Tag: femdom

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2016 metrics

Just about a year ago, I said…

I’m keeping track of when I’m locked up and in what purely for the statistical data. I’ve often said things about how often I think I’m wearing a device or how many times I come in a year, but I don’t really know. I lose track. So I’m using a little time tracking app on my phone to quantify these things. I hope to create a log that covers the whole year.

And I did. December and 2016 have both come to an end and so I have a year’s worth of metrics to look over.

Turns out, it was difficult for me to keep accurate track of the orgasms I had. I think the number is around sixteen. Of those, twelve happened in the first  half of the year and the other four happened in the second half. Most of those (all but a handful) were orgasms Belle let me have. The remainer were either accidents while inside her or blatent theft on my part. She was quite generous as 2016 started (far more generous than she had been in 2015, as I recall), but following my camping incident at the end of August, she put the hammer down. I came once more by accident inside her and then not at all until yesterday. I have no idea, of course, what 2017 will bring regarding how often I come, but if the recent past is any indication, it will be a fraction of 2016. I shall endeavor to keep better track this year and am thinking of also tracking hers. Because, you know. You can never have enough metrics. (And for those looking for an early read, she already leads 1-0 on that score.)

I’ve been asked several times what app I use to track which device Belle locks me in and for how long. There are a lot of time tracking apps on the App Store, presumably for those who bill by the hour. The one I use is called ATracker. I set up each device as a seperate task and turn them on or off as she lets me out or puts me back in. I had to pay to be able to unlock unlimited tasks, but it wasn’t much.

img_1607December was perhaps the strictest month of the year regarding time locked up, even with some air travel at the start of it. I was in the Halfshell 99% of the time. That equates to eight and a half hours of free penis time out of 744 total hours in the month. I was careful to take the device off just as I was leaving for the airport and packed it in my carry-on (in pieces spread out all over) and put it back on right after security. The majority of the remaining time was when the Halfshell was soaking in vinegar to get really clean. Whatever’s left was when Belle wanted to be fucked.

As I said already, I came once in December on the last day. I’m told the next time that happens will be a long time from now.

img_1609For the year, Belle had me locked up for a total of 6,799.5 hours. That’s the equivalent of 283.3 days or 77% of the time. The Steelheart, always Belle’s first choice, was on me for 54% of that time. Had the Halfshell not come along, it would have been more like 70%.

The Halfshell has been my near constant companion since it showed up and has been on me almost 1,300 hours, or about fifty-four days, accounting for 15% of the time I was locked up on the year. The Jail Bird came in a distant third ahead of the Looker 02 and the Holy Trainer, but they were pretty much all the same.

Breaking the year into thirds, it’s clear things got more serious as the months went by. I was free 30% of the time through April and 35% of the time through August. There were a few months where I was unlocked far more than I as locked. To be honest, by mid year I was feeling like the wheels were kind of coming off our chastity and denial dynamic. I was out too much and coming too frequently and it all culminated with me jacking off by myself more than once. Luckily, though, I was able to get my head on straight again by the end of summer, not coincidentally when Belle doubled-down on her control over me and started to lengthen my denial.

I’m going to keep tracking in 2017 mostly because I’ve become so used to doing it and to stop would seem weird. The data-loving nerd in me wishes I had this information going all the way back to the first day of being locked, but I don’t. Best I can do is keep it going. However, as always, this is simply me reporting what Belle decides to do and is not meant to be something that influences her choices. If anything, it can inform her decisions since she often loses track of some details (such as forgetting it had been three months since I last came), but I don’t lobby or cajole or do anything else other than what she wants.

And with that, I hope everyone who read to the bottom of this boring post has a happy and prosperous 2017!

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Changing the playlist

Belle mixed it up the past few days. While getting her off, she told me to start fucking her. She hadn’t come yet, but I did as I was told and tried to focus on the fact that she needed and wanted to feel a real cock inside her before she came. Perhaps even to make her come, but that was unlikely. I lasted longer than usual lately but it still wasn’t more than five minutes, tops.

When the orgasm came rushing up out of the deep, I froze and shot my load without any climax. One thick load and another less so. But the penis did what it does now and started to droop. I went back to stroking her clit with my fingers, but she wanted something inside her. She reached into her nightstand and took out the lovely glass dildo I got her from Smitten Kitten. She used the ample lubrication of my seed to work it into her pussy and I sucked her tit and fingered her clit until she came hard and loud. I felt her pussy spasm and clamp against the glass toy over and over. We had the house to ourselves so she could make all the noise she likes to and, had it been summer, the neighbors would undoubtedly been woken up if they were not already.

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After, she was suprised at how much of the pretty dildo went inside her. It’s about 9.75″ long and only an inch and a half or so went unused. Of course, I went back into the Halfshell immediately (before even getting out of bed). I could tell she was happy with the outcome of the morning’s activities since she mentioned it several times over the course of the day. Not just that she really enjoyed herself, but also revelled in the mess of my ejeculation mixed with her juices.

This morning, she let the penis out again and, again, changed the playlist in the middle of our set. She climbed up on me and started to ride the hard penis with easy abandon. I did my usual bit of trying to stay as still as possible and thought hard about baseball. Like how the Dodgers are reportedly about to trade a hot young pitching prospect to the Twins in exchange for an established second baseman stud who they need for the position and hits right-handed pitching well which is also a weak spot and while I’ll miss the guy on the Dodgers at least I can go see him at Target Field, rinse, repeat ad infinitum.

But baseball can only get a guy so far and I’m no good at doing figures in my head and don’t know the Periodic Table by heart so the next thing I know she’s pushed me to the point of coming. I let her know through a mouth-full of nipple by making the “OK, I’m about to come” noise and putting my hand on her ass to suggest she slow down, but she didn’t. Not at all. If anything, she sped up. I resisted as much as I could and tried to clamp down on it but the lizard brain made a good point. She was obviously trying to make me come, so why not go along with it? Resisting an orgasm after such a long stretch would end up being physically painful anyway. So I started to fuck her back and got two and a half thrusts in before I shot and shot and shot. So much fucking come. We did not have the house to ourselves and I might have tried to keep it quiet if any part of my brain that tracks of such things was working, but it wasn’t.

Instead, it felt like a brick wrapped in red velvet slammed into the back of my head. Belle wouldn’t stop fucking me and the head of the penis was about to explode right off the end of the shaft with hyper-sensitivity and I was still shooting weakly so I felt another velvety brick impact my cranium. That and my stomach flipped over. This orgasm, about three months in the making, was making me feel physically ill.

I had to get Belle off of me because I felt so strange but the worst of the issues passed in a few moments. Then I was stupefied by the rare post-orgasmic hormones flooding my system. I could barely move. The penis shriveled up into almost nothing and Belle told me how much she enjoyed literally pulling that orgasm out of me.

I was such a wreck Belle told me I didn’t have to help her get off. I was in and out of consiousness as she get off with her little vibrator but woke up to hear her come because that’s my favorite part.

The Halfshell is back on, of course, and Belle’s told me it will be another long while until I come again. The craving for me to do so right now is pretty intense. It’s always the second one after a long period that both feels really good and blows away all the lingering denial byproducts. But that’s not in the offing. Not even on the horizon, apparently.

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The Trinity

Belle asked me this weekend how I was doing. We were in bed up at the cabin and being lazy because it’s the holidays and at first I made some non-commital grunting-type sounds but she pressed.

“I really want to jack off.”

The rules are such that usually any admission of that kind of desire would be kept to myself since it could be construed as me trying to get her to allow me to do something she might otherwise not be considering, but she asked and it was true so I said it.

After a bit more conversation (her reply to me saying what I said was something like, “Do you,” and then we moved on), she said that she was thinking she needed me to come pretty soon so I’d be able to fuck her for more than 20 seconds.

“I’m afraid of coming,” I said.

“But you just said you wanted to jack off!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say I wanted to come at the end.”

“You’re confusing.”

Fair.

For the longest time, I’ve blogged about how denial and chastity is a struggle between the higher brain and the lizard brain. Sometimes I’ve said it’s the higher brain versus the penis. But I’ve changed my thinking on that. It’s all of the above. I think to truly understand how the dynamic of denial works we need to steal a concept from Christianity. Namely, the Trinity.

In Christianity, we’re expected to believe that God is a consubstantial being encompassing the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Three that are one. I think of a man’s sexuality to be similarly structured. (And yeah, I get the sacrilegious nature of comparing my sex to the Holy Trinity, especially on Christmas, but that’s just a freak bonus of timing.)

A man’s sexuality apears to be a single element. It acts as one and, because no part of the trinity is usually denied what it wants, it appears to be one. The need to fuck or come drives actions until relief is achived. But I now perceive three things working together. The higher mind, the lizard brain, and the desire for pleasurable sensation from the penis. One of the three of these drag the other two around, depending on the situation, or they conspire in some combination. Getting the hang of chastity and denial, especially when doing it with a partner, is finding the seams between those three elements and knowing they’re not always connected and coordinated, nor do they need to be.

  • My higher mind gives me the basic wiring of what gets me off (i.e., makes me bisexual, a masochist, heteromantic). It drives the potent stimulant that is my imagination. But it’s also the fundamental element of control. Of reason. Of knowing the difference between what I crave and what I really want.
  • The lizard brain is all impulse and instinct. It’s what constantly whispers to my higher brain while fucking to stop resisting so much. It’s what makes the tube fill when I see just the right image on Tumblr. It’s the part of me that makes me petulant and short-tempered from denial.
  • The third part is the penis itself. It’s all sensation. Zillions of nerve endings and the feeling of achingly hard erections. All it does is demand and crave attention.

When I said to Belle I wanted to jack off, what I really meant is I wanted to feel the penis hard and in my hand. I wanted to feel my fingers gripped under the head and slide back and forth. Of course, that would lead to the lizard trying to make my higher brain push it too far, but really neither of them were the motivating factor in my saying it to her. It wanted out and wanted to be stroked. Hence my also being afraid of orgasm. Of how the balance between all three of those parts of me get knocked after I come. The higher brain saw the danger jacking off poses to its equilibrium. But when she told me she was also thinking of letting me come, the lizard pipped up to say how wonderful it would feel to come while jacking off. To edge myself a few times and then really let go. The lizard told me to ask for that for Christmas and the higher brain immedialty tisked and shook its head.

I dunno if any of this is real. I know it feels real in me and keeping all this in mind helps me deal with the various emotions that come from denial. I think this model has helped me make a lot of progress lately in understanding myself. Maybe it’s hormonal dementia. Maybe it’s the typical kinky person overthinking. Whatever, I totally think that if she let me come twice in two days the whole thing would go back under the sea and disappear.

Not that that’s going to happen, of course.

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22 seconds of glory

Among the other things that have changed around here since Belle has started to keep me locked up >95% of the time (99% so far this month) is the length of time I can fuck before I shoot my load.

Note, I’m not talking about orgasm. I’m talking about driving right up to it like Thelma and Louise going over the cliff yet jumping from the car James Kirk-style before reaching the point of no return. That was yesterday except it took me about 22 seconds (literally) from the time she guided the penis into her warm and inviting pussy until I was holding it stock-still and filling her up with my load.

Granted, I was worked up beforehand. I woke up two hours before she did and spent that time looking at porn and stopping the paper and the mail while we’re out of town for the holidays and looking at more porn. Plus a little Facebook and then more porn. Did I mention the porn? Anyway, by the time she gave me the key and I took the Halfshell off, the end was full of slippery leakage.

I kept my shit together enough not to bug her prior to getting her off with what she reported was a pretty sweet orgasm. The penis was merely chubby for most for the time I was working on her, but as she wound up for the climax it got about as hard as it can and, as she went over the falls, I pushed into her side and nearly felt like I came (or was about to) myself.

Patience at this point can be difficult. I know I’m going in otherwise I wouldn’t be unlocked so it’s a battle of internal wills (higher brain vs. lower) in the time following her climax and the moment she lets me mount her that’s probably not half as long as it seems.

In the past eleven weeks or so, I’ve been out for sex nine times. The average time out is about 40 minutes. In the past, I’d be out way longer than that. Maybe all weekend, but not anymore. Long way of saying, the penis is hypersensitive. In its protective metal shell it doesn’t feel anything. Of course, no playing with it in the shower or anything like that. Zero stimulation, not even the inside of my pants. Nothing. So, when the time comes, every millimeter of its shaft reports back what it feels like sliding into her. Sliding into the only place its allowed purely enjoyable sensation.

In those 22 seconds, I went from the breathless initial entrance to feeling pretty good about my stamina. Yeah, I thought, this isn’t so bad. I could keep this up for a while. Really give her her money’s wor-

ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck

STOP.

Squirt. Squirt, squirt.

Sigh.

And then the erection goes away. It just won’t stay up anymore after ejaculation. As if it’s forgotten what it’s there to do. I try to keep fucking her, but it’s no good. It just slides out, sticky and slick, and I curl into her. I no longer feel any intense frustration at that point like I would in the past. No slow burn of denial. Just a contentment with my status. Perhaps a bit of guilt I couldn’t give her more of what she wanted to feel. But it seems my itchy trigger is feature, not a bug.

I wait all week, sometimes two, for one chance to be inside her. All those hours for my 22 seconds of glory.

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Further and deeper

The way things were around here for a while was Belle would let me out on Saturday morning (or sometimes Friday night) for sex and I’d stay out until Sunday night (or sometimes Monday morning or even later if she never told me to go back in). I could count on it like clockwork. Sure, Belle wanted the fuck, but she also maybe felt a little sorry for me or something. Indulging.

But it’s a new regime now. I did get out yesterday, but right after I was getting a little too excited about it which led to this exchange…

It was the first time I was out for sex in weeks and the prospect of getting the penis wet went from fuzzy abstract to potent reality with the turn of its key. Belle needed me to remember why it was being let out. Namely, because she wanted to feel it inside her. Not because of what it or I wanted. I got her off in the usual way, then she let me inside her but I didn’t last long before I had to stop. I squirted, but did not come, then it was over. And then I was locked back up.

You might read that and think that it’s mean. Not a nice way for a wife to treat her husband. Because of how we’re all socialized, love and sex are supposed to be this reciprocal exchange of pleasure and pleasure is defined a specific way and looks more or less the same for everyone. That’s because people like me don’t exist in the popular narrative.

In another nature vs. nurture kind of puzzle I’ve been working over lately, I feel more and more like my role as a sexual being is to bring pleasure to my partner in whatever form that means (within some reason, of course). As much as the penis might strain for release, she’ll never make me happier than when she thinks only of herself when we’re having sex. It’s taken a long time for her to get past the socialization of reciprocity (or outright deference) and be sexually selfish. But when she does, I feel closer to my natural state.

Same kind of thing happened with Frodo last weekend in New York. Aside from a quick rolling around last year in which my pants never came off (since I wasn’t locked up), we haven’t had sex since we were in our early twenties. And when the idea of having sex with me first became a possibility, his reaction was not positive. I come with baggage, after all, including a steel thing locked to the part of me a gay man would normally be very interested in. And his experience with kink at the level of male chastity was zero. The prospect of being with me was offputing to him then.

Compounding that was his tendency towards being a bottom rather than a top (a real shame in my book since, as I’ve said, he has a glorious cock). But even with Frodo, who I’ve known forever and Belle has known for half that time, I wasn’t going to be a whole man. Not even for a second. Belle’s rule is absolute.

However, time marches on and Frodo has been feeling more toppy lately. That, combined with some time to get used to the idea of being with a penisless man, made our weekend trip possible. Even though, he carried the same notions of reciprocity everyone else seems to have. It was hard for him, at first, to know how to deal with that. To be as selfish as I needed him to be with me. By that last morning, though, I think he was getting the hang of it. Of seeing me as means to his ends. Without getting too explicit (sorry), I could sense that he let himself focus less and less on me as his friend and more and more on me as his to use. Not unlike how it happened with Belle, that the benefits of having a partner like me were becoming more apparent.

There’s an aspect of all this that’s been quite difficult for me to wrap my head around. Not difficult to do. I revel in my role. But it’s a thing that’s been bubbling around inside me and that was accentuated when I was with Frodo. It’s something to do with gender. I don’t really feel like a man anymore. That’s an odd thing to see myself writing and I don’t mean it be read as if I think of myself as a female. That’s the problem, really. I don’t have the words to describe it. Less of a man and more of something else. A man-shaped person who doesn’t feel or act or do typical man things. Frodo showed zero interest in the penis. Made only incidental contact with any part of it or my balls. I was a mouth and a hole for him with a hairy chest, strong legs, and nice broad shoulders.

And except those times when Belle wants the penis in order to feel it inside her, she doesn’t give it a lot of attention. More than zero, to be sure, but sometimes we have sex and she doesn’t touch it at all. Other times, more. But even so, if it’s locked up, I can’t feel anything where the metal is. For more than three months now, I’ve been locked up essentially all of the time. I can’t stroke or squeeze or even have an erection. Since the Halfshell came along, I can’t even stand to pee.

All this has led to a profound change in how I feel about my manhood. Not in a bad way, mind you. Not at all. Like everything else that’s been happening with me lately, it feels perfectly natural. As if I’m only becoming more of who I really am. It’s very comforting. And in those moments when I’m naked and having sex (with Belle or whoever), I feel only a profound gratitude. A emotional satisfaction at least as potent as the physical satisfaction that comes with orgasm.

It feels wrong now for me to fuck for my own pleasure alone. To think of taking over a sexual encounter to satisfy myself physically. To crave my own orgasm more than I crave theirs. I never fantasize about fucking anyone other than Belle and even then only when I can feel or taste or smell her pussy. I never think of using the penis for anything anymore. I rarely think about jacking off lately.

I guess that’s part of what being submissive is. I don’t really know. It seems like more than that to me. Like the extreme edge of submissiveness. Belle could tell me tomorrow that she didn’t need me to fuck her anymore. That she had found something or someone else she preferred to the penis and that I’d never get out except to clean the device. As long as I still participated in some way with her pleasure, I’d be more than OK with that. That’s what I need more than my own release. To feel her pleasure. Or Frodo’s or Drew’s or whoever’s.

By itself, this doesn’t scare me. I do worry how Belle will read all this and what she’ll think of me, but in practice nothing has to change between us. As long as she’s doing what she wants and is getting satisfaction from it, I’m happy. I also admit that I’m somewhat concerned about what happens next time she has me come. I don’t know what the sudden change in brain chemistry will do to me. To my current perception of me. Belle mentioned today after hearing it had been more than three months since I last came (she thought it had been more recent) that she used to think I needed to come for health reasons, but decided my orgamsless ejacualition and the other ways I express seminal fluid was probably good enough for that. She knows I don’t need orgasm. That not having them is good for me.

I’ve never felt more connected to her than now. More cared for by her. More connected to myself. I’d like very much for how I feel right now to not go away. I know I’m not a static thing. That I won’t feel this way forever no matter what happens. But right here, right now is really good.

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November metrics

Time for another report on the numbers as I’m sitting at C3 at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport.

I was locked in either the Steelheart of the Halfshell 98% of the time in November. That’s down by one percentage point from October which is an extra eight hours. All tolled, I was in one or the other for over 700 hours, a little over 150 of which were in the Halfshell. I’m going to be posting a follow-up to my review when I get to 1,000 hours with any observations that I come up with after really wearing it. That should be sometime in January, I guess. 

For the year, I was locked for 75% of the time. That should go up slightly assuming I’m in the 90’s for December, but we’ll have to see. 

I didn’t have an orgasm in November, though one time I got pretty close. There was some tingling and quite a lot of ejaculating, but it didn’t quite get to full orgasm status since I wasn’t hit with all the post-orgasmic hormones. The last time I came was at the start of September (unauthorized, but inside Belle). I’ve kind of lost count of the orgasms year-to-date, but I think it’s about 14. She was pretty generous with them for a while, but has gotten more stingy as the year wore on (and I took two by myself in a blatant disregard of my commitment and her rules). 

Belle hasn’t let me out of the Halfshell since the weekend before last. I think we’ve had sex about four times since the last time the penis was allowed inside her, most recently last night. That was especially hard for me since her pussy felt so hot and wet and inviting but all the penis could do was swell up under the steel. She’s either making me wait on purpose or simply isn’t interested in getting fucked. Either way, we had a short conversation about it on Sunday. She wanted to check in and see how I was doing and I told her it was frustrating and difficult to stay in after I get her off, but it’s not something I will complain about, of course it’s her decision, and I hoped she wasn’t feeling any guilt about denying me even that pleasure. She told me she wasn’t feeling a bit of guilt and so I’m still waiting for her to want to feel me inside her. In any event, the Halfshell hasn’t woken me up until this morning when the penis seemed especially swollen during its usual early morning tumescence. 

I’m about to go to New York for the weekend to meet up with Frodo. I have her key on my key ring, but she reminded me several times that I was to be locked up right after the TSA checkpoint until I was about to go through it again. That’s going to be nagging me, especially since Frodo has suggested we might just hang out in the room and “watch TV.” I’ve been trying to get the vision of his perfect penis out of my mind, but it’s been getting harder to do as the trip gets closer. Even though, I’m still struggling with leaving Belle for the weekend. I’m a lucky rabbit to have such problems. 

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The pure and simple truth

The other night saw the return of denial insomnia. It’s my own fault. I can neither drink a Diet Coke or look at porn after 3:00 PM and expect to get any sleep. I didn’t drink the Coke, but did look at the porn at about 5:00 and it stuck with me.

The way it usually works, I get to about 80% asleep before a jolt of nervous energy wakes me up. Then I kind of drift knowingly awake before totally surfacing. As soon as that happened, there were scenarios in my head. A long-standing pornographic story that’s so far mostly only lived in my imagination spun up. Certain chapters of the story played out slightly differently but over and over. I judged how each permutation worked by what was happening in the tube. Hard, soft, hard, soft, harder, soft. Next thing I knew, it’d had been three hours.

Recently, I’ve made a bit of discovery when this happens. In the past, if my angst had words, it’d be something along the line of, “FUCKING HELL, I’m horny and locked up and JESUS I want to come or fuck or get fucked or eat her snatch or…or…or…” This is a kind of indulgence that feeds upon itself. I can’t get over being locked up and horny and thinking about what would happen if I wasn’t.

But if I twist that a bit. If I don’t think of the chastity and denial as things I’m doing (or even having done to me) and instead think of being locked up and denied orgasm as what I am. Who I am. Let go of the external force and accept the internal truth of being submissive and requiring Belle’s domination. It becomes a kind of mantra I go over and over in my head.

This is not what I do. It’s what I am. 

Sure, I’m still horny, but when I focus on this reality it changes how the energy buzzes inside me. It’s not something to be overcome. It’s not something bad. It’s a feature, not a bug. I can run my finger over the steel ring encircling the penis and feel as certain as it is hard and inescapable, I was meant to be locked up. I was meant to be denied orgasm. I was meant to struggle with the frustration in the night. It is what I am.

And then, somehow, I fall asleep. It worked the other night once I got there. It worked last night. Even with the nervous buzzing pressure I feel between my legs, filling my head with an acceptance of my true nature crowds out the anxiety and the worry. Even if I end up being awake all night, it’s just an occasional byproduct of my true nature.

Friday night, though, was harder. Belle unlocked the device as she was going to bed and let the penis go free all night and let me sleep naked. Presumably, this was to make things that much simpler on Saturday morning when she’d want to use it. Usually, I get woken up by the Steelheart between 3:00 AM and 4:00 AM at least for a little bit, but that night I felt like I was waking up every half hour with a raging hard-on made all the more distracting thanks to it being the kind of sensitive that only comes from being locked in a steel tube for nineteen and a half days. By about 5:00, I was having impure thoughts about my wife and wondering if burying my face between her legs as she slept would be demonstrating an insufficient level of submissive respect.

In any event, we were finally both awake and I wasted no time at all moving in. When her hand found the penis, its state surprised her but the poor thing had been waiting for a long time. Before long, I was working her snatch and sucking her tits and grinding the desperate meat into her and moaning myself as her pussy rhythmically gripped my probing fingers while she came.

And she didn’t waste any time letting me mount her. She wanted the penis as much as it wanted her and I rather quickly found myself stopping to avoid coming.

“Remember,” she whispered into my ear, “It’s NO-vember.”

Right. I know. But the penis is trained now. Really and truly. Even a near fly-by of orgasm is enough of a fright to knock the erection right out of it. But I wasn’t done. I wanted more and so did she. So I rolled off, we kissed some more, I fingered her again and sucked her tits. The distraction worked and the penis came back. At least enough to stick it back in.

This is all the pleasure the penis is allowed. The feeling of her pussy as it slides in and out. Every neuron in my brain turns its attention to the millions of nerve endings along its shaft and it almost feels like I could read her pussy the way a blind man reads Braille. I was doing well. I was holding my own. I could sense the urge to come slithering around in my brainstem though it wasn’t close to forcing itself down my back and into the hard shaft, but then she did something. Just a subtle tilt of her hips. And…I was done. Finished. Wiped out.

No, I didn’t come. But I flooded her snatch with seed. Had I moved a millimeter forward or back, it would have blossomed into a full explosive orgasm. But I didn’t move. I felt the jets of three weeks’ denial shoot out of me but the tingly punch of hormones that come with orgasm were held tight by a steely will I wouldn’t have recognized when she started to deny me years ago.

This is not what I do. It’s what I am. 

I don’t come when I want. I don’t come because I feel like it. I don’t feel sorry for myself or wish it to be any other way. She controls that part of me, exclusively and completely.

And, of course, she put me back in before breakfast. And, of course, that made me happy.

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More metrics and more

This morning, I found myself horny. Unexpectedly since recently I haven’t been feeling especially sexy. I have a chronic issue with my foot which has essentially halted any cardio exercise for me and that’s led me to be out of what I’d consider even passable shape and it’s really impacted my mood. But this morning, I was horny. Just kind of randomly while in the shower.

When you have a penis that’s locked up a lot (and the one on me has been lately, bigly), something strange can happen even when turned on. I was there in the shower, my mind had wandered to nice and dirty places, and I could feel the energy of being hot and horny burning in my balls. I could feel the tingle of it along my perineum and even in the penis, and the flutter of it in my chest. But that’s it. No hard-on. No pressure in the tube. At most, there was a chubbing of meat, but nothing remotely like an erection.

As I moved about and the hot water ran down my body, I could feel the heaviness of the steel shifting and pulling gently on me and that made things that much hotter. Knowing I was getting turned on and feeling that firehose of need and desire beginning to turn uselessly on the hard barrier between me and satisfaction, but it wasn’t until I soaped up and was cleaning the device and its contents that a seemingly perfunctory erection finally materialized. The hot, smooth steel was implacable in both its resistance to the internal pressure and the frustrated squeezing and groping from my slippery hands.

Even if looking at Tumblr, which I was shortly after finishing the shower, erections are not guaranteed. I will get hard if a particular scalding video or image goes by, but the attempt is fleeting. Back when chastity was new to the penis, long-lasting ragers were not uncommon. Painfully tight and throbbing. But the penis knows now. It’s been trained. Getting hard is pointless. Getting hard gets it nowhere. So it barely tries.

When it’s out, it’s a totally different story. Besides getting hard from nothing more than the feeling of the penis moving around inside my pants as I walk around, its ability to stiffen up is hair-triggered. So clearly not a functional issue. It’s all internal. Instinct tempered by discipline. Though hardly an issue anymore since the necessary condition for free erections is so rare.

So anyway, I haven’t done a metrics update in a while. I’ve been tracking my time locked up since the start of year and, even though my mood’s been spotty and I’ve been a bad rabbit and not as juiced up as as I’d like, I never stopped tracking.

fullsizerender-22Going back to August, you can see some of what I think led to my unauthorized orgasms while away from Belle. Besides staying unlocked for a week at home in which she thought I was locked, I used my emergency key to let myself out while away after about 48 hours. Honestly, I’m just not very good at keeping my hands off the meat when I’m alone with it (I admit to being a weak creature in that regard) and there was a too much time in August in which that was the case.

There were two orgasms in August, both yanked out in my tent while camping and neither authorized by Belle. That led to an amendment to my rules and, as you’re about to see, a marked increase in being in a protected state.

fullsizerender-38In September, the percentage of time in a device increased to 93%. Basically, the penis was secure for all but the equivalent of two days total. I can’t actually remember why that was now, but it could have been due to some little sore spot or something. Pretty sure it was that kind of thing and not Belle feeling the need to have it out while not in use.

There was one orgasm right at the start of the month and it was also unauthorized, but it was inside Belle and an accident. That was the last one I’ve had. Nothing in the rest of the month except some healthy spurts while fucking. One time might have been pretty close, but still not a real cumshot. None of the dopey sleepy post-coming hormones.

fullsizerender-37October is when shit got real. Under the new rules, I’m expected to put the penis away after Belle’s had her fun with it as soon as possible. Usually, that means sliding the tube back over the still wet and sticky and more than slightly chubby meat, but once a month or so I’ll clean the Steelheart well and shave the bits that are hard to get to, etc. But October was different.

I was only out three times in the first two weeks and only long enough to fuck and clean the device. In the second two weeks, Belle and I were traveling with the family. We had our own room for part of that trip, but she left the key at home so I was in the whole time. Then this past weekend, I was away from her on a road trip and, obviously, not out for that. I didn’t even ask because absent a real reason (like a federal agency’s security checkpoint), the rules are pretty clear. What this means is I’m in my third week of continuous lock-up and that’s reflected in the 99% achievement.

And as I said, no orgasms in October.

fullsizerender-23For the record, this is what the year-to-date numbers look like. It’s been all Steelheart all the time since July so that device is living up to its reputation as Belle’s favorite. The Rigid Chastity Halfshell has been shipped, though, so November’s chart will have more than one shade of blue on it. Presumably.

I can’t imagine Belle will deny herself a fuck for much longer so there’s no way I’ll go a solid month in lock-up. She’s not really into arbitrary accomplishments like that, anyway. The continued lack of orgasm is also something I have no insight into. I doubt she does, either, since letting me come seems to be a game-time decision for her most of the time. I don’t really crave one, of course, and can probably go indefinitely without it, but when it happens it’s not really for me. Like letting me out to fuck, that’s mostly because she likes how it feels. Same with coming. Sometimes, a girl just likes to feel a guy shoot his load inside her. Right now, I’m the only guy she’s got, so…

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Tent logic

Exquisitedragon commented on my post about being an idiot in a tent. Part of what he said was…

These days, since we’re in the middle of some very long term denial (200+days) I’m not going to fall off the end of that without her pushing all the buttons to do so! It’s been so long and it’s her prize to take. I’m not crazy enough to go and change that.

And it occurred to me that if Belle was operating under a similar model (as in, denying me for a specific amount of time or to a specific date) there’s no way I would have cheated like that. I just know it. But why?

This may be due to some lingering attachment I have to my orgasm. Like, if there’s a hard goal, then I cannot do anything but respect it. But when if and how I come is seemingly random (from my point of view), respecting my lack of control over that event is more difficult. It doesn’t happen or not according to any observable process so what does it matter if I squirt a little on the side? What harm is that?

The flip side of this, and I think one of the main reasons Belle denies me as she does, is because in the past if she decided to move the date up because that’s what suited her or if I accidentally came too soon, I’d get all mental about it. Plus, of course, she’s come to the realization that denying me orgasm when she really wants to feel me come is also denying herself which is a bit of a paradox.

Bottom line, I need to fully own and respect that I don’t EVER come without permission, no exceptions, no wiggle room, no doubt. That the timing is not mine to decide EVER. That the method in which it happens is not up to me EVER. That I will ALWAYS get caught if I try.

This is my pledge to her: Forever and always, my orgasm belongs to you completely.

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Random thoughts about sex

One of the biggest impediments to people picking up the practice of chastity and orgasm denial mid-life as a way to build intimacy and/or strengthen a relationship is that a lot of people have very specific ideas of what sex is and is not. Who does what and when and how and with what. Of course, it’s that kind of thinking that generally leads to sexual malaise in closed, monogomous relationships, but it also makes the idea of chastity and orgasm denial weird and kinky in that the kind of sex it allows is not like “normal” sex. This was an issue early on with Belle who didn’t consider sex in which I was locked up the whole time to be us having sex.

Thing is, sex comes in all kinds of flavors, shapes, and sizes. I’m not going to spend too much time trying to define what is and is not sex, but generally speaking, if you’re erotically stimulated and doing things to specifically enhance that stimulation (up to and including orgasm), it’s sex. And you can even have sex just with yourself, though we call that masturbation.

So I wanted to put down some general observations that may come in handy for those thinking about doing this chastity/orgasm denial thing (they’re not the same thing, remember?). Things that now, to Belle and me, seem second nature but weren’t always that way. Things that probably everyone should know, whether or not one of them has their junk locked in a contraption.

De rigueur disclaimer that this post is very specifically written from the point of view of a man with a penis in a relationship with a woman with a pussy, though if that’s not your configuration I’m sure a lot of the concepts still apply.

1. The penis is not the point

I remember the first time Belle and I had sex during which the penis played no part whatsoever (mostly because I wrote about it). Fairly early on, it took us about five months or so to let go of the idea that if the penis wasn’t starring in the production, it wasn’t really a play worth seeing. This concept is not one that just men bring to the party. Women are socially conditioned to assume a supporting role. As if the pussy exists to create a place into which one puts a penis (remember, Belle didn’t used to think it was sex unless she got fucked). This is just complete bullshit.

Penises are not magical. There’s nothing special about them. Sure, I’m a big fan and think they’re really great, but a woman can be deeply sexually satisfied without involving one. Now, we have penis-less sex all the time. Sex in which I remain locked up and she never even touches me anywhere near the device is not that big a deal.

Even if you’re not in a D/s thing or chastity or whatever, the point is sex does not begin and end when the penis gets wet. As the post I linked to above demonstrates, sometimes it starts hours before. Sometimes it’s about things that are all in your head (or hitting your ass). It is actually possible to have really great, satisfying, and breathtaking sex without using the penis for anything in particular.

2. Your whole body is a sex organ

Related to the first point, there’s all kinds of things on your body that can either get your partner off or get you off. If there’s one thing not having access to a functioning penis can teach you, it’s that “erogenous zone” is a misnomer. Mine starts at the top of my head and ends at the tip of my toes. It’s only when the big obvious one is struggling against a hard object that the rest of the board lights up for some guys.

Alternatively, you can use all sorts of things to get your partner off. Sure, fingers and tongues are obvious, but I can also get Belle going by pressing my forearm against her pussy. Pressing my whole body into hers. Wrapping her legs in mine. Touch is what we crave. Sensual (as we define it — a hard slap on the ass can count for some) contact. A demonstration of seeking their pleasure. Of trying to find a vector into their ecstasy. I don’t have issues with porn as a general rule, but if you only watch the kind where the guy bangs the fuck out of the chick with big tits, you’re not only missing out, you’re probably going to end up with a lot of unhappy sex partners (unless you find one who wants to be that banged up chick).

3. Toys count

If you listen to Dan Savage long enough, you’re bound to hear a call from someone whose male sex partner finds her use of vibrators to get off threatening. It’s like clockwork. His poor male ego can’t handle the fact that she needs something more than his Wonder Cock to achieve orgasm. This fact makes several points for me. First, a very large percentage of women require clitoral stimulation to come some or all of the time. Like, maybe only half can come through vaginal intercourse all by itself. Two, what that means is the pussy is its own thing that needs what it needs and, a lot of the time, that’s something more than a penis (and sometimes, not even a penis). It is not simply the vessel of the cock. It’s not there solely to make a wet hole for one. Three, guys in general invest too much of their own personal self-worth in their dicks. Like, duh.

It is, OF COURSE, still sex if a vibrator is involved. Even if she’s the one using it and all you, the guy, are doing is attending to other points of focus (nipples, etc.). Think I don’t count it as sex when Belle pulls the vibrator out and finishes herself off? Oh yeah, I do.

The objective of a successful sexual encounter is mutual satisfaction. “Satisfaction” has a surprising number of definitions, it turns out, but it can’t be defined as only being archived via a specific method. There are a multitude of paths to satisfaction. If, at the end, everyone feels good about how it went, bingo.

4. Something something orgasms

This last bit has proven hard to put into words. There are some things I want to say that might be controversial. But, I think I can really get behind this:

She should always come first. Always.

This is simple human physiology. Men, after orgasm, are fighting millennia of evolutionary programming just staying awake whereas woman are often (but not always) just getting started. It’s an interesting question as to why that is. For the answer, I’d direct you to the exceptional Sex at Dawn. But I digress.

Men are designed to lose interest in sex after they come. So if you haven’t already been a good sex partner and made her happy beforehand, doing so after will feel like you’re doing it in molasses wearing 30 pound backpack (i.e., a lot harder).

Of course, I don’t think men need to come. They feel like coming, sure. It can become the most important thing in the world to them. And woman are programmed by our culture to invest a lot in his orgasm. They’re conditioned to feel guilt if they impede it (while also being taught that even to be in that position is not what good girls do). But there’s lots of good reasons they shouldn’t. But I guess this whole blog is about that, so we’ll leave that there.

The bottom line is there is no one way to do sex. We get too hung up on the standards. On the way it’s portrayed in popular culture. We lose sight of the fact that it’s about happiness and pleasure and therefore anything that leads to those things among consenting adults is fair game. This is all written from my point of view as the kind of man I am in the relationship I’m in. Your mileage, as they say, may vary.