Tag: FLR

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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.

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Tent me

While away from Belle during a week in the deep woods camping at the end of July, I jacked off twice to completion in my tent.

Why? I can claim the first time was due to me not being able to relax and sleep, but that doesn’t explain the second time. There’s really no excuse. I wore the locking cock ring as a reminder of things but had to take it off due to it rubbing me badly and I didn’t have any lube with me to fix it. I masturbated once it was off. So I don’t know. I’m weak. I’m stupid. I was away from Belle and and far outside my day-to-day rhythms. And I was unlocked.

I am not the same person when I’m locked up. I would never think of taking Belle’s key or opening mine and using it to let the penis out for a quick one. I totally could do that, but I would never. Even if I wasn’t locked up, the chances of me jacking off while at home are pretty distant. I will sometimes fiddle with the penis and get it hard, give it a squeeze and a pull. But to furiously wank on it? So much so that I shoot? No.

But in the tent. Far away from Belle and the sphere of normal life. Without the impediment of a physical device. I changed. That’s all there is to say.

I’m not happy about it. I wish I hadn’t done it. I almost feel like that person was a different version of me. I guess, in a way, it was. It’s also a reminder of how deeply the need to find sexual release is built into us. All of us. How quickly we can regress to the mean. The first time, maybe I had a reason. The second time, I did it because I felt like it.

Belle, of course, knew. Before I had a chance to tell her (and I was going to tell her) she told me. I can’t say what it was exactly that tipped her off, but she could tell. Then, while fucking her the weekend I got home, I accidentally came again.

Maybe because of all the coming, my predilection towards being locked up was at a low ebb and my mom came to town and Belle forgot to tell me to go back in. So on top of everything else, I wasn’t secured for a week while Belle assumed I was. But since she never actually told me to go back in, I rationalized.

So yeah, I’ve been a bad rabbit.

I share all this not because it’s especially hot or makes good reading but to highlight how hard I think being a denied man is. In that tent in those woods, I failed. I did what I wanted and disregarded my previous pledges to the contrary.

It affected my mood. Besides the chemical hits that accompany orgasm, there was the reality of not living as I was supposed to. Not living up to her expectations and even my own. Plus there’s other things compounding that that aren’t for this blog. But I haven’t felt myself, really, since then.

Belle’s recent clarifications regarding her expectations of when I’ll be locked in a device (as in, all the time unless she says otherwise) has helped. I’ve been in the Steelheart nearly continuously expect for a day or so she let me out because I was sick and the two 30-minute periods this weekend when she wanted to fuck. She’d get up and leave the room when she was finished with me and I had to put the device back over the still-turgid and wet penis, shoving and pushing until the lock turned. She didn’t tell me to, she expected it. Living like this has made me feel more myself. Less like tent me and more like locked me. I like that me. Belle does, too.

In reality, it’s a relief to know I am expected to always be in a device. That absent specific direction on the matter, I should always every time be locked. I resent not being in one, anyway. I don’t think of myself as complete anymore if I can see and feel the penis. I would rather step out of the shower and see shiny steel than a fleshy tube. I’d rather feel the comforting discomfort of a constrained erection in the morning than not. I want to feel the heft of the thing swing when I turn over in bed. I want to feel it pressing up against me as I lay on my stomach. I want to feel the hardness of the tube pushing into my balls when driving and wearing my jeans. I want to be able to put my hands down my pants and feel the lock. That’s who I aspire to be. Because it makes me feel more like the me she prefers. Because that me can’t fuck up and come because he feels like it.

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My rules

There are several things I need to get to blogging-wise, but I first I want to formalize the newly updated set of rules under which our D/s dynamic operates. There have been various versions of this over the years, but the most recent list has stuck and now there’s a new addition that makes them just about complete (though, of course, I don’t decide that). 

  • 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 it’s not locked, I must never play with the penis without permission.
  • I must never volunteer to her how I feel about having an orgasm and must never ask for one.
  • If I have sex with someone else, I must always have a locked penis. No exceptions.

The addition is in the second rule. It used to be that I had to be locked up when she told me to be so. A couple of weeks ago, I was unlocked for a whole week during which time she assumed I was locked. When she found out I wasn’t, she was surprised and my weasely explanation was she never told me to go back in (and, of course, I didn’t bring it up). Since she prefers me when the penis is locked and, absent some extraordinary reason to be otherwise, sees no reason for me not to be, the assumption now is I will always reclock the penis as soon as possible after she lets it out for whatever reason unless she explicitly gives me permission not to. 

The others are pretty straightforward. The fourth rule is written that way because sometimes I want to come and sometimes I don’t but, according to the first rule, she decides when that happens, not me. Therefore, it doesn’t really matter how I feel about coming (either pro or con) and, obviously, asking for one is out of the question. The thing that’s interesting to me about orgasm control and denial is, the longer one goes without coming, it’s often the case that one wants to go longer and actually starts to dread the idea of it. By resisting or complaining or in any way trying to influence the one who decides, one cannot truly be said to have given up control over that part of their existence. I’ve found that once I really let go of all that and thinking on how long it had been and how long it would be, etc., I was much happier. And so was she. 

The last and unspoken rule is that Belle makes the rules and I live under them. Unless I fuck up miserably. That’s the next post…

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Funny little thing

“It’s a funny little thing, isn’t it?” Belle remarked.

The lights were out and we were going to sleep (I thought). It was a weeknight and she was tired, but she told me I could sleep naked so I was. She had her hand down on the penis which was at its most flaccid state. Not much more than a tiny worm of a thing even as she fiddled with it.

“Hurph,” I replied. I was halfway tired and halfway wanting to catch up on some news and unsure which way I’d go but I wasn’t at all thinking anything would happen between us.

“Do you ever think about that? How funny they are?”

“Yes, I actually think about them quite a lot.”

Her fiddling became more focused. More like stroking with fingers on either side. I squirmed a bit and shifted to give her a better angle at it. It was plumping up into a not so pathetic state.

Once it got to about 80% full, she was actively pleasuring it and causing my breathing to catch in my throat. The heavy 4 gauge circular barbell in the PA flopped hither and yon and my fingers sought out her nipples through her bedclothes.

“You’re going to give me an orgasm,” she stated plainly and moved to take off her clothes. I took the opportunity to grab and squeeze the hard-on between my legs. She’s right. They are funny little things. One moment barely an inch long, just a little nubbin of a thing, and the next almost six times longer and hard and much bigger around. Ridiculous, really.

Once she was naked and I was on her nipples with my mouth, she stopped paying attention to the penis. I tried to find a spot where I could grind it into her hip while pleasuring her, but my focus was on her breasts and her snatch and the sounds she was making and the way she was breathing and moving and using all those inputs to expertly gauge how successful I was being at getting her off and where she was in the process. I know her orgasm as well as my own since I’ve been party to it many times more often over the past several years.

Since we were alone in the house, she was able to come loudly. Since it was hot out and the A/C was on, the neighbors weren’t alerted to the event. I felt her pussy clamp and spasm around my fingers as I pressed into her clit the way she likes. Then is was over. She was coming down. Purring and breathing more deeply.

And I laid there. Waiting. Expecting. Not moving. The penis was still hard against her. I didn’t even move it. I wanted in her. I wanted to feel her pussy around me. I hoped she might let me come so I could fall asleep more easily, though there was no way of knowing about that.

And I waited. She breathed.

And I waited. She sighed.

And I waited.

“Good night, Thumpie.” And she rolled over.