Tag: FLR

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Roadtripping

Once Belle let me out the other morning, after having been in for so long, I fell into a familiar pattern. It started with me being nearly unable to contain my desire for her with my grabby hands and moaning and gyrating the super-hard penis into her. She had to tell me to take it down a notch since, when I’m like this, it’s pretty obvious I’ve forgotten that sex is hers, not mine.

So yeah, familiar pattern. I got her off in the way she likes the whole time thinking what her hot, wet snatch was going to feel like enveloping the penis. Then she came and nearly immediately I felt the hydraulics start to release. By the time she told me I could go into her, the penis was already at about 70%. Fucking got it back up to the mid-eighties at least, but then after only a few seconds I was really close to coming so I stopped and then the bottom fell out of the thing. Totally limp.

“That’s too bad. I was going to let you come.”

Then it turned into a head thing, big time. Since the penis was already wet and I was so turned on, coming sounded pretty good to me, but the fucking stupid thing wouldn’t turn over and the more I thought about it and fretted over it, of course, the less inclined it was to cooperate.

Eventually, I was able to stroke it to an acceptable erection and she told me I could come that way and, with the heavy PA jewelry flopping to and fro and the unusual sound of fapping filling our room, I did and it felt like the world folded up backward and exited out the top of my head as I shot my load. Unbelievably intense and only marginally enjoyable as a result.

The next morning, we were back at it. I had been out all night so the urgency was reduced and had just come so the stakes were lower. I rarely come more than once in a few days anymore. But, after getting her off and getting inside her, I got close again in just a few seconds and she told me to come. So I did. Apparently she wanted to feel that and was cheated out of it the day before. A bit more enjoyable this time around, but still felt like a hot marble shooting out of me.

So man. Twice in two days. I would normally expect that to knock the wind right out of our dynamic and leave me feeling the low ebb of denial energy. That was the case, but only for that day. The next, we were on the road for our week’s adventure together and I unexpectedly found myself really horny. I was still free of the Steelheart and as the miles rolled under us, I’d feel waves of arousal wash over me making my pants fill up, my chest surge with fluttery energy, and my hand tighten around hers.

We stopped at a dusty gas station just south of nowhere and, while paying for the gas, an absolute specimen of a man walked in to get some lunch. Belle spotted him first and pointed him out. Always fun when you and your wife can appreciate an especially well-formed piece of man meat together. This guy was wearing faded jeans and an old t-shirt and ball cap. We went out and sat in the car as he walked across the station’s tarmac carrying his sandwich into a stiff wind. The old shirt was pressed against his fantastic chest and abs and his jeans were molded around his thighs and, if I may say, magnificent ass. Belle said something about his eyes and I was like, he has eyes? He was so pretty it made my teeth hurt. People this perfect should not be allowed. But yeah. Unf.

So the next morning, I woke up before Belle with a still free penis and it was doing its usual morning thing and I was still turned on in a pretty significant way and images of that Adonis walking into the wind wouldn’t leave my mind and she was right there and I was fucking horny. Insistently so.

“I’m not having sex in this hotel room,” she told me flatly. Hard to blame her as it wasn’t very nice, but I thought as I laid there that I’d had sex in plenty worse in my day. After a while of me being annoyingly horny, she told me it was time to put the Steelheart back on. We had to wait for the stupid boner to go down and, even then, it wasn’t totally gone. I pushed and shoved and squeezed an unhappy penis into its pen before she put the lock in and turned the key.

“OK, now you can give me an orgasm.”

AAARGH! That minx. Such a tease. I moaned and groaned and the steel bit down on its victim.

“This is what you need, Thumpie. Later today, you’ll tell me so. You’ll thank me.”

So, yeah, I got her off. As I was doing my thing, she said, “I love feeling the hard steel press into my leg while you do that.”

AAARGH, again.

Yesterday’s driving was not unlike the previous days in that I’d have these attacks of arousal only this time the Steelheart kept things in check and the feeling of that happening only made me hornier and that only made the Steelheart bite harder. Rinse, repeat.

But she was right. We stopped at Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and hiked around. After a couple miles, we stopped to admire the geology and, standing there, I did thank her for locking me up.

“It’s how you’re supposed to be,” she said. And she’s right.

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Confidence game

Pursuant to my last post, Belle got home from her trip pretty horny. She was still on SoCal time so didn’t feel like going to sleep at her usual hour, though I also wasn’t sure she wanted to have sex. She knew I was pretty turned on because it was a day starting with a consonant but I just laid there and let her pet my head and back for a while and didn’t push it. Then she told me to close the door.

By the time I was back to the bed, she was naked. She told me I wasn’t getting out and I probably whimpered. As soon as I touched her snatch, I found her to be soaking wet. Not kind of turned on and ready to go wet. Fucking dripping wet. As if we’d been messing around for an hour instead of just starting. I moaned into the nipple in my mouth and sank my fingers into her heat.

Really, all I can say if UNF. I wanted her badly but I wasn’t getting out. The Steelheart bit down hard as my fingers and mouth made her squirm and moan and whisper dirty little things into the top of my head.

She came awfully hard. I wanted to bite her nipple I was so turned on. She could tell. She knew how bad I was. She just told me it was good for me. It was the best thing for me. Though I wouldn’t admit it, it was what I wanted.

There is nothing sexier in the whole fucking world than confidence.

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A couple of weird ones

This morning, I woke up with a free hard-on thanks to Belle trying to save a little time the night before by putting me to bed unlocked. I wore my heavy circular barbell in the PA and felt it flop hither and to as the erection moved around early this morning. Extremely distracting.

We slept in fairly late for us and are both still sore from a workout class we took together on Saturday. Really kicked our asses. I was pulling my legs out from under the covers and stretching and rubbing my hamstrings and glutes which are still smarting. By then, the penis was back to its soft n’ floppy condition and Belle took the opportunity to reach out and start petting it.

I really, honestly cannot describe how wonderful that feels. The penis rarely if ever feels pleasurable touch like that and the sensation of her fingers lightly brushing its lengthening form, under and up and over and down and around, made me purr and arch my back and bury my face in a pillow. Then it sprang up and she started to give it ever-so-gentle strokes and it felt like I was going to combust into a ball of angsty horniness. I knew I should reposition myself so I could start showing her some attention (she is, after all, the focus of our sex) but the sound of leaking precum smacking at the end of the penis and the feeling of the heavy ring moving inside it with each stroke was too deliciously distracting. So I laid there a bit longer.

Then I just wanted inside her. I figured she wasn’t going to stroke me until I came or anything and while it felt magnificent, the reptile brain wanted pussy so I moved down and went to work. I wasn’t as gentle as usual. I fingered her with two of them and hooked them in and behind her pubic bone before running then back up and around the length of her clit. I fingered the other nipple, rubbing it and pinching it as hard as I dared while sucking the other. I was panting and moaning in heat as her breathing increased and I could feel her orgasm getting closer. She started to gyrate in syncopation with my fingering and with each rotation her hip brushed against the corona of the still rock hard penis between us. Each touch made me gasp into her breast and was enough to make me feel as though I’d shoot if she kept it up for too much longer.

Then the first weird thing happened. She kinda came. Like, maybe 40-60% of an orgasm. She sounded like she was coming and she moved like she was coming, but I didn’t feel her pussy pulsate in waves like it normally does. In any event, she was close enough that she didn’t want me messing with it anymore.

I was still panting, though, and pressing into her and obviously pathetically desperate so she told me I could take my turn. In one motion, I moved up and over her and slid the cock in without even aiming and immediately started to fuck her properly warmed up pussy. As soon as I got in there, she started to make her happy pussy noises that I have zero defense over and are the surest way to make me come. The idea that I would think of something else to distract myself was fantasy as, for me at that time, there was nothing else. Just the feelings of that penis inside her and the sounds it was coaxing out of her. I got so, so, so close to coming and stopped. Dead. And waited.

Even just the feeling of her surrounding the penis was enough. I couldn’t stop it though I tried. I resisted and pushed back against the tidal force of that coming and she told me to go ahead, but it was too late to enjoy. It felt like someone kicked me in the small of my back. Like the penis was burning off of me. My head pounded and my breathing seemed to stop and my stomach clenched. As though instead of riding the wave of the orgasm over the edge I stood my ground like a breakwater and let it crash into me and around me and through me. It was shattering.

At first, I didn’t know what happened. Was that an orgasm? I didn’t feel myself shoot, but I did. A lot. The penis was still hard but failing fast and electric in the post-orgasmic way they are. I had come, but not in a way I ever had before. Not in a way I ever want to again. There was nothing at all pleasurable about it for me.

I slid off and gripped her hard and fought the swell of sleepiness programmed into all men. I could smell the semen and it was not good. Then, she reached into her drawer and retrieved her little purple vibrator. I asked if she wanted any help but she said no which was a relief. All I wanted to do was doze with my face in her hair. I heard the vibe come on and muffle and growl as it went in and out and over her clit and heard her breathing pick up before she came in a terrific shuddering crash that surely would have woken any sleeping neighbors had she allowed herself to vocalize as she wanted to.

She didn’t say anything about going back in the Steelheart and I didn’t ask. I was left reeling from whatever experience that was and any notion of sliding the wet, sticky penis back into the cold steel left me feeling flat. I’m still out, but not down since writing this after a little time on Tumblr has left my pants full of hard-on and a, ahem, stiff desire to head off by myself and do things I’ll regret later. Plus, Belle’s out shopping. So…bad combination.

But I’ll be good. In fact, I’ll probably go put the damned Steelheart back on right now.

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Three weeks, three squirts

I mentioned a few posts back that Belle was going to keep me locked up for three weeks straight. This was more an accident of timing than anything else, but it was also a result of her just not feeling the need for a hard penis when my chance came along and therefore seeing no purpose in letting the one on me out of its confinement. Then she was out of town for a weekend and, even though we had sex after she got back, it was a quickie and was more about my tongue and her clit than anything else. Finally, yesterday, she let me out. And it felt so fucking good to have a real, unrestrained erection.

Too good, actually. She had to warn me to settle down. I get a little rambunctious when she lets me out. Kind of like a dog who sees his leash. It only happens for one reason, really, so when it does I start jumping up on her and wagging my tail and panting and such. I think she likes it when I get excited like that, but also needs me to focus on the task at hand: her.

Feeling your wife’s hot, wet pussy when you’re locked up is a certain kind of torture, but feeling it when you’re not but also not allowed to just fuck the shit out her is altogether another feeling. So much promise and potential and anticipation, made all the more intense by three fucking weeks of being under lock and key. I was rock hard and 12 seconds from coming and only my middle finger was wet. Then she told me to get inside her.

She hadn’t come yet. I think she wasn’t too far off (I am keenly attuned to her orgasmic processes) but she wanted to be fucked so fuck her I did. And she liked it. Vocally. And that expression of pleasure was too much for me. As she liked it more and more, I lost any pretense of stamina. I got far too close to coming before I stopped and the leakage inside her was every bit three weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration. After that, we needed the vibrator to finish her off. It came away from her covered in my juices more than hers.

Early this morning, I was woken up by the sensation of my nocturnal hard-on rubbing against the sheets. The opposite of what normally wakes me up at that time, except this morning I got to grind it into the bed in order to feel more. I’m not allowed to stroke it, but I so wanted to. All I could get was the contact friction against the mattress. I suppose even that was breaking the spirit of the “no playing with it” rule, so I (eventually) stopped fucking the bed.

When Belle woke up, I jumped her and again went too fast for her. She didn’t make me fuck her first this time, so when she was done and allowed me access, I found an unwilling partner in the penis. Even if I’m out and she’s wet and inviting, if she already came, it will often go soft. That’s how well trained it is now.

Luckily, my Belle knows me and gave my (still kinda rough and sore from earlier in the week) nipples a healthy twisting. The direct line from them to the penis electrified and the erection was back in a flash. I got lost in the fucking to the point that I was about a stroke and half away from coming when I finally stopped myself from going over the edge.

That’s when I realized I was expecting her to tell me to come. For whatever reason, my interpretation of how Belle keeps me left me assuming that today was going to be the day and so I didn’t do anything to stop myself from going right up to the orgasm. With that notion still in my head and nearly an entire orgasm’s worth of spunk in her pussy, I started to fuck again. I find my aversion to ejaculate is so complete at this point that the feeling of fucking through my own has become a turn-off, but I was counting on that orgasm so I pressed on. So much so, that I added whatever was left inside me to what came before, but the word was never given. I never came.

I asked her about it after. Told her it felt like today was going to be the day. She laughed. Not unlike two weeks ago when she never let me out, the idea that I would come now never entered her mind. I honestly have no idea how long it’s been since I last came (which she likes very much), but it’s apparently been long enough that I feel like doing it again. Or, at least, I want to feel like I want to again.

As we laid there in (her) post-orgasmic snuggle session, I started to drift off. She thought it was funny that I acted like I had come even though I hadn’t. I could feel in my balls the tightness and weight of being very much denied release, but the rest of me really did feel like I had come. Snoozy, warm, fuzzy. Except in my crotch where this afternoon’s blue balls were brewing. Back in the day, denial like this would leave me wired and bouncing around, but not anymore. Further indications of conditioning.

Right after breakfast, I asked when she wanted me back in. Often, this is a vague kind of thing. It would be understood that I’d need to be locked up sometime before bed. Occasionally, I can stretch that to Monday morning. But she said, “Right now,” and I was like, Oh…OK. So I marched myself into the bathroom, showered off the morning’s fucking and running, trimmed the hair I usually can’t get to, and locked the Steelheart back in place.

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She never even considered it

The penis was very annoying Sunday morning. It usually only wakes me up (when it wakes me up) sometimes between 3:30 AM and 4:30 AM pushing and squeezing and straining against the Steelheart. Sunday, though, it did it four times starting at only 12:30 AM. Then again a few hours later then again at 3:30 then again at 4:30. Or maybe I should stay still at those times since I don’t think it stopped trying to be hard the entire time.

Things were not helped when Belle woke up. Saturday morning she had left bed before I woke up so there was no naked play time, but Sunday she was looking for my services. She made me close the door but did not retrieve the key as I thought she would. I was left locked up the whole time, though she did stroke my balls and perineum and then hit my nuts a few times just to mix things up. The intensity of the attempted erection was perhaps even more painful than the nocturnal ones as I got to work sucking her tits and fingering her snatch. She came hard and all I did was grind my steel package into her thigh.

In the glowy part afterward, she commented on how I was looking at a good long lock up since she’s going to be at a spa weekend with her sister and mother next weekend. She’ll leave Friday morning and not get back until Sunday afternoon. She apparently has no intention of  letting me out at any point before she leaves or the weekend following her return so that’s three solid weeks of steel time.

Sounds bad, but in thinking about it, that’s not so far removed from normal. With the exception of doctor’s visits, I was locked up pretty much the entire time since we go back from vacation at the beginning of April. She lets me out on the weekends if she wants me to fuck her, but the best I can hope for then is being out from Saturday morning to Sunday night. The last time I got to be inside her, I was only out about three hours.

In any event, I suggested she could have let me out Sunday morning for some pussy time but all she did was laugh a little and say, “You know what’s funny? I never even considered it,” before not doing anything at all regarding penis freedom.

I don’t know at this point which of us wants my chastity more. She really likes knowing what I’m not doing with the penis when she’s not around (if you were to ask her, that’s the first thing she’d say regarding what she likes about my chastity). I’m certainly not allowed to have an orgasm without her, but she equally doesn’t want me to have any pleasure from the penis at all without her (preferably, the only pleasure I get from it will be when it’s inside her). This has the effect of focusing me rather specifically on her and her pussy which is, of course, the ultimate intention of leaving me locked up in the first place. When she doesn’t let me out and I feel how hot and wet I make her, a gaping chasm of desire for her opens up in my chest. Looking back on how we were when we married, I’m sure it would never occur to either of us at the time that eventually we’d arrive at a relationship dynamic founded on her leveraging control over me through the denial of my sexual pleasure, let alone that it would be so successful.

I wanted in so bad on Sunday morning that I climbed up on top of her and pressed the Steelheart against what I knew was a soft, wet, and inviting opening.

“Like you’re going to feel anything,” she purred.

“I don’t. I don’t feel a thing,” I whimpered into her neck.

“Exactly.”

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Homecoming

Belle’s home from her two week overseas adventure so all’s right in the world again. It’s been hard keeping my hands to myself and I’m sure I’m annoying her with the attention, but I’m just so happy to have her back in the house.

She landed Friday afternoon and was in the typical jet-lagged haze for the rest of the day. I was able to keep her up until 9:00 PM (totally innocent — we were watching Friends) but then she crashed and was sound asleep seconds after she settled in. At about 4:00 AM, the penis in its tube woke me up. I realized she was laying there staring at the ceiling so I made my move. Turned out pretty well. She gave me the key and I got her off with a fully hard penis waiting impatiently between us. Then, when it was time for me to go for a ride, she told me she wanted to feel me come inside her. A little part of me rebelled at the notion, but I didn’t say anything and dutifully ejacualted as requried. It was not a great orgasm as orgasms go and I’m OK with that. But it was copious and that’s pretty much what she wanted. She told me she needed to feel me “mark” her on her return. That the orgasm had nothing to do with me, really. Sort of an unfortunate byproduct of what she needed to have happen. Regardless, she wanted me locked right back up. I was only out about three hours.

I was out and about all day and not in the office until late in the afternoon. I stopped in only because I was expecting a package from Mr. S to be waiting for me. Indeed, there it was. My business partner called me out for only coming in to pick up a package and wanted to know what was in it. I said it was something for home but he wouldn’t have any of that.

“It’s clearly something you don’t want to tell me about.”

“Clearly.”

“Now I know it has to be something illicit.”

“You’ll never know, will you?”

“You mean you have secrets you don’t share with me?”

I wanted to say, “As a matter of fact, I do. Not only does my wife lock my cock in a steel cage just about all the time and I go weeks and months without coming, I like to stick things in my butt and, oh, I have a boyfriend I get to fuck around with on the side. Did I mention the bondage thing? Or the masochistic tendencies? How’s that for secrets? Want any more?” But all I said was, “You have no idea.”

In the envelope was the Oxballs Cock Lock. I’ll be posting my full impression later, but I was anxious to get it home in time for the weekend. I’ve been wearing it since.

Yesterday’s orgasm has really done nothing to my overall horniness level. I was ready and raring again this morning for something, though Belle told me that there would be no more coming for me any time soon and I wasn’t getting out of whatever device I happened to be in, either. Regardless, I wanted to feel her come, but I wasn’t pushy about it. Luckily, she was amenable to the idea.

Before we got down to it, though, she told me how she and our trainer had been flirting with one another via text while she was gone. I’m convinced this is SOP for male trainers and their female clients. Belle knows what this does to me and, even though I asked for details, she wasn’t forthcoming. I told her I’m pretty sure that someday he’ll send her a cock shot. Yes, he’s that kind of guy. I’m sure with a tiny bit of encouragement from her, it’s entirely with the realm of possibility.

FullSizeRender 18This is not a new thing with him. He once sent her a picture of himself shirtless. Yeah, I know. Fucking hot, right? Based on my own personal experience, I know a guy who will send that picture is also a guy who will send others and of a more personal nature.

Anyway, I immediately wanted to fuck her. She wanted to be marked yesterday, but today, it was me craving the marking. But nope. Wasn’t going to happen.

Before we started, she got her new little purple vibe out of her drawer. She had taken it on the trip with her and, she reports, used it multiple times to get off. I, of course, got off zero times while she was gone. Yes, of course, she knew that. And now I know that one of the times she got off was while she was on the plane. I told her back when I doing that sort of thing, I’d jack off on planes, too. She said that sounded hard to do in one’s seat which is where she was when she did it with her vibrator. In her seat. GAH.

Yes, it was in business class which meant a lot more privacy than back where the they keep the goats, chickens, and regular people, and the thrum of the engines probably helped cover the thrum of the little vibe, but still. Jesus, I wanted her.

The best I got was to be the one pressing it against her clit when she came. And that’s pretty great, too, of course. She told me I might get out tomorrow for some fucking, but I’m certainly not coming.

After her orgasm, we laid in bed and chatted and snuggled. She looked across the room where the t-shirt I got for Drew was and she reminded me I forgot to give it to him. I mentioned to her the recent comment on his blog about how he was “taking me down a path she can’t follow” and the seemingly persistent impression of some people that she’s been coerced into this arrangement that allows me to have my fun with Drew. Like she’s a wilting ingenue in the sidelights.

In fact, giving me permission to play outside our marriage was her idea. She proactively gave me that option based on rules and guidelines she established. The notion among some readers that she’s a victim in all this or that I’m somehow taking advantage of her is preposterous. I’m honestly perplexed by this. I told her these types of people are worried about how Drew is going to ruin our marriage. She laughed and said something along the lines of, “Yeah, look how terrible it is.” I told her how there was concern that Drew was turning me gay. She laughed and laughed. “He’s doing a bad job of it,” was her thought.

In fact, Belle is and always has been the one who holds all the cards in my extracurricular activities. I operate under her rules and within what she’s comfortable with. She lets me do with him a) things she is not interested in doing with me, and b) things she cannot do with me but that she knows I want. She’s as much in control of that relationship as she is ours.

I suppose there will always be those who worry I’m going to leave Belle for Drew or some other man. That, contrary to everything I’ve written here on the topic, I’m not the bisexual heteromantic guy who thinks boobies are awesome and loves to munch on pussy. Luckily, the only person whose thoughts on that matter really count is not one of those people. Belle is confident in her position over my heart. She knows me. Knows what I want. What I need. And I am so happy and feel so lucky that she handles me as well as she does in whatever bed I find myself.

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Dancing around the paradox

I’m told the commenter I reference in this post is probably a troll. Doesn’t change the thesis of my post, but if so, he should rot in hell for being a lying douche.

A reader calling themselves maxnsue left a comment on an older post discussing the concept of permanent orgasm denial. In part, they wrote…

I am in permanent orgasm denial at my wife’s request. [That’s all you have to know as the rest is probably bullshit.]

There’s a lot to unpack in that comment and I’ve only included three-fifths of it here, but the critical element I want to focus on is the fact that the reader’s wife [assuming there is one] was the one who made the decision to permanently take his orgasm off the table.

Right now, it’s only been something like three weeks since I last came. For some, that may sound like a long time, but it isn’t for us. Now that the kidney stone unpleasantness is behind me, my ability to feel and enjoy denial is back as it hasn’t been in months. And I mean back. It is not any kind of hyperbole for me to say that I feel at my best when I’m denied. When external downer forces like the kidney stone thing aren’t present, this, right here, is the way I want to be forever. Like I said the other day, sure, I crave orgasmic release, but I do not want to come.

There’s a kind of Zen-like dance men like me need to perform regarding orgasm. I don’t want them. I want to crave them, but that’s different. I want the need to come to claw at me in the moment I’m in her and on the edge. I want to feel it push at my higher brain as if my life depended on squirting inside her, but that’s it. I would be honestly disappointed if, when she gets home later this week, she let me come. Now that I’m feeling it again, I want to keep feeling it. I never want to not feel it. This is what I hope to be forever.

But not having orgasms is only one part of the denial Oreo (not the creamy center, obviously…maybe an Oreo is the wrong metaphor). The other half is knowing I don’t control my own orgasm. I could beg and cajole Belle to leave me like this forever, but it’s sweetest when it’s her will at work and not mine. If I were to make too much of a production about being permanently denied it would take something off the experience. Whatever happens, it has to be her choice. It took me years to really get that, but I get it now.

So yeah, maxnsue’s situation is very appealing to me. I get where he’s coming from and really appreciate the allure of it. But that kind of dynamic only works when it happens organically as theirs has. It’s perhaps the fundamental paradox of D/s. Being too prescriptive to one’s dominant partner to the point of them doing exactly what the sub wants makes what the sub gets less satisfying. The best bet for everyone concerned is to establish rubbery, bouncy boundaries and then let the top push the sub to them (but not necessarily over them).

Belle gets home tomorrow. I don’t know if she has plans or has spent any time thinking about my state, but I hope she leaves me as I am. I do not want to come. But, if she says I have to, I will. Nowhere is it written that a sub will always want what their dominant lets/requires they have.

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When absence becomes a verb

Had to live through another sleep-deprived night yesterday that was maybe 70% caused by hormonal denial build-up and 30% sick kid up in the middle of the night. Seems like these all-nighters don’t come as often as they used to, but the resolution of my recent kidney stone thing has allowed my libedo to come rushing back like someone turning the tap on Niagara Falls. I tried to write a post yesterday, but my foggy dementia from lack of sleep made it not so great.

The thing I was trying to get out was something you’ll either get because your Rorschach patterns of kink and proclivity resembles mine sufficiently or you won’t. As I said, I’m really horny, but I have no desire to play with the penis. Well, I mean, if I was told I could, I’d do it in a millisecond, but the overlapping factors of submission and obedience and faith and trust all soaking in a hot bath of hormones cause me to not think of it as a pleasure object. Not something that is right for me to focus on or have access to or have any rights over. I had to remove the Steelheart the other day because of the kidney thing and felt a great craving to get it back on as soon as I could. I had legitimate access to a free stick of meat filled with all kinds of wonderful pleasure receptors and honestly wanted nothing to do with it. Because the pleasure received by returning to the condition in which I was placed and expected to be (and how I was expected to act) overwhelmed the other kind of more immediate and direct pleasure.

Same thing happened yesterday. I had to get out for the doctor visit and found myself actually resentful at the disruption. I have gone to the doctor locked up before, but not when it involves the thing being locked, so I do understand why it’s necessary and all that, but it pissed me off more than I was expecting. Once the visit was over, even before I was out of the building, I felt the need to be back in the Steelheart the same way I need that first shot of caffeine in the morning. A hungering edge to be contained again. Feeling the cold steel wrapped again around the shaft of the penis brought a palpable sense of relief and comfort to me.

And it goes beyond that. Belle has said I look odd to her when I’m not in the Steelheart and the pink meat is flopping around naturally. That, as I’ve said, she honestly prefers me to be locked up (both from how it makes me look and act). And I like that. I’m more than OK with that. I want that. Men are conditioned by culture and probably even by evolution to be driven by this idea that they are somehow measured as men by their penis and how it measures and what they do with it. But in our relationship, she’d rather I not use it on her. She’s grown to favor the kind of sex we have that leaves the penis in it’s trap. She’d rather it stay where it is most of the time and remain absent from the dynamic.

But, of course, it is part of the dynamic. It can’t not be. But its contribution now is its absence. What it’s going through by not being allowed out and the void left behind when you’re having terrific and rewarding sexual relations with a man without depending on his cock. In spite of it. In fact, in neither of my sexual relationships is its absence considered a problem. Drew, commenting on the photo I posted last time of the free penis, said something to the effect that it’s not even how he thinks of me. That he wouldn’t know how to relate to me if I had a free penis with him. He also prefers the steel and honestly has no interest in getting to what’s inside.

And I do not miss my freedom. I don’t miss being able to play with it whenever I want and I don’t miss not being able to stick in people or that they can’t touch it most of the time. After just a short period of denial and chastity, it becomes who I am. Not a thing we do. Or a thing on me. When it’s working, it is me. Even when it wakes me up at 3:00 AM. I rarely if ever think anymore, “Man, I wish this thing was off me.” I almost always think, “Man, I wish this thing would stop trying to break out.” The craving for the thing locked away and the sensation that comes from it never goes away, but it transforms. That energy transmutes into something positive.

Anyway. There’s a little mid-week trip down the physiological rabbit hole that is my sexuality. I could go on, but it’d just get tiresome.

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Dented

The other day, I wrote a post that said enforced chastity devices don’t make penises smaller. I stand by that based on my now years of experience along with never having seen any evidence to the contrary (other than a bunch of words). I did say…

Now, what I have noticed when first coming out after an extended lock-up is the penis will be a little fatter towards the bottom than the top when erect, but that goes away after a day or so. I can only assume the erectile tissue needs to “stretch back out” once its been released. But the effect has never been long-lasting. Certainly not permanent.

Due to my recent illness, Belle let me stay out and I noticed this phenomenon yet again. The penis, when hard, was slightly narrower on the “top half” than at the base for a few days before it got back to normal. I was out for about five or six days total after having been locked up more or less for a month straight.

I received some feedback from a reader called Jay that I assume was in reply to my post on how being locked up doesn’t change penis size:

Regarding growers in Chastity advice. If a man has a 7 inch long erect length and is in a 2 inch tube only the 2 inches is prevented from erecting. He will  erect behind the ring. This becomes programmatic because it heightens the risk of penile fracture. true there is no os penis in humans But the membranes that encapsulate the erectile tissues can be ruptured. This is an actual ER visit injury, untreated it leads to permanent erectile dysfunction.

Second issue is girth difference when the shaft is soft it can be forced into a tube that is to small eg 6k but later when engorged Full urethral tamponade occurs. Unable to piss at all. 1″ diameter soft 1 5/8″ diameter hard. This person will need a tube with a 1 3/8″ ID

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never heard about penile fracture occurring from chastity. Is it possible? I suppose. Has it happened? Not saying it hasn’t. Just saying I’ve never heard about it. I assume what when Jay said, “true there is no os penis in humans,” he meant penile bone and, no, there is no penile bone in humans. So…yeah. Not an issue, thankfully. If we had penile bones, we probably couldn’t wear chastity devices like those we wear.

Anyway, yeah, if you think your penis has fractured, see a medical professional. Consider a finger waved in your general direction.

Regarding “urethral tamponade” (which sounds not unlike an ice cream flavor to me), yep, been there. Sometimes, the device is so tight I can’t even pee, but it’s more often the case that peeing is possible and, as I pee, becomes easier since the erection subsides. The compression of the urethra only lasts as long as the erection does.

All that said, being out and actually jacking the shaft made the one (apparently) permanent change the Steelheart has had on the penis more evident. Evi-dent, I said. Get it?

A little more than half way down the shaft, when it’s hard, is an obvious dent. It’s just about exactly where the edge of the tube A-ring hits it when it’s hard (the remainder of the erection being either stuck up inside me or sticking out the back of the device). It can be felt, but not seen, across the top of the shaft, but not underneath. I suppose the only way to know if it’s permanent would be to stay unlocked for an extended period and see if it went away.

Yeah, right.

I told Belle about the dent. She was unmoved. “It’s just a physical manifestation of your commitment and submission to me, isn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it is.

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Nine nine nine

I’m all hung up on the fact that my next post will be the thousandth on the blog. I’m not sure if that counts the couple of dozen aborted drafts that never saw the light of day or not (or if it really matters since it’s kind of an arbitrary thing to get hung up on anyway). The next one has kept me from doing this one because once this one’s done then the next one is the big one-zero-zero-zero.

Plenty of things I could write about…

Drew was in town this week. Before he got here, Belle essential insisted that I take him to dinner the night he arrived. She even offered to help me groom myself prior to seeing him. I hope this continues to alleviate any lingering concerns among my readers as to Belle’s emotional wellbeing in this age of open marriage. I also hope my discussion of our open marriage and the fact that I had sex with another man again drives off any lingering hateful homophobes from your midsts (I’m not allowed to describe it here, but assume the aforementioned sex was as awful and dirty as you’re imagining if it helps you close your browser window in disgust and never come back). Minimally, even if you don’t like or get what we’re doing (all four of us involved), you should be happy for us that it seems to only make things better for everyone.

Over on his blog, Drew posted about the net positive effects our openness has had for he and Axel.

Now, five or six months later, I can honestly say I had no idea how great the open marriage would actually be for my marriage. The time I have had with Thumper has already made me a better husband because I am paying attention to Axel more, learning more about areas I was lacking or needing more experience in, and just knowing that the immense level of trust we have for each other is there, is working, and is helping us grow as a couple just makes my heart light up inside.

Mrs Fever posted a comment that was, as usual, insightfully relevant. In part, she said…

And as much as I love my boyfriend, and hate to leave him when our time is through, there is nothing like coming home to my husband afterward. Time apart always makes us appreciate each other more, and time with someone else makes me remember all the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place. Which, as you say, is something that’s difficult to understand unless you’ve been there.

I have nothing much to add to their combined statements. I feel the same way. Giving me the freedom and the trust to be with Drew once a month or so only makes me love her more and, indeed, coming home from my time with him to be with her intensifies that sentiment.

In other news, we’re at the half-way point of my six week pre-vacation lock-down. I am, to put it as succinctly as possible, horny as all fuck. Funny, but my time with Drew doesn’t seem to make it any worse (or, at least not for long). I went into it this time really charged up and, after he left, I’m pretty much the same. I suppose that’s good for him. I find that being in this state makes me much more focused as to what I want out of our handful of monthly hours. Perhaps I was a bit too forward this time, but I didn’t hear any complaining.

In any event, the other morning Belle and I were talking about it and I’m fully and completely on the other side of the lock-up hump in that I am kind of desperately wanting her to maintain as much tight control over the penis as possible. I requested that she make me lock up even on vacation outside those time I have to be out (TSA, wetsuits, etc.). I feel as though being given too much freedom would make me mental. Distracted from the access and even worried about her commitment to my control (which is nuts, but these are all things that have happened in the past and the fucking hormones are powerful shit). She said she was already leaning in that direction anyway and hearing that made me swoon with gratitude.

That’s the fucked up shit of this chastity and denial thing. Being locked up and horny drives me crazy with desire and frustration but it’s the desire and frustration that, in turn, powers my deeply submissive need to be totally controlled and being totally controlled while feeling all that submissiveness makes me stupidly happy. The nervous ball of energy in my stomach and electric throb from inside the steel tube is in a very real sense the palpable proof that my wife loves me and cares about me. Awesome, right? It leaves me feeling deeply in her debt and so, so grateful to her for all things.

But now I’m treading on whatever post 1,000 will be about. So I’ll choose now as my time to stop and ponder.