Transubstantiation

Last night I was opining on the Twitter about how I perceive my body. I had been out for a few hours that morning so I could get though the airport security gauntlet (with the family or I probably would have hazarded one of the plastic devices through pre-check) and it left me contemplating how that made me feel.

Bottom line, I resent being forced out of it. I resent being made to be that way because…well, it’s not me. That was the point of the Twitter missive. I ended the thread with…

As I was drifting to sleep (finally — damn, I was horny), a word likewise drifted though my mind. Transubstantiation. Which our Catholic friends know to describe how some believe the bread and wine of communion become the body and blood of Christ. I mean, it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. But the faithful say they believe it. And probably some of them do.

And it’s kind of like that with chastity after you do it long enough. The chastity and the denial and how they build on and reinforce one another. Eventually you start to feel like the device is part of you. Then you stop feeling that way and actually believe it.

Like (most of) the Catholics who take communion, I know my form of transubstantiation is an article of faith. If not faith, then some kind of wishful thinking, perhaps. I do not want to think of the contents as anything more than I said in that tweet. The insides of the chastity device. That’s what they are. To me. But then sometimes I have to confront the fact that they’re something else, too.

When Belle lets me out so she can enjoy the contents, that’s one thing. It is her prerogative. But when the world enforces its inability or refusal to accommodate my faith, it’s infuriating. And unsettling.

As an aside, someone asked me (again) on Twitter today if chastity makes penises smaller. I can’t stress enough that it does not. If it did, I’d know. But I did think as I said that to him that even if it were true…so what? When you’re so mentally and emotionally attached and invested in being locked in chastity that you stop wanting what’s inside to be seen as anything like a real man’s cock — to stop being a separate thing from its vessel — then I’d say you’re also well past the point of freaking out about it getting a little smaller from the transformation.

Of course, not all men in chastity feel like I do. Maybe they would someday if they stayed at it long enough. Or maybe they never will. But it does seem to be a distinct path some of us go down. The this is not what I do, this is what I am branch. Where you don’t spend any time thinking how great it will be when you’re out of your device and allowed to come. Because that’s not you anymore. That’s not what you do. It’s quite literally not for you.

Luckily, I was able to hit a stall in an MSP bathroom (perhaps the very one Larry Craig used) and put the Steelheart back on. I felt how each of my testicles popped though the base ring that’s not quite as big around as the left one. The PA ring slide into my urethra though the piercing and then the PA fixing though the ring. The coolness of the steel envelop the small appendage and encase it once more. Bringing them all together again. As they should and were meant to be.

I felt the transubstantiation. The little pink thing became hard and shiny. Heavy. Perfect. One.

Embracing the vestigial state

Even though it was in the middle of Hashtag Locktober, Belle decided she wanted the contents. As is the custom now, she gave me the key the night before the morning she wanted to get fucked.

I need the key in advance so I can prepare the contents. Prep takes about an hour. I take three 20mg tablets of sildenafil citrate (aka, Viagra) and apply four or five sqirts of Promescent® Delay Spray for Men. This is all due to my being totally unable to 1) avoid orgasm 36 seconds after penetration, and 2) remain hard for longer than 36 seconds after that. I had hoped the Viagra would take care of that all by itself so I could at least feel myself fucking her, but even with the chemical erection support, it goes flat as soon as it squirts, orgasm or not. So the meds help me remain as hard as possible for her and the Delay Spray (basically lidocaine) keeps me from coming as quickly.

As an aside, the Delay Spray works well. Somehow, they’ve formulated it such that after a bit of time it has absorbed entirely into the penis and won’t transfer to Belle so only I am denied the sensation of penetration. The package says not to exceed three pumps of the spray but I find that four or so is better at deadening it and the Viagra keeps it hard even though it’s about 90% numb.

So I did my things and then waited for her to wake up. It’s my job to make sure everything is ready for her when she’s ready so that she neither has to wait around for things to take affect nor for there to have been too much time passed so that the precautions aren’t useful.

This particular morning, things lined up well and the contents were both good and hard but also almost totally without feeling so that after I got her off with my fingers, I was able to climb on top of her and provide a reasonable facsimile of having a normal male lover.

Unexpectedly, she told me she wanted me to come inside her. My routine isn’t designed for that. I specifically deaden the meat so that I won’t come but right after sliding it in, she told me she wanted me to. Of course, the precautions were working very well and I realized rather quickly that getting to a point where I was having a real, full orgasm wasn’t in the cards. On the plus side, I was able to fuck her for maybe the longest period of time in years.

Eventually, I could feel the rumblings of orgasm from somewhere behind my balls. I wasn’t going to come due to anything I felt on the shaft, but I was still going to do it. Some combination of feeling my hips grinding and her under me and the flex of the muscles necessary to do the act tricked my brain sufficiently that it was able to get there. But I didn’t get much of anything from the penis and the orgasm was typical of the ones I have now. Weird, somehow incomplete, and while productive from a volume of ejaculate POV, still less than entirely satisfying. I mean, she can make me come, but she can’t make what’s left of my ability to do it feel good.

But it was an orgasm and it was enough of one to make me very reluctant to get back in to any device after. The Rules are very clear:

I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.

Belle’s Rules for Thumper

But I eventually did go back in. Even though the device felt foreign and weird and uncomfortable. I hated it.

The next day we went to dinner for our anniversary (which, coincidentally, is very near the anniversary for this blog — happy lucky 13th anniversary to me!) and she took the opportunity to ask how I was doing. Not, like, how’s your day going? More like, is this still what you want?

It was a bad time to ask. Had she brought it up 48 hours before, I would have wholeheartedly said YES. Things are GREAT. But 36 hours after coming, I replied somewhere between a shrug and a “fine…things are…fine.” But I realized how my lack of enthusiasm was being perceived and explained that I was in a period of profound sub drop. So of course, I was very happy with our dynamic. But it was, as I said, a bad time to ask and expect enthusiasm.

A few days later, we flew on a plane together. I was still feeling the impact of the orgasm and took the opportunity to let myself out before we went to the airport. Even though we were flying alone with no kids or friends or family around and if I got pulled out of line it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I wanted out. So I basically made an excuse for myself.

Usually, I’ll go back in right after the TSA invades my privacy, but I didn’t this time. I just…didn’t. Could have. Didn’t. And I didn’t when we got to our destination. Or at any other point that day, even though I was very clearly aware I was unlocked from all the incidental friction inside my pants (which drives me CRAZY). As we got into bed, I told her I was out. I don’t think she knew. She didn’t seem too impressed. But that’s how I went to bed.

I mean, I knew I was being bad. And I knew it would feel bad later. But I wasn’t willing to abide by the rules. I wasn’t willing to accept my position.

The next morning, I woke up with a raging hard on. I was at least able to maintain some control over myself. I didn’t stroke it, but I did lay on my stomach and grind it into the firm mattress and revel in the pressure and friction. The head popped out from the side under my left hip and I rubbed the bit on the underneath and knew if I did just that for more than 30 seconds I’d come. So I stopped at about 20 seconds.

Belle turned over I spooned into her. I’m sure she could feel it. And it was a vacation morning when I should have expected some sex. But she wasn’t offering. But I wanted it. In fact, I did expect it. And that’s when I started to come back down to earth.

I should have ZERO expectations of sex. Sex is for her. For her to get pleasure and satisfaction. My satisfaction comes though giving her hers. Period. But here I was trying to fuck her. Because I wanted to fuck her. That’s not me. That’s not right.

I was locked back up within the hour.

The next morning, I was spooning into her again, but my entire demeanor changed. God, I absolutely fucking hate the version of me that was unlocked without permission and was trying to coax her into getting me off. She was much more receptive to the locked version of me and allowed me to eat her out. I could once again feel pressure and compression of the contents, but no friction. Nothing like that. Just the Evotion 8 doing its job while my tongue did its.

And when her hips bucked in my face and I could feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my mouth and the contents strain in defeated futility, I felt so much more normal. So much more me.

And yeah, it was not lost on me she was far more willing to engage sexually with the locked me than she was the unlocked me.

Five days earlier when I was mounting her with my numb, chemically enhanced erection, I remember the thought flitting though my mind I really don’t need this. This is for her, not me. And, honestly, thinking back to her asking how I was doing, the only issue I have is that there are still reasons for me to be unlocked from time to time. I mean, that’s just how it is. It’s what she needs and, in the past, she needed it a lot more than now, so she’s already made a significant change to her expectations based on my limitations. I’m not asking that she stop letting me out for a fuck, even as infrequent as that is. It is entirely her prerogative and I accept that.

But we both know I’m better when the contents of the device are treated like some vestigial remnant of what I was prior to evolving into what I am now.

Speaking of which, my mom sent me a picture the other day of me in 2002. It was taken maybe two months before my daughter was born and I look like I’m 17. This was before Belle made me come, so the second thought that went through my head after being stunned a how young I looked was what a waste it was that it would be another six years before that guy’s dick was taken away from him. We’d already had our kids. The two we said we’d have. We didn’t need it anymore.

And that’s why I ended up locking on to the concept of vestigial. My phone defines it “forming a very small remnant of something that was once much larger or more notable. Or, pertaining to an organ or part of the body, degenerate, rudimentary, or atrophied, having become functionless in the course of evolution.”

I have evolved. Away from the needy, selfish, willful asshole who thought mostly of himself and his pleasure and into the full flower of the sub I always was deep inside. The sub that was trapped under the weight of the will of the penis. But here we are on the other side of all that. The penis is vestigial to who and what I am now. “Degenerate, atrophied, and functionless.” It’s not even a penis anymore. It’s just contents. Nothing more than a remnant of my former self. I always, always, always need to think of it that way. Because that is what it is.

And thank god we got here. I honestly can’t imagine what we’d be like right now if I still had a cock. I don’t want to imagine it. I am incredibly lucky Belle keeps me locked up. That she expects me to be. And prefers me that way. I can never, ever let my hormones make me forget that. Not for a day. Not even an hour. Not for a moment.

Stress

The past few months have been daunting for me. Mostly related to dealing with an aged parent and being an only child, but contributing to the stress has been a significant home remodel project (which I’m not doing but has nonetheless created a lot of disruption in the house), some personal travel, my daughter’s high school graduation, her resultant anxiety about going off to college and some dithering about whether she wants to do that or take a gap year, and Belle’s job requiring her to work ridiculously long hours here at her office away from the office (aka, our house). Plenty of things to knock me out of my comfortable rhythm of life. And this week will be something of a crescendo as many of these things are intersecting and, oh yeah, I forgot to block my schedule at work.

Part of the comfortable rhythm I mentioned is when Belle lets me get her off. North of 95% of the time I get to bring her to orgasm is on the weekend. Weekend mornings. And a lot of those mornings I haven’t been home or some other thing has gotten in the way. I doubt in the past five or six weeks I’ve given her more than a couple orgasms instead of the ten or twelve that might otherwise have happened.

And that sounds not great for her on the surface, but for all I know she’s been taking care of herself while I was away. It’s really not great for me because, as I’ve been kept in chastity this entire time, I have no outlet for all the energy built up inside me. A normal guy might go jack off for relief, but my one and only outlet for that kind of thing is Belle’s pussy and I’ve barely touched it.

This has led to me feeling a lot more stressed than I might otherwise and also somewhat emotional with swings back and forth as well as being short tempered. The dark and unpleasant side of enforced male chastity.

And here we are very late on a Sunday with me staying up to pick up my mom at the airport after being away for yet two more weekend mornings with their pussy access meaning tomorrow I’ll be extra tired as I balance work, life, mom, etc.

I have no tidy ending for this one. I’m stressed and unpleasantly frustrated. I need an outlet. And I don’t have one. Hurmph.

Polling

Sometimes I ask questions on the Twitter in the form of the polling feature and then I’m immediately frustrated by its limitations. For one, I can only ask questions that have four answers. Then there’s the excessively short character limit for each option. Yes, yes, I know I could do like a Google form thing. But then that would require forethought and stuff.

Anyway, I recently asked a series of questions about duration of lockup that I think are interesting. First one…

My use of the word “endurance” was called out, but…based on my reading of the dictionary, I did, in fact, mean “endurance” so there we go.

Anyway, this ended up how I thought it would based on my experience and what I’ve heard and read from others. Some people are presumably new to chastity and are just trying to make it though the night. I remember those days. But 3/4 of people are doing what I’d consider “long term” (though that’s an interesting point — what defines “long term” chastity?”). Thirty-nine percent are doing it the way Belle and I are. Months to years indefinitely, I think, defines how we do it. It’s our “endurance goal.”

Next question I asked was…

Again, not a shock. The only somewhat surprising thing is only 15% of people are doing lock up terms “about the same” now versus when they started. Of course, they could have started last week. I’d be curious to know of the guys doing it less now than then, is it due to device issues? Not being able to find a good fit? Or because their keyholder didn’t/doesn’t like it?

Then I asked…

Once more, not a shock. Not based on my experience and what I hear and read from others.

I think all this is important for those just getting into enforced male chastity or thinking about experimenting with it (on either side of the lock). Locking up penises is rarely done as a hobby. It’s not a once in a while thing. The practice expands in a way opposite that of the locked up member. The more you have it, the more you want it. Days turn to weeks and months then years and the one being locked nearly always wants more of it, not less.

One more question about how dicks are being locked…

Half of those responding say what they want is to be mostly or always locked. Another third say periods of being locked then not, which is how Belle and I did it for a while. Until it became clear we had to take it to the “mostly or always” stage. That was something we both wanted.

I guess the nature of male chastity allows for it to consume one’s relationship and sex life. Those into bondage or sadomasochism or what have you can’t do them all the time. But male chastity can be done all the time, even when the couple is apart. That’s potent for a kink that becomes more compelling as the time practicing it goes on.

Finally, I asked…

Less than a quarter of those locked in chastity want to have an orgasm when they’re released. More than half would rather be teased then relocked while the remainder don’t want to be unlocked at all.

This gets to how chastity rewrites the basecode of those being locked. We start to crave the crave more than getting what we crave. Even to the point of being disappointed when the key shows up and they hear it’s orgasm day.

I guess this is what I was trying to get at when I wrote about the two types of men in chastity. Those who still think about the device and its contents separately and those who only think about the device. That’s what it does to you. Maybe not to every guy, but to a very large percentage of them. You don’t have to just take my word for it.

The confidence of the contained

What with Covid receding (in the US, anyway), life is starting to return to some kind of normalcy. One part of that is our daughter now goes to school four days a week rather than being remote as she was when the year started. And, since she’s vaccinated, she’ll be in-person at college next year, too.

I only mention that to set the stage for what happened earlier. It was just Belle and I alone in the house and…wait, you’re expecting some hot sex thing here, aren’t you? Oh dear. I’m sorry. It wasn’t hot sex. I should have maybe said that earlier so as to avoid you getting your hopes up.

Anyway, we were at home alone and I was back from my run and she was in the bathroom after her shower doing her hair and stuff. Being alone meant I could hop in the shower with her in there but leave the door open so she didn’t get steamed out. And as I stood at the sink and got ready, naked as I prefer to be, I could leave the door open as we conversed about various things even as she was going back and forth from our room and the office.

Right after I put the shaving cream on my neck I got a call from the contractor doing work on the house about some piece of minutiae related to the work he’s doing for us (I’m picky and he knows it). So I took the call and we discussed the minutiae and our plan for going forward and after I hung up went out into the hall to discuss the thing with Belle. Both of us, standing in the hall, she clothed and ready for the day, me totally naked except for the Holy Trainer v4 Nano (Steelheart needed cleaning) and shaving cream on my neck.

There was a time right after we started using chastity in our relationship that I felt super uncomfortable with her seeing it. It made me very self-conscious. In my defense, it was the CB6K which is hideously ugly, but still. I wasn’t really ready to accept the device as normal. I still felt like a freak for wanting it on me. And that led to insecurity about it.

Now it’s the total opposite. Had I been unlocked for some reason, I suspect I would have put a towel around my waist in that situation because I don’t like her seeing the contents exposed anymore. When she unlocks me for her pleasure, I turn away from her to remove whatever I’m wearing and get back to her and under the covers as quickly as possible. I realized I was doing this at some point when she told me to get up and close the door after she let me out and the two steps back from the door to the bed where she could see the contents flopping in the breeze made me fight the urge to cover it with my hand. I’m just super not comfortable with the thing anymore. Not with her, not with myself. Not at all.

And in thinking about this and my last post, I find the device makes me more confident now. Which I guess has to do with me feeling more whole while I wear it. At the end of my camping trip, we drove out on the road that’s basically a washed out creek bed and stopped in a clearing a few miles from the highway to air-up tires and say our goodbyes before we went our separate ways. I wanted to also change into street clothes from my smelly camping stuff and stood in the open back door of my truck and did so. At one point, I was completely naked except for my socks and the Steelheart and I didn’t feel scared or rushed or any of the things I would even if I was just changing in a locker room where nakedness is expected. Somehow something has flipped in my head where enforced chastity equals confidence and floppy visible penis equals anxiety and even something bordering on shame.

If I explore this more, that time I was pulled out of line and made to show the device to a couple TSA agents in Chicago didn’t leave me feeling embarrassed or shamed. It made me feel empowered. I even liked it. Not that I’m going out of my way to flaunt what’s between my legs (I mean, other than here and on Twitter and Instagram), but when it has to happen and it situationally makes sense, that’s how it is. Deal, world. I suppose this is why my chastity bump doesn’t freak me out anymore. OMG THEY CAN SEE MY BUMP. Yeah, okay. Whatevs.

I wish we lived in a world where everyone’s uniquenesses were accepted and celebrated. Where the millions (my estimation) of men around the world in chastity were understood and tolerated. In short, I wish this part of me wasn’t secret. I can’t change that it has to be, but I do get to decide how I feel about people knowing it about me. And I refuse to let their ignorance about it influence my confidence that it and I am valid.

Woodsy

I’m writing this on the Friday before Memorial Day in the United States. It’s considered the kickoff to summer and I’m spending it deep in a mountainous forest with some friends camping in tents and hiking around and being all woodsy. I’ve been here many times with these same guys and, in the past, I would have either asked Belle to let me out of the Steelheart before I went or asked to take the key “just in case” and then would have let myself out shortly after pitching my tent. 

There was something about being here with these men (all men, rarely are any women around) that made me oddly hyper-aware of being locked. Hyper-aware and ultimately somewhat uncomfortable. There are some practical reasons not to be locked in a device here. One is hygiene, but I have that all figured out. My own tent plus a container of mildly soapy water, a container of clean water, a squeeze bottle, and something to catch the rinse with is, along with about five minutes a day, all that’s needed to keep me relatively fresh. Also, there was one time I was here right after having shaved under the base ring where the sweat from hiking combined with the early stubble and the rubbing of the ring made for some distinct discomfort. Of course, the simple solution to that is don’t shave under the ring before going into the woods. Easy peasy. 

So, practical issues removed, the only other reason I’d not be locked here is because of how it makes me feel to be so secretly different and complicated than the men I’m with. These guys are total muggles. Except for one other bisexual (who probably isn’t a muggle, but we’ve not had specific conversations), all are apparently straight and a few painfully stereotypically masculine. And then there’s me. The boy without a penis. The guy with the metal in his pants. As everyone goes to the outskirts of camp to pee, I’m the guy with the gravity-fed dribble rather than the he-man steady stream that reaches the ground in a defined arc that lands with authority. They bathe in the cool, clear running creek and then ask why I’m not doing it, too. I’m different. And sometimes that’s harder than others. 

And while I’m biologically male, being essentially permanently kept in chastity makes me feel like something other than a man. It’s rewritten a lot of my motivations and behaviors that define “man” in my mind. I’m not claiming to be non-binary or anything, but I sometimes feel as though I’m passing as a man rather than actually being one. That I’m actually some other thing we don’t have a word for. And my differences are never more apparent and acute to me than when I’m here. 

But as the years have gone along and I’ve come to more of these trips, being out of chastity for them has felt more and more inauthentic to what I am: a kept male. As I’ve said, I don’t just wear the Steelheart. It’s part of me. So to take it off is to try and pass as something other than my true self. 

And, if somehow one of them saw the glint of shiny metal and had the balls to ask what the hell it is, what’s the worst that could happen? I’d have to out myself. Accept the consequences (which would, most likely, be a lot of ribbing after a 1,001 questions). In truth, I wish they all knew already. I hate that it’s a secret. It’s like being in the closet for me. But they don’t need to know, so I say nothing. But this super important part of who I am remains shrouded (metaphorically, of course it’s literally shrouded).

So, as on my last trip here with these guys and the one before that and probably even the one before that, though they tend to blend together, I didn’t ask to be let out. I didn’t ask for the spare key. I didn’t even think about either of those things. Because of course I’m here locked up. There just isn’t any real reason not to be. In fact, to come here without the Steelheart would be far stranger and more unsettling than being here in it. I’ve come full circle. Just another way being kept by Belle is fundamentally integrated into my being.

Contents

I just spent a week and a half wearing the Cobra chastity device made by KINK3D (though I bought it from Mr. S). It’s a device I’ve been seeing a lot of lately and I decided to give it a try and write up a review.

This is not that review.

As you can see, the Cobra is an open cage-style device. It’s quite attractive, I think, in semigloss exoskeleton black. But the thing I found as I wore it (especially since I was wearing it entirely unsupervised in situations that in my pre-kept life would have led to excessive self abuse) is how much more aware of the contents it made me.

Of course, I’m aware of the contents in the Steelheart, too. I know it’s in there. But the Steelheart, being entirely closed, merges with the contents and replaces it in my mind. It becomes something different. In a lot of ways, it and what it contains feel to me like some kind of symbiotic thing.

But with the Cobra, the contents are more on display. When trying to become erect, you can see the straining and puffing. It’s very visibly a penis in a cage which leads me to think about the contents so much more. They never felt like they merged to me.

And, like I said, I was in these situations where, a long time ago, I’d’ve been jerking off every single day. Especially toward the end of the period away, I was seriously thinking about the goddamn thing and craving its release from captivity. In way more pointed and specific ways than when I’m in the Steelheart.

I didn’t have a key and could not have removed it, but backing out of an unsecured device like the Cobra is supremely easy. This fact grew in my mind to such an extent that I had to have serious conversations with myself. Reminding me that the contents are not mine. Orgasm is not up to me. If I ignored those basic truths, I’d be very disappointed with myself. I would feel terrible. It became something of a mantra as the hours and miles rolled by.

If the Cobra was secured through my PA, none of this would have been an issue. Sure, I’d’ve still been horny, but that would be it. Just horny. No temptation. It is easier for me when that temptation is removed. But the contents and I both know non-PA fixed devices are really nothing more than simple deterrents. And…GAH.

Ultimately, that’s the luxury of PA-enforced chastity. Being just horny. No constant struggle with temptation. No chance of giving in to all those years of evolutionary programming for release. No risk of failing at one’s commitment.

The Cobra is a great device. That’s what my review will ultimately say. But I need a device that goes through as well as around its contents.

The kept man’s conundrum

I kind of obsessively obsess over personal stats. I have two Apple Watches so I know exactly what range my normal minimum sleeping heart rate is (40-45 BPM) and what my normal daytime resting heart rate is (50-56 — thanks, running!). I weigh myself nearly daily to keep tabs on that (192.9 lbs most recently) and I track my daily net carbohydrate intake and even have a little doodad to help me know when my body is burning fat versus carbs. My motto is if a thing can be tracked and measured and reported, it should be tracked and measured and reported.

And that’s why I use an app to keep track of when, how, and for how long Belle keeps me in chastity. So I know that year to date, I’ve been locked in five different devices for 3,248 hours and unlocked for precisely 3 hours and 53 minutes. Three separate times so Belle could enjoy the contents fucking her (if, however, very briefly) and another time when I went to the doctor. That’s just a hair over one tenth of one percent not being kept. And even in almost four hours out of 3,250ish so far this year, it’s not like the contents were free. Those periods of not being locked were still being controlled. When you sign up for the life of a permanently kept man, it’s critical you accept that even when it’s not physically secured, the contents are not ever under your control.

I tweeted these numbers on the Twitter, as I do, and followed up with a comment that it would be “great” if the year ended with me being unlocked no more than ten hours. And that, you know, kind of swims upstream from the notion all the hot chastity porn gets frothy about. Locked guys are supposed to want out. To fuck and come or whatever. But I very certainly do not want out. Ever. Of course, I accept Belle’s total control over the contents and provide no objections whatsoever when she hands me the key so she can use it, but if she never handed me the key? Well, I would similarly offer no objection whatsoever.

I think the goal of a man being permanently kept is for him to be weaned off any attachment over his penis. First step beyond keeping him from getting to it is, as I’ve done, to never refer to it as mine. To never use the aggressive and action-biased word “cock” to describe it. It’s the penis. Or, better, the contents. Second is to train the man and his autonomous systems to stop associating the contents with sex. To fundamentally break the deep societal penis-centricity of MF sex. This is why some men in chastity think it causes erectile dysfunction. It doesn’t, but locked contents will stop getting as hard as often during sex once they figure out it’s not for them. The most incredible aspect of this physiological acceptance of place is how I will become sleepy after Belle comes. As if I have. I don’t know if I’m experiencing a true post-orgasmic prolactin dump or if it’s some kind of placebo version of one, but while she’s basking in her afterglow, I’ll nuzzle into her neck and fall asleep even while I feel the pressure in the tube subside.

The well-trained man in permanent chastity will no longer expect to be unlocked when it comes time for him to pleasure his partner. He’ll not only not expect it, he will not want it. Because it can be sometimes challenging to deal with the conflicting feelings of self-gratification while trying to stay focused on the pleasure that really matters — his partner’s. I am a much more patient and attentive curator of Belle’s orgasm when I’m not feeling her hand on the erect shaft of the penis and thinking three steps ahead to the glorious sensation of sliding into the hot, wet embrace of her pussy. A well-trained kept man knows that sensation is one he is not entitled to. Does not deserve simply because he has a hard penis. And not getting it makes not getting it make more sense to his kept, submissive brain.

Regardless, sometimes that’s what she wants and what she wants is the paramount motivation of our sex. So I need to find ways to wrap that logic pretzel around the moment. At least she doesn’t seem to want it much.

Tried something new with this one. I made a quick and dirty audio version of this post.

The two types

It seems to me there are two kinds of men in chastity.

  1. Men with cocks locked in chastity devices
  2. Men with chastity devices

I think way back at the dawn of time when Belle locked our first CB6K on me, I was definitely the first type. And a lot of guys are always going to be that type. For them (and their keyholders), chastity is a means to an end. They use it tactically to enhance their sex lives and make the inevitable release, fucking, and orgasm as mind-blowing as possible. For sure, all the second types start out as the first type. As I did. But then we find ourselves in a new place. Where being locked up is no longer a means to an end. It is the end. You do it for it.

And to the first type, the second type will either seem totally crazy, which means they’ll always be the first type, or totally terrifying. As I did. And that fear, I think, is the best indication that they’re not going to become the second type. They already are the second type.

There are lots of examples I can think of in my own sexuality where I was confronted with something I had no conception of that scared the hell out of me only later to realize it was me. If you’re not into something, it either squicks you out or you think it’s hilarious or crazy or whatever. But the fear is rooted in something else. It’s self-realization fighting with shame.

I can recall the first time I read accounts of cuckolding. Of being cuckolded. I recall how it made me tremble. Of how panicked it made me feel. Because I saw myself in it in a way I did not expect. And I had to deal with what that meant. Of how I had to reassess my understanding of myself.

I think with chastity and denial it was slower, but the same. In the early days, I was frustrated at Belle for locking me up but then not letting me have as much sex with her as I wanted. Perhaps in an attempt to get me to leave her alone, she’d let me go unlocked and allow me to edge myself for hours in bed next to her while she slept. I’d literally jack off for hours, frothing myself up, leaking like the Titanic and making our bedroom stink of ejaculate. I mean, honestly, in retrospect. What the absolute fuck was that about?

Letting go of preconceptions about oneself is hard. I spent the first 40 or so years of my life defining my sexuality around the contents of the Steelheart. I was always leaning into submissiveness since I always wanted to get my partner off first and was very invested in their pleasure, but I also very much expected and felt entitled to my pleasure. I had pride of penis. Of its role and primacy. I can even remember arguing with Frodo way back in high school about whose dick was bigger. And thinking mine was. I mean, honestly, in retrospect. What the absolute fuck was that about?

Losing my pride of penis was scary and hard because I had to come to grips with being the kind of submissive that was almost entirely focused on my partner’s pleasure to such an extent that mine was totally ignored. And that being denied like that was how I found my pleasure. A satisfaction and contentment far in excess of post-orgasmic stupor. I had to let go of being the archetype male who is the sexual aggressor and penetrator and whose sexual release is celebrated over all things and become instead…this other thing. The second type of man in chastity. The type who lets go of his penis, figuratively and literally. A type of man we have no archetype for.

And, of course, this is who I am. And it no longer scares me. It provides me comfort. I am living my true life.

It’s impossible to imagine finding myself here without Belle. She had to adapt to what I needed nearly as much as I needed to adapt to being kept as I am. She never signed up to be married to a kept sub bottom who didn’t want to (and now barely can) fuck. She likes being fucked. Riding my hard-on was her preferred way to come. But she’s allowed her body to relearn some things to accommodate me. We’re not sure she can come from penetration anymore. It’s all digits and tongues now for her.

I can’t ever really express how grateful I am to her. Her understanding and generosity.

But, getting back to this post’s premise, there are two types of locked men. It’s worth asking yourself which type you are. Are you appalled at the idea of letting go of your cock? Or are you afraid of it? Or do you aspire to it?

There’s nothing wrong with either type. You are who you are. Embrace it.

Mailbag

Two quick chastity nerdery inquiries.

Got this question over on Twitter:

I mean, I haven’t been in the market for a custom cage for a long time and it may be that my advice is out of date, but I would recommend the following makers:

Note that for some of these (Rigid in particular but also Steelworxx), I’ve been given feedback that their backlog is long and service/communication nearly nonexistent. I think anyone and everyone making bespoke devices is very busy and the waits are long. Back in the day, I found MM’s service to be quite good. Evotion would also get high marks from me.

Over on FetLife, I received this message:

i have been following your blog denying thumper for some time and really appreciate hearing about your journey into chastity.

i belong to Lady Angélie and have shown Her the clean design of the Steel heart.

am about to order and would really appreciate some feedback on the comfort for long term wearing with restrained release.

Was considering the additional stainless steel ring around the opening for confort but feel it’s not as aesthetically sleek design.

Would love to hear your thoughts.

The Steelheart I wear has the little ring on it. It’s supposed to make the fit more comfortable but I’d found the weld on the bottom where the ring is joined to the tube can be irritating. If I were you, I’d skip it.