Tag: enforced male chastity

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Fourteen

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.

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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.

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It’s supposed to be hard

Even after nearly 14 years of enforced male chastity being an integral part of our relationship, the wires can get crossed.

Day before yesterday, after (due to one reason or another) it had been weeks since I was able to get Belle off, we finally had the opportunity. And while I was pretty worked up at the prospect, I took it slow and gave her what I thought was a lovely orgasm. In fact, it occurred to me while it was happening that I was ten or twenty times more skilled now at getting her off with my fingers than I ever was using the contents, even when it was still a functioning sex organ.

As I’ve said in the past, it’s those moments right as she starts to come and for a lingering period after that I always find most difficult being locked up. I never want to shove the unencumbered contents into her more than right then. The craving urge passes in a few minutes, but…yeah, that time is rough. Some days more than others.

And day before yesterday was one of the rougher ones. Following the weeks of not being able to have sex with her and a weekend away from her with Frodo (and god only knows since the last time I came), I was feeling it. Hard.

So, after a period of respectful waiting so she could bask in the afterglow, I climbed up on top of her and between her legs. Since I’m in the Evotion 8 with its little open bits, I could actually feel her pussy, if only a little. That only made my urges more intense. I pushed her legs farther apart with mine as if I was actually fucking her and moaned into her neck.

Yes, it was indulgent. But I also feel that when I do that I’m showing her how much I want her. And I think that’s a positive thing. And usually, she just allows me to do it and says something dismissive about how being locked up is good for me, etc.

But for whatever reason, that morning my actions rattled her confidence. Words (not angry ones) were exchanged — something to the effect of don’t I want her to keep me locked up? And I asked if she wanted me that way, and she said something like, “If you want me to.”

And all of a sudden the entire foundation of our chastity dynamic seemed like a weird feedback loop. She was keeping me locked up because I wanted her to which, of course, I do, but not just because I do. I need to feel as though I’m being actively denied, not humored.

So yeah, a few moments of existential angst. But they soon passed.

We talked about that moment several times over the past few days. The air was cleared and the foundations of our dynamic were found to be in top form.

Sometimes, she told me, she can feel the nagging socialization of needing to please her mate gnaw at her resolve to deny me the traditional way men are pleased in bed. It makes her doubt if she’s doing the right thing or being a good wife. Because, of course, there are no Disney princesses who lock up the dicks of Prince Charming and life before chastity had no archetypes for either of us to factor into how we do male chastity together. And at that moment I was on top of her and pushing her legs apart and feeling the heat of her snatch through the bars of the Evotion, it seemed like I needed something she could give me but was not.

In fact, she related, she does want me locked up. More now than before. Meaning she doesn’t want me not locked up. Not only can I not remember the last time she let me come, I can’t remember the last time she let me inside her (those were the same day, whenever it was). She 100% prefers locked up and denied Thumper to the other kind. She’s never been more committed to my essentially permanent enforced chastity.

Which is exactly what I need to hear. 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.

When I climbed up on her (and every time I do it), it’s not to pressure her to let me out to fuck. It’s to show her how badly I want to. To demonstrate how intense my craving is. Because, in a way, it’s my gift to her. My submission and suffering is for her. Because it makes me more like the partner she wants. Because it keeps me focused on her pleasure. Because it keeps me focused on serving her.

And of course I don’t want her pity. I don’t want her to ever feel sorry for me. Because, she’s right, I do want it as much as she does. I could, theoretically, withdraw my consent to be locked. But I never do. I never even consider it. So, if anything, I want her to tease me and twist the proverbial knife. Make it harder for me. Because hard is what I crave. And if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t do it, would I?

I relate this story because I think some of my readers think, after all this time, we have it all figured out. And maybe we have it mostly figured out. But even for us, things like this happen. And it’s only through open and honest communication that these bumps can be smoothed out.

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Back in my place

I’ve been back in the Steelheart for the past 21 days after briefly trying out a new device (the Cherry Keeper which was a bit of a disaster but I have another one coming so there’s no review yet). All through our summer vacation and up to this moment. I had it off briefly when we got home so I could give it a vinegar cleaning and shave my bits.

On the year, I’ve primarily been wearing the BA-31P and getting back into the venerable Steelheart has been interesting. It’s noticeably bigger and heavier than the BA-31P and, since I’ve spent the equivalent of 1,261 days in the Steelheart since I’ve been tracking time locked up, a very palpable sense of familiarity with it. Of all the devices, and even as much as I like the BA-31P, the Steelheart is and always will be home.

There was a moment during our trip before Belle let me get her off when I was feeling somewhat on edge and a bit despondent at the length of time that had passed since I was able to get to her pussy. The weight and bulk of the Steelheart made me super aware and even self-conscious about wearing it in front of her. Which is quite odd for me. It’s much more usually the case that I feel self-conscious when the contents are exposed but, in that moment of unhappiness I was struggling with, why was I locked up? What is the purpose of being locked in that steel when nothing at all is happening?

It’s been said by me and other chastity bloggers that enforced male chastity is not a “set it and forget it” kind of thing. Being separated from the contents absent any external stimulation is psychologically challenging. The lack of stimulative sexual energy that comes from being denied during sex allows the device to transform back from an integrated part of my body into a hunk of metal. And there was a specific moment when I was naked and climbing over Belle to get out of bed when my legs were spread wide and the Steelheart was dangling and swaying and pulling on me where I was suddenly very conscious of its foreign metalness. It made me wonder to myself What is the fucking point of this thing?

I write that from my current frame of mind which is horny as fuck and it’s hard to really appreciate where I was then. Now, I see the Steelheart as a fundamental aspect of my body. I wear some kind of device more than almost anything else that comes into contact with my body. Only my wedding ring and earrings are on more and maybe not even my wedding ring which I take off a couple times a week for things like the application of skin lotion. Right now I cannot consider myself complete with unlocked and exposed contents. But back then, it felt very foreign.

So, to answer the question from past me, the point of the thing is actually pretty simple. And it’s one I need to work on never forgetting. Fact is, I do not deserve to be any other way. I. Do. Not. Deserve to have a penis that is free and can grow during erection or be played with. Not now. Not before I figured that out, and not after. Not ever. That reality is fundamental to who I am. Since getting back into my normal headspace, reminding myself of that truth is something I’ve been doing daily, usually as I’m going to bed and trying to fall asleep.

I do not deserved to be unlocked.

I don’t pretend to know how this works. Why some men should never be locked and others can take it or leave it while those like me should never be any other way. But that’s how it is. And that’s how I am.

But beyond that, the device (whichever device I’m in) is a perpetual demonstration of my commitment to Belle. I’ve agreed to The Rules and by being locked up regardless of whether or not I’m horny or she’s horny or we’re having sex or not, the physical barrier between me and the contents are a simple fact of my status like the ring on my left hand. This one doesn’t project that status to the world (unfortunately, outside the readers of this blog and my Twitter followers), but it’s important for her to see.

And in a lot of ways, the device I’m in is part of my identity. Alpha studs have their cocks they swing around and chastity subs have whatever is locked on them. If I’m not locked up I feel like there’s a loss of something internal to me. It makes me feel imbalanced and inauthentic.

Finally (at least for this post) there’s the fact that the device’s contents just aren’t that worthy of freedom in the first place. Belle has left it locked up for longer and longer lengths of time and, when I ask about that, she says she just prefers me that way. Prefers me to get her off with my fingers or mouth. Probably can’t come that easily from my penetration anymore, especially since when she does let it out, it doesn’t provide her with much pleasure and barely barely lasts but a few minutes at best. I’m sure I get more pleasure than she does from it and, as such, if she can’t be bothered to let me out, then what right do I have to be any other way? Sex is not for my pleasure. My pleasure is reflected from hers and whatever she allows me to have directly is a gift that needs to be cherished.

I should probably bookmark this post and remember it for the next time I’m in a funk about being locked up. I need to remember that I don’t decide when we have sex, she does. And it’s not about me. And that she cares about me and what I’m feeling even when what I want isn’t possible.

Essentially, I need to bookmark this post when I need to be put back in my place.

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Dog blocked

Belle and I are on our mid-Summer RV road trip. I say “mid-Summer” because it’s technically true (the days are getting shorter now) but we’ve found in the Rockies (both Canadian and where we are now in West Glacier, MT) the local version of mid-Summer is still 2-4 weeks away.

In any event, part of my issue with this trip has been one of our dogs. She’s adorable and I love her but she’s a rescue and emotionally needy to such an extent that, if we had her right after we got married, I’m pretty sure we never would have had kids. Her M.O. is to maintain a position directly between us every morning no matter what we do. When we’re at home and can distract her with breakfast and close doors, that’s fine. But in our trailer there is no door between the bed and the rest of the space and she’s…persistent. Her pointy little nose works its way into the most tight embrace.

That led to me not being able to get Belle off for longer than I would have to go otherwise. Sure, I’ve gone longer, but usually because we’re apart. In this case, she’s right there but our canine cock-blocker (if you can even say someone in my position is being blocked that way) can’t be sequestered anywhere long enough to allow me to attend to business.

Except for yesterday morning. Our dog was in bed with us, but off to the side(!!) and didn’t make her usual move to get between us. So we took advantage of the opportunity.

At that point where Belle was juuust about to hit the point of no return, I found myself sympathetically moaning in an almost whining kind of way. I was tensed up like I was about to come instead of her. I needed it that badly. For days I had been short tempered and generally grumpy and this was why. Not that I needed to come. Of course not. Because I’m me, I needed to feel her come. I needed to feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my finger while the tube of the Steelheart pounded between my legs. I needed to feel the animal desire to stick myself into her wet warmth. To feel that craving gnaw at me. And it did.

It was several minutes of anguish and pain. Even more than usual. Much more than usual. She could see on my face something was up and asked if I was OK. Then I was presented with the kept and denied man’s dilemma. I could say, “GODDAMN IT I WANT TO FUCK AND COME,” but my rules say I can’t ask for that and I really, really, really only want to get to do it when she wants, not when I want, and by even saying I’m that desperate I could sway her into giving it to me out of pity but I know — I know — I am not deserving of that pity. So I’m sitting there roiling inside, unable to say what I want because it’s not supposed to matter (and I do not believe it does) and, besides, do I really want it anyway?

So after a few seconds, I simply said, “I’m fine.”

Minutes later, the worst of it was past. My balls felt enormous and tender and the tube was still full and I could tell it was sticky inside, but the weight of not getting her off, which is all that matters, was lifted. I felt better the whole rest of the day. And yeah, I want to do it again, but I’m able to better process that I don’t decide when it happens. I’m better able to deal with the wait.

Later that day, we were on an open-top bus tour of Glacier National Park and she was sitting next to me and had her hand alternatingly on my thigh or forearm and absentmindedly was moving her fingers over my skin. It was like fire. Perhaps unknowingly, she was silently tormenting me with that simple touch because I was so on edge and so needy and so desperate. The tube kept pressurizing and my mind kept racing and I was all frantic sexual energy on the inside. But managed to maintain my cool on the outside.

That one orgasm — her orgasm, not mine — allowed me to center myself. To feel more like me. And it happened even with the damned dog laying there next to us.

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Badass Workroom BA-31P review

Badass Workroom (BAWR) is, as far as I can tell, a relatively new entrant in the male chastity device market. I first found out about them in the fall of 2021 and I ordered the device I’m reviewing today, the BA-31P, on December 1, 2021. Notably, it was a totally custom steel device that was ordered, manufactured, shipped and received all inside of a month. I am unaware of any maker in the space that can deliver that quickly.

I’m sticking the rest of this after a jump due to NSFW images…

Continue reading “Badass Workroom BA-31P review”
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Reflections on the care and feeding of a locked penis-having person

A few days ago, Locked Doc wrote a post called “How to Own a Permanently Locked Sub.” And it’s great and while I was reading it, I was thinking, Damn, why haven’t I ever written something like this? Well, turns out, I did. Something like it, anyway.

My post is/was called Keyholding 101 and dropped in August of 2015 and explains why I didn’t remember it because, Jesus, have you seen how many posts on here? So I re-read it as if I’d never seen it before (because I honestly have no recollection of it) and, I’m happy and relieved to report, I still agree with what I said (and how I said it).

My post was written very much with female keyholders in mind. Doc’s is written from an all-male perspective but, also, for someone who doesn’t necessarily hold the key since, you know, open relationships are thing. So they’re both really interesting and complimentary posts, though I think anyone of any gender in a relationship with chastity as a core dynamic can get something from what each of us wrote.

I was struck with how similarly we hit certain points. Doc wrote…

First off, I do agree that there is no ONE RIGHT way to do chastity. What works between two consenting adults is all you need to worry about, so you’re going to have to talk about it.

And I wrote…

I’ll say right up front I’m not about to lay out the One True Way. Every person in every relationship, not only sexual ones or kinky ones or ones involving hardware on penises, needs to find how they’re made satisfied and happy by it.

Doc also wrote…

We think about our cages ALL THE TIME. We know you don’t, but it is a huge part of our identity, and we need you to acknowledge and appreciate it. Even if its just a comment here and there about our locked status, we need to know you acknowledge the commitment we have made. An occasional grab or a remark will be very appreciated and will make us feel as though you “get us”. The more you acknowledge our locked status, the more turned on we get, just FYI. Most of us want to hear that, we really crave it, in fact. If you want to own locked property, you are going to have to pay attention to it, even if its to tell us that you don’t think about it (ironic, but it’s true). Just don’t ignore it.

And I said…

The only things he really needs from you is an understanding that you haven’t forgotten he’s locked up, you appreciate this predicament, and you take the key very seriously. There are countless stories on the web about those who get talked into holding a guy’s key even though they’re not really into the idea and they “set it and forget it.” This is the worst from the locked man’s perspective. As a keyholder, you’re really only reminded of the chastity dynamic when you can see his locked penis or he says something to you about it or you want to have sex. For him, it’s something he’s aware of all of the time. If you lose sight of that fact, chastity can feel very lonely and even pointless for him.

Doc said…

If you hold the key, recognize it for what it is. It’s a gift from us and we see it as a sacred responsibility. 

And I said…

He needs to know you cherish the “gift” of male chastity and know it can be hard (even if that knowledge won’t get him out of the device any sooner).

I’m not going to quote his whole post. You should check it out if you have not already. I think that Doc guy is a pretty reasonable fellow which explains why he and I are hosting occasional Twitter Spaces on the topic of chastity. Our first one was last Saturday. Check that out, too, if you have not. You can even join us next time!

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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.

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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.

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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.