And on the third day, she let me out of the Steelheart. But she didn’t let me come. Oh no. Not that. The penis got wet, but the balls are left churning.
Keyholding 101
Another primer! This time, thoughts on keyholding from the point of view of a guy whose key is being held.
I figure most of the time, any given keyholder is introduced to the concept of enforced male chastity, somewhat ironically perhaps, by the one whose key they’re being asked to hold. The one being locked is usually the one who wants to be locked and the one doing the locking often never even considered doing anything like it beforehand. So you can image they’re not always prepared for the demands of what might seem on the surface is a fairly low-key (ahem) responsibility.
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. It’s also true that in a lot of cases, guys getting locked up have been thinking and fantasizing and jacking off to the idea for a long time and they know exactly what they want (or think they know what they want) and will do their best to try and fit their keyholder into that ideal form. The keyholder is and should be free to accept their locked man’s position as nothing more than a kinky version of the picture on the outside of a TV dinner box: A serving suggestion. They need the room to make keyholding they’re own, not some pre-cut, pre-packaged idea distilled from captions on Tumblr images.
So guys, while this is mostly about what you need from your keyholder, what they need from you is space to make holding your key something they get off on, too. If you don’t give them that and are too prescriptive, you run the risk of turning them off to the idea altogether. Always remember they’ve not had the same amount of time or intensity you have thinking about the best, most hottest way it should be done. fapfapfap
Additionally, there’s no secret to how long to keep him locked up. As long and as often as you want (and/or he can stay that way without being injured by the device he’s in if it’s cheap or ill-fitted). He’ll either beg to be let out or imply he wants to be locked up and denied longer. Chances are, whatever you do, he won’t be happy about it. But the deal is, he gave you the key and the control so yours it is. If you want him out for a fuck, then let him out. If you don’t, don’t. If you want him to come, let/make him. If not, don’t. If he can’t handle that, then take the device off him and tell him it won’t go back on until he’s ready for the reality of what giving up control over his penis really means.
No, don’t be a bitch. Don’t be unnecessarily mean. Talk to him about how he’s feeling and what he’s thinking and let that influence you as much as you want, but this game needs to have some ground rules and rule number one should be the one who holds the key is the one who makes the decisions about the lock and all the other rules.
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. 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).
And the key. It’s really important to him. He wants you to treat it like a treasure because it represents so much. Do you hide it or wear it or secure it in a known location? Doesn’t matter, as long as you just don’t leave it laying around or, god forbid, lose it. Also take his locked state seriously. Occasionally, he may need to be away from you for travel or whatever. Come up with a system in which you can be reasonably sure he’s locked if you want him to be (things like texting a picture, etc.). You may not really care, but he needs you to act like you do. If you don’t think you can come up with a system, then tell him to do it for you. Trust me, he already has a lot of ideas about it.
Especially at the beginning of a chastity dynamic in which the keyholder wasn’t the originator of the idea, it’s not always easy to essentially play act your role. However, if my relationship with Belle is any indication, in time you may take your responsibility very seriously. Even more seriously than he’d like you to. And that, more than any fantasy porn scenario, is infinitely more satisfying for both of you.
Any other tips and ideas from my readers? Leave them in the comments!
Regression towards the mean
I’m not going to say I feel 100% normal in the wake of whatever the fuck made me sick a couple weeks ago, but I’m getting there. Went for a run this morning before it got too hot and, while I didn’t make the full distance, I was able to manage 3.5 miles at a reasonable pace before wussing out. Also, there’s this…
Good news, everyone. I’m bisexual again. #whew
— thumper (@thumperMN) August 1, 2015
Which is not to say I’d be any more fun now than I was when Drew was here last week, but I can tell things are returning to normal. The percentage of images on Tumblr featuring men that make me withdraw like a snail with a poked eye stalk are down to about 23% (even when I’m my most biflexipanful, it never goes much below 13% — there’s some crazy shit on the Tumblr).
I kinda made a joke about it, but not being into all the genders for that little while was unsettling. I felt like one of my senses had been lost. Like a superhero without my superpower. I like being bisexual and love the equal opportunity nature of my nature and to feel half of it go dark like that wasn’t much fun. But stuff like this is starting to do it for me again, so the kryptonite or whatever is apparently off my neck now.
Belle and I had some nice sex this weekend, though she wouldn’t let me out for it yesterday. That was as she intended — frustrating. She teased me by stroking my balls and slapping them around a little while I sucked and licked her nipples. The cage was biting hard as she came under my fingers and knowing I wasn’t going to feel that hot wetness around me burned.
Today, she let me out and played with the free penis a little which was enough to make me melt with pleasure. Only when you can’t feel your penis will you truly appreciate how wonderful it can make you feel when touched by another hand. Being inside her felt like pure liquid pleasure. I’m so focused on her pussy now. Once that device comes off, it’s all I can do to keep my hips from homing in on hers.
I hoped like fuck, as she was approaching her orgasm, that she’d let me come. I so wanted it. Wholly and completely. When I got inside her, I slowed when I felt it coming since she hadn’t told me to do otherwise but the second time, I blurted it out.
“I want to come so bad.”
Without a second’s pause, “No.”
That led to a momentary burst of intensity in my fucking, but I also immediately started to feel guilty that I said it. So much so that the penis started to lose its internal pressurization. It still felt amazing, but my blatant disregard for the rules of the dynamic ruined my vibe. I stopped of my own volition and rolled off of her.
“I’m sorry.”
“There was a time,” she said, “when you’d say that and I’d feel a pang of guilt and it would leave me conflicted. But not anymore. Not at all. When I let you come, it’s because I want you to. When I don’t, it’s because I don’t want you to.”
And that, my friends, is what true denial is like. I wanted to come. Still do. But she wasn’t having any of it. I come when she wants, not when I want. Thanks to upcoming time apart, it’s highly unlikely I’ll have another chance to do it for three more weeks. And that’s just the way it is.
After she left the room, I put the Steelheart back on. I hadn’t been out for even an hour and spending some time without it would have been nice, but I felt as though I didn’t really deserve the free time and also felt a free penis would be too much of a distraction. When she felt the hard tube in my pants, she approved, called me a good boy, and I kissed her. Madly and deeply.
Waiting the sick out
Like I said yesterday, I was sick last week. The kind of sick that for the first few days was just a little more tired than usual and some odd muscle aches that could have been chalked up to over-exertion at the gym but blossomed into a full-on feverish total-body festival of pain anchored by a complete collapse of my digestive tract. At least I never barfed. Man, I hate that. Once the worst of it had passed, the achy mildly feverish clammy and baby kitten weak stuff hung around. For days. And days. Besides the physical issues, the entire experience left me feeling emotionally wrecked. Nasty stuff.
In the midst of everything, as Belle was in New York, I felt an irresistible urge to rid myself of the Steelheart. I staggered out of bed and went to my bag where I (usually) keep the emergency key. But it wasn’t there. I turned the bag inside out looking and cursing and probing all the little nooks and crevasses knowing it had to be there and expecting to feel it at every second, but it wasn’t to be found. Then I stumbled back to the bedroom and looked in my drawer, then back to the living room to look in my little change/junk/headphones/European coin bowl. No dice.
URGH.
Not happy, though I did have enough sense to know that once I was well again the idea of being totally trapped in the steel would likely be kinda hot. But at this point, it was the total polar opposite of hot. Icy death cold, it was. And it bummed me out.
Then I remembered. I took a different bag to LA with Drew and I know I had the key with me then though I never used it. I found that bag (which I thought I emptied) and there was the key. Whew. Fucking whew, I say. I took the device off and promptly failed to have anything like an erection for 96 hours.
Belle got home by the end of the week and then Saturday rolled around and it was something like three weeks since we had sex. But I didn’t want any. I was the least sexy feeling person in the world. But Belle did so we did. More or less. I did my nipple sucking and clit fingering thing and she had an apparently nice orgasm and, as hard to believe as it was, I had a boner so she invited me aboard. I think we fucked for about 32 seconds. Between me getting lightheaded from the exertion and her wincing from her still-tender horse-abused ribs, it was hardly a Penthouse Forums moment. But I got the penis wet.
We did a little better the next morning, but I still would have been perfectly satisfied not having sex. Besides the physical weakness, I just didn’t have the urge. But, again, she wanted it and that’s what it’s for, so have it we did. I was again invited to fuck her and was able to get to the point where I was almost going to come, so I stopped. But I still felt like I was about to come. But I stopped! But I still felt like I was going to come so I continued to be adamantly and very intently STOPPED. But it didn’t matter. Maybe eight or ten seconds after, I kinda sorta came anyway. Three undulating slugs of the stuff, all run together and shooting on their own with little muscular prodding. Like, it just sort of rolled out of me. Not just a squirt. This had intent behind it. Like an orgasm developed sentience and self-will and told me to fuck off. Belle thought it was fascinating and I thought it was awful. It felt like 60% of an orgasm. Kinda fun, not great, without much of the post-orgasmic chemical bang.
At some point over the weekend, I told Belle Drew was coming on Monday. I felt bad about this because besides being not really in the mood for sex in general, my mood for the kind of sex I have with Drew (you know, teh gay sex) was less than zero. My whole life, the bisexual part of me that finds men attractive and sex with them stimulating has ebbed and flowed. For the most part, since I’ve been seeing Drew, it’s flowed during his visits and the times when it was ebbing, it wasn’t ebbing dramatically or enough for me to be unable to perform. But this time, that shit had ebbed so far out to sea, it was barely visible as a little speck way off on the horizon. This was an old school ebb and I wasn’t just disinterested in sex with a guy, I felt like what it must be like to be straight. Just…ew.
This is not, it should be noted, a reflection upon Drew. It’s how I feel about all men at the moment. It’s the kind of dramatic swing that drove me crazy as a young person. How could I be so fucking turned on by men on a Tuesday and repulsed by them on the following Friday? WTF? And I say “repulsed” but that’s too strong. I’m not repulsed by Drew. He’s a friend, etc. But touch him? No thank you. Stay right over there.
And yeah, that made me feel terrible. He comes all the way up here, leaving Axel behind and taking away from their limited time together to see me and that all by itself can freak me out. But this time I wanted nothing to do with him as he wanted to do with me. We could still share a meal and talk and all that, but I felt a bright white line around me. Do not cross. Poor Drew.
Twenty years ago, I’d be all like, “Whew! Finally got that boy thing out of my system! Man, what was that all about?” Now I know it’s a cycle. The moon will come back ’round. And Drew knows, too. So he was relatively understanding and demonstrated the patience one in his position must have when seeing someone like me on the side.
At one point in talking to Belle about this, I said something about his expectations and how I had tried to temper them and this and that and eventually said something like, “You know, it’s not like I’m in a relationship with him.”
And she shot back, “You are in a relationship with him!” And of course, she’s right. I am, of a sort. Not the usual kind. But it is one. As creeped out as that leaves the currently ascendant dumb straight guy part of me, it’s 100% true.
So this trip was, from a sex standpoint, a bust for him. And, as I’ve said, I feel bad about that. But, as I’m sure he’d say, it was still a good trip and it was nice to have a chance to talk about all the things it’s hard to discuss when there’s a dick in my mouth. At some point, I’ll be ready for him again. In the meantime, I’ll try and stop thinking about how squicked out his stubble felt on my neck as he hugged me goodbye.
Prior to his arrival, Belle made me go back in the Steelheart. I didn’t want it and thought if Drew hadn’t been coming that I’d whine and wimper and try to beg out of it. But he was coming so I had to.
In bed, I said, “I really don’t want this thing on me.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.
“It doesn’t matter what you want anyway.”
Swoon.
And then, “You know you’ll be feeling all subby and thanking me for locking it on you in a few days. Don’t you?”
Grrr. “Yes.” Sigh. “Yes, I do.”
Why in the hell?
This post is written as a primer of sorts for those just discovering an interest in male chastity or for someone who’s just been introduced to the subject by their partner. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Please feel free to add your POV in the comments.
I suppose the vast majority of the uninitiated (ie, muggles) would have no idea why any man would want to subject himself to enforced male chastity (which I’ll call EMC for this post because that’s a lot of letters to keep typing out) or, conversely, why any woman would want to do it to her man. They might also wonder about all kinds of other kinks like D/s and masochism and bondage but I don’t think I’m qualified to try and suss out the motivations of those of us who are wired to enjoy those things. But, I think I can try and break chastity apart to help see the value of it in a relationship.
Of course, I’m a guy and I’m married to a woman who I’ve been with for more than 15 years and that’s the aperture through which I see chastity and can write most intimately about it. Additionally, I think chastity play comes in lots of variations and flavors and the way we do it and how it works for us isn’t necessarily the way that will work for everyone else. I’m not saying it is. But I am saying that my experience talking to others on the subject and reading other blogs, etc., has made me understand there is a broad similarity to our stories that suggests a common foundation for relationships like ours.
Venn diagrams are those charts that have two or more overlapping circles that represent different things. Where the circles intersect show how these things, when combined, make a third thing. If I were smarter or more talented at such activities, I’m sure I could make one for EMC, but I’m not so I’ll hope you know the concept and just move on. In any event, EMC can combine several kinks and motivations together into one package: Dominance and submission (D/s), sadism and/or masochism (S/M), and bondage (put it all together — what’s that spell!? — BDSM). But, I don’t think the main practical, real-world benefit of EMC is necessarily kinky at all. And I don’t think it needs to be practiced that way or considered as kink.
At the very heart of EMC is the concept of orgasm control (OC because we’re making acronyms today). OC is what you get when you decide, as a man, to stop rubbing one out whenever you get a shadow of an urge to do so and let the energy and desire build until it can be put to a practical purpose. I think of OC as fundamentally an internal thing and not part of a D/s power exchange dynamic (in which case, it’d be orgasm denial, but I’ll get to that later).
Why would a guy want that? To what end? Aren’t orgasms wonderful and best enjoyed like peanuts at a ballgame — frequently and in plentiful numbers? I have so many thoughts about this, but I’ll try and boil it down. First off, yes, orgasms are wonderful. We are literally designed to crave them. In a way, we’ve been created through evolutionary forces to become addicted to the hit of chemicals that flood our brains when we have them because in many cases that means we’ve spread our seed and satisfied life’s mandate to multiply. And when we’re young (teenage years through the twenties and thirties, depending), men can’t get enough of them. I recall jacking off so often at one point my dick became raw from the friction, but I kept doing it anyway because OH MY GOD I had to. On top of the evolutionary forces at work, our culture conditions men to value their sexual release over most other things and to revel in our ability to do so. There is a lot of pressure, both physical and social, behind frequent orgasms to be sure.
But, as we grow older our ability to squirt as often as we once did usually declines. The reserve of sexual energy we carry around with us starts to ebb and the time between feeling the need to come stretches out. I think of this energy (and I can’t think of anything else to call it) as a natural resource with a purpose and function in the confines of our relationships. Jacking off is great, but most guys want to follow their biological imperative to procreate and put that stuff into a warm, wet, living hole. But, as it happens for people in long-term monogamous relationships, there are a great deal of factors that work against a rewarding sex life as time goes along (repetition, kids, jobs, health issues, etc.). We develop grooves in our patterns that become the opposite of sexy and motivating and that leads men to follow the path of least resistance (i.e., jacking off to porn).
Note that I am not making any kind of argument or judgment against porn. I actually quite like it and think enjoying it is perfectly natural and not something we should be ashamed of. I also tend to reject most claims of “porn addiction.” If a guy ends up spilling over porn too much, then he’s wasting this energy I mentioned that would otherwise be used in his relationship. It’s self-perpetuating in that wasting his energy though an interest in fantasy can lead to a lack of interest in the reality of his partner causing her to become resentful or angry or hurt (or all of those things) which in turn only reinforce his porn consumption habit (and is therefore labeled “addiction” far more often than it should, IMO). In any event, as that energy resource becomes more scarce and life and familiarity conspire against a fun, sexy relationship, using it up on porn reduces his interest in trying to recapture the spark between he and his partner.
Of course, relationships (typically) contain two people and he alone is not responsible for maintaining it. Usually, there’s plenty of blame (if you want to use that word) to go around. The reason I fixate on him and his orgasm is I think it can, through OC, be used to bring a sexual relationship back into shape.
So, long way to go, but here we are at the doorstep of what OC can mean in its simplest and most direct form. If a man chooses to only have orgasms when he’s with his partner, then he’ll quickly learn to think of her again as the source of his sexual pleasure. It’s not an automatic thing and she needs to be fully invested in the idea and prepared to take on the responsibility of playing her part, but when done correctly they can both find themselves back into a state not too dissimilar from when they were first together. He’ll naturally become more interested in what she’s thinking and feeling and invested in her happiness and she’ll see and appreciate that. It can help knock a lot of frost off and get the gears turning again.
In no way is this kinky. Zero level kink. I’ve found in my marriage that Belle sees it as a demonstration of my commitment to her and our relationship. That’d I’d give up my “right” to come as often and wherever I like and save it all for her. Sure, for us there are a lot of kinky things layered on top, but at its core, this is what EMC is about.
Some people who grok this concept think it’s some kind of magical palliative that will fix whatever ails a relationship. That’s not at all true. All relationships need a foundation of communication and trust to succeed. Orgasm control (or orgasm denial — getting there) or chastity are stacked on top of those elemental aspects which must be present. But, if the basic necessities of a reasonably healthy relationship are working, then I’ve found focusing one’s orgasms on one’s partner can draw the two more closely together than perhaps they’ve ever been.
All that said, this is a post on my blog and therefore it cannot end at the simple control of orgasm. Truth is, a lot of men (most, perhaps) who are into this idea are also into wanting to take it further. From self-control of orgasms to no control over them. That’s when it turns into orgasm denial (OD). The “denial” part can be scary and confusing, but what it really means is the man isn’t able to come when he wants or feels like it, even during or after having sex. Women are often socialized in our culture to think this idea is massively cruel and will feel guilt at not letting him orgasm each and every time the opportunity presents itself, but for those men wired a certain way, this only amps up the impact of OC and is something they actually crave. There’s no rule as to how long he should be denied orgasm. Some women let their men come once a week or once a month. Some longer. Far longer. Some never. But realize, few if any start out that way.
For us, it was pretty much that I’d come every other time we had sex. Then it got longer. Once a week or so. I found the longer I was made to wait, the longer I wanted to go. I started to crave the crave, so to speak. I would rather want to come and feel that desire build inside me than actually do it. And once Belle let go of any socialized guilt and became more confident in the control I happily transferred to her and, most importantly, learned that I was a better partner to her when I wasn’t coming, my denial became second nature. I now have no expectation of orgasm when we have sex. She usually makes me wait many weeks, even months. When I do get to, it’s because she wants to feel me do it inside her much more than she actually wants me to come. As crazy as this might sound to someone just starting out, we’re both much happier this way.
And yeah, technically, OD is kinky. It’s a form of D/s. Power exchange. I get off on not having control as I’m a natural submissive and Belle gets off on having that control over me, though she’s far from a Domme and would never describe herself that way. A lot of couples end up like this. Women who never fantasized about dominating their partner even once find a way to do it that works for them. They back into a dominating position as they see the benefits of investing the time and effort into it has on their partner and their relationship. Because of this, Tom Allen has described OD/EMC as a “gateway kink.” That’s entirely true, in my experience.
Beyond denial is the practice of enforced male chastity. That is, using a locked physical device to maintain control over not only a man’s orgasm but also his ability to access his body as he has his whole life and even his ability to achieve an erection. Not every couple gets to this stage. Some women are simply squicked out by the whole thing. Some men can’t handle the physical demands of being locked up, even for a little while. Some woman think he’s not truly being denied unless he’s also demonstrating sufficient willpower to keep his hands off himself unless she says it’s OK. All that is valid.
On the other hand, some men get off on the added layer of control the device represents. They get off on how they need to modify their lives to accommodate it and how it’s always with them and always, in every scenario and situation, reminding them of the control their partner has over them. It ticks the bondage box really well and can even be made to fill a need for masochism. Finally, I think penis restriction is, in itself, a distinct fetish that EMC uniquely satisfies. For whatever reason, there are a lot of men that get off on being locked up. More, it seems, all the time. The profusion of devices at pretty much any price point in recent years has either fuelled that interest or is a direct result of it. Probably a bit of both.
The desire for a device by either the man being locked up or the partner holding his key can also be practical. In our relationship, Belle doesn’t even allow me to play with myself. I want to abide by that rule and try very hard to do so when I’m not locked up (which isn’t that often), but it’s hard. She knows I won’t come without permission and thinks I’ll avoid self-stimulation most of the time, but if I’m locked up, she can know for a fact I’m following her rules. Chastity devices allow an additional layer of deterrence to be added to a couple’s dynamic and some of us (like me) need that.
In summary, the one thing I want to leave with someone newly exposed to the idea of EMC is that it should not be viewed as weird. There should be no shame felt for wanting it. Human sexuality is ridiculously and wonderfully complicated and manifests in many ways. I believe there to be millions of men interested in some aspect of what I’ve described here with a sizable chunk actually practicing it in some way with their partners (or alone). The more you get into the subject, the more you realize that “kinky” is a highly subjective term. Most people are interested in something they or someone else would think is kinky. The sooner you let go of any fear of exploring sex beyond the traditional way it’s portrayed in a lot of media, let go of concern of judgement, and realize we’re all sexual beings of some kind with needs and desires as unique as we are, the sooner you’ll find satisfaction and happiness. Sometimes, in ways you never, ever expected.
Roadtripping
Once Belle let me out the other morning, after having been in for so long, I fell into a familiar pattern. It started with me being nearly unable to contain my desire for her with my grabby hands and moaning and gyrating the super-hard penis into her. She had to tell me to take it down a notch since, when I’m like this, it’s pretty obvious I’ve forgotten that sex is hers, not mine.
So yeah, familiar pattern. I got her off in the way she likes the whole time thinking what her hot, wet snatch was going to feel like enveloping the penis. Then she came and nearly immediately I felt the hydraulics start to release. By the time she told me I could go into her, the penis was already at about 70%. Fucking got it back up to the mid-eighties at least, but then after only a few seconds I was really close to coming so I stopped and then the bottom fell out of the thing. Totally limp.
“That’s too bad. I was going to let you come.”
Then it turned into a head thing, big time. Since the penis was already wet and I was so turned on, coming sounded pretty good to me, but the fucking stupid thing wouldn’t turn over and the more I thought about it and fretted over it, of course, the less inclined it was to cooperate.
Eventually, I was able to stroke it to an acceptable erection and she told me I could come that way and, with the heavy PA jewelry flopping to and fro and the unusual sound of fapping filling our room, I did and it felt like the world folded up backward and exited out the top of my head as I shot my load. Unbelievably intense and only marginally enjoyable as a result.
The next morning, we were back at it. I had been out all night so the urgency was reduced and had just come so the stakes were lower. I rarely come more than once in a few days anymore. But, after getting her off and getting inside her, I got close again in just a few seconds and she told me to come. So I did. Apparently she wanted to feel that and was cheated out of it the day before. A bit more enjoyable this time around, but still felt like a hot marble shooting out of me.
So man. Twice in two days. I would normally expect that to knock the wind right out of our dynamic and leave me feeling the low ebb of denial energy. That was the case, but only for that day. The next, we were on the road for our week’s adventure together and I unexpectedly found myself really horny. I was still free of the Steelheart and as the miles rolled under us, I’d feel waves of arousal wash over me making my pants fill up, my chest surge with fluttery energy, and my hand tighten around hers.
We stopped at a dusty gas station just south of nowhere and, while paying for the gas, an absolute specimen of a man walked in to get some lunch. Belle spotted him first and pointed him out. Always fun when you and your wife can appreciate an especially well-formed piece of man meat together. This guy was wearing faded jeans and an old t-shirt and ball cap. We went out and sat in the car as he walked across the station’s tarmac carrying his sandwich into a stiff wind. The old shirt was pressed against his fantastic chest and abs and his jeans were molded around his thighs and, if I may say, magnificent ass. Belle said something about his eyes and I was like, he has eyes? He was so pretty it made my teeth hurt. People this perfect should not be allowed. But yeah. Unf.
So the next morning, I woke up before Belle with a still free penis and it was doing its usual morning thing and I was still turned on in a pretty significant way and images of that Adonis walking into the wind wouldn’t leave my mind and she was right there and I was fucking horny. Insistently so.
“I’m not having sex in this hotel room,” she told me flatly. Hard to blame her as it wasn’t very nice, but I thought as I laid there that I’d had sex in plenty worse in my day. After a while of me being annoyingly horny, she told me it was time to put the Steelheart back on. We had to wait for the stupid boner to go down and, even then, it wasn’t totally gone. I pushed and shoved and squeezed an unhappy penis into its pen before she put the lock in and turned the key.
“OK, now you can give me an orgasm.”
AAARGH! That minx. Such a tease. I moaned and groaned and the steel bit down on its victim.
“This is what you need, Thumpie. Later today, you’ll tell me so. You’ll thank me.”
So, yeah, I got her off. As I was doing my thing, she said, “I love feeling the hard steel press into my leg while you do that.”
AAARGH, again.
Yesterday’s driving was not unlike the previous days in that I’d have these attacks of arousal only this time the Steelheart kept things in check and the feeling of that happening only made me hornier and that only made the Steelheart bite harder. Rinse, repeat.
But she was right. We stopped at Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and hiked around. After a couple miles, we stopped to admire the geology and, standing there, I did thank her for locking me up.
“It’s how you’re supposed to be,” she said. And she’s right.
Confidence game
Pursuant to my last post, Belle got home from her trip pretty horny. She was still on SoCal time so didn’t feel like going to sleep at her usual hour, though I also wasn’t sure she wanted to have sex. She knew I was pretty turned on because it was a day starting with a consonant but I just laid there and let her pet my head and back for a while and didn’t push it. Then she told me to close the door.
By the time I was back to the bed, she was naked. She told me I wasn’t getting out and I probably whimpered. As soon as I touched her snatch, I found her to be soaking wet. Not kind of turned on and ready to go wet. Fucking dripping wet. As if we’d been messing around for an hour instead of just starting. I moaned into the nipple in my mouth and sank my fingers into her heat.
Really, all I can say if UNF. I wanted her badly but I wasn’t getting out. The Steelheart bit down hard as my fingers and mouth made her squirm and moan and whisper dirty little things into the top of my head.
She came awfully hard. I wanted to bite her nipple I was so turned on. She could tell. She knew how bad I was. She just told me it was good for me. It was the best thing for me. Though I wouldn’t admit it, it was what I wanted.
There is nothing sexier in the whole fucking world than confidence.
A couple of weird ones
This morning, I woke up with a free hard-on thanks to Belle trying to save a little time the night before by putting me to bed unlocked. I wore my heavy circular barbell in the PA and felt it flop hither and to as the erection moved around early this morning. Extremely distracting.
We slept in fairly late for us and are both still sore from a workout class we took together on Saturday. Really kicked our asses. I was pulling my legs out from under the covers and stretching and rubbing my hamstrings and glutes which are still smarting. By then, the penis was back to its soft n’ floppy condition and Belle took the opportunity to reach out and start petting it.
I really, honestly cannot describe how wonderful that feels. The penis rarely if ever feels pleasurable touch like that and the sensation of her fingers lightly brushing its lengthening form, under and up and over and down and around, made me purr and arch my back and bury my face in a pillow. Then it sprang up and she started to give it ever-so-gentle strokes and it felt like I was going to combust into a ball of angsty horniness. I knew I should reposition myself so I could start showing her some attention (she is, after all, the focus of our sex) but the sound of leaking precum smacking at the end of the penis and the feeling of the heavy ring moving inside it with each stroke was too deliciously distracting. So I laid there a bit longer.
Then I just wanted inside her. I figured she wasn’t going to stroke me until I came or anything and while it felt magnificent, the reptile brain wanted pussy so I moved down and went to work. I wasn’t as gentle as usual. I fingered her with two of them and hooked them in and behind her pubic bone before running then back up and around the length of her clit. I fingered the other nipple, rubbing it and pinching it as hard as I dared while sucking the other. I was panting and moaning in heat as her breathing increased and I could feel her orgasm getting closer. She started to gyrate in syncopation with my fingering and with each rotation her hip brushed against the corona of the still rock hard penis between us. Each touch made me gasp into her breast and was enough to make me feel as though I’d shoot if she kept it up for too much longer.
Then the first weird thing happened. She kinda came. Like, maybe 40-60% of an orgasm. She sounded like she was coming and she moved like she was coming, but I didn’t feel her pussy pulsate in waves like it normally does. In any event, she was close enough that she didn’t want me messing with it anymore.
I was still panting, though, and pressing into her and obviously pathetically desperate so she told me I could take my turn. In one motion, I moved up and over her and slid the cock in without even aiming and immediately started to fuck her properly warmed up pussy. As soon as I got in there, she started to make her happy pussy noises that I have zero defense over and are the surest way to make me come. The idea that I would think of something else to distract myself was fantasy as, for me at that time, there was nothing else. Just the feelings of that penis inside her and the sounds it was coaxing out of her. I got so, so, so close to coming and stopped. Dead. And waited.
Even just the feeling of her surrounding the penis was enough. I couldn’t stop it though I tried. I resisted and pushed back against the tidal force of that coming and she told me to go ahead, but it was too late to enjoy. It felt like someone kicked me in the small of my back. Like the penis was burning off of me. My head pounded and my breathing seemed to stop and my stomach clenched. As though instead of riding the wave of the orgasm over the edge I stood my ground like a breakwater and let it crash into me and around me and through me. It was shattering.
At first, I didn’t know what happened. Was that an orgasm? I didn’t feel myself shoot, but I did. A lot. The penis was still hard but failing fast and electric in the post-orgasmic way they are. I had come, but not in a way I ever had before. Not in a way I ever want to again. There was nothing at all pleasurable about it for me.
I slid off and gripped her hard and fought the swell of sleepiness programmed into all men. I could smell the semen and it was not good. Then, she reached into her drawer and retrieved her little purple vibrator. I asked if she wanted any help but she said no which was a relief. All I wanted to do was doze with my face in her hair. I heard the vibe come on and muffle and growl as it went in and out and over her clit and heard her breathing pick up before she came in a terrific shuddering crash that surely would have woken any sleeping neighbors had she allowed herself to vocalize as she wanted to.
She didn’t say anything about going back in the Steelheart and I didn’t ask. I was left reeling from whatever experience that was and any notion of sliding the wet, sticky penis back into the cold steel left me feeling flat. I’m still out, but not down since writing this after a little time on Tumblr has left my pants full of hard-on and a, ahem, stiff desire to head off by myself and do things I’ll regret later. Plus, Belle’s out shopping. So…bad combination.
But I’ll be good. In fact, I’ll probably go put the damned Steelheart back on right now.
Three weeks, three squirts
I mentioned a few posts back that Belle was going to keep me locked up for three weeks straight. This was more an accident of timing than anything else, but it was also a result of her just not feeling the need for a hard penis when my chance came along and therefore seeing no purpose in letting the one on me out of its confinement. Then she was out of town for a weekend and, even though we had sex after she got back, it was a quickie and was more about my tongue and her clit than anything else. Finally, yesterday, she let me out. And it felt so fucking good to have a real, unrestrained erection.
Too good, actually. She had to warn me to settle down. I get a little rambunctious when she lets me out. Kind of like a dog who sees his leash. It only happens for one reason, really, so when it does I start jumping up on her and wagging my tail and panting and such. I think she likes it when I get excited like that, but also needs me to focus on the task at hand: her.
Feeling your wife’s hot, wet pussy when you’re locked up is a certain kind of torture, but feeling it when you’re not but also not allowed to just fuck the shit out her is altogether another feeling. So much promise and potential and anticipation, made all the more intense by three fucking weeks of being under lock and key. I was rock hard and 12 seconds from coming and only my middle finger was wet. Then she told me to get inside her.
She hadn’t come yet. I think she wasn’t too far off (I am keenly attuned to her orgasmic processes) but she wanted to be fucked so fuck her I did. And she liked it. Vocally. And that expression of pleasure was too much for me. As she liked it more and more, I lost any pretense of stamina. I got far too close to coming before I stopped and the leakage inside her was every bit three weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration. After that, we needed the vibrator to finish her off. It came away from her covered in my juices more than hers.
Early this morning, I was woken up by the sensation of my nocturnal hard-on rubbing against the sheets. The opposite of what normally wakes me up at that time, except this morning I got to grind it into the bed in order to feel more. I’m not allowed to stroke it, but I so wanted to. All I could get was the contact friction against the mattress. I suppose even that was breaking the spirit of the “no playing with it” rule, so I (eventually) stopped fucking the bed.
When Belle woke up, I jumped her and again went too fast for her. She didn’t make me fuck her first this time, so when she was done and allowed me access, I found an unwilling partner in the penis. Even if I’m out and she’s wet and inviting, if she already came, it will often go soft. That’s how well trained it is now.
Luckily, my Belle knows me and gave my (still kinda rough and sore from earlier in the week) nipples a healthy twisting. The direct line from them to the penis electrified and the erection was back in a flash. I got lost in the fucking to the point that I was about a stroke and half away from coming when I finally stopped myself from going over the edge.
That’s when I realized I was expecting her to tell me to come. For whatever reason, my interpretation of how Belle keeps me left me assuming that today was going to be the day and so I didn’t do anything to stop myself from going right up to the orgasm. With that notion still in my head and nearly an entire orgasm’s worth of spunk in her pussy, I started to fuck again. I find my aversion to ejaculate is so complete at this point that the feeling of fucking through my own has become a turn-off, but I was counting on that orgasm so I pressed on. So much so, that I added whatever was left inside me to what came before, but the word was never given. I never came.
I asked her about it after. Told her it felt like today was going to be the day. She laughed. Not unlike two weeks ago when she never let me out, the idea that I would come now never entered her mind. I honestly have no idea how long it’s been since I last came (which she likes very much), but it’s apparently been long enough that I feel like doing it again. Or, at least, I want to feel like I want to again.
As we laid there in (her) post-orgasmic snuggle session, I started to drift off. She thought it was funny that I acted like I had come even though I hadn’t. I could feel in my balls the tightness and weight of being very much denied release, but the rest of me really did feel like I had come. Snoozy, warm, fuzzy. Except in my crotch where this afternoon’s blue balls were brewing. Back in the day, denial like this would leave me wired and bouncing around, but not anymore. Further indications of conditioning.
Right after breakfast, I asked when she wanted me back in. Often, this is a vague kind of thing. It would be understood that I’d need to be locked up sometime before bed. Occasionally, I can stretch that to Monday morning. But she said, “Right now,” and I was like, Oh…OK. So I marched myself into the bathroom, showered off the morning’s fucking and running, trimmed the hair I usually can’t get to, and locked the Steelheart back in place.
She never even considered it
The penis was very annoying Sunday morning. It usually only wakes me up (when it wakes me up) sometimes between 3:30 AM and 4:30 AM pushing and squeezing and straining against the Steelheart. Sunday, though, it did it four times starting at only 12:30 AM. Then again a few hours later then again at 3:30 then again at 4:30. Or maybe I should stay still at those times since I don’t think it stopped trying to be hard the entire time.
Things were not helped when Belle woke up. Saturday morning she had left bed before I woke up so there was no naked play time, but Sunday she was looking for my services. She made me close the door but did not retrieve the key as I thought she would. I was left locked up the whole time, though she did stroke my balls and perineum and then hit my nuts a few times just to mix things up. The intensity of the attempted erection was perhaps even more painful than the nocturnal ones as I got to work sucking her tits and fingering her snatch. She came hard and all I did was grind my steel package into her thigh.
In the glowy part afterward, she commented on how I was looking at a good long lock up since she’s going to be at a spa weekend with her sister and mother next weekend. She’ll leave Friday morning and not get back until Sunday afternoon. She apparently has no intention of letting me out at any point before she leaves or the weekend following her return so that’s three solid weeks of steel time.
Sounds bad, but in thinking about it, that’s not so far removed from normal. With the exception of doctor’s visits, I was locked up pretty much the entire time since we go back from vacation at the beginning of April. She lets me out on the weekends if she wants me to fuck her, but the best I can hope for then is being out from Saturday morning to Sunday night. The last time I got to be inside her, I was only out about three hours.
In any event, I suggested she could have let me out Sunday morning for some pussy time but all she did was laugh a little and say, “You know what’s funny? I never even considered it,” before not doing anything at all regarding penis freedom.
I don’t know at this point which of us wants my chastity more. She really likes knowing what I’m not doing with the penis when she’s not around (if you were to ask her, that’s the first thing she’d say regarding what she likes about my chastity). I’m certainly not allowed to have an orgasm without her, but she equally doesn’t want me to have any pleasure from the penis at all without her (preferably, the only pleasure I get from it will be when it’s inside her). This has the effect of focusing me rather specifically on her and her pussy which is, of course, the ultimate intention of leaving me locked up in the first place. When she doesn’t let me out and I feel how hot and wet I make her, a gaping chasm of desire for her opens up in my chest. Looking back on how we were when we married, I’m sure it would never occur to either of us at the time that eventually we’d arrive at a relationship dynamic founded on her leveraging control over me through the denial of my sexual pleasure, let alone that it would be so successful.
I wanted in so bad on Sunday morning that I climbed up on top of her and pressed the Steelheart against what I knew was a soft, wet, and inviting opening.
“Like you’re going to feel anything,” she purred.
“I don’t. I don’t feel a thing,” I whimpered into her neck.
“Exactly.”