Tag: femdom

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Winces, ointments, and fantasies

“I love that sound.”

That’s what Belle said after she gave me the key to the Steelheart and, as I was removing it, I made wincing grunty noises as each of my swollen balls popped through the device’s A-ring. She loves the sound of my balls being released because it means she’s going to have some fun with the penis.

But I wasn’t. Following our previous experiments with lidocaine lotion, reader nagadikandang related their experience with a similar product called Tattoo Soothe. It comes in two varieties, but the one I got is 5% Lidocaine, 20% benzocaine and 5% tetrazine. It’s pretty damned expensive. Fifteen grams of the stuff costs about $30 on Amazon.

However, the additional ingredients seem to make it more potent than lidocaine all by itself. The consistency of Tattoo Sooth is thicker and stickier than the lotions I’ve used in the past. It doesn’t go on as easily and is a little more difficult to wipe off. I applied it, rolled a condom over everything to ensure it didn’t dry out, and waited exactly 15 minutes before removing it. I was totally and completely deadened. I felt nothing. While I used to think lidocaine left me totally numb, if it’s possible, Tattoo Sooth left me feeling even more than totally numb. Like there was a sensation vacuum left at the end of the penis.

That may have been too much of a good thing. I couldn’t get hard enough to penetrate Belle so she could get off. That’s the bad news. The good news is she was a chatty little thing that night.

“Have I ever told you that I sometimes fantasize that you’re a girl? A girl with a cock.”

N-o. Nope. Never told me that. Definitely would have remembered hearing that before.

“Ever had a three way?”

Once, but it didn’t work out.

“Two girls?”

No, one girl and another guy.

“What if we had a three way with another girl?”

Oh, yeah, I’m there.

“What do you imagine that would be like?”

You’d be riding the numbed penis while she sat on my face and the two of you kissed and played with each other’s tits.

“Purrr…”

Then we talked about the flirty policeman.

“I imagined that I took him into one of those below-street brownstone entrances, under the stairs, and fucked him right there…”

Ung. Yeah?

“His cock was so thick and fat I had a hard time getting it in…”

The one and only deficiency she’s admitted to feeling about the penis is its relative lack of girthiness. She doesn’t like them long, but she likes them hefty. I’m not hefty, but the imaginary policeman lover was.

At one point, she demonstrated on me how she sucked the cop’s cock, but of course, I couldn’t feel it in the parts that mattered. I could feel the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips, but only at the base of the shaft where it did me no good.

It’s interesting to me that in her fantasy encounter with the cop, she was clearly dominant. In my fantasy, he was, but she told it to me as if she was the aggressor and controller of the encounter.

As I said, I couldn’t get hard enough to let her fuck me (which could have just as easily been a little bit of stress I was feeling regarding how long the numbing agent would last), so she sat on top of me and ground her pussy against whatever condition the penis was in. I didn’t know because I could feel nothing. But she did come.

Afterward, she told me I could fuck her. And I did, after a good deal of coaxing, but I felt almost nothing. Just enough to get hard from the activity, but not nearly enough to ever come from it. Not even close.

As I fucked her, I told her how I wished my orgasm was something physical I could actually give her. Take it out of my body and place it in her hand. I saw it as a small red gem glowing steadily. I told her how I dreamed of watching her close her fist around it and squeezing it until it shattered and its dark pieces fell out onto the floor. Extinguished. How that would leave me with an hollow place that would only be filled with an unquenchable desire for something that was physically unable for me to achieve.

I fell asleep before the penis came back to life. The next morning, she let me fuck her again, only this time I could feel it. I got close to coming several times and leaked a few surges of sticky ejaculate into her before she told me my time was up. She left me out of the device until this morning when, while kissing me goodbye for the day, she whispered into my ear that I needed to lock myself back up.

So I did. So I am.

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Das penis

Bondagebuddy asked:

I’ve been following your blog for well over a year now and obviously enjoy it. However, I’m curious about one thing. Why do you always refer to your penis as “the penis”? It is still very much a part of you. I think you are to be commended for your devotion to chastity, but it is noteworthy that proper reference is never mentioned.

Early on, Belle and I had kind of a contract that said I wasn’t allowed to refer to it as mine anymore since I had given control of it over to her. I was supposed to call it “her cock” or “the cock” or whatever. Some time later (I can’t find the post at the moment found it), I stopped thinking that the noun “cock” was the proper term to use since cocks have a very specific (to me) connotation about them. They have attitude and purpose and even a bit of pride and in general seem to me to be somewhat aggressive. The member I carry around isn’t like that, in practice or intention. It didn’t feel right to me to call it that so I started calling it by its more clinical term. It’s a penis, not a cock, even if it’s unlocked and fully erect.

When I first started at this blogging thing I’d read this kind of twisted phraseology and roll my eyes (the whole personal pronoun capitalization thing still bugs me, but I get it and why people do it). They’re confusing (as you’ve demonstrated) and cause sentences to sometimes be awkwardly structured. Honestly, I find it to be a bit of a pain to not be able to just write the very plain and straightforward “my cock” and, every time I have to do it, I consider just dropping the practice entirely.

The reason I don’t (even though Belle’s no longer invested in what possessive I use) is because awkwardness and inconvenience are part of the chastity experience. Referring to it as “the penis” is a literary reflection of wearing a chastity device all the time whenever she wants me to regardless of how I feel about it. To me, talking about it like it’s a thing separate of me is a perfectly honest way to write. It reinforces the reality that I don’t control it and can’t use it how I want. Even when I’m unlocked, she’s explicitly forbidden me from playing with it absent her permission.

At the moment and under the terms of our dynamic, I don’t really have a man’s cock. It’s a penis. And it’s not mine.

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Focus

Something I was thinking about late last night when, in one of those random moments of wakefulness, I reached over and spooned into Belle and let my hand run under her nightclothes and over her smooth ass and the contents of the Steelheart pulsed and craved. It directly relates to my previous post about finding a Zen-like place to keep all my pent-up desire.

I mean, I wanted her. I needed her. Her pleasure is mine and I am really, really wanting to feel that. Distractingly so because it’s been so long since I had it. In the early years, it was remarkably easy to find anger in that. To want to throw all the internal stress out at her. But I don’t anymore. I know she knows how I feel and I know she’ll take care of me eventually. In due time. Not yet.

The way I was able to get through this period last night was to, as they say, see the glass as half full rather than half empty. Yes, I’m desperately needy, but I’m also exactly as I wanted her to keep me. Exactly. I am locked up, unable to touch my own body or attain a normal erection or in any way pleasure myself. I’m totally under her control in that way as I wished to be. It’s all I wanted for her to control my sex and now she does, completely. The best part is, she wants me this way. It’s impossible to imagine that she would have left me unlocked while she was gone last weekend. That’s just not an option for me anymore. And while I was unlocked while I was gone the weekend before (unavoidably, perhaps), she put me back as soon as I got home. I rarely get to stay out for more than a night at time now unless something external intercedes or it’s a special occasion. So I have the best of all possible situations. I’m locked and controlled because that’s how she wants me. That’s how she prefers me to be. I asked for exactly this.

Back around Labor Day, we talked some about that. How she considers my willingness to be locked by her a romantic gesture. She sees my sacrifice of orgasm and self-pleasure as a token of my dedication to her and our marriage. She finds comfort knowing what I’m not doing when she’s not with me. I allow this to happen to me because I acknowledge it makes me a better and more attentive partner. It makes our relationship stronger.

Yes, of course, that’s all true. But it’s not like I don’t get anything out of it.

And what I get out of it is what I concentrated on last night. The feeling of the hard steel pressing up between me and the mattress, squeezing my wannabe erection. The knowledge that I wasn’t getting what I wanted in that moment but I was getting all I wanted in the bigger picture. How, in only the way possible in this kind of dynamic, even not getting what I want is exactly what I want.

I’m desperately horny for her. That’s the reason we do this. We have sex when she decides. Period. I’m supposed to crave what I have no control over. Her pussy. The penis. Our sex. Everything. I’m not ignored, even though circumstances have conspired to make me feel a little neglected. I’m actually quite loved and cared for.

That’s what I focused on.

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Cop tease

As I said the other day, Belle’s out of town. She’s visiting her BFF in NYC and, from what I can tell, having a wonderful time.

Yesterday, she FaceTimed me from the BFF’s apartment. She was on a couch in the living room and the BFF and her husband were on a another. I can hear them, they can hear me, etc. It’s like being on a conference call.

So we’re chatting about whatever, where they’re going to dinner that night, etc., and then she tells me about this cop. Apparently, while they were hanging out in Little Italy and walking around some cop winked at Belle. Not just a “Hey there,” kind of wink. More like a “How you doin’?” kind of wink.

Belle then continued to explain to me, with some enthusiasm (I mean, I can see the fire in her eyes as she tells me this and that its about the same color as her beautiful red hair), how exciting this was for her, how big the cop was (pretty big, I guess), and, of course, how cute he was (natch). All in front of the BFF and husband. Who does this? Who tells their husband how hot this cop was who winked at her and how she’s thinking of going back to try to find him, etc., in front of other people?

MINE.

Of course, this made me very hot. I didn’t know exactly how to respond knowing these other people who aren’t (as far as I know) clued in to our dynamic were right there, so I tried to be non-committal. I made a joke about how he wanted to protect and serve her and said something about how’d he’d use his nightstick on her if she was lucky (to which she said, “Yeah, I hope so.”). Otherwise, my insides were all fluttery and my balls tingled and my free hand went in my pants and squeezed them. This was all in good fun, but it was right up my humiliation and cuckold fantasy alley.

What I wanted to say was how fucking crazy it made me to think of her with this big cop. Of her down on her knees and unzipping his tight blue uniform pants and sucking his thick cock as it sprang out at her. I wanted to know just how big he was (over six feet? six-four? six-five?), ask her about his ethnicity, how much hair he had, and all that. I thought of his beefy hairy ass flexing with each thrust into her soaking and hungry pussy, her moaning with each deep penetration, and how she’d come at the very moment his seed would be spilling out of her in surging spurts.

Gah! Yeah. All that.

But, the BFF and her husband. So I made my jokes and tried to keep my voice calmly measured. But that’s what I thought about all the rest of the night as I clutched the hard steel and, obviously, into this morning. It makes me shiver, even as I write this.

Belle gets home late tonight. Too late for anything to happen, I know, but I can only hope she’ll let me eat her up. I want my face in her pussy where I can imagine I can still smell the cop’s sex clinging to her.

Ungh. I got it bad.

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Hyperactive mojo ball

Belle went out of town for the weekend yesterday. She won’t be back until Sunday night. Last weekend, I was out of town. The four days in between she was on her period. I don’t think we’ve had sex in two weeks. Le sigh.

If you’re a man (like me) who is sexually frustrated (uh, yep) and is married to a woman who locks his penis up because he can’t be trusted not to play with it all the time when she’s not around (guilty) and, even if it wasn’t, you’re not allowed to come anyway (you’re looking at him), you can deal with this kind of situation in one of three ways. I know because I’ve done them all.

  1. Be a whiney bitch. Feel sorry for yourself and act like nobody in the world appreciates what you’re going through.
  2. Get mad at your keyholder. See number 1. You’re miserable, she doesn’t appreciate you or your sacrifice, and why doesn’t she realize this is time you’re never getting back? Life is unfair and she’s worse.
  3. Fucking chill out and get all zen on this shit.

Regular men without the locked dicks or prohibitions on ejaculation can nip all this in the bud by nipping the fuck out of their buds (or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays). When you can’t do that, though, the brain chemicals and emotions and unrelieved reproductive fluids all gel together and form a hyperactive mojo ball that floats somewhere down behind your belt buckle, occasionally jetting out solar eruptions into your balls and cock or up into your brain making it foggy and unfocused.

Think of it like the core of a nuclear reactor. You can’t just let those things sit around anywhere. They need to be covered and maintained. In the wrong hands, they’re explosively deadly. When handled appropriately, all that power can be harnessed for good.

When I was first dealing with this stuff, I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know how to deal with the surges and the compulsions. Belle didn’t either, of course, or even really understand what I was feeling. But at some point, you figure out how to envelope all the crazy fluttering and need to do something and jitteriness. It’s still there. I can feel it right now. Physically. In my balls and in my chest and in my guts. Tingling and tickling me. But it’s not sending me into a bad place. Sure, it makes me want to look at a fuck-load of porn, but emotionally, I’m stable.

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you how to do this (so maybe you don’t want that book I was talking about after all). How to refocus and learn to draw on the energy at the moments she decides are right is key to being able to live with denial. I don’t know if those who are only denied for short periods can ever have enough time to figure it out (or even need to). That’s not my life experience, of course.

I recall early on someone left a comment here that’s not too much unlike what I’m saying. The horny guy in me railed against what he was saying. Pushed back on it hard. Hated to hear it. But the guy I am now gets it. All the way down. It’s not always easy. We’re playing with a kind of fire, to be sure. But whatever and however it works, it makes things better for us. That’s all that counts.

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Temporary insanity

Denial does some crazy shit to your head. At least, I find myself thinking and feeling things I doubt I’d have ever felt or thought back when I was having orgasms on a regular basis.

First example. The other morning, Belle and I were having sex. Which is to say, the penis was pushing with all its might against the Jail Bird’s bars while I fingered her and sucked her tits, etc. There was a hope she’d let me out and fuck me, but it wasn’t looking too good in that regard and she had already come so I figured my window had closed. But, the key-like thing was unexpectedly produced and the Jail Bird was off (grudgingly, as the penis was nearly totally hard at the time) and I was on top of her and ready to go.

And at the very moment of penetration, the most remarkable sensation of gratitude came over me. Literally in a cool wave I felt from head to toe the second the tip of the penis felt the hot, wet confines of Belle’s snatch. There was a time in the less than great days of our relationship where I felt resentment at Belle for not having sex with me. I felt entitled and it made me angry at her for not letting it happen. Of course, there were a lot of other things going on back then, but I felt a real sense of injustice at the fact that she had all the power in that regard.

Now, it’s all been turned on its head. Of course, she still has all the power over sex. When, how, what. And now I fucking love it. The difference is, obviously, it’s a consensual thing. I’ve willingly given up any claim or entitlement as her husband and have embraced what I think is her natural right to manage our sex life as she sees fit (even with my suggestions or input, she makes all the final decisions).

And that feeling when I entered her. That feeling of pure blue gratitude that she’d let me do it. That she was willing to indulge my desire for it solely for its own sake. It made me so happy. It made me feel so cared for and loved. It wasn’t a new sensation, to be sure. I’ve felt that way before, but not often so sharply and acutely. It was remarkable.

The other example was from yesterday. I was sitting with an employee in a coffee shop and I was giving him performance feedback, etc. It wasn’t the easiest conversation, actually. Not confrontational, but not warmly positive, either. We were sitting across from each other and the sun was coming in behind him and all of a sudden I thought several things all on top of one another.

I wonder what his cock is like…? I bet it’s a fat one.

I wonder if he’s ever gotten a blowjob from a guy?

God, I want to suck his cock.

NO, seriously, what in the actual fuck is that all about!?

Thing is, I don’t find the guy especially attractive. He’s not bad looking (could be considered cute by some), but he’s not my type in any way. And I’m literally old enough to be his father. I’ve never had any kind of sexual thought about him in the seven months I’ve known him. And, in the middle of this pseudoreview, I was thinking seriously impure things about him for about 3.7 seconds. It was one of those middle of the sentence, train of thought losing, stopping and saying, “…um,” kind of moments.

This sort of thing has happened before. I recall once being in a professional situation with four young women (two employees and two clients) and suddenly feeling intoxicatingly turned on by all their hair and nice smells and pretty clothes. It’s all so sudden and intense and real. I assume it’s hormones. Has to be.

Of course, it happens most with Belle.

The thing I’m really curious about is how those sudden flashes of sexual desire work with otherwise straight guys. Do they ever feel that way about another dude? Or no. My presumption is that the constant (usually) low level of sexual frustration would act as a corrosive element against the expected sexual norms imposed upon us by society (assuming, as I do, that most of us have a small touch of the gay hiding within). I know that I think about cock A LOT more now (hence the several and gratuitous cock shots on The Portfolio – such as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,  etc.), but I think about everything sexual more now. Do those straight guys ever feel an unexpected stirring around another dude? Or does their compulsive Tumblr surfing ever turn up an image of a big hard dick that makes them pause and stare? Does it freak them out?

Honestly, I’d be surprised it if it didn’t happen.

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Houdini style

Some of you may be paying sufficient attention (or have sufficient interest) to recognize that my Belle has a bit of a pattern: I usually get extended free time over holidays. One might think this is because she’s feeling generously moved by the holiday spirit or something but I think it’s mostly because she’s more relaxed at those times and wants easier access to the device’s contents. In either event, the recent long holiday weekend here in the US was one of those opportunities for freedom. Except this time, we drove several hours to the familiar retreat in the woods only to find the means to my escape was left at home. And, really, it was all my fault.

Let’s back that up. A week or so before the holiday, Belle had let me out so she could fuck me. Weekend releases used to be multi-day affairs, but now she’s more inclined to let me out the morning of and put my back in that same day. On this particular day, she told me she wanted to “change my outfit” (meaning a different device sprinkled in). I had been in the Steelheart for months (with only these day or two releases) and she wanted a different look. In the past, even if I knew her intentions to lock me up by a certain day, I’d wait for a direct order to do so or for her to bring me the device she wanted me in. But this time, I took the initiative to follow the spirit of what she told me. I went to the pouch in which she keeps her three steel devices and selected the Jail Bird. She hadn’t told me which one she wanted but I picked it anyway.

The Jail Bird, you’ll remember, is secured with a screw, not a lock. Instead of a key, it has a special bit that fits the security screw’s odd head. You can’t screw it in or unscrew it with any off-the-shelf screwdriver. I found the JB in her device pouch along with both the little bits and put it on and placed the bits back in the pouch so nothing would get lost. Then, later in the day, when Belle grabbed my crotch and started to tell me it was time to go in, she was happily surprised that I had already taken care of it. She was even going to pick the Jail Bird, so all was copesetic.

But.

I didn’t follow the typical ritual. That is, she brings me the device and key (or key-like thing) and I go and put it on and bring her back the key-like thing when it’s over. This time, I left the key-like thing in the pouch. Mistake. My fault.

While we were getting ready for the long weekend, it occurred to me a few times to ask her if she wanted me out while we were gone and, if so, to remember to get the key-like thing, but this time, I didn’t want to appear presumptuous. I try not to expect release and don’t ask for it and am totally satisfied being out of the decision-making loop. And I figured she knew what I was in and what it would take to get me out. So, when the moment came when Belle wanted to use the contents, she plopped the Steelheart key next to me on the bed. And the situation we were in became instantly clear. She had forgotten how the Jail Bird was different in the only way that mattered at that moment.

Of course, we had sex anyway, but the penis didn’t get wet (except at the tip and all down my balls where it leaked like a motherfucker). She really wanted it and I felt bad that my screw-up was denying her, the person who’s not supposed to be denied anything. At some point, I realized I could probably break out of it. Of course, it’s not a lock. Had it been, I’d have been screwed (well, you know, figuratively). But it was just a little screw with a weird head. I had a plan.

To be clear, I asked Belle for permission to try and break out. And that fact that I could even consider this is one of the things some folks don’t like about the Mature Metal security screw option. It’s not actually that secure (which is why some guys order their JBs with an extra hole in the post next to the screw where they can affix one of those little numbered plastic lock thingies to ensure accountability). All I had to do was go and find a pair of needle-nose pliers. I was able to grip the head of the screw sufficiently to turn it with the pliers and, just a few minutes later, handed Belle the screw. I was out and stayed that way for the rest of the weekend. It’s possible, had the screw been more tightly turned, that I wouldn’t have been able to escape. But it wasn’t, so there I was.

After that, the penis got good and wet. I was even able to hold my shit together sufficiently to allow to get off on it. Everyone was happy.

When it was time to go back into the Jail Bird back, I made sure to screw it on nice and tight.

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Nonfiction

Even though he had lowered the shades in the room they shared before going to bed, enough light leaked in to cause his eyes to flutter open. Daylight. Morning. Saturday.

He stirred and stretched a bit and his hand found its way (as all men’s hands do, seemingly by themselves) to his crotch. Scratch. Squeeze. Hard, but not as hard what he usually found there. His other hand reached just as instinctively for his phone. 5:58. The alarm was set for 6:00 anyway, so he turned it off and snuck out of bed trying not to wake her up.

Six o’clock is too damned early to wake up on a Saturday but he had to go to the gym and meet his trainer. This early spot was really hers but she decided a while back she didn’t like waking up that early on a Saturday, either, and told him he had to take it. She’d have his 9:00 spot. Kiss on the cheek. Thanks.

He padded around the house, still naked, morning wood bobbing around in front of him like an eager dog at the end of a leash. He tried to ignore it. Speaking of which, the dog would want to go out soon. Grab a Diet Coke. Get the sandwich in the microwave.

He didn’t like getting up that early but liked this early morning stillness. Like it being quiet. Liked being able to be naked around the house. Liked the kids being away so he didn’t have to cover himself. She let him close the blinds on the huge fishbowl-like windows in front of their home. The ones that let all the people see in and observe their every move, if they wanted to. He opened the door and grabbed the paper. Just a flash of nakedness, but no one to see it. Minor thrill.

Eat. Drink. Read. The dog came out. Back in their room (occasionally referred to as her room), he looked at her still sleeping and quietly grabbed his workout clothes. Sleeveless Nike shirt, light and airy. Under Armour compression underwear. Baggy Nike shorts. Branding mismatch. Ankle socks. Swiss shoes. Into the bathroom to pull everything on. Out the door with the dog. Walk.

Back in the house, he checked his watch. 7:16 now. Fourteen minutes. Need to go. He put his water bottle in his bag, found his keys.

He heard a stretchy groan from the back of the house. A mumbled call. She’s up. Go see her.

“Good morning,” she said, warm and sleepy. Covers up in the morning coolness, bit of nipple showing on the right side.

He climbed into bed and hugged her. Kissed her.

“Hi,” he said.

More kissing. More hugging. Holding her close though the covers.

She didn’t usually sleep naked. Not like him. But she was this morning. Naked and warm and smelling and tasting like her. His hips started to grind into her leg, though his clothes, through the bedding. He could feel himself start to harden. Push against the compression of his Under Armor. He pulled the comforter down a bit and put her nipple in his mouth.

“Mmmm. You don’t have time,” she said softly.

“There’s time,” he replied.

Mouth on nipple, mouth on mouth, one hand on nipple, one hand moving over her body, drifting south. Finding her neatly kept hairy patch. Slipping his finger over her folds. Mouth back on nipple, finger gyrating.

She moaned appreciatively. Her eyes closed and her lips parted and she felt his touch. His hardness was feeling distorted. Squished by the stretchy fabric. Compressed. But nothing he wasn’t familiar with. He’d had it worse. Much worse.

“You need to go,” she complained half-heartedly.

“I need to do this.”

Her back arched a little more, her legs parted a little more, he reached into a wetter, hotter part of her. Slick. Sexy. Her.

Her hips started to move. That’s a good sign, he thought. Fucking hell, he wanted her. But he wanted to feel her come more. He wanted to start her day with this. The rubbery soles of his sneakers caught on the fabric of the bed covering as he wrapped his legs around hers, pressed his needy sex into her. She pulled the covers down. Exposed herself to him. Allowed him full view of his alter.

He felt her rhythm quicken. Her breathing. Her heartbeat. Her pussy silky under his long fingers. More moaning.

She came. Now it was his turn to moan. More like a groan. Her passion in harmony with his desire.

He kissed her again. God, her taste. Her lips. So soft. So perfectly kissable.

“Thank you,” they both said.

“7:28,” she said.

He hopped out of bed, sprinted to his gear, into his truck, down to the gym. Barely late.

On the exercise bike warming up, he could still feel the hard-on in his shorts.

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Hacking

The other day, I was IMing with Dev (formerly of Devastating Yet Inconsequential) and the notion of chastity and orgasm control being a kind of life hack came up. According to the Wikipedia, a life hack is “any productivity trick, shortcut, skill, or novelty method to increase productivity and efficiency.” Seems to me that denial and chastity definitely do not increase the “productivity” of a very specific thing, but work with me here.

Cast your minds back to the beginning of our journey into the life of male orgasm control. We, Belle and I, had been through a hard time in our relationship resulting from the fact that we had pretty much stopped having sex. I went outside our marriage to find the kind of intimacy I wasn’t getting at home. I suppose it would be an easy thing to then draw a line and say I cheated, therefore I ended up in a chastity device and, as punishment, rarely get to have any orgasms. But that’s all wrong and kind of backwards.

Our problem wasn’t that I cheated (though, yeah, that was a problem all right), it was that we weren’t connected to one another sexually. I loved Belle. Never stopped loving her. Never wanted to leave her. I’ve never wanted to be anywhere but with her from the moment I realized I loved her. But we were not intimate with one another anymore, emotionally or physically. We were roommates running a live-in day care center. As I suggested yesterday, kink of any kind, when successfully executed, is the result of and the catalyst for emotional and physical intimacy. It’s only done well after a lot of communication and honesty with one another. The fact that we have kink in our relationship now is because we were open, communicated, and all that. The kink helps keep us that way, but kink is definitely the egg in this model, not the chicken.

The hack part, for me, is the denial aspect. Remember, my problem was that Belle and I had disconnected sexually. I relied on myself for pretty much all my sexual satisfaction and I resented it. She didn’t seem to care. I craved intimacy with another person, not just my hand or a sex toy. By slaving my orgasm to Belle (using the non-D/s definition of “slave” — a component controlled by another machine or component), we have essentially produced a situation where we cannot ever find ourselves in a disconnected place again. This isn’t about quantity of sex, mind you. We don’t have sex as often as I’d like. We have sex as often as she likes. But it forces the issue of emotional and physical intimacy. She controls when I come. She controls pretty much all my sexual activity. One of my primary sexual releases is her orgasm. We can’t move too far outside of one another’s orbits before the issue becomes evident and then it can only be corrected together, not by me slinking off to the bathroom after she falls asleep to jack off in the sink. I used to worry that we’d slip back to the old way. The disconnected way. In exchange for her controlling my orgasms and access to sex, I got security.

Sexually, we are one. That’s deeply intimate. It’s hard to get more intimate than that.

Another part of the hack is how it fucks with my hormones. I’m about to be 46 and, in the greater scheme, that’s not that old, but biologically, shit’s not as easy as it once was. Even if I wasn’t being denied orgasm, it would take me a lot longer to bounce back from one than it used to. When I was 17, I could fuck four or five times in a day and come each time. (I recall one day in particular when I did something like that and the last orgasm, which was maybe the sixth or so, was dry and hurt like a motherfucker…but I digress.) By not coming and leaving all those hormones in me, I feel as close to 17 as I’m likely to get again. Yes, the trade-off is huge. I rarely get to feel the awesome five to ten seconds of real, uninterrupted, unqualified orgasmic rush. But in exchange, I feel like a total raging sex god. Sometimes. At least when we get to fuck (and there’s been an awful lot of that this past week since the kids have been away).

I’m not saying we’ve discovered the key to marital bliss. We’ve discovered a key to marital bliss. And we’re hardly the first to use some flavor of male orgasm continence. I don’t know how what we do would work for a guy who didn’t want to be dominated or wasn’t all that into the bondage aspect of chastity or was just too wrapped up in his own masculine bullshit to even consider limiting how often he came. But it is a hack of the male sexual circuitry and it does work. At least for us.

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Mailbag

Reader sg4esubby reached out via the FetLife and had many nice things to say as well as a question for me:

My first question is how has the introduction of chastity affected your day to day relationship dynamic as well as its long term dynamic?

Gah! I mean…whew. That’s, like, the biggest question you could ask. My only response can be this entire blog has been an attempt to answer it. In short, the increased emotional and physical intimacy that the overlay of chastity and orgasm denial has allowed has made my relationship with Belle perhaps stronger than it’s ever been. We’ve been married coming up on sixteen years and I’ve never been more into her (and her into me, I think).

But notice what I said there. “The increased emotional and physical intimacy that the overlay of chastity and orgasm denial has allowed…” That’s the secret. A clear and honest exchange of what we want and how we feel has led directly to where we are today. Of course, I think there’s a lot of special elements that denial adds into the mix, but it’s that openness and communication that’s really made our relationship better.

He went on to ask…

The second question is actually more geared toward your wife should she have the time to offer a response. We’re both curious as to her experience adjusting to controlling your orgasms and discovering the changes that took place as a result of that new control. Be it a more submissive husband or a more pestering annoying husband or anything else that she experienced.

Again, super broad question. Unfortunately, Belle’s not kept a parallel blog along the way so all you have is my take on it. Belle’s not usually been eager to contribute here and I’m not sure where she’d even start on this. Maybe if you could break it down into more bite-sized bits.

An anonymous source inquired:

Dear Sir,
I’m sorry for using this way of contacting you in this matter but I have to admit I find myself unable to register onto chastityforums. I must have been trying for like twenty minutes but I’ve been unable to find the bunny’s name.

Can you offer any advice?

Nope. Assuming you’re trying to find out my real name. I don’t put that out there. This is mostly out of consideration for Belle.

I misunderstood. It’s apparently in reference to a security question I set up on the Chastity Forums a long time ago and forgot about. The answer, of course, is “Thumper.”

Jesse asked:

Hi, I have a question about effects of chastity.  There seems to be a lot of conflicting information on the topic online so I figured I would contact someone personally who has first-hand experience.  Have you noticed the size of erections diminishing or the ability to achieve an erection after being in chastity?

This is a total urban legend. I’ve been locked up maybe 70% of the time (or more) for the past several years. I’ve had thousands of erections compressed and constrained by various tubes and cages. The penis is the same size erect now as it’s ever been.

You don’t say if you want it to be true or not. Most of the people I’ve seen discuss this online actually do want it to be true (or are happily claiming it is). I get that. I really do. But, fortunately or unfortunately (depending on your thing), penises are what they are and seem very difficult to change in either direction.