Tag: FLR

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Fortnightish

“Can you feel it?”

Belle asked me that as I was wrapped myself around her in bed, pressing my naked body against as much of her bed-clothed body as possible, hard stuffed tube pushing into her thigh. We’re at about the end of the second week of my six week lock-up prior to Spring Break.

“Yes,” I said quietly into her hair.

And I can. A lot. Everything is so much more now. How she looks, how she feels, how she smells, how she tastes. I’m starting to think more about what she might want or how she might feel about something or what she’d want me to do. It’s like fucking magic.

“I can tell,” she said before turing over to sleep, “It’s good for you.”

Whimper.

Then, after a moment, “It’s good for me, too.”

Four more weeks.

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I find a clit

As anyone who lives with their penis locked in a steel tube can tell you, hygiene is important. Not to be scrimped on. Probably a third of the time I spend in the shower is attending to the tube.

So this morning, as I was doing my thing (which involves squirting soapy water in the tube and squishing it around), I stuck my finger down there to make sure everything was nicely cleaned out. Typically, I run it down each side to get to the place under the head of the penis where the PA ring goes around the fixing and urine can collect, but this time I also ran it over the top of the penis and ZING!

So that’s how I found myself with my finger down the tube rubbing the top of the glans on the head of the penis like it was a clit. I mean, the motion was exactly like fingering a clit. After a few moments of this, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, I realized several things. First, being forced into a situation where I can only rub myself like I have a clit is a pretty good mind fuck. Two, there is no way in hell I’d ever be able to come this way. With no way to stimulate the bottom of the head, I might eventually combust, but orgasm would forever be out of reach. Three, after a few seconds of this, the amount of room in the tube that made it possible was rapidly filled. And finally, I wondered if this was in violation of Belle’s “no playing with it” rule. Fuck, probably.

So I stopped.

I’ve been in the device now for about ten days which is not that big a deal in the greater scheme of things but longer than I’ve been locked up solid in a while. I am now entering that period where the device stops feeling like a thing which means I’m getting pretty horny. While I was fingering my little faux clit this morning, the tube felt less like a foreign object and more like part of the thing I was fingering. It’s a weird mental game my brain plays that tells me I’m in the groove. Also, I’m more or less sleeping through the night and am only slightly woken up by the tube pressure in the wee hours and find myself flexing the attempted erection so it fills with more blood and the tube gets that much fucking tighter only because I like how it feels.

It’s also sort of dangerous because I’m feeling the denial ooze around me like a warm mud bath and my desire to come is slipping further and further away. All I want now is her. To feel her come. To hear her moan and breath and climax with my fingers buried up in her hot snatch while the penis throbs and strains and pushes against immovable, implacable, clenching steel. If she let me out and told me I could fuck her and come, I definitely would because it’s her decision, but right now this second today, I would regret it. The head of steam is building in my loins and I want to feel it grow stronger. I am not nearly desperate enough.

But I try and put those thoughts aside. I don’t decide. If she wants me hornier, I’ll be hornier. If she doesn’t, I won’t. But I hope she does. That’s OK, right? Hoping?

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Becoming what she needs

Belle has informed me that I will be locked up until we go away on Spring Break. That’s, roughly speaking, about six weeks of being enclosed in steel. Of course, the thing she’s really good at is doing whatever she wants and exercising her prerogative regarding the penis, so it’s entirely possible she’ll wake up one morning and decide she wants cock and let me out. Or she’ll stick to her statement and leave me in. I don’t have any way of knowing and it’s entirely out of my control.

Her reason for this (relatively) long lock-up (at least by recent standards) is because I’m apparently being insufficiently subbie lately. It’s not surprising considering the shocking number of orgasms she allowed me in recent months. Two in the past two or so weeks, even. That’s approaching 30% or so of what a normal man would have! Heavens.

I do know what she’s talking about. I can feel it. I’m doing my best not to second-guess her now that I’m fully engaged with the “she decides” model, but I know I don’t feel now the way I feel when it’s been a really long time since I last came. It’s actually hard to talk about because I feel like I should be removed from that decision. Whatever I say will influence her and I don’t want to unduly do so, but I will admit to getting used to coming (even if it’s still at a far reduced rate from what other men enjoy).

The thing I have to remember is she controls the penis so she controls me and she controls how I’ll be as a result. Sure, I can try and live up to her expectations, but the hormonal wall of denial is a sturdy backstop that helps keep me where she wants me.

She’s left with a difficult choice. She likes when I come in her and likes letting me feel that. She also likes letting me inside her, though she tells me now that she’s more or less off dick as a means to orgasm. She’s adjusted to non-penetrative techniques involving fingers, vibrators, and tongues. We tried Blue the other morning and it didn’t do much for her. In any event, she digs it when I can fuck her.  But she also digs how I am when really well denied. All the salubrious affects that go along with the pent-up hormonal load. I know when it’s been months I’m totally different and she likes that Thumper better. I can only really be that Thumper when I can’t really remember what orgasm feels like. So, her choice.

We’ll have to wait and see. Six weeks solid is a relatively long time to be locked up. I’m not in the frame of mind yet where I feel really settled into it. I haven’t had that “it’s part me” feeling about the Steelheart. Well, not much. This morning, she let me get her off and she said it was a really nice orgasm so that makes me happy. She also told me she like feeling the hard steel against her thigh. That makes me feel…oh, my. I really wanted out. I really wanted to feel the penis inside her pussy. But I never said it because she, of course, knew I felt that and I, of course, knew it wasn’t going to happen. So instead, while she purred and basked in the afterglow, I felt the PA ring pinch inside the end of a steel tube packed tightly with insistent erectile tissue.

She’s entirely right. Extended lock-up is what I need. It’s what needs to happen to make me that better Thumper she prefers and the person I’d rather be for her.

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Merry Male Chastity Day

Seems implausible that I’d let the second annual Male Chastity Day slip by without some kind of mention…right?

A couple of weeks ago, I was contacted by the managing editor of Simply Sxy to write a piece for their site. Feeling sorry for them and their apparently congenital vowel deficiency, I agreed and suggested something introducing the practice of enforced male chastity on Male Chastity Day would be place to start. I may not know a lot of things, but I know male chastity. So I wrote it and, today, they posted it.

Yay, right? Well, yeah, I like it. But there was a problem1. In it, I said:

The motivation behind Male Chastity Day may have been equal parts commercial and sincerity. In 2014, UK-based fetish shop UberKinky picked February 15th to celebrate male chastity (and maybe sell a few chastity devices along the way). While 2015 is only its second year of existence, male chastity enthusiasts (such as myself) have embraced it.

That is not correct. As Keyheld pointed out to me on Twitter, chastitylife247 was the first to propose a male chastity day. This is definitely the truth. They also, in that first Twitter exchange on the topic, settled on February 15 as the date. Keyheld is a prolific male chastity booster and worked with a number of other bloggers on Twitter to get the word out to retailers and manufacturers which led to UberKinky’s blog post and, it seems, a fair bit of confusion as to the date’s origins. Most links I’ve seen to the “source” of Male Chastity Day go to that UberKinky post I linked to in my piece and they’re the ones who set up the Male Chastity Day event on FetLife. So, good on UberKinky for being so supportive, but all props to chastitylife247 and Keyheld for originating the concept. I’ve sent a suggested correction to Simply Sxy for the article and I hope they’ll add it as soon as they can.

Of course, in this house, the other name we have for Male Chastity Day is “Sunday” and, as such, I woke up in the Steelheart. Belle, though, doesn’t feel compelled to follow the mandates of an arbitrary holiday and soon enough let me have the key and, as promised, let me come. This led me to say we needed to change the name of the blog considering I’ve had about 2,700 orgasms (roughly) so far this year. “Used To Be Denying Thumper” was suggested but my favorite is the simpler “Denied Thumper.” The motion, however, was declined and the name of the blog will not be changing.

So yeah, around here we apparently celebrate Male Chastity Day by unlocking penises and then sating me with an orgasm. Because she decides and nobody else.

1 Actually, two. There’s also a confusing typo in the final paragraph. Grrr, typos.

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Irrational rabbit

Belle let me fuck her twice this past weekend. The first time was pretty normal stuff for us. I got her off, she let me fuck her. I only got close to coming once and that’s when she told me to stop so I did. Like I said, normal Thumper/Belle sex.

Sunday, though. First thing we did was break out Belle’s new vibrator. Her previous favorite, Pink, of which we had two identical models (one for her nightstand, one for mine), is no longer available. The one in my drawer (which may have been the one that was running for an unknown amount of time in our luggage as we were coming home from Spring Break last year) started going off randomly and all by itself at all hours of the day. It had lost its little vibralicious brain. So we were left with just the one Pink until the other day when Belle used it in the bath tub. I suspect its waterproofness had failed since it was totally dead not long after. So I visited Smitten Kitten and tried to find her a replacement.

Pink is, as I said, no longer made so I had to find a new pink. This is tricky business since Belle likes a very specific kind of vibrator. Not too big, not too soft, with a firm little motor. I found one I thought was close (and would show it to you except that it doesn’t appear to be on the Smitten Kitten website) and gave it to her last week. Sunday was its debut.

Thing about vibrators, though (that I’ve learned in the past few years), is they’re not all the same. I tried using it on her first as I would have Pink, but she needed to keep giving me directions (which, all by themselves, I found hot — especially “put it in me”) until she took it into her own hands to experiment with while I focused my attention on her tits. Eventually, New Pink (which is really purple) did its thing and she, after a moment of basking, told me I could do mine.

For whatever reason, I was sure she was going to let me come. No idea why. Sometimes, it’s just a hunch I get and I’m usually right. So I started fucking with the idea I would climax at the end. But, as I got closer and closer, she didn’t give me the magic words. So I slowed down and stopped to give the orgasm a chance to back off. Then I started at it again. Even though there was no outward reason to believe so, I figured this time would be the time. I let myself get really close again but didn’t hear the magic words.

Here’s the thing about fucking. It’s all the penis gets anymore. Nothing happens with it that she doesn’t allow and she doesn’t allow me to play with it or use it in any pleasurable way except when I’m allowed to fuck her. I am totally focused on her pussy in a way I’ve never been about anything sexually. It and it’s pleasure has even elevated above the penis on my list of sexual priorities. It seems to be the only way I’ll ever come again. From her pussy and inside her. And then only rarely. Fucking her pussy has always felt amazing, but now because of the insidious nature of how I’ve been trained to focus on being in her exclusively and specifically, it feels FUCKING AMAZING.

So yeah, I slowed down again to let the orgasm creep back up inside me and I looked directly into her eyes. She just looked back. No flicker of understanding passed between us. I started fucking again. This time, while continuing to look into her eyes, I thought very insistently about being allowed to come. She just smiled at me. I got really close yet again (quicker with each cycle, unsurprisingly). I had a quizzical look on my face and she just kept smiling.

Eventually, she had had enough and told me I was done. I whined/whimpered/moaned in defeat. It was election night and I was certain of victory even though all the polls indicated I was going to lose yet I remained confident and here we were at the moment CNN had called the race against me and I had to go down to the ballroom and concede.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought you were going to let me come. I really want to come.”

She laughed at me. Laughed.

Not being in the laughing mood myself, I buried my face in her neck and whimpered some more.

“What’s up with you lately?” she wanted to know. Why was I suddenly seemingly more interested in coming? In the past, I’d beg and plead to be denied. Was I looking to change up the paradigm?

No, I wasn’t looking to do that, but I did want to come. Badly. But I’ve totally released any pretense of influence on her regarding that at just about the same time she’s taken full control over my release. Used to be, I could influence. Cajole. Nudge. Not anymore. She just doesn’t let me. I totally acknowledge that and have stopped worrying about it. Would I like to be denied more and longer? Sure. Would I like to come? Yes. Both these things are true. Luckily, it doesn’t matter a whit what I think about either possibility. She decides and for her own reasons.

This is the truest form of orgasm denial. No control or desire to control from me whatsoever and a total command by her with only her own needs and concerns in the equation. I did badly want to come Sunday morning but I also wanted to be controlled badly. Both outcomes were what I wanted, even if one was more desirable in the moment. None of that mattered to her, though, as I asked for it to be and as it should be.

In a perfect demonstration of her total say in this matter, she indicated my next orgasm might happen on February 15. It’s a Sunday. And it’s International Male Chastity Day. Her attitude seems to say, “A whole day for male chastity and orgasm denial? How cute. That’s the day he comes, then.”

We’ll see.

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Feral, free range rabbit

It’s been an odd couple of weeks around here.

First off, I was off in the woods over the long MLK weekend. Belle let me out the weekend before that, let me come, and then didn’t put me back in since I was flying on Wednesday. Got home Monday night and I just stayed unlocked. All of a sudden, it had been two weeks with no locked steel between my legs plus no sex.

The universe has decided to do interfere with our lives in a coordinated way. Things are going on both at her work and mine and together they’re a significant bummer. We’re maybe seeing the light at the end of the tunnel now, but we’re still living under this combined overhang and it’s no fun. That, as much as anything, also explains the gap in posts here.

In any event, we did finally fuck Saturday. Bummer or no, my hormones eventually overwhelmed the damper on my libido and, when shown a glimmer of hope from her, sparked into a sudden and raging need to be inside her.

She has a longstanding rule that I’m not allowed to play with the penis when unlocked absent her permission and, in the past, I was usually pretty good at following it, but I pledged that in 2015 I would follow it absolutely. The last few days were a significant challenge (and I was more or less neglecting the Tumblr for obvious reasons) but I found that whenever my hand was inexplicably on the hard penis, the idea of stroking it was really unappealing to me. Our base desires really can be rewired through conditioning. I wanted to feel the sensation of my fist pumping up and down around the hard shaft but even more badly wanted to feel as though I was doing what she expected and that I was keeping my word.

So yeah, when the time came, I was pretty fired up. It’s at those times when just a tiniest tease of my finger against her hot snatch will make me nearly combust and I’ll get a little more insistent with my actions than she likes.

“Remember,” she said, “This is supposed to be about me, not you.”

Years ago, I yearned for her to feel that way and act like it was true. Now it just is. Hearing the words were enough of a reminder to cause me to slow down and follow her body’s signals, not mine. Knowing that this dynamic was so deeply woven into our relationship left me feeling secure and comfortable in a way that’s difficult to explain as part of a hot sex scene. But there it was.

The entire time I was working on her, the penis was throbbing hard. Erections come in various strengths from happily plump to raging boner. When at the high end of the scale, you can feel the hardness. The straining of the erect tissue against the skin containing it. These are the erections of teenagers, but I had one then. I wanted so badly to fuck her. Then she came and immediately I felt the release valve go off. I could feel her heart beating with my fingers buried in her soft, hot wetness and my heart beating in the hardness between my legs and with each thump the penis was deflating just a little. It would shortly be too soft to use.

But I didn’t have time to worry about it. Just a few seconds after she came, she told me I could fuck so I hopped right up and got to work. The penis rapidly regained its strength. Then, even though my last orgasm was just two weeks ago, she said she wanted me to come. I didn’t even consider whether I wanted to or not. Of course, I wanted both. But she told me to so it was inevitable. I held it off as long as I could before coming.

I think it’s the case now that most of the time when she lets me come (which isn’t all that often) it’s those breathless few seconds of inevitability right after the building orgasm is at its peak (when, if edging, you back it off and let it die) and just before the ejacualte squirts forth that are the most enjoyable for me. It’s the very peak of the experience. Often, the intensity of ejaculating is so great that it hurts. As if something internal is getting flexed or pinched in a way its unused to. Far too much intensity. And then the crash. The crash I hardly ever feel in its full glory.

Belle told me after I had to go back into the Steelheart. She reminded me again Sunday morning that I had to after she came but, due to the visitation of her monthly visitor overnight, I was left out of the love tunnel. She did let me jack off but I wasn’t allowed to come this time and I got there so quickly suddenly that I didn’t have much time to enjoy it.

After more than two weeks, I really didn’t want to go back in. I got used to sleeping through the night. Of not dealing with the steel. Of not trying to hide it at the gym.

“Are you fighting me on this?” she asked. No, of course not. But…

“This is just proof how much you need to be locked up,” she said. “You know you need it, too. You’re better when you’re locked up.”

Swoon. Ache. Whimper.

Of course she’s right.

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Belle’s analogy

At some point yesterday, I was showing Belle something on the Facebook and a message from Drew popped up. There’s no telling what he might be saying (or showing) so I quickly flicked the pop-up away and we kept doing whatever it was we were doing. I was 22% flummoxed.

Last night, as we were laying in bed going to sleep, she told me I didn’t have to worry about going out of my way to hide how and when I message him. It wasn’t a big deal to her. Also, she volunteered that she thought about my time with Drew as not being unlike when she went for a mani-pedi. A treat for myself that just doesn’t involve her. Without the noxious fumes.

In addition, she’s given her approval for me to go to LA with Drew over some weekend this summer to take in a ballgame in my hometown. Haven’t picked the dates yet and I need to figure out the logistics around the various metal detectors I’ll encounter (not just at the airport — MLB stadiums all have them now, too). I may need her to either let me wear plastic rather than the Steelheart or we’ll need to figure out some kind of picture-sending thing to ensure security.

I tell you this for no other reason than to point out what an exceptional spouse I have. Opening our marriage up in this way has only made it stronger.

With that, I wish all my readers a very merry Christmas and joyeux Noel.

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Dickless

Last time we were naked and rolling around together, an unusual thing happened. I couldn’t get it up. You know, these things happen. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t freak me out, though. And kinda like when I can’t fall asleep, the issue itself starts to become the issue and the flaccidness/wakefulness causes me to focus on the continued flaccidness/wakefulness and perpetuates additional flaccidness/wakefulness.

I woke up that morning laying on a raging hard-on since Belle had let me out the day before. I was super fucking turned-on and squirmed and rubbed the stiffy into the mattress waiting for her to wake up. Then, before getting her off, I was still all hard and leaky. I thought about just jumping her (because I know she likes it and I was in the right mood) but I did the usual and got her off with my fingers. Then she told me to go down on her and I eagerly complied. Then she came. It was all good.

But right then I figured out something was not quite right. It’s hard to explain but when you’re really grooving in the sack nothing feels weird or awkward or out of place, but at that moment, disentangling from the sheets and moving back up to be next to her I felt uncoordinated and not sexy. Then I started to worry about how my face smelled like her and how she’s not the biggest fan of that (though I’d use it as cologne) and the next thing I know I’m on top of her with a squishy tool. It just wasn’t right. I did really want to fuck her, but the connection wasn’t being made somewhere.

I laid next to her and she had the penis in her hand and she tried talking dirty to me. Not just any dirty talk, though. The kind a subbie little wannabe cuck with a penis humiliation kink wanted to hear. She told me about her boyfriend and how big he was and how much better he was at getting her off and, much to her surprise, the penis started to grow inside her grasp. This is really weird for her because she doesn’t have any understanding of where this comes from for me. It’s really alien to her.

Alas, it was for naught. The meat wasn’t cooperating. It drooped again.

As she was talking, she was also asking what a better tack was. Did I want to hear that her mythical boyfriend was better than me (bigger cock, better lover, etc.) or that the penis was insufficient to meet her needs? Since I know the boyfriend is mythical, he doesn’t much work for me. Hearing that she would like one with a bigger cock, though, does. Hearing that she thinks the penis is too small or thin or whatever does. She said that’s hard for her since that kind of talk essentially disregards all safeties nice girls have conditioned into them. I’ve written before about how she’s always been super expressive about how much she likes the penis, how good it feels inside her, etc., to the point that I have often suspected she was trying too hard to make me feel good about it. Also, her first husband was apparently much bigger (before we were married, she once compared it favorably to the Jeff Stryker dildo — should have been a clue to both of us that hearing the news was in no way damaging to my ego and I spent a lot of time imaging her fucking that big dick). But I’ve also written about how I got her to admit that she really does prefer the bigger dildos she’s let me use on her before. The penis would be better for her if it was bigger (specifically, thicker). In fact, that’s something she’s joked about a hundred times in the time I’ve known her: It’s not about the length, it’s all about the girth.

So yeah, the small penis thing works because it’s kinda true. It may not be as true as if I was only four inches long and as big around as a white board marker or something, but it’s still true. And yes, I do want to hear her say that to me. As often as she wants. While we’re having sex. Tell me that it’ll never be big enough to really get her off and that she probably should look for a man with a real cock if she wants to feel one, etc. That so, so works for me.

Over on the FetLife, I read this posted to the “Submissive men and women who love them” group (by a sub guy):

Name calling and humiliation

Why is this necasary?

I personally am not a fan of it. I understand that sometimes when punishments must be metted out they might come out as part of it but why is it necessary at any other point?

In my opinion a Domme/sub relationship is that of a sub devoting himself to a Lady. Serving Her and giving his will over to Her; while She in turn gives him a safe place to take the world off his shoulders and focus on nothing but his submission to Her.

To me name calling and huliation are not a safe place because you can never know what will truly hurt someone to their core.

Is my evaluation of a Domme/sub relationship wrong?

Ferns‘ reply was perfection, of course:

It’s not ‘necessary’, but some people find it fun and hot and awesome. And that’s great.

Similarly, it’s not ‘necessary’ to flog/cane/peg/smack/fuck/kiss/any-other-form-of-play someone either. But some people find that fun and hot and awesome also.

Erotic humiliation is a form of emotional masochism, just like impact play is a form of physical masochism.

Like others said: if you don’t like something, it’s easy enough to avoid getting involved with those who do.

“Emotional masochism” is exactly right. There may be a place where I will be “truly hurt to my core” but I’m nowhere near it right now. I can’t even imagine it. Partly because I don’t measure my worth by the length of the penis. I know how much I mean to Belle and how much we love one another and, for whatever reason, none of that is in any way threatened when she tells me the penis is too small for her. I will never resent her for saying it. I crave to hear her say it.

I have a friend I’ve known since junior high. After high school, he moved in with his soon-to-be stripper girlfriend who all our friends, male/gay/female alike, acknowledged was super hot. Not just in how she looked (which was way above average) but in how she comported herself. She was a strong female and I was especially drawn to her (and spent far too much time thinking about what I was saying when talking to her). She used to call my friend “Dickless.” It was her little nickname for him. She used it all the time and in front of everyone. It really pissed him off. Since he was one of the few guys I knew who I didn’t fuck/get fucked by around that time, I can’t say if it was true, but it didn’t matter. She was gleeful at his outrage. The madder he got, the cuter and more adorably she’d say it. It was fucking awesome. I’m not going to say I knew at the time I wanted her to be saying that to me, but I do remember how it affected me. There was a certain thrill at hearing her say it to him in front of everyone. I never for a second felt sorry for him. I was in awe of her.

So, flash forward to today. I know, intellectually, that the penis is not so small as to be of no value to Belle. I can and do get her off with it. It’s a perfectly serviceable size. But I also know it’s not exactly what she’d prefer. So, also intellectually, I can honestly say to myself it’s…insufficient. That little leverage is the fulcrum she could use to really take advantage of this particular fold in my sexuality. And I really wish she would.

The next morning, she tried it out a little. I was still free but she wanted me in and said I had to “lock that tiny dick up” or something very similar. That was pretty great. She says she’s not wired to be so mean to me and that it’s a challenge. I get that and I so appreciate that she would make the effort. But I also pointed out denying me orgasm was something she had a hard time with, too, and now it’s second nature for her. She’d never go back to letting me come when I want. Perhaps, in time, calling the penis what it is will end up the same way.

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Love her two times

Saturday morning was our usual sexy funtime I usually start looking forward to at about 3:26 on Wednesday afternoons. ‘Cept this time, unlike many of the recent occurrences, Belle let me out of the Steelheart beforehand.

It’s like firing a starting pistol at a dog race. As soon as the steel comes off, a nagging buzzing feeling starts whirring someplace right behind the penis. It knows. This feeling is totally different when I’m still locked up. How much of it is in my head and how much is in my crotch I can’t say, but that’s where I feel it.

Regardless, I know what getting unlocked under those circumstances means. It’s not for me that I get out. This is not Thumper time. She wants to be fucked. I, then, assume the role she desires. Sure, I want to fuck her, too, but there’s a particular kind of manly fucking she craves and when I get out on a Saturday for no apparent reason, that’s my job. No doubt I’m going to like it, but I need to keep myself from liking it so much that I can’t perform long enough.

On this particular Saturday morning, I gave her just enough foreplay to get the juices going (they already were, turns out) before mounting her like I own the joint. I think she really liked this based on the aforementioned juices, a compliment attitude, and the moaning. Oh man, the moaning. It’s what gets me every time. She wants to be vocal during sex and I absolutely love hearing her be that way, but it’s raw meat to the subby bunny’s alter ego. Once the moaning and groaning start, that nagging buzzing I talked about flares up into a breeding imperative I struggle to keep in check. Even the baseball distractions didn’t help (mostly because there’s no such thing as baseball right now).

I started to slow down and she said, “Why are you stopping?” as if it wasn’t perfectly clear why I was stopping so soldiered on. “BASEBALL,” is what I was trying to think but the lizard in my head was all, “I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOANING SHIT!” I tried so hard, but couldn’t keep it back. I came while I fucked and kept on fucking even through the intensity of the post-orgamsic nerve olympics. Her pussy went from nicely worked up and wet to ridiculously slippery and messy in about three squirts. I think because of that change in viscosity, she only came a little (which is kind of a female thing, right? Coming just a little?) while I was left panting and gasping and dealing with the fiery penile tissue. She finished herself off with Pink right after. So, I came, but didn’t really enjoy it. A few hours later, I was feeling really horny as if it never happened.

She didn’t have me relock myself after so I was free as a penis-shaped bird when, the next morning, things started to get going again. This time she told me straight up that I was going to get to come and enjoy it. Of course, first I had to get her off so I did.

There was zero angst about having another orgasm whatsoever. It is her choice when I come and she chose to let me. Period. I was able to enjoy it, the fucking that led up to it, all of it.

She told me before that I had to promise to stay in the right frame of mind and be a good bunny and all that so I did. I promised. I even meant it. Though later that day, when she told me it was time to go in, I waffled. And not a little. With whip cream and peach preserves and a side of bacon. She said fine, but Monday morning I had to be in with the key in her hand before she left for work. I pancaked, but she had none of it. So, as soon as the offspring were both off on their daily endeavors, I was handing her the key.

“You know this is what you want,” She said to me. No, I didn’t know that right in the moment, but yes, I do know that in the big picture I want it. Just…you know…not exactly then.

So that’s three orgasms in about six weeks. Far too many, she thinks. Says the next will be a while. “A long time,” is all I can get out of her. No idea what that means since she probably doesn’t either, but I’m thinking that’s it for 2014. As it should be, of course.

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A boy and his best friend

There’s a saying about a dog being a boy’s first best friend but, in reality, the first best friend a boy has is his penis. It’s always there for him (and has been from the very start), is always ready to play, and, with a penis, a boy will never be bored for too long.

I suppose, kinda like a dog, when the boy finds a significant other that person can come between the boy and his penis except that the penis, unlike the dog, enjoys the other as much as the boy does so maybe the metaphor breaks down here, but the boy can always depend on the penis to be there for him even when the significant other loses their significance (and/or the dog dies). I can’t say if a woman’s relationship with her pussy is the same, but I don’t think it is. I suspect this is due to cultural indoctrination about what good girls do and don’t and what boys are allowed or even expected to do combined with the universal common knowledge that permeates our society as to how a boy can use his penis for pleasure by himself with no open discussion as to how a girl would do the same with her parts. Plus, I think penises are just simpler. Plus plus, women and their sexual needs are, I assume, fundamentally different in their psychology and mechanics than men’s. But I don’t have a pussy and, even though I know what they like, I won’t pretend to know how they are.

I say all this because I was thinking the other day as I lay next to Belle who had told me I wasn’t going to be unlocked at all and would therefore not feel any pleasure with the penis (regardless of how badly I was craving it) that boys (and the men they turn into) have nothing to prepare them for the kind of delayed and redirected gratification that comes with chastity and denial. We are physically and socially conditioned to expect on-demand gratification either from our partner or, lacking that, ourselves. In the forty-some years of my existence prior to having Belle control the penis, that was my life. If I was horny and she was unresponsive to my needs, I would jack off. QED.

But then chastity came along and I couldn’t do that. Plus, I was a lot hornier than ever before (excepting, perhaps, those years between my 16th and 23rd birthdays). And now, of course, I am specifically not allowed any such indulgence. What I did was take that sense of immediate need and simply make it Belle’s responsibility. I distinctly remember thinking she didn’t take my desires seriously enough considering the great gift of my chastity that I had given her. Double frustration. Not only was I horny as fuck, she didn’t seem to think it was her job to help me channel my frustrations.

I think this is a trap a lot of guys find themselves in.

Chastity and denial are, indeed, great at bringing couples closer together. But that can also do the opposite if the guy takes his perceived birthright of easy sexual gratification and pushes it over onto his partner. That is not the point of chastity. And it didn’t become the force for good that it is for us until I figured that out.

The only way to really quench my sexual thirst is to have an orgasm. But I only want that physically, not mentally or emotionally. She doesn’t want that either, most of the time. So I had to realize that my frustration and the constant need for sexual contact was mine to deal with, not hers. Yes, it often gnaws at me and flutters around in my chest and makes my balls ache and the penis hard and drippy, but that energy is what powers the beneficial aspects of chastity and denial. It is chastity and denial, not a side-effect.

I remember people telling me in comments on the blog early on that I wasn’t seeing the big picture. That I wanted her to control my sex, right? And wasn’t this what that meant? That I wouldn’t get whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it? But I didn’t see it. In short, I was a spoiled boy who missed his best friend. I struggled to adapt. But yes, I did want her to control my sex and living with not always getting what I want is the point. And, strangely, being totally estranged from my first best friend and completely removed from instant (or any) gratification has made me significantly happier than I was before. I can’t explain why, but it’s true. I don’t know how it works, but it does.

So now, when she tells me I’m not getting unlocked or even that we are not going to have sex, instead of feeling angry or resentful or petulant, I feel warm and grateful. Grateful that she has accepted the true meaning of her control without guilt or excessive consideration of what I’m feeling. Yes, she does recognize that what I go though can be hard, but she and I both know it’s for the best. We both know it makes me a better person and partner to her and it’s what we both want. So she appreciates it, but what I crave is not a primary consideration when she decides what she wants to do. And holy shit, does that turn me on.

If you read this blog because you hope one day to have your partner keep you locked up and/or deny you your orgasm, you need to know that doing it the way we do it means more than just a stifled erection. It means truly subjugating your sex to theirs. It means finding a way to capture and use that pent-up sexual desire for productive purposes and not letting it leak all over them in destructive and selfish ways. That is fucking hard. Maybe the hardest thing you’ll ever do for your partner. But, if you can pull it off, maybe the best thing you’ll ever do for them and for yourself.

I mentioned up there the “great gift of my chastity” that I had given Belle. Yes, it is a kind of gift, but I know now that the gift of her control is at least as great. Maybe greater in that it wasn’t something she ever wanted to do with her husband or thought she’d need to deal with. Never forget that. Your chastity is not bigger or more important than what they give you in return as the one controlling you. Submission is not greater than domination. It is not harder than domination. They are equal yet opposite things.

I don’t want anyone to read all this and think chastity means less sex. That’s not what it means. For us, it’s meant more and so much better sex. What it means is fewer orgasms for you, that’s it. The trap is trying to get her to have sex with you every time you would have otherwise gone off to yank one out. That’s unrealistic and unfair. You need to find a way to get off on their being in control and telling you no. You have to get off on being controlled. I know, that sounds obvious, but it’s a lot easier to think than to do. If you can do it and also channel that energy into making them realize how good the extra hassle of being in control of you can be for them, you’ll wake up one day to find them as much or more invested in that control than you are.

You might miss your first best friend, but…you can always get a dog.