Today is the one year anniversary of the last time Belle let me fuck her. The last time she let the contents out for anything other than fact of life-type necessities. When I did the sleuthing to figure out how long it had been, after I realized it had been a long time, I said I didn’t have a memory of that fuck. Luckily I have a blog and I (less often than I used to) write about the sex we have and, as a matter of fact, I wrote about that time.

It felt like the orgasm wouldn’t end. Even after I had shot my load, I felt involuntary contractions trying to milk as much juice as possible. My whole body arched around the erection. My abs actually kinda cramped from the effort.

I mean, if that is the last time, it sounds like the kind of one I’d want as the last one. And after reading my account of it, I do remember it. It was nice. I also wrote…

When will it happen again? Will it be five months? Five weeks? Five days? Tomorrow!? No idea. I don’t even bring it up. I’m not allowed to either 1) ask for an orgasm, or 2) advocate against one so I tend to just not talk about it at all with her for fear of it being misconstrued as one or the other. Of course, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to do it and I certainly don’t need to know if and when she wants it to happen again.

My reticence to ask about being let out makes it very hard for me to even ask if it’ll ever happen again when it seems like it won’t. But the other day, I screwed up the courage (since that’s all I can screw lol) and asked. She laughed and kind of scoffed at the question. But, in fact, she can’t say. She likes me locked up. She wants me that way more than not. Has wanted me that way for at least a year now. As much as I want closure on the matter — certainty — she doesn’t want to be boxed in. And I don’t have the right to ask her to be.

So, I suppose, nothing has changed. That’s been her basic POV on the issue for just about forever. But we’ve never gone this long without the contents getting wet so, to me, it kinda feels like we’ve turned a corner. Nothing has changed and everything has changed. But she won’t commit. She doesn’t have to. That’s the deal. It’s what I signed up for. It’s what I begged for.

I ended my post from a year ago the same way I could end this one.

In a way, that total lack of control creates its own kind of peace. All I have to do is be ready for whatever she wants.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.

Oceans away

Belle took off to Europe for a week last night and my “emergency” key went with her. It was a spur of the moment kind of decision but there really isn’t much use for an “emergency” key in the Orion (emergencies are typically due to some discomfort/injury created by a device and the Orion, which has been on me for more than 62 days straight hasn’t given me a moment of issue) and, especially when she’s not around to keep an eye on me, the only thing better from my perspective than a secured tamper-proof key is no key at all. The more my free will is removed from the equation, the better. And right now, I couldn’t get the Orion off for any reason, so free will is out the window until she gets back.

I say the Orion has been on for 62 days straight. Of course, there have been some short periods here and there it’s had to come off (such as). I don’t have to take it off for travel, but when I’m with family or co-workers I do just in case. I’m going to end January having been out 4.5 hours which is almost spot on to my goal for the year and, January being a heavy travel month so far, makes me feel my stretch goal of only being out about 24 hours all year is really doable.

I keep coming back to the rest of those goals and Belle’s recent apparent confirmation that “no stroking, no fucking, no coming” aren’t just goals, but the law, and not just for the year, but forever. I think one of the reasons that’s exciting for me (even though stroking, fucking, and coming are all things I will miss badly) is that I feel accepting my total denial of those things is the ultimate act of submission on my part. It perfects my submission.

I’m not saying any sub that’s not similarly situated isn’t doing it right. Not at all. Every sub and Dom/me and relationship and dynamic is going to be unique. But I’m wired (for as long as I can remember) to want my partner’s sexual pleasure to always come before mine. Always. And chastity and denial have allowed me to learn not only to be a better, more focused and attentive lover, but to find ways to make her pleasure my pleasure. In a very real and physiological sense. By accepting permanent chastity and denial (though it was not and should not be my decision at all), I’m demonstrating to Belle and the world that my commitment to my form of submission is absolute.

I could never, ever do this on my own. Belle’s authority and whatever device I’m locked in are what allow me to be this version of myself. And the more I’m this version of myself, the more deeply I feel this is me. What I am supposed to be. Thumper-centric pleasure (stroking, fucking, coming) are all distracting, indulgent, and destructive to the level of submission Belle has helped me attain.

So her taking the keys over an ocean away seems very fitting. No matter how horny and frustrated and achy-balled I get, relief should feel impossibly distant. My focus shouldn’t be inward. Not on my needs. I live to serve hers. Even when she’s not here.

Goal setting

It’s that time of year when we set goals for ourselves. Which is an interesting thing to do with regard to the stuff I talk about on this blog since literally none of the things are technically under my control. So are these goals I’m setting for myself? Or goals set by Belle? Or…schwa?

I dunno. But I can set for myself the goal of being faithful and true to whatever Belle wants for me in 2023. So, the goals I’m prepared to support are…

  • No stroking
  • No fucking
  • No orgasm
  • Locked 99.4% of the year

Stroking, fucking, and orgasm are all up to her, of course. She may decide she wants to be fucked at some point. And if so, I’ll do it. She may expect I’ll come if I do fuck her. And if so, I’ll do it. She may even tell me I can stroke myself, but that seems highly unlikely since it’s been years since she let me do that. So, maybe those goals will work out, maybe they won’t.

I have signed up for my orgasms and penis access to be determined by Belle and if she determines I won’t get any of it, then I support her decision and will do what’s necessary to make it happen.

The locked goal is based on how often I was locked in 2022. I came in being locked 98.9% of the year. Keeping in mind the times I was unlocked, I think some of those times can be optimized downward. Pushing it to 99.4% would mean roughly 50ish hours of unlocked time during 2023 which works out to about 4 hours unlocked a month. The only times I need to be unlocked are for travel (especially if I’m with family or coworkers) or a doctor’s visit (though I don’t always unlock for those — it depends). I’ve gotten really good at keeping unlock time for travel to a minimum and some months I won’t be going though the TSA gauntlet at all while other situations where I’ve traditionally needed to unlock to go though metal detectors are solved by the Evotion Orion. As long as I don’t get any chastity injuries (and the Orion won’t give me any), I really think being locked all but about 50 hours this year is totally doable. Maybe I can make it even less. I think I’d ultimately like that number to be 24 hours which is two a month, though that may be tough.

Beyond the above, the only other thing I can think of that could be set as a goal is how many orgasms I give Belle. But, again, that’s not up to me at all. I want to give her one every day which is ridiculous. Even if I want to come up with a number, tracking towards it puts pressure on Belle who should come exactly as many times as she wants, no more and no less. So that’s not a goal.

In the end, the thing I have the most direct influence over is the time locked and that’s a function of focusing on minimizing reasons to be unlocked. The other “goals” are really just things I’m committed to. For 2023 or as long as necessary.


I have been thinking quite a lot about the prospect of never getting to fuck Belle again. I mean, I thought about it a lot before I knew I may never get to again, but that was when I thought I might get to every time we had sex. Maybe that would be the time she produced the key and let me out and I’d get to slip it in. I didn’t think about it so much in between those times because why should I? But lately, I’ve been thinking it about often, usually just as I’m going to sleep (or trying to).

On the socials, the way men in my situation refer to not being allowed to ever fuck their female keyholders is #pussyfree. I never really paid a lot of attention to it before because, of course, that wasn’t me. I may have been #pussyfree at that moment, but like rain in Death Valley, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Except now I’m led to believe sooner may be never and later may be forever. So suddenly #pussyfree has a whole new meaning. That hashtag is me.

And it’s more than just never being allowed to enjoy Belle’s pussy again. Some guys who are pussy free are cucks who, while not being allowed to fuck their wives, aren’t locked in chastity (at all or not permanently) and still get to jack off. But Belle doesn’t let me do that. Ever. So, not only will I never get to feel pussy with the contents again, unless something changes, I won’t be able to feel my own hand there again, either.

And if I don’t get to feel pussy or my own hand again, then…well, I won’t come again. So I’m not just #pussyfree, it’s becoming clear that I’m going to be #orgasmfree.

I have wanted this at certain points in the development of our chastity journey, but I never really thought we’d get here. I never thought she would get here. And I’m not going to lie and say I’m upset at the prospect of never coming again. Of never feeling a pleasurable sensation with the contents again. I’m not upset. I will miss it, surely. I have been missing it. But I understand why it has to be this way.

That said, it’s one thing to fantasize or imagine the eventuality and another to find one’s self living it. There’s a finality that I don’t think I had previously really appreciated. A finality but also a bit of a relief. Belle has lifted from me the need to concern myself with my own orgasm ever again. I don’t need to spend any time wondering if the next time I get her off if I’ll get a chance for myself, too. Because I won’t. Not that time, not the time after that, or the one after that. Not any time. No need to worry my pretty little head about it.

The ache in my balls. The gnawing craving. The fluttery urge I get when I touch her wet pussy. They’re not just the common companions I’ve grown accustomed to. They’re now permanent fixtures. Really and truly, not a thing I’m doing but what I am.

The finality of that is clarifying, now that I’ve worked it out. Any energy that might have been wasted thinking about the orgasm I might get and did I really want the thing I so badly craved and should I feel good or guilty for getting it if I got it because maybe probably I wouldn’t but maybe I would and then how would that feel and shouldn’t I just try and enjoy it even though maybe I didn’t want it after all? All out the window. How I am now — right now — is how I am. All I’ll ever be.

Got it. OK. Let’s go.


The other day I wrote:

“I have absolutely no memory of the last time she wanted to use the contents. I’ve been thinking hard about it and have no clue.”

And since I’m just laying here in the middle of the night horny as fuck and unable to sleep, I was thinking about this again. About how it’s been so long since she let me out and inside her and feel that amazing, incredible, sensation of hard penis sliding into wet pussy.

And then it hit me. I do know when it was. Or, I should say, I can figure it out. Pretty easily, actually.

I keep track of when I’m locked up and what I’m lock in. I’ve been doing it for years. Here’s how 2022 netted out:

Not only does the app I use tell me totals like that, I can go back and look at what I was locked in (or not) on any given day of the year.

Combine that with the fact that Belle is very consistent about when she lets me fuck her. She wants sex on weekend mornings, almost exclusively. But it’s 100% the case that when I get to fuck her, it’s a weekend morning. No exceptions. On the occasional weeknight when she wants me to get her off, that’s what we do. I get her off. I’m never, ever out at those times. Just weekend mornings.

So, all I have to do is find a weekend morning when I’m unlocked for a couple hours. Since I’m supposed to go right back into chastity after she lets me inside her, it leaves a gap in my lock-up that looks like that.

The first one I found was January 1, 2022. That was a Saturday and my log for that week looks like this:

Steelheart, Steelheart, Steelheart with a 3 hour 16 minute opening at about 9:00 AM and then Steelheart again. That’s me getting to fuck and then probably clean the device. And I actually remember that now.

I kept looking and found this:

March 20, about 7:30 AM, for 2 hours 31 minutes. A Sunday. Fits the pattern. I don’t remember that one.

I looked for the next one…and didn’t find it. No other unlocked gap on a weekend morning for the whole rest of the year.

The last time I was allowed to fuck my wife was 290 days ago. The last time I was allowed an orgasm. The last time I was allowed to feel pleasurable sensation with an erection.

Two hundred ninety days.

Me from 15 years ago — pre-chastity me — would not be able to wrap his head around that at all. It would be literally impossible to imagine, let alone imagine that I’d be OK with it. Me from a period not too long after we started using chastity in our relationship would be very conflicted. He’d think it was simultaneously hot as fuck but he’d be mourning the idea of not being able to come. Ever.

The me that’s writing this post is not conflicted. At all. While I do have strong urges to feel pleasure with the contents, I’m also very self-aware of the fact that I’m ultimately happier not being allowed to. That I’m a better husband and sub to Belle being denied that pleasure. That craving it, even to distraction, is better than getting it.

And, of course, this is what she wants. Where I am right now is 100% her decision. She has decided she’s not interested in my penetrating her. She’s satisfied with my fingers and mouth and her vibrator. Either she genuinely prefers those types of stimulation now or she’s weighed the cost/benefit of letting me fuck her and decided I won’t.

Of course, I do want to. Badly. My balls ache with the memory of what that feels like. Of what shooting a load into her is like. But I understand what I am. And I’ve freely given to her absolute control over my ability to experience those things.

I asked her if she was ever going to let me inside her again and she said, “I don’t know.” I don’t know, either, but 290 days is a long time to not need or want something. Unless a drastic change happens, it’s starting to feel like 290 days is just the start. That chance I got to be inside her and use the contents for the purpose it was meant for that I can’t even remember at this point…might really and truly be the last time she’ll ever let me do that.

I’m at peace with that if it’s the case. Like I’ve said before and repeat to myself all the time, this is what I am not something I do. And what I am is a man who needs to be focused on the pleasure of others, exclusively. To receive pleasure through theirs. And if that’s all I ever am again…

So be it.

Mexican rubdown

Belle decided that today, our last full vacation day in Cabo, that we’d have a 90 minute couples massage at our villa. I think couples massages are kinda creepy but I think massages are amazing and it’s been ages since I had one so I happily went along. Of course, I take the device off beforehand. While I wish I could leave it on, I don’t want to subject my masseuse to my kink.

At the appointed hour, the masseuses along with their concierge arrived at the house. Our bedroom is massive and had ample space for both of them and their massage tables. It has huge sliding doors that overlook the ocean and allow the sea breezes to blow in. It’s just lovely. They set up in there while I chugged my Malibu Bay Breeze.

Usually, masseuses tell me they want to start face down. This time, they wanted us face up. They left the room allowing us time to undress and get on the table. It was the first time in months that Belle had a chance to see the contents and I was super self-conscious about it. The sheet was pretty thin so while I waited for them to come back in, I just had to accept that the outline of the penis was visible. I laid there pondering what a weird little thing it is as they came back in the room.

Drawing from my many previous massage experiences, I expected not to be on my back for long. They do some upper chest and neck work and I usually roll over for the good stuff. But that’s not what happened this time. I’ve never actually had a massage like this before (little did I know). I was on my back for the majority of it. That wasn’t really an issue as long as she was working my neck, shoulders, chest, and arms, but then she moved to my legs.

Now…hmm. I have had, er, invigorating massages in the past. Whenever they start working my glutes, I get turned on. You just can’t touch my ass without getting me worked up. This little woman did more than that. She exposed my entire left leg. Her sheet discipline was loose. Usually, I’m used to them being fastidious and tidy with how they tuck the sheet to ensure modestly. This woman just sort of laid it places and then, if it got moved, she left it. She was not very concerned with my modesty. My first clue that something new was happening.

So anyway, my whole entire left leg was exposed to the top of my hip bone. She started from my calves and worked her hands up — way up — my inner thigh. She missed the penis by a centimeter. Then she did it again. And again. And try as I might to think of England, I could feel…stirrings. One hand was on my inner thigh while the other was rubbing the side of my ass. I tried so hard. Willed the penis to behave. But, honestly, it’s been months and months and months since I was last allowed an orgasm. In retrospect, what happened next was inevitable.

I could feel the penis chubbing out. It was probably 60-70% plump. I was mortified. That flimsy sheet wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination. But then she lifted my leg and folded it over my other leg to expose my thigh and glute more. And, in doing so, she pressed the growing erection between my thighs. Then she pushed down and proceeded to rub my ass.

That was it. I’d gone round the bend. I could feel the pressure and the sensation and knew I was, for the first time in my life while getting a massage, sporting a full, rock hard erection. And as soon as she let go of my leg, it was going to be perfectly evident. Not only did she put my leg back down, she turned the fucking thing out so my inner thigh was facing up. And the sheet was just loosely laying over my aching shaft, barely covering it. I didn’t look, but I could feel how the boner was up and in the air. I was tenting that fucking sheet, no doubt. It was probably bobbing with my heartbeat.

And here’s where I lost all sense of embarrassment. She proceeded, with this explicit display right in front of her, to run her hands up and down my inner thigh. Again, missing my ballsack by a hair’s breadth. And in doing so, the sheet kept moving and shifting so much so that I could feel the breeze on my balls which she had to be able to see. Not only was I clearly, clearly turned on, but she did nothing whatsoever to minimize what was causing it or even to try and hide it. So I was like, well, she knows what’s going on. She can see it. She might literally be able to see it. So I’m not going to be freaked out. She’s a professional.

Presumably, she doesn’t usually work on clients who haven’t come let alone been touched sexually in half a year very often. Maybe she doesn’t usually have to deal with such desperate, horned up men. But that’s what I am. And as long as she was clearly OK with me being almost painfully boned up, I was going to be OK with it, too.

She finished my left leg and went to my right one and it was was all exactly the same. I was hard as fuck and that damned sheet didn’t do a thing to hide it.

Eventually, she had me roll over. I positioned myself so the penis was pointing down. I figured that was better than if I had it pointing up and was laying on it the whole time. I don’t know if that was a good decision. She went right back to my legs and thighs and glutes. At this point, had I been alone with her, I would have thought she was angling for me to ask for a happy ending because she was just rubbing my ass. Not like the massages I’ve had before where they work one cheek at a time and assiduously avoid the cleft between. No, she was running her fingers right up my crack. Not so far that she touched my hole, but like Moses, she was parting those fuckers. So the penis, which was pointing down, got so fucking hard. So much so that it had to be visible between my legs and, as I said, her sheet discipline was nonexistent. My whole lower torso was exposed so she was clearly seeing the underside of the head of the penis peeking out.

She moved to my upper body, and again, I’m used to the sheet being placed just under my hip but above my crack. Nope. She had my whole ass hanging out. And she considered it an extension of my back. Her hands kept going to it and running across and over it and at this point I was starting to feel like I was getting too turned on. So when she started pressing on my hips, I legitimately started to think she’d make me come.

I’ve never had an experience like that. Ever. I was 110% convinced by the end that she was trying to turn me on. Maybe that’s just part of her schtick or maybe when she saw how my desperate horniness was manifesting itself, she decided to really lay it on. I don’t know. But making me hot and bothered was her objective by the end. No doubt.

Aside from all that, she was an incredibly skilled masseuse. Even if I hadn’t been near tears from horniness by the end, it would rank as a top three massage for me.

They left the room and I slipped my swim trucks back on. I tried to make it so Belle wouldn’t see that I was still pretty chubbed out. Walking around immediately after, the mesh liner was rubbing against the head of the penis and I was beside myself with distraction. As soon as I could, I went to our bathroom to put the Orion back on.

That was a challenge. The penis was looking very available and I was alone with it and it didn’t want to go back into the black plastic at all and, if I’m honest, I didn’t want it back in there either. But I was good and put it back in. As I was tightening the screws into place, I saw that I was leaking semen from the hollow PA pin. Even now as I’m writing this, I can feel the pressure in my prostate and gnawing desire to…do something.

I’m just…I’m so fucking horny right now. So goddamned horny. Jesus fuck. UUUUUNF.

The hand-to-pants paradigm

Guys, no matter their age, orientation, relationship status, or hair color all have one thing in common. They stick their hands in their pants. Maybe they do it in front of the TV. Maybe they do it only when they’re alone. Maybe they do it on Zoom calls. Usually, they do it absentmindedly. But they all do it. It’s a habit they begin to develop as very small boys, I guess. A fascination with this little tube of meat that sticks out of their body and makes them feel things. This hands-down-the-pants thing isn’t necessarily sexual. In fact, I’d say it’s mostly not. It’s just a thing we do. A place to keep our hand. A way to make a connection with ourselves.

Guys permanently locked in chastity aren’t any different. I often have my hand in my pants. I even find myself doing it in front of people, though I tend to not stick it too far down there in those times. Just feeling the top of my pubes is enough. But I’ll really get in there when on the couch in front of the TV or in bed looking at my phone. Of course, what I feel is not what most men feel. For me, it’s something hard and without sensation of its own. Lately, it’s been the feeling of textured black plastic. I run my finger over the protrusion where the shaft tube meets the base ring or along the edge of the flared head shield or I simply cup the whole unit along with my balls.

I get the same “reward” for doing that as a normal guy. Still make that connection with myself. Because on my body, “my penis” is whatever hard container is locked onto me at that moment. Currently, it’s the Evotion Orion (and it’s been that for the past 33 plus days and, I suspect, it’ll be that for the foreseeable future). But I was thinking this morning, as I was feeling it in my shorts while laying in bed waiting for Belle to wake up, that I’d no more consider the contents of the Orion as “my penis” any more than I’d consider the nasal bones and cartilage in my head as my “my nose.” My nose is what anyone can see in the middle of my face. And the penis on my body is the same. It’s this penis-shaped mass of 3D-printed plastic with the hollow titanium tube sticking out the end. That’s it.

I mean, I know there’s a real penis inside there. Of course I do. But I feel dissociated from it in a real way. And I find that the most effective way to learn to live with a constant background radiation of horniness is to stop thinking of it as a distinct thing. It’s not productive for a permanently locked man to obsess over what he’s not allowed to do or the various functions the contents could perform in the past. For example, I don’t think about what it’s like to pee without being locked. I only think about it as a locked man. The way it’s changed and the different hygiene techniques required. I just do it in a way that accepts it not as a second nature, but my nature.

Similarly, it’s just not productive to think about what unfettered erections can do. I don’t have one of those anymore so indulging myself by focusing on what I can’t do is not just counterproductive, it’s downright corrosive to my well-being. I should (and do) focus on what I can do, even if that list doesn’t include stroking, fucking, or orgasm. In fact, that is the entire point of being kept in chastity. Focusing on what can and should be done to and for the person holding the key. Period.

That’s my advice to guys struggling with being in long-term or permanent lock-up. Focus on what being that way gives you, not on what it takes away. Focus on them and their pleasure and yours will follow. Accept how that changes you. How the constant horniness empowers and motivates you. How it makes you feel whole. Embrace it. Celebrate it. For a lot of us, it’s our calling.

Also, just go ahead and stick your hand down your pants. You know you want to.

Evotion evolution

I mentioned the other day that we were going to start exercising more key discipline. Specifically, my “emergency” key would be secured with a numbered tab and hers would be inaccessible to me. Either hidden or secured some other way so that I couldn’t get to it easily/ethically.

I got her this lock box from Amazon which I thought would allow her to keep the key in her nightstand as usual, easily unlocked with her phone or a code, but she decided to hide it somewhere in the house. Now it’s not only secured from me, it’s also stashed away, I know not where. So the other day, when I asked for her key to change out of the Evotion 8 and into something else, she…was disinclined to acquiesce to my request.

Turns out, she likes the Evotion 8 and didn’t really feel like getting the key (and potentially giving away its location) and didn’t really see the need for me to be in anything else at the moment, my desire for a change notwithstanding. And it’s like…damn. OK. That’s how it is.

I have become very accustomed to being able to pick and choose which device I’m in depending on my whims. And now when I look at the Evo, I think about how it’s there without regard to my feelings on the matter. And yeah, that’s way hotter.

Speaking of Evotion, I had planned on ordering an Orion. The 8 is one of my absolute favorite devices and I was very curious about the Orion’s simplified design. I reached out to Yvonne at Evotion to see if they had my 8’s measurements on file to use as a starting point, and she offered to comp me the device because, you know, internet personality and all. I am paying for the hollow titanium PA pin, so it ends up we’re about splitting the cost. I mention this because I rarely review devices I haven’t paid for and I think it’s important for you to know when I’m talking about something I got for free (or deeply discounted). In any event, the device is in the works and I hope to have it sometime around the start of December. It’s going to look a lot like this one but with a hollow PA pin.

The thing I really appreciate about Evotion’s designs is how they’re a) plastic (for when plastic is called for), b) custom printed to bespoke measurements, and (uniquely, I think) c) have optional integrated PA security. Whenever I’m in a Holy Trainer or Cobra or other plastic device, it just doesn’t feel the same. PA security is very important to me and changes the emotional experience of being locked up, I find. And AFAIK, Evotion’s are the only bespoke plastic PA-secured devices out there.

Look for my review of the Orion sometime around the end of the year. Assuming Belle lets me take the 8 off. Ever.


Today is the 14th anniversary of the first time a chastity device was locked onto me (which means we’re also a little over a week past the fourteenth anniversary of the start of this blog).

It’s hard for me to really get my head back into the space I was in when I first felt what it was like walking around among muggles with a device in my pants, let alone what it felt like having my erection contained and constrained for the first time. But I do recall the first time Belle denied me an orgasm after she got one. It was such a rush. I felt high the whole next day. But being denied has changed so much over the years. From it making me annoying and selfish to…whatever I am now. I don’t think I’m nearly as much of either. I feel like my — ahem — head is in a better place.

I’ve said before, being kept in chastity no longer feels like a thing I do or is being done to me. It just is. It’s how I am. It only becomes a thing when I can’t be kept locked. If I have to come out for some stupid reason like travel or a doctor’s visit or one of those times the contents need to heal from something a device did to it. I was just off camping in the wilderness for a week and was in the BA-31P the whole time. Mostly because not being in it would feel weird and wrong and distracting. As if being so would be inauthentic and unnatural. Basically, “weird and distracting” went from being how it felt to be locked up to how it feels not to be. Also, Belle’s rules say I have to be locked up all the time and I have proven there’s no practical reason I can’t be even deep in the woods for a week.

Seeing the contents outside of a device has become off-putting. It looks pale and exposed. I don’t want Belle or anyone else to see me that way. It’s embarrassing. Somehow, it feels more naked than naked is. Like some inner part of me is exposed. I guess that’s what the contents literally are now. An inner part.

The milestone of being kept for 14 years has me wondering how much of that time was spent locked up. Of course, locked men tend to obsess over duration. Kinky people in general seem to over index as stats and metric obsessed folk. I don’t count the days like I used to (even between orgasms which happen so infrequently I can’t even remember them), but I still track what I’m locked in and for how long. I began using an app to track which device I was locked into back in January 2016 (actually December of 2015, but only for like two days), so a bit more than half way between the first day and today. I don’t have data for the first seven years or so. But here’s the breakdown of each year since then.

Hours LockedHours Unlocked
20166,800 (77%)1,984 (23%)
20178,579 (98%)181 (2%)
20187,194 (82%)1,566 (18%)
20196,661 (76%) 2,099 (24%)
20208,371 (95%)413 (5%)
20218,535 (97%)225 (3%)
2022 (YTD)6,966 (99%)90 (1%)
Total46,856 (88%) 6,558 (12%)

Two things jump out. One, 2016, 2018, and 2019 had a lot of unlocked time, relatively speaking, while the other years tracked were more in line with one another. Two, the trend for the past three years is curving towards zero. This is due to Belle wanting the contents out far less often than she used to and me being better at finding ways to avoid being out when in the past I might have thought I had to be. But, the question was how long have I been locked up over the past 14 years? I think the previous 7 would be more like 16′, 17′ and 19′, so let’s just say the average for all of them is 75-80% locked.

That’s something between 92,000 and 98,000 hours. Which means in this, my fifteenth year of enforced chastity, chances are I’ll cross the 100,000 hour mark. That’s more than eleven years.

Of course, this is meaningless. I am locked. By default and whenever I don’t have to come out due to circumstance or Belle’s (increasingly infrequent) demand. As far as I’m concerned, the number is basically ∞.

But since we’re at this moment of recognition and reflection, I can say I never want to be any other way than kept in chastity. The changes that have come over me for being so are indelible. Sure, I could not be locked up and be touching myself sexually and having regular orgasms like a real boy at some point in the future. Theoretically. But it would never feel right. It would never be right. I would always know that being that way wasn’t my authentic self.

I’ve been locked in chastity for fourteen years today. Hopefully, I will never not be ever again.

Stiffening the stifling

I spent a lot of time thinking about this, from my last post, last night instead of sleeping:

In fact, she related, she does want me locked up. More now than before. Meaning she doesn’t want me not locked up. … She 100% prefers locked up and denied Thumper to the other kind. She’s never been more committed to my essentially permanent enforced chastity.

And then this snippet I neglected to include that I mentioned on Twitter:

And what I couldn’t stop thinking about and was making the Evotion 8 tight was the idea of suggesting she make how she’s feeling now official. As in, I will never be allowed out except for absolutely necessary situations and never be allowed to fuck her again.

I mean, even pecking those words out on my iPhone makes the device thump in time with my heartbeat and tighten uncomfortably.

But I can’t suggest that. It violates the spirit if not the plain language of one of my rules: I am not to volunteer how I feel about having an orgasm

And I said something that follows that logic in my last post.

My denial and chastity need to be in service of what she wants, not just because I want to be locked up and denied. And actually, what I want shouldn’t even be a consideration. That, truly, is what I want. For the concept of my sexual satisfaction to be completely irrelevant to how she decides I’ll be in service of her needs and desires. In fact, to hear her say she wants me always locked up and denied because it makes me the more perfect version of the partner she wants is…perfection. To me.

So I can’t ask her to tell me the things that turn me on so much. I mean, I’m so far beyond trying to figure out why the prospect of never again feeling sexual pleasure through the contents is so hot, but I’m not so far gone as to know if and when I ever hear those words, it 100% cannot be at my suggestion.

And yeah yeah yeah I know writing a post about it which she will read could be construed as some kind of passive bottom topping bullshit, but read on…

What my higher brain understands is that just because she wants me locked up more now than ever before does not mean she wants to preclude from her available options what it feels likes to be fucked by a real cock (even if it’s just the one on me) and then feel me come inside her. I get why she would like that. And it’s absolutely not up to me to decide or, really, have input regarding what she does (or does not do) with the contents.

And if my higher brain is honest with itself, it also understands that maybe one of the reasons being denied is so hot is the hint of the barest whisper of a chance that I may not be denied. And if suddenly I know I will always be, would that take something off of it?

Honestly, I have no idea.

If I take my recollection of her words to heart — I don’t ever want you out — well, then, I have what I was fantasizing about. But it’s also the case she may have been exercising a bit of hyperbole and really meant hardly ever and so very rarely but I reserve the right, etc.

Hilariously, I know I ended my previous post talking about open, frequent communication but I also feel, as mentioned above, that open communication on this topic (outside, perhaps, these pages) is not an option for me.

What I feel I can do with a clear conscience is suggest some addendums to my rules that will make her more in control of when and how I’m in chastity.

  • She will retain sole possession of her key in a manner such that I cannot ethically obtain it without her knowledge. Meaning, it should no longer be kept in the little silken pouch in her nightstand along with her vibrator and should be someplace like her purse where I don’t normally go. It doesn’t have to be secret, but it should require a larger effort on my part to get to it.
  • “My” key will be once again secured in a manner that makes unauthorized access impossible. Like in the little Steelworxx key safe thing with a numbered lock. Right now, I keep it unprotected in the little box I put my earrings and PA jewelry in.
  • I will only be allowed to be outside a device for regular maintenance or other standard reasons (such as swapping from one to another) in her presence. Currently, I will change devices as I please and when I need to take one off for deep cleaning, hygiene, and/or hair removal, I do it behind a closed bathroom door. This behavior is technically a violation of the “I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise” rule and, clearly, I need it to be more robust. She knows I do these things, but I need her to really know I’m being good and following the rules at all times.
  • Finally, I’d like to have to answer to her every day that I’ve followed her rules to the letter. This is the one thing that’s slightly bottom-toppy, but I do crave some required regular demonstration of my fealty to her control and having her ask me, “Have you obeyed all my rules today?” and being required to answer would be 100% hot and 100% soothing to my submissive soul all at once. And I’d like this to happen even when we’re apart and whenever we have the ability to communicate with one another.

None of these things are the hawt chastity fantasy I described above, but together they represent a (ahem) stiffening of her control and that’s not nothing. Truth is, after nearly 14 years of being this way, we’ve both let enforced chastity become a normalized feature of our relationship. And that’s led to some lackadaisical behavior on my part. I want to show her I’m more committed to being locked up today than ever before. For it to be as obvious as possible as often as possible.

It would be like recommitting my dedication to the dynamic as we sneak up on the 14th anniversary of the first time I was locked up. I don’t want her to think I ever take for granted how she keeps me in chastity. It’s a mutual gift we give each other every day.