The one about the p-word in which I don’t use the p-word

Belle chose not to let the contents of the Steelheart out yesterday even though it was Father’s Day here in the United States and it’s kinda sorta how I became eligible to celebrate (or be celebrated) on that day. It’s fine, though, since she let me eat her out (culminating in one of those wiggly legs orgasms on her part and an assurance that I was “very good” at it — purr).

Based on my experience over the last several months, the contents get out and in her once every six weeks. Otherwise, it’s locked up. That means in May I didn’t get out at all and in June so far, I was only out for about 50 minutes. Not that it takes me 50 minutes by any stretch of the imagination (lolz). Actual hot and wet thrusting time is likely not even five minutes. The rest of that time is me servicing her and then post-coital snuggling.

Looking back, this is what I craved for so many years. To be like this without consideration or comment on her part. For being locked to be the default and being unlocked the rare exception. This is what “kept” really means. And now here we are.

Even though this was what I craved, it took a long time for me to get over needing her to recognize the state of the contents. I would ask if she could tell if the device was packed and the contents straining and sought some comment on her part. Because it takes a long time to let go of it being the center of attention.

Of course, that’s to be expected. Boys and men have such easy access to it, its method of stimulation is so obvious, there’s so much embedded understanding of how it works in our culture, and there’s still a cultural assumption that it and what it does is the central point of sex. As men, we’re conditioned to equate our worthiness to its size and ability and stamina. So when she started keeping me locked, I wanted her to keep paying attention to it and acknowledge the sacrifice I was making. To keep it centered on the experience instead of her. I expected us to continue to pay it service even though it was unavailable, unseen, and basically unnecessary.

It’s one of those weird chastity and denial paradoxes. The practice of keeping a man like that is to demote the element that defines his maleness but its importance and prominence never goes away. It is always there. Even when it’s not.

And while I can’t deny that because it is always there, I think the point of being kept as I am — nearly all the time and without making any fuss about it because it’s just how things are — is to get to a point where I simply can’t think about it in its “natural” state and only think about it in its kept state. That takes time and runs counter to both nurture and nature. But it’s where I feel the most comfortable.

And in the same way being kept is to appreciate the journey, not the destination, getting to that space mentally is something I will always be working towards.

For example, I don’t get “hard” anymore. I get tight. I never want it out. To be out and without constraint feels wrong and exposed. I’d rather be seen by Belle or Frodo or whoever with a device between my legs than not. I feel more self-conscious of that exposure than I do sporting steel (or plastic). I try to avoid any unnecessary contact with it keeping all touching to the minimum required for its maintenance. I’ve even found that lately, when I’ve seen what I think of as incredibly sexy women out and about (usually walking or running around my neighborhood in spandex), my immediate and overpowering thought isn’t about penetration. It’s about what it would be like for them to sit on my face. To be used by her for her pleasure. And that’s always been the default for me when it comes to men, even before being kept by Belle.

To be kept as I am is to recognize the whole rest of my body is my primary sex organ, especially my mind. And that organ is for the use of my sex partners first and me only secondarily. The contents are not the point of the experience. And what they’re going through and feeling is not a topic worthy of mention during sex unless my partner wants to bring it up.

I think to get to this place I’m describing (which, as I said, is a journey and process I think I’ll be working on the rest of my life) is not just the point of being kept but the point of who I am as a sexual being. I’m very fortunate to have a partner who allows me to evolve in this way.

What I want. Really, really want.

I used to write here several times a week and that meant Belle would read this several times a week. But as I’ve found myself having said most everything I needed to say (several times over, it feels like), the frequency of my posting has dwindled. And Belle’s checking to see what I’ve written has, too. That’s just natural.

So it was a week or so ago when we were sitting in the snug (a wonderfully British word for the TV room off the side of your house) and she was on her phone and found herself here and read something that made her go, “Huh.”

And I was like, “Huh?” A dozen years of blogging and she found something that made her go “Huh!?”

The huh-inducing passage was this from a post expounding on the use of Joe, her strap-on dildo:

I also get off on being denied a me-centric sexual experience and release. Keeping the penis in the Steelheart while she’s fucked cross-eyed is a massive turn on for me (and that, in turn, is basically cuckolding’s next door neighbor). Feeling the penis strain while fucking a dildo in and out of her while she squirms in pleasure is absolute perfection.

“Guess I never knew that,” she said. And then my head exploded.

It’s just the central thesis of the whole blog that’s all. The core to my sexual identity. The very definition of who I am as a sexual being no big deal! I thought but said, “Really?”

Which is to say, the single most important aspect of successful D/s (and kink in general and for that matter life in general) is communication. And while I assumed this blog with its hundreds of thousands of words and lord knows how many posts would count as some pretty elite-level communication, it’s always possible that we’re being misinterpreted. Or perhaps not taken perfectly seriously. Or whatever.

Of course, it’s not Belle’s fault she never picked up what I was putting down. Even though I was putting it down as thick as the Exxon Valdez put oil down on sea birds. Here we are all these years later and whatever needed to click (or the exact right sequence of words to be typed out) clicked (or clacked).

So, to be as clear and pedantic about my thoughts on PIV-style sex with Belle as possible, here is my ranked order preference of the three available options:

  1. Joe the dildo in the harness
    Besides the reasons explained in the above quoted text, Joe is the preferred way to fuck Belle because it takes a great deal of stress off me. It can’t come too quickly. It will always perform. I can think only of pleasuring her without distraction. Without the possibility of feeling the guilt of poor performance or stamina.
  2. Joe the dildo in the harness then me
    There is nothing better than feeling her pussy after it’s been fucked by a tool more of the size she prefers. To feel it opened and stretched in ways I can’t. To be unable to feel the places it reached. It’s maybe the most intensely erotic experience I can imagine. This would be number one except for the fact that I like it so much and think it’s indulgent to allow me that much pleasure.
  3. The penis
    If she hasn’t come and is wanting the penis for pleasure, this is by far the least preferred option. Number three out of three but really like a hundred slots down from the top two.

It’s a complicated thing, to be sure. This morning I got Belle off with my fingers and stayed as I usually am, locked in the Steelheart. The urge to fuck her was intense. Deeply primal, the tube was biting hard when she came. But urges are not the same as what I want. I want to be denied. I want to feel the urge unfulfilled. It’s a form of psychological masochism. Allowing me to give in to the urge would ultimately make me feel guilty. Just because I desire a thing does not mean I should get it. I don’t deserve that. It’s not my place.

Bottom line is, I will always crave more than I get. And in the manual of the care and feeding of Thumper, there’s a part that says (or should say) one is better off, on balance, and can never lose by not giving me what I crave rather than letting me have it.

Ultimately, Belle decides. Always. If she wants to feel me inside her, I should be inside her. If she wants to feel me come in her, I should come in her. I will always do (or try to do) what she wants. But if she’s wondering what I want up high in my logical mind and not down deep in my lizard brain…well, here it is.

The Rules (updated)

The rules under which our dynamic operates have evolved over time, but the last time they were updated was almost three years ago. My previous post discussed a rule I put in place for myself about not touching the penis, but rules I put on myself are easily waived or bent. Rules Belle puts in place carry much more weight. So this morning…

Therefore, here is the updated list of Rules that I follow.

  • I can only come when Belle tells me to and, if she tells me to, I have to.
  • I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.
  • When unlocked, I cannot touch the penis except for maintenance purposes or to swap devices. Never for pleasure, unless she has released it for sex.
  • I am not to volunteer how I feel about having an orgasm and must never ask for one.
  • If I have sex with someone else, the penis must always be locked. No exceptions.

The revised “no touching” rule replaces one that said I wasn’t allowed to play with it. Touching leads to playing so, in reality, this is better. The definition of “playing” isn’t as definite as “touching.”

These are the rules she expects me to follow. I vow to do so. Of course, it’s hard. If submission were easy, it wouldn’t be worth much.

Me, absent a very good reason

“I don’t understand,” she said.

I said I was uncertain about being locked up in the woods for a week.

“I mean, you’ve done it before.”

That’s true. I have been more than once in the woods for a week and stayed locked up the whole time.

“Explain this to me.”

I couldn’t. Truth is, sometimes in that environment I just don’t feel like being locked up. Especially when I’m with nothing but other men. Big, straight, muggle men. The feeling evaporates. Also, the hygiene issue can be complicating. One week, I wore the Looker 02 the entire time without a shower or anything. Yuck.

“I’d be willing to let you go unlocked, but I need to know why you need to be that way.”

I couldn’t say why I needed to be unlocked. As I was struggling to make the words, the part of my brain that was thinking being locked up even when I didn’t want to be came up with a plan. The Steelheart without the PA fixing. I could pull the penis out every once in a while and wipe it down and also clean the inside of the tube. There was enough privacy for that, surely. No, it wasn’t total security, but it was locked up. And locked up was how she wanted me absent a very good reason to be otherwise. And I didn’t have a very good reason.

“Never mind,” I said.

July metrics

In the months of June and July, I’ve been on fourteen airline flights. Belle will have been on over twenty. We will have also been on different continents for half of the month. Hopefully, things will start to return to normal in August as she gets home and life starts to look like normal again.

FullSizeRenderAll that to explain, for the second month in a row, that things are weird. Not as much of anything as you might expect except for the time the penis has been locked up and out of sight.

In July, there was a device secured to me 98.8% of the time. I was without device for a whole nine and one-quarter hours, almost entirely due to two massages we had in the month. One was near the beginning of the month and happened on a cruise ship in Halong Bay, performed by a small Vietnamese woman with small, weak hands (alas). As usual, I took the device off because massages are traditionally done naked, but not, it turns out, on this ship. I had to leave my swimsuit on which was fucking weird. Had I known, I would have stayed in, but such is life. That accounted for just over 90 minutes of free time.

The second massage was for two whole hours and was done by an equally small Thai woman but she was terrifically strong and/or knew how to leverage her weight. I again assumed nakedness, but instead wore a ridiculous sheer square-cut pair of briefs she supplied. The only thing they ensured was that the penis wouldn’t flop around, but everything was clearly visible though the material and she even pulled them down over my ass to massage my glutes. I assume they were there as more of a deterrence to Westerners looking for enhanced services than modesty. That day I was unlocked for more than four hours. So, for the month, nearly two-thirds of the time I was out was for massages.

The remaining free time was either for Belle’s use or cleaning. I never flew on this trip without a device, either the Schandmaske or Holy Trainer. Neither made for even a blip in any security situation, even the TSA’s scanners.

While we’re on the subject, pour one out for the Schandmaske. I believe I lost it somewhere along the way since it wasn’t amongst my things when packing, wasn’t where I was keeping the devices, and hasn’t been found in my suitcase upon return. I’m holding out a small amount of hope it will turn up when Belle packs and leaves, but not much. Poor Schandmaske. I hardly knew ye.

The Steelheart has been on for the nearly two weeks I’ve been back as well as now and then before coming home so it ruled the month with 52% of the total time. The Holy Trainer and Halfshell more or less split the other half. The Schandmaske’s last hour happened somewhere in there.

Looking back over the year, 9.25 hours is the third longest I’ve been out over a month and bucks the trend of three consecutive months of ever-decreasing free time. I expect August to be back to around normal, so in the 4 hour range.

On the sex side, Belle only came six times. Four times with me and twice by herself. Well, at least twice. She sometimes forgets to keep me updated. By herself was via her vibrator and one of the times with me was on the penis. The remaining were from my fingers.

The one time on my penis I was about as close as I could get to coming without actually coming. I’ve struggled to define it, it was so close, but it didn’t feel like a whole orgasm. Perhaps because she wasn’t done with her pleasure and kept riding it after which is one way to ruin an orgasm. In any event, I’ve landed on not calling it one since I didn’t feel especially post-orgasmic after and my level of sexual frustration didn’t seem to falter. All tolled, I was inside her four times and ejaculated each time.

As I said, Belle gets home Saturday and then has to reset her clock, but it’ll be nice for us all to be home and things to return to as normal as possible.

 

June and half-year metrics

I’m a bit tardy with the June update seeing as we were in Vietnam on July 1st and I didn’t have my laptop with me. I didn’t want to peck it out on my phone.

IMG_5416.PNGJune was a five device month. That may be a first. The Looker 02, Steelheart, Holy Trainer, Halfshell, and Schandmaske all had their time in the pouch.

The L02 was mostly before we left for Hong Kong and, I think, may be at the end of its life. The urethral insert is loose and I don’t think I’d pay to get it fixed because I’d also want to make all kinds of adjustments (slightly shorter cage, slightly thicker and longer insert) meaning if I have a device like it in the future, I’ll just get another one.

The Schandmaske just made it under the wire. As I was getting ready to go to the airport for the flight to Hanoi, I saw the potential for all five I bought to get some lock time. Belle’s been traveling separately (and more often) than the rest of us, so I have a free hand in deciding which device I wear and when I switch them out. I have her key and, thanks to misplacing it for a few hours, also have my back up both freely available. I’ve become something like the house cat that anxiously watches the birds on the feeder but won’t go out the front door when given the chance. The penis is now completely tamed and I have no interest at all in having it free.

We got back to Hong Kong after a week in China earlier in the month a day before Belle did, and I put myself in the Steelheart. I slipped the Holy Trainer off and pushed my balls through the tight A-ring followed by the penis and felt the cold steel wrap itself around the rapidly inflating meat. There’s something about the Steelheart. Something that feels like home and really the only device I wear that’s synonymous with “real” chastity. Maybe because it’s a bit too tight and the tube totally envelopes and replaces the penis (as opposed to the Halfshell where the bottom of the penis can be touched) and unlike the HT or the L02, it’s escape-proof. I dunno. But the psychology of being in that device over all others is very different. I’m wearing it now and just writing about it is filling it up.

As you can see in the chart, the penis’ time out was barely over an hour which by far is the lowest amount of the year and maybe ever in any month in all the years we’ve been using chastity in our marriage.

  • January – 10.75 hours (1.5%)
  • February – 5 hours (.7%)
  • March – 12.6 hours (1.7%)
  • April – 4.5 hours (.6%)
  • May – 4 hours (.5%)
  • June – 1 hour (.1%)

The briefness of this period is more related to issues other than Belle’s choices. As I said, lots of travel, some time with Belle being away, and for a week there I was sick with a nasty sore throat and didn’t want to give it to Belle. I suspect that the 4-5 hours a month will turn out to be normal for us over time.

Thanks to the issues mentioned above, I was well below other months (or my personal goal) of getting her off. Only four times. If she took care of herself while away, she never mentioned it. I was inside her just twice, though the second time she told me to come, exactly 120 days from the last time.

IMG_5415.PNGWe’re half way through 2017 now. The Steelheart just edged past the Halfshell in total time with the Schandmaske far behind followed by the HT followed by the L02 (which went on for the first time and maybe last this year in June). The penis was free almost .9% over six months.

Belle has come forty-five times so far this year. Thirty times by my fingers, eleven times by her own hand, twice by me using her vibrator on her, once orally, and once on the penis. Belle always decides how she’ll come, so those numbers indicate her preferences, not mine (with the possible exception of the penis since that’s such an unreliable tool for her).

I’ve come twice in the first half. Once on February 18th and once on June 18th. I ejaculated 18 times without orgasm and was inside her 22 times. One time I got to be inside her and didn’t squirt. That’s an orgasm ratio of about 23:1.

It occurs to me writing this that I haven’t jacked off in about 10 months. That’s easily the longest period of such abstention since I discovered how to do it. Literally the only time the penis gets to feel pleasure is when it’s inside Belle and, of course, that’s exactly how she likes it. If she ever told me I could edge myself with my own hand, I’d jump at the chance since I really like jacking off, but it’s hard to say I miss it since to do it absent permission would be a total contravention of our dynamic. It’s another of those things I crave but do not miss. The only way I could would be by cheating and that seems like not only a violation of her trust but something that’s against my very nature as who I am sexually.

Anyway, that’s that. Half a year down.

Hapa’s comment

Hapa left the following comment on my 2016 metrics post:

Love how you’re always pushing boundaries and publishing results. For real. As I read this blog entry I started wondering about the big picture. My guess for arguments sake, is you and Belle are in your late forties. A lot of couples naturally start seeing a slow decay in sexual frequency as they age,.

Do you think about trading the natural ability of your most active sexual years for lifestyle?

Clearly you and Belle have a great thing going and and your blog is both inspirational and entertaining but thought that chastity could potentially fit a time when yours or your partners appetite for physical sex is lower (especially when you’re at 16 orgasms/ year) than trading your more vital years.

Maybe the consideration is entirely backwards and the hotness of the trade off is everthing regardless.

In a comical parallel, I used to buzz my hair for many reasons, mostly that I liked it, then, one day I realized I’d be better off enjoying my natural ability to grow and style my hair leaving the buzzing for a time when styling isn’t possible. Chances are I’ll go back to buzzing sooner than that but it made sense enough to stop buzzing my hair for now.😉

Thank you for continuing to write so authentically about your life and sexuality.

Happy New Year,
Hapa

I started to respond but it got all long-winded so I’ve promoted to a whole post. I do not want this to be read as some kind of personal take-down of what Hapa asked or said. Quite the opposite. I want him to understand my perspective. There was a time when I would have asked and said the very same things he did.

Your guess is right that Belle and I are in our late forties. We were in our early forties when we started all this. And while I do agree in general that denial and chastity is one way to combat a slackening libedo, that’s not exactly what happened for us.

Prior to the denial dynamic overlay to our relationship, we had endured years of essentially sexless marriage. Then I cheated and then we came back together and started having sex again. For a while, we had quite a lot of pretty standard sex. Then I discovered what chastity was and we were off to the races. So, for us, it wasn’t a way to enhance a declining sex drive. It was a way to enhance our relationship. Also, for what it’s worth, Belle’s sex drive has increased pretty dramatically in the past year or so.

For a while (like, more than a year), I bought into that “trading my more vital years” thing because I was not yet getting my head around the fact that the point of being locked up is not for me to have sex or for me to have more sex or for me to have better sex or for me to have hotter fantasies or for me at all. It’s not about me. I was terrifically turned on all the time and the chastity was hot as fuck and I’d lay there all mad at Belle for not wanting to take advantage of me in my turned on state and let me make her come, etc. etc. I was being selfish and not accepting that she held the key and owned what it secured. I wanted the female to lead my relationship but only if she led it where I wanted it to go. I was one of those poor bastards who wants to be locked up and talks his wife into it and then becomes a pain in the ass horned-up idiot. Chasity and denial are acts of submission and submission means sacrifice at some level.

It’s from sacrifice that submissives draw their energy. It’s the very definition of being submissive. Giving up control of some kind. Giving it to them, for them. And then living with the consequences. And knowing that living like that is how we as submissives were meant to be.

In a lot of ways, when I talk about my mantra — This is who I am, not what I do — it’s an attempt to draw strength from the reality of the previous paragraph. Giving things up is what makes me as a submissive happy. Seeing her enjoy what I can do for her, as well.

That’s a heavy way of saying I don’t see the exchange of being able to come when and as often as I want for her control over those things and as a trade-off. It’s the entire point. I don’t know how it would be different if I was 30 or 20 or 70, but I do know I wish we had started this as soon as we met. I don’t care if I’m having 1% or 10% or 90% of the orgasms someone my age would normally be having. I care that she owns any I have from this point forward and that she takes that seriously. I’m a fucking sub. I want to be dominated. It makes me happy to be controlled. Being controlled makes me happier than having orgasms. My responsibility isn’t to think about what might be, it’s to focus on making her happy and all the ways I can repay her attention to the responsibility she’s accepted.

You do get there in your comment (“Maybe the consideration is entirely backwards…”), but your hair analogy is off. Even if I couldn’t come as often as I could when I was 20 (i.e., grow as much hair as you can now and not when you can’t), I’d still want her to control it. It makes no difference if I have the natural urge to come three times a day or three times a month. In fact, if I’m unable or have no urge to do something, what value is there in giving it to someone else? It’s potency is its value. Because I have the urge to come (however often) but do not in deference to her control is why this works. That’s where the energy comes from.

I don’t think your POV is uncommon. I do think it’s wrong. Orgasm denial, in a weird way, isn’t about orgasms. It’s about denial. Denial is the thing. Sacrifice. Handing over control. Submission. Yeah, baby. That’s the stuff.

/end sermon

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!

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.

img_367da97c9bec-1

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.

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.