Demonstrations

Over on the Twitter, a friend asked me the following (slightly edited) via direct message:

In many posts you often describe Belle as sniggering or finding your struggle amusing (or trivial?) What I feel like I know of the relationship you have an incredibly loving bond. My question: is her resolve so clear that your whimpers just don’t faze her (kind of impressive?) or is there a sympathy or empathy there that we don’t hear much of? My hardwired vanilla sensitivities battle my “you know what the game is” sensibilities.

Belle has her own “hardwired vanilla sensibilities” and as much as I’ve grown in our dynamic and learned what it means to truly submit and let go of my control over our sexual relationship, she’s learned how to tailor her actions and attitude. Is she sympathetic? Empathetic? Probably. Does she find my struggles amusing? Definitely. I know there was a time when her conditioned “vanilla” response would kick in and she’d feel guilty about what I was going through. We’re way past that now. She doesn’t have a guilty fibre in her being over what she puts me through. If so, she does a good job hiding it.

Our dynamic is like that of a sadist and a masochist. To an outsider, the things the sadist does to their partner the masochist can seem truly awful. Abusive. But the masochist’s wiring is such that the pathways that carry pain and pleasure are mixed and crossover so what would be abuse in one setting is actually an expression of love. Of giving one partner what they need to feel fulfilled. If they’re a true sadist, they get the same kind of pleasure from inflicting the pain. So it’s a symbiotic kind of thing.

Belle’s no sadist. At least, not a physical one. She has developed a mean sadistic streak regarding my denial and chastity. Part of that is based in the knowledge that it feeds my masochistic needs. Part is that she knows there’s a tangible benefit to her by keeping me denied. A little part of her actually likes making me suffer.

So as much as this weekend hurt and caused me mental pain, inflicting it on me (and continuing to do so) is, in my estimation, a demonstration of her love for me. And enduring the pain is part of my demonstration of love for her. Yes, I desperately wanted to come. More than I have in a really long time. But after the moment was over, what I wanted and continue to want more is for her not to factor my desires into the algebra of her dominance over me. When I come again, I want it to be completely on her terms and only as a result of her needs and desires.

The longer I wait, the more it pains me and the desire gnaws at me, the more I’m demonstrating my love to her and, I know, by making me go through it, she’s demonstrating her’s back.

I come when she wants me to

Belle doesn’t like it when I think about how long it’s been since I last came. She doesn’t care for record keeping or counting days or recognizing feats of endurance or anything like that. I come when she wants me to, period. When did I last come? When she wanted me to.

But I have it bad today. Real bad. She let me fuck her this morning after she came and it felt incredible and I really enjoyed it and once again totally psyched myself into thinking she was going to let me go all the way. I got close and slowed down and thought, sure, she’s just dragging it out. Enjoying it. So I let the orgasm retreat and I shifted position and kept my breathing steady before picking up the pace again. Oh my GOD it was wonderful and I was very grateful she was making me wait because it was so much better and I felt myself closing in on it again but she wasn’t saying anything so I again did what I had to do to let it fall back. When I resumed, it was at a pace that would culminate with orgasm. This time she’d let me and it would be amazing and my head would explode and I’d shoot a ton so she’d overflow with it and FUCK it was going to be the best thing ever and wow it wasn’t taking long before I felt like I was getting close again.

I looked at her as I fucked her. She looked back.

“What?” she asked.

Oh, FUCKING HELL.

“OK, time to stop, Thumpie.”

A palpable sense of loss flooded up. I wasn’t going to come and it pained me to know it. I was seriously on the verge of tears. I wanted it so badly. It was right there. So close, but still behind her iron gate. Not going to happen. If she had said I could, it would only take two and half thrusts to get there. But she wasn’t going to say it and all I could do was collapse into her neck and feel the lizard coil up hard inside me, bitter with disappointment that flowered after being planted in a fertile expectation to which it had no right.

I made a small, defeated noise. She thought it was funny. She sniggered. I whimpered.

And now I’m sitting here typing and still wishing I could come. I still feel the need and it’s distracting and consuming and driving me crazy. I read back on the blog and found the last real orgasm I had even though she doesn’t like me to think about it. July 7th. So we’re just over two months. Record is nine. She wouldn’t think two is that much. That I could do more. Also, stop counting. Stop thinking about it. You come when I want you to. That last time you came was when I wanted you to and the next time will be when I want you to. When will that be? Stop thinking about it.

If I was locked up right now, I don’t think I’d be worrying about it as much. The physical presence of the steel restrains me physically as well as psychically. If I were locked up, it’d free me to think about other things. Oh, I’d still think about wanting to come, but it’d allow room for other things to sneak in. But being free means I’m consumed by my desire. It pushes everything else out.

I need to be locked up. Right now. But Belle’s not here and I’m not feeling like I have the willpower to do it myself. God, I want to come so bad. I crave it like nothing else. But I don’t need to come. It’s probably best if I don’t. And I clearly don’t deserve it.

Not that it matters. I come when she wants me to.

After Frodo

I was right that Belle was good with the whole Frodo thing.

She hadn’t thought it would happen but didn’t mind that it did at all and…

She didn’t even consider that I wasn’t secured until I mentioned it.

We were at a tequila bar near Faneuil Hall when we talked about it. We had several hours before we needed to be at the airport so we had some drinks there and then wandered over to the North End to seek out some Italian food. Found a really nice little hole in the wall place on a narrow little street where everything, from the bottle of wine to the Ceasar dressing to the amazing entrees, was far above average. Then…

And…

Thing is, Belle just doesn’t get off on being actively dominant. Tying me up and inflicting pain, etc., doesn’t do much for her, but she knows it does a lot for me. Way back at the start of all this openness, her original suggestion was I find a Domme to give me those things, so this isn’t really a new position for her. More of a completion of a circle.

For a while, I wasn’t sure I could be with another woman like that but I think now that the experience I’ve had with Drew has allowed me to better understand how one would approach it. The way expectations and limits need to be clearly established beforehand and how best to compartmentalize the different relationships. A year ago, I might have been too tentative to approach something like that with a woman. Today, I would.

However, I find it difficult enough as it is juggling work, home, hobbies, and just the one extracurricular player. Now there’s the potential of a second (hopefully, more than potential) and the prospect of opening up to a whole other gender. How in the world will I find the time for all this hot sex? Maybe if Belle got a promotion and I could be a stay at home housesub who whiles away the day going to the gym, getting tied up, whipped and fucked, then coming home to fold laundry and make dinner. But that’s not the life I have. Not unlike when we first opened our relationship, I suspect this new expansion will be more a potential than a reality for the foreseeable future.

Towards the end of our meal as the waiter was pushing their cannoli and tiramisu (we declined), another party came in and sat opposite us. One of them was a guy who may have been a football player at one point in his life. He had to be six and a half feet tall and had big arms. Belle noted this to me and posited that he may have other attributes, as well. She mouthed to me her suspicions over her glass of wine.

Saturdayish

Belle and I got to go out to breakfast by ourselves this morning. The kids were both still sleeping like the dead/teenage years so off we went with the New York Times to a little French place in Uptown.

Prior to that, we had been laying in bed wrapped around one another and being groggy and wonderfully Saturdayish. I was pretty hard up and she just started her period so my prospects weren’t very good, but did I mention how hard up I was? Normally, the Steelheart would have been biting hard, but I’ve been wearing it with its original 45mm ring which is too big to bite (though, on the downside, when also worn with my 4ga PA ring, it’s not unlike a cowbell hung around my balls). My pathetic whimpering caused her to asked what I wanted.

Ooo, what I wanted. I wanted to jack off. I really did. I wanted to get the Steelheart off and jack off in front of her until I almost came, then stop letting the ejaculate splurt weakly out of the hard penis in a ruined orgasm. That’s what I wanted. But I felt bad saying it.

“I want to jack off.”

Ugh. OK, I guess I can live with feeling bad.

“There’s no chance that’s going to happen.”

“OK. Sorry.”

More snuggling, more attempted hard-on, more smelling her hair.

“I could jack you off,” I said helpfully. Sure, she was on her period, but I knew my way around that snatch and could get plenty done regardless.

“You’ll have go close the door.” So, you know what happened next. God, I love feeling her come. I love her hard nipples in my mouth and my finger on her clit and my face in her neck when it’s all over and she’s basking. And, as usual, as soon as it was over, I felt the penis start to lose its pressurization. Stupid fucking penis. Then she left me to stew.

So yeah, anyway, off to breakfast. When the food came, she asked me about my impending trip with Drew to visit Steelwerks in Montreal. She was asking about the hotel and looked it up on her phone to see where it was. We talked about what would happen there and then segued into chitchat about another dominant male who reached out to me via Facebook and what I thought of that. You know, what every other married couple talks about over breakfast. If I started to clam up, she prodded me to say more making sure I was aware she was perfectly comfortable talking about such things (yes, that’s for you, reader who assumes I’m still dragging Belle by her hair into my depravity).

The travel security has been figured out. I’ll go to the airport unlocked and take the Steelheart through the TSA checkpoint and put it on as soon as I’m on the other side. It’ll stay on until we’re either on our way to the airport again or we’re there and heading toward security. While visiting Steelwerks, I’m going to get measured for a device though we have no immediate plans to get one. Figure I might as well not waste the opportunity. The trip there is really for Drew and Axel and their needs, not me and Belle.

Even though it’ll be fascinating seeing the Steelwerks production facility and getting a behind the scenes view of where easily the most beautifully handcrafted chastity devices are made, I’m still struggling with my issues of separation anxiety. I know the trip will be fun and interesting, but I get anxious thinking about it and feel the need to cleave to her all the harder. I was feeling it last time I left her for a week, but she let me come the morning I was leaving and, like magic, 84% of the anxiety fell away. It’s clearly hormonal. I can rationalize it all I want but I can’t stop feeling it. Can’t stop the fluttery insecurity that builds in my chest when I think of being away from her. I think a big part of my sleeping issues lately have been because of this (not just the trip with Drew, but another week-long venture later in the month).

I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to come. Not really at all. Yes, of course, I have a huge urge to orgasm, but that’s not the same thing. Belle thinks I should see someone. Not sure what I’d say. “Yeah, my wife controls my orgasm and hardly ever lets me have them so I’m unnaturally attached to her…that’s OK, right?”

Pfft. It’ll be fine. I’ll get over it.

Sleepytown trolly

“I’m going to help you sleep tonight.”

I’ve been struggling with sleep for the past few days. A bought of denial-induced insomnia.

“How?”

“By letting you give me an orgasm.”

Unf. “I don’t think that’ll help me sleep.”

“What would?”

“You letting me come.”

Snort. “That’s not going to happen.”

Whimper.

“You don’t want to come anyway.”

Whine.

“Say it. ‘Belle Fille, I don’t want you to let me come.'”

Whimper again. Squirm.

“SAY IT.”

Quietly, “I don’t want to you to let me come, Belle Fille.” It was truth, but being forced to say it was like a high heel grinding my inner sub into a tight, hard corner. The kind of space where it’s most content.

“Of course you don’t. You want to get me off and then, because my orgasm is your orgasm, you’ll get sleepy after and fall asleep.”

I had my doubts. Especially when she started talking about her “boyfriend” and how he’d never say anything like that to her. That he and his big cock always came. All I could do was whimper into her nipple as she said these things and I fingered her clit and thought about this mythical alpha male who’d likely laugh at the locked penis and the way she kept me.

“I’m going to make you work for this one, Thumpie. I’m going to enjoy myself.”

URRRRRGH.

It did take a while. She got wetter and I kept sucking and fingering but I never felt her start to get close. Eventually, she took over her own tits and was tweaking and twisting her nipples while I watched and kept my finger on her snatch, rubbing and flicking and penetrating in all the ways I know, through hours and hours of practice like a musician knows his instrument, she liked best. Even that wasn’t enough for her and she got her vibrator and gave it to me but quickly took it back leaving me nothing more than a spectator to her self-pleasuring.

She came, slowly and deeply, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel her pussy clench against my fingers or her back arch or any of the waves of ecstasy that go with her orgasm. I didn’t share it. I heard it and saw it, but I didn’t know it like I usually do. It didn’t go through me. I was just the fluffler that got her into position.

Of course, I don’t begrudge her anything. We have sex so she can come, always, and however she wants. We never have sex so I can come. Whatever we do, if it’s what she wanted, is what we should have done and I don’t have a right to take issue with any of it. She’s right that even though I may crave my own orgasm I never want her to give it to me. I don’t need any orgasms. I only get them when she wants to feel me come in her. Even that can feel more about her than me.

She was left drained by her effort and its successful culmination and I was left pretty much as I was before. Tired but not sleepy and now that much more wired and trying to push images of her and another man out of my mind. She fell asleep quickly and I tried but couldn’t connect with it. I kept thinking and tossing and feeling separation angst (I have some trips coming up) all the while trying to keep sexual images and thoughts as far away as possible.

At about 11:30, I got up and took the last Tylenol PM in the house. I don’t like taking it but I could feel the kind of panic in me that usually unspools into zero hours of sleep. Then I went in the living room and read more of the book I’m getting through. By 12:30, the pill was taking over and I was yawning. I sent back to the bedroom, stripped, crawled in next to her, and tried to get on the road to Sleepytown.

Eventually, I did.

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…

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.

111004_getitVenn 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.