stroke was too deliciously distracting. So I laid there a bit longer.

Then I just wanted inside her. I figured she wasn’t going to stroke me until I came or anything and while it felt magnificent, the reptile brain wanted pussy so I moved down and went to work. I wasn’t as gentle as usual. I fingered her with two of them and hooked them in and behind her pubic bone before running then back up and around the length of her clit. I fingered the other nipple, rubbing it and pinching it as hard as I dared while sucking the other. I was panting and moaning in heat as her breathing increased and I could feel her orgasm getting closer. She started to gyrate in syncopation with my fingering and with each rotation her hip brushed against the corona of the still rock hard penis between us. Each touch made me gasp into her breast and was enough to make me feel as though I’d shoot if she kept it up for too much longer.

Then the first weird thing happened. She kinda came. Like, maybe 40-60% of an orgasm. She sounded like she was coming and she moved like she was coming, but I didn’t feel her pussy pulsate in waves like it normally does. In any event, she was close enough that she didn’t want me messing with it anymore.

I was still panting, though, and pressing into her and obviously pathetically desperate so she told me I could take my turn. In one motion, I moved up and over her and slid the cock in without even aiming and immediately started to fuck her properly warmed up pussy. As soon as I got in there, she started to make her happy pussy noises that I have zero defense over and are the surest way to make me come. The idea that I would think of something else to distract myself was fantasy as, for me at that time, there was nothing else. Just the feelings of that penis inside her and the sounds it was coaxing out of her. I got so, so, so close to coming and stopped. Dead. And waited.

Even just the feeling of her surrounding the penis was enough. I couldn’t stop it though I tried. I resisted and pushed back against the tidal force of that coming and she told me to go ahead, but it was too late to enjoy. It felt like someone kicked me in the small of my back. Like the penis was burning off of me. My head pounded and my breathing seemed to stop and my stomach clenched. As though instead of riding the wave of the orgasm over the edge I stood my ground like a breakwater and let it crash into me and around me and through me. It was shattering.

At first, I didn’t know what happened. Was that an orgasm? I didn’t feel myself shoot, but I did. A lot. The penis was still hard but failing fast and electric in the post-orgasmic way they are. I had come, but not in a way I ever had before. Not in a way I ever want to again. There was nothing at all pleasurable about it for me.

I slid off and gripped her hard and fought the swell of sleepiness programmed into all men. I could smell the semen and it was not good. Then, she reached into her drawer and retrieved her little purple vibrator. I asked if she wanted any help but she said no which was a relief. All I wanted to do was doze with my face in her hair. I heard the vibe come on and muffle and growl as it went in and out and over her clit and heard her breathing pick up before she came in a terrific shuddering crash that surely would have woken any sleeping neighbors had she allowed herself to vocalize as she wanted to.

She didn’t say anything about going back in the Steelheart and I didn’t ask. I was left reeling from whatever experience that was and any notion of sliding the wet, sticky penis back into the cold steel left me feeling flat. I’m still out, but not down since writing this after a little time on Tumblr has left my pants full of hard-on and a, ahem, stiff desire to head off by myself and do things I’ll regret later. Plus, Belle’s out shopping. So…bad combination.

But I’ll be good. In fact, I’ll probably go put the damned Steelheart back on right now.

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Mailbag

I’m terrible at answering my mail.

Fetlifer perfectlyrare wrote…

You have a great and really inspiring blog. Thanks for being so open and being a good ambassador for chastity stuff. I really like how you include asides about having a healthy family life and quietly pursuing your interest in bisexuality. The main reason I messaged you was a chastity question, but I’m also curious when you revealed being bi to your wife and what the discussions were like that led you to exploring dating a man? My girlfriend is mostly vanilla but I showed her some tease and denial type videos (Christina QCCP) and she has rapidly got into limiting my orgasms and being manipulative with intimate touching. We are starting to talk about chastity. She enjoys the idea but worries that it would be too painful or uncomfortable to such delicate sensitive body parts that she treasures. As such, we are quite focused on the holy trainer. The only thing stopping us from jumping on it is that we wanted something compatible with plastic locks because we don’t live together, we are already focused on mental/obedience chastity, and i like the idea of being able to get out in an emergency, even if i cant think of what emergency might require it! Plastic locks would let me get out easily without the luxury of being able to lie about it which might be more tempting with a metal padlock that prompted me to try to slipping out. I really wish holy trainer would introduce a new version that brought back the ability to use plastic locks :/ and you probably wouldnt know but i bet the holy trainer might be weakened and degraded by urine? i am pretty into diapers so maybe it’s a bad bet in the first place in that regard. should i just get a cb 6k?

I’ll do these in reverse.

I don’t think the Holy Trainer would be damaged by urine. Don’t worry about that.

No, don’t get the CB6K. The Holy Trainer is better in every single regard, except perhaps the fact you can’t secure it with a numbered lock. You can still buy the original HT as separate parts from the Holy Trainer site and Kept For Her, so that’s an option. Another option is to do what Belle and I do which is fashion a keyholder like this one from Steelworxx and use the numbered lock to secure the key, not the device. My experience with the plastic locks is being in your pants leads them to break on their own relatively quickly, so they’re not a perfect option on their own.

Regarding your girlfriend’s worries about the fragility of your penis, that’s sweet, but they’re tougher than many men let on. It’s all relative to your ability to deal with discomfort, of course, but I’m locked up all the time with no apparent negative ramifications.

Regarding the coming out as bi to Belle, that was on the table from early days. Even before we were dating. It’s always been out there.

Fetlifer Born2Lead wrote…

Hello! Just wanted to swing by and drop you a line to let you know how much I’ve enjoyed reading your blog. I plan to pass along the link to my little pet. I think he would benefit from reading that there are other men, like himself, out there (romantically involved with women, yet still sexually bisexual, submissive and kinky).

He worries terribly that someone might find out his secrets. We’ve discussed the potential role of chastity within our relationship. His biggest concern at this point is that the profile of his birdlocked device is ridiculously massive and very noticeable. I saw that you’ve written a number of reviews on different devices and thought I might ask if you have a suggestion for a chastity novice that has a smaller profile and is more easily hidden beneath clothing?

The short version of the Holy Trainer 2 is the best from a size and outward visibility standpoint that I’ve worn. Silicone devices are also easier to conceal if only because their squishy nature makes them look more natural, but I hate them as a general rule.

And no, he is definitely not the only submissive bisexual heteroromantic kinky fucker out there!

Reader tom emailed…

are stainless steel rings available for cb6000 ? the thickness of the rings is the one thing i find uncomfortable. if someone made them in stainless they could be thinner allowing for more comfort…..at least i think so.

There’s a metal version of the CB-6000 out there (not an authorized CB-X product, but very similar in how it works) but I have no experience with it (and can’t remember what it’s called). The rings on the CB-6000 are the single biggest drawback of the product, in my opinion.

Reader Kuba wrote in with a long one…

I’m a 34yo straight (sorry 😉 ) male. I’m pretty new to your blog, but I’ve already read quite a lot of your advice on chastity devices, and since you’re quite experienced and open to helping people, I was hoping that perhaps you might give me some advice as well.

Don’t worry, I won’t discriminate against you because you’re straight.

I’m quite interested in chastity myself, mostly as a form of bondage (self-bondage in this case, as for now I’m alone), rather than a D/s dynamic  – I see bondage more akin to an artform rather than means of submission.

Anyway, the experience I’ve had so far wasn’t very good. I’m an owner of a CB-3000 device (not many mentions of it on your blog), and it’s not working out very well. I find it very uncomfortable, there’s a lot of pinching, etc. Reading your blog I realised that one of my mistakes was getting a normal-sized cage, when I probably should have taken a small one – extra space inside was a constant issue. Still, even without that I have a rather tight sack, which doesn’t help either. I know it can stretch with time, but CB-3000 was such a bad experience, I ended up not wanting to train for that at all. And when growing the extra air holes tended to cause nasty swells.

The CB3K was the big device just before I got into chastity. By that time, the CB6K was out. Back then, the CB3K was reported to be more comfortable because its rings were rounded rather than square like the CB6K. However, at some point, CB-X decided to “upgrade” the CB3K with CB6K-stype square rings. If your scrotum is tight (and they all start out that way, to a certain extent), the square rings are absolute torture.

And yes, all that extra tube space can also cause discomfort.

Anyway, I don’t intend to let that discourage me and would love to continue my adventure with (self-)chastity. I’ve found your blog while looking for reviews on Birdlocked and I’m glad I did, as (along with some other things I found all over the internet) it convinced me It’s probably not the best choice. I’m currently leaning towards Holy Trainer, as it fits a lot of my requirements (stealth being one of them – which is not a surprise, as it’s rather common), however during the course of my readthrough I’ve started to take a liking to the Looker 02. I’ve always found the idea of a device with a urethral plug awesome. Seems more… “complete” that way. The problem is I’ve never had any experience with urethral sounding before.

Essentially what I want to ask is what you think might be the best course of action? Does it seem like a good idea to go straight for Looker 02 or would it be better to stay with taking small steps an go for Holy Trainer first? If you think the Looker is the way to go, should I get some sounds first and train a bit before wearing it, or is it possible to start wearing it immediately and gradually get used to it? (obviously immediate 24/7 would not be a good idea)

I assume the best option would probably be HT first, then moving on to Looker, but that means buying two devices instead of one, and that’s something that’s rather painful at the moment – that’s one of the reasons I’m asking if going for the Looker right now is a viable option, or something a bit too extreme at this stage, with my limited experience.

Your choice is to spend more money over a longer period on two devices rather than a lower amount up front on one. Upside is you save some money, downside is maybe chastity just isn’t for you and the CB3K wasn’t totally to blame and/or you hate the feeling of the urethral insert. I love the Looker 02 and find it to be very comfortable, but I also enjoy the sensation of a penetrated urethra and knew that before we bought the device.

If I were in your spot, I’d get the HT first and play with sounding before plopping down the cash for the Looker 02. Generally speaking, I advise newbies to go with the Trainer or another plastic device before investing in custom steel anyway for a number of reasons.

To complicate matters even further I’m an avid cyclist, not as a sport, but as my main means of transportation around the city. I’ve seen you mention biking while locked is not the most pleasant idea and it’s best to remove the device… however with me riding the bike every day it wouldn’t be too convenient, so cycling comfort is yet another important point here, and you mentioned the Looker is pretty good in that regard. How does Holy Trainer fare here?

To be honest I did try to ride a bike while wearing the CB-3000 (although much less than I do now), and didn’t notice too much extra distress… but it might be I simply didn’t notice due to the whole thing being so damn uncomfortable.

I have yet to bike in the Trainer. If you’re doing it around town in regular street clothing with at least the short HT, you’ll probably be OK. When I bike it’s for fitness and I wear tight biking gear which makes the devices significantly less comfortable.

Oh, and a completely disconnected question: What is your outlook on full, Florentine-style belts? I’ve noticed you only ever mention (and worn) ball-trapping devices. Do you know how do those compare? Especially when it comes to the regular issues such as comfort, security or stealth? (because most certainly they lose when it comes to price 😀 )

When I first got into chastity, I lusted over one of those, but now I can’t imagine wearing one. Not with my current lifestyle. The entire field seems to have been taken over by smaller trapped-ball devices now. Never having worn one, that’s about all I can say about them.

Good luck to everyone who wrote in!

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Three weeks, three squirts

I mentioned a few posts back that Belle was going to keep me locked up for three weeks straight. This was more an accident of timing than anything else, but it was also a result of her just not feeling the need for a hard penis when my chance came along and therefore seeing no purpose in letting the one on me out of its confinement. Then she was out of town for a weekend and, even though we had sex after she got back, it was a quickie and was more about my tongue and her clit than anything else. Finally, yesterday, she let me out. And it felt so fucking good to have a real, unrestrained erection.

Too good, actually. She had to warn me to settle down. I get a little rambunctious when she lets me out. Kind of like a dog who sees his leash. It only happens for one reason, really, so when it does I start jumping up on her and wagging my tail and panting and such. I think she likes it when I get excited like that, but also needs me to focus on the task at hand: her.

Feeling your wife’s hot, wet pussy when you’re locked up is a certain kind of torture, but feeling it when you’re not but also not allowed to just fuck the shit out her is altogether another feeling. So much promise and potential and anticipation, made all the more intense by three fucking weeks of being under lock and key. I was rock hard and 12 seconds from coming and only my middle finger was wet. Then she told me to get inside her.

She hadn’t come yet. I think she wasn’t too far off (I am keenly attuned to her orgasmic processes) but she wanted to be fucked so fuck her I did. And she liked it. Vocally. And that expression of pleasure was too much for me. As she liked it more and more, I lost any pretense of stamina. I got far too close to coming before I stopped and the leakage inside her was every bit three weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration. After that, we needed the vibrator to finish her off. It came away from her covered in my juices more than hers.

Early this morning, I was woken up by the sensation of my nocturnal hard-on rubbing against the sheets. The opposite of what normally wakes me up at that time, except this morning I got to grind it into the bed in order to feel more. I’m not allowed to stroke it, but I so wanted to. All I could get was the contact friction against the mattress. I suppose even that was breaking the spirit of the “no playing with it” rule, so I (eventually) stopped fucking the bed.

When Belle woke up, I jumped her and again went too fast for her. She didn’t make me fuck her first this time, so when she was done and allowed me access, I found an unwilling partner in the penis. Even if I’m out and she’s wet and inviting, if she already came, it will often go soft. That’s how well trained it is now.

Luckily, my Belle knows me and gave my (still kinda rough and sore from earlier in the week) nipples a healthy twisting. The direct line from them to the penis electrified and the erection was back in a flash. I got lost in the fucking to the point that I was about a stroke and half away from coming when I finally stopped myself from going over the edge.

That’s when I realized I was expecting her to tell me to come. For whatever reason, my interpretation of how Belle keeps me left me assuming that today was going to be the day and so I didn’t do anything to stop myself from going right up to the orgasm. With that notion still in my head and nearly an entire orgasm’s worth of spunk in her pussy, I started to fuck again. I find my aversion to ejaculate is so complete at this point that the feeling of fucking through my own has become a turn-off, but I was counting on that orgasm so I pressed on. So much so, that I added whatever was left inside me to what came before, but the word was never given. I never came.

I asked her about it after. Told her it felt like today was going to be the day. She laughed. Not unlike two weeks ago when she never let me out, the idea that I would come now never entered her mind. I honestly have no idea how long it’s been since I last came (which she likes very much), but it’s apparently been long enough that I feel like doing it again. Or, at least, I want to feel like I want to again.

As we laid there in (her) post-orgasmic snuggle session, I started to drift off. She thought it was funny that I acted like I had come even though I hadn’t. I could feel in my balls the tightness and weight of being very much denied release, but the rest of me really did feel like I had come. Snoozy, warm, fuzzy. Except in my crotch where this afternoon’s blue balls were brewing. Back in the day, denial like this would leave me wired and bouncing around, but not anymore. Further indications of conditioning.

Right after breakfast, I asked when she wanted me back in. Often, this is a vague kind of thing. It would be understood that I’d need to be locked up sometime before bed. Occasionally, I can stretch that to Monday morning. But she said, “Right now,” and I was like, Oh…OK. So I marched myself into the bathroom, showered off the morning’s fucking and running, trimmed the hair I usually can’t get to, and locked the Steelheart back in place.

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Fuck it

This Dan Savage thing has been quite the adventure. And, funny thing is, it’s not really a thing. It’s just the prospect of a thing. Of maybe someday getting a call because some topic comes up Dan thinks I’d be helpful with.

Belle has been consistently supportive of the idea. Even after I reiterated to her that Dan has a huge listenership and I know for a fact people will recognize my voice, both people we know and don’t, and that some of these people will be work friends and could even be family. And, of course, that our kid might be listening. But she doesn’t seem to care. Either that or she thinks I’m totally blowing it out of proportion. But I think it’s the former mostly and I think that’s cool and it makes me very happy to see her confidence.

So I’ve really been thinking through the root of my issue with being on the show. The big one is the kid. I’ve decided to do what Dan recently advised someone who called in do, but with the reverse situation (she was going to defend her thesis which involved personal sexual details and her parents wanted to come to the defense). Basically, if it ever came to be, I’d preemptively warn the boy away from the show by telling him exactly what was going to happen. Not specifically (like, details) but that I’d be on it and talking about things he’d never be able to unhear. That if he wanted to maintain the firewall of parent/offspring non-disclosure of sexual details, he should just delete that one and move on. Then it would be up to him. I reject the argument that me being on the show would create some kind of stigma he’d carry through his life. Totally.

Once I got past that, I realized all the remaining angst was fear of embarrassment. And that kind of pissed me off. I hate secrets and hate hiding things. I far prefer living and talking and acting with freedom and unnecessary wariness. Of course, the right of others not to know is also very important to me, but as I said yesterday, talking about my life in a venue like Dan’s show is not the same as abruptly volunteering unnecessary and irrelevant personal details or even like having sex in a car or other public place (which, yeah, I’ve done). Getting over the hump of putting something personal like that out there is not inconsequential to me, but it’s surmountable.

Bottom line, I am not ashamed of who I am and how I live. And if anyone has a problem with it, fuck them.

In reality, the people listening to Dan who I know and would recognize me are probably not unlike me in that they’re generally sex-positive. Sure, there’s the prurient juiciness of getting a surreptitious look into someone’s sex life with whom you’re familiar, but I doubt anyone I really care about will judge me negatively or change how they deal with me. Maybe it’ll even spark a really interesting conversation. And for those who would think less of me…like I said, Fuck them.

So, that’s that. I DMed Dan back and told him I’d be happy to participate if he thought I could add some value.

A reader commented on my last post and posed the following questions I thought were worth answering:

  • Do you want to hang with Dan and be on a podcast?
    Fuck yes. I know he has his detractors, but I really like what I hear and read and think it’d be awesome to make his acquaintance. Not gonna lie. Sort of a fanboy.
  • Do you want to spread the word about male chastity?
    Sure. It’s a big part of why I blog. I think chastity and/or orgasm denial are practices that could help a lot of people in their relationships. They’re not just kinks. They’re useful disciplines that can be applied to help couples. I firmly believe that. I also think kinkiness in general, chastity and denial in particular, and even the subject of male submission carry too many cultural stigmas and need to be shown as not all that weird or unusual. If I’m called upon to stand up for men and couples like me and Belle, then I’ll do my best.
  • Do you want to become more known?
    Well, in as much as it helps with the previous thing, sure. But I’m not looking for fame and riches. Recognition for good work is always welcome, but if becoming better known leads more couples to successfully incorporate chastity or denial in their lives, then that’s great.
  • Do you want to become a relationship and sexuality counselor, a la Savage?
    Do we need more of those? (Also, he’s not a counselor, just and advice columnist.) I’m already doing a very specialized version of that here, to a certain extent. But ultimately, I have a day job and ample hobbies with which to fill my time.
  • What’s the need that’s causing an itch?
    Why do I blog? Why do I share my experience? Why do I take the time to answer questions (usually the same questions, over and over) about chastity I get here and via email and on Fet Life and on Twitter? I dunno. Because I do.

So, anyway. That’s where that is.

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Addiction affliction

My post on the wonderful world of porn elicited this comment from a reader:

Yes, porn is nice and dandy, except … well, sometimes (and probably depending on the user) it isn’t. In fact, porn might be indeed comparable to drugs, at least in the way it might fuck up (no pun intended) your brain due to long-term use and thus your “sexual abilities” … I went there, unfortunately, so I kinda know what I’m speaking of. It took me quite some time and lots of effort to righten the issue, so be careful, boys and girls: Just as with drugs, alcohol, food and most other things, also in porn the dose the poison makes. Interestingly enough, I eventually managed to “cure” myself by turning to male chastity, thus becoming able to end my porn-masturbation habit. You never know what those cages can be good for.

http://yourbrainonporn.com/about-this-site for further information on the topic, if anyone’s interested.

And: Thanks for your writings, thumper. In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have thought of chastity to righten my problem, at least not on my own. Your blog set the wheels in motion, sort of. So, thanks again. 😉

Usual disclaimer here about me not being any kind of trained professional, etc., nor have I spent any time in a Holiday Inn Express recently.

I suppose it’s true people can become addicted to porn. Just like I’m sure some can become addicted to sex. My personal belief is claimed addiction to these things greatly outstrips actual addiction, though.

Based on personal experience and what I’ve gleaned from others, another way to view what often gets labelled as a “porn addiction” scenario could be:

  1. People in long-term relationships get bored with one another after a while (see: Sex At Dawn).
  2. One’s sexuality and/or understanding of it changes over time. (Optional)
  3. Porn is consumed, sometimes in excess.

If you/your partner gets bored in your LTR and/or the sex drops off to near-extinction levels (which it does in a lot of monogamous relationships) the first place one will take one’s neglected libido is pornography. I was there. I was that guy. Sneaking out of bed after Belle fell asleep to jack off in a room illuminated only by a computer screen was standard operating procedure prior to the events that led to our current dynamic. Do that long enough, and you might stop looking for release from your partner altogether. Do it often enough, and in those rare times your partner wants to have sex, you may not be able to provide it to them or be interested yourself. Also, you may discover a previously unexpressed kink/desire through the porn in which your current partner is unprepared/unwilling to participate. This interest misalignment can be compounded by neither of you knowing how to even broach the subject of it.

So, in that scenario, is the porn viewer “addicted?” I’d say no except that we human animals are genetically programmed to be “addicted” to the chemical hit of sexual release. We are all addicts in that regard. I tend to think we lean back on the addict label because it might lessen our responsibility for our actions. Alcoholics are sick, after all (and they are, I’m not saying alcoholism isn’t a real thing). If one’s an addict, perhaps it’s easier to explain the activity and/or deflect some responsibility for it.

Now, I don’t know you, commenter, and I don’t know your situation. Perhaps you really are/were addicted. But is seems to me impossible that all those who claim this addition can actually have it.

You say chastity was your pornography cure. I think that’s odd since my denial has led me to consume porn in far greater amounts than before when I could orgasm. Even though I’m locked up and unable to get off, it’s a much bigger distraction for me now than it ever was, even when I was young. So, are you cured of pornography or cured of the negative consequences of using it to get your rocks off outside your relationship? I’m the latter. I don’t come by myself anymore and that makes me a much better partner to Belle. Much more focused on her and the sex we have (even when it’s all about her). But I don’t look to the language of addiction to help me make sense of that. And it’s done nothing to lessen my interest in looking at and reading porn.

In any event, it’s great that chastity has worked for you and your relationship. If this site was part of that success, then even better.

Posted on

She never even considered it

The penis was very annoying Sunday morning. It usually only wakes me up (when it wakes me up) sometimes between 3:30 AM and 4:30 AM pushing and squeezing and straining against the Steelheart. Sunday, though, it did it four times starting at only 12:30 AM. Then again a few hours later then again at 3:30 then again at 4:30. Or maybe I should stay still at those times since I don’t think it stopped trying to be hard the entire time.

Things were not helped when Belle woke up. Saturday morning she had left bed before I woke up so there was no naked play time, but Sunday she was looking for my services. She made me close the door but did not retrieve the key as I thought she would. I was left locked up the whole time, though she did stroke my balls and perineum and then hit my nuts a few times just to mix things up. The intensity of the attempted erection was perhaps even more painful than the nocturnal ones as I got to work sucking her tits and fingering her snatch. She came hard and all I did was grind my steel package into her thigh.

In the glowy part afterward, she commented on how I was looking at a good long lock up since she’s going to be at a spa weekend with her sister and mother next weekend. She’ll leave Friday morning and not get back until Sunday afternoon. She apparently has no intention of  letting me out at any point before she leaves or the weekend following her return so that’s three solid weeks of steel time.

Sounds bad, but in thinking about it, that’s not so far removed from normal. With the exception of doctor’s visits, I was locked up pretty much the entire time since we go back from vacation at the beginning of April. She lets me out on the weekends if she wants me to fuck her, but the best I can hope for then is being out from Saturday morning to Sunday night. The last time I got to be inside her, I was only out about three hours.

In any event, I suggested she could have let me out Sunday morning for some pussy time but all she did was laugh a little and say, “You know what’s funny? I never even considered it,” before not doing anything at all regarding penis freedom.

I don’t know at this point which of us wants my chastity more. She really likes knowing what I’m not doing with the penis when she’s not around (if you were to ask her, that’s the first thing she’d say regarding what she likes about my chastity). I’m certainly not allowed to have an orgasm without her, but she equally doesn’t want me to have any pleasure from the penis at all without her (preferably, the only pleasure I get from it will be when it’s inside her). This has the effect of focusing me rather specifically on her and her pussy which is, of course, the ultimate intention of leaving me locked up in the first place. When she doesn’t let me out and I feel how hot and wet I make her, a gaping chasm of desire for her opens up in my chest. Looking back on how we were when we married, I’m sure it would never occur to either of us at the time that eventually we’d arrive at a relationship dynamic founded on her leveraging control over me through the denial of my sexual pleasure, let alone that it would be so successful.

I wanted in so bad on Sunday morning that I climbed up on top of her and pressed the Steelheart against what I knew was a soft, wet, and inviting opening.

“Like you’re going to feel anything,” she purred.

“I don’t. I don’t feel a thing,” I whimpered into her neck.

“Exactly.”