Tag: male chastity

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Fifteen

The other day, October 12, was the fifteenth anniversary of this blog. Had Belle not put it on her personal calendar, the day would have passed by without any fanfare. As it was, since I was busy trying to get ready to leave on a ten day camping trip (the last hurrah of the season for such things), the best I could do was fire off some social media posts linking to this site’s first ever entry.

Over on the hellsite, Tom jokingly asked how I still had anything to say after 15 years. And it’s true, I often feel like I’ve said it all. Like, three times over. I joked back that perhaps Belle decided to permanently deny me in order to give me something new to write about. 🤔

I was about to say that it’s hard to write about the absence of a thing for fifteen years, but I think that’s a backwards way of thinking. Actually, a perspective that I had thought I had moved past. Permanent enforced denial cannot be defined as living in the absence of orgasm. It is, rather, living with the presence of perpetual orgasmic continence. This is something of what I tried to define in my last post. We call it “denial” because we start out not knowing our true selves and the presence of orgasm is the default. Also, our biological imperative is to seek orgasm out. But for some of us, who we really are and what we really need is to live in this other state.

The best way for me to know this is right for me is how thinking about orgasm or doing the things that lead to orgasm don’t register in the device between my legs while writing about never being allowed to fuck or come like a normal man again — thinking about the service I provide without expectation of being entitled to reciprocation — causes the device to tighten and throb. The device tells me what I need to know about myself.

In any event, I’ve recently started a new thing. Every day, I say to myself, out loud so I can hear my voice say it, “I don’t have a penis.” Often, I’ll say it several times, intoning it differently each time. I said it just now, as a matter of fact. It’s a simple little thing to say, but when said while holding the device or looking at it in the mirror or while flexing the contents when they’re feeling tight (like right now), there’s something magical about it. Almost alchemic. Me making myself say it, me hearing me say it, makes it true and real in a way that’s difficult to convey, even after fifteen years.

So there you go, Tom. A new thing to write about!

This blog has been more than an accounting of learning how to live with the practicalities of enforced denial. It’s also, and maybe primarily, more like a travelogue of self-discovery. The fact that people continue to find it relevant in their lives is nice to think about. 🙂

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Billadong

Rivers and other flowing watercourses do this thing where they just kind of meander. Sometimes they follow straight, predictable paths while other times they twist and turn and make wide, sweeping curves and loops. In fact, those wide loopy shapes they make are called meanders. I didn’t know that before.

Source: Wikipedia

I think the flow of water like that is not unlike how human sexuality evolves over the course of someone’s life. You don’t always stay in the same channel you start in. I think I’ve always been kinky and believe I was literally born to be locked in an enforced denial device, but I didn’t always realize that. There are so many pieces of my sexuality I didn’t consciously know were down there and even the ones I knew about rarely showed up in how I expressed myself.

So anyway, yeah, rivers make these things called meanders. But sometimes, the river abandons its meander. The course of the river breaks through its bank and then finds itself again leaving that big, inefficient loop as kind of still, unnecessary backwater. Then, over time, the river flow creates new banks and leaves the backwater totally cut off. That’s called an oxbow lake, it turns out. In South Texas, they’re called resacas and, in Australia, they’re called billabongs. The more you know! 💫

Believe it or not, I was thinking about this recently whilst fingering my wife. As soon as I touched the outer folds of her pussy and the slick wetness of her excitement and as I pushed further to feel the hard nub of her clit, I moaned with a combination of craving but also satisfaction. Sure, the contents were pushing and my desire to fuck was running high, but I also recognized that, for a growing part of me, touching her pussy is what I crave. Getting her off that way. Feeling the spasms of orgasm pulsing under my fingertips as I press on her clit is my objective now. I know I’m not getting out to fuck so the path and flow of my sexuality is…cutting that urge off. I’m evolving in a direction away from that part of how I express myself sexually — how I used to express myself — to being something like that cut-off backwater. The urge is still there, like the oxbow lake, but it’s just…there. No longer connected. No longer part of the flow. Superfluous.

A billadong, if you will.

This evolution is one I’m a party to, of course. You can’t lock a guy up against his will outside hot denial porn. There’s a way to find zen in denial, even when it involves being made permanently pussy free. Belle knows it makes me a better sub and I want and crave that more than anything. Belle also knows that. Orgasm makes me selfish. It causes me to lose my centeredness on her. Her pleasure and her body. I should not be allowed to have my focus drift by feeling my own erection in my hand or, by extension, that erection in her pussy. So I appreciate the necessity of the new, redirected flow.

It’ll be interesting to see how I continue to evolve as I get further and further away from the last time I was allowed to be inside her. Five hundred thirteen days, as of today. And nearly three and a half years since I was unlocked for more than a few hours. Since I slept that way. Will urges keep emanating from the device? It’s getting to the point where I don’t know what I’d do if presented with the option of fucking her. I mean, right now today, I would take it. And, of course, if she told me I had to, I would. But I have to admit, I can feel the barrier between what sex is now building up between that previous part of my life and the reality of my current life.

And, yeah. I understand. The river’s gonna flow. I get it and accept it. My billadong.

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The many gifts

As it’s been explained to me by Belle, the reason she’s done with letting me fuck her is that I’m so much better at getting her off using other methods. And, of course, that’s true. But it’s been true for a really long time. Years, even.

I mean, it’s been so long since I could reliably get her off with PIV. I remember how frustrated she’d get with me when I’d come before her. She’d be riding me on top and I’d be sucking on her tits and thinking about baseball and I was lucky if I came just before her so that there would remain enough of an erection for her to get the rest of the way there. More often than not, I stopped being lucky and she’d be frustrated and I’d feel terrible.

Before enforced denial came along, this was Belle’s preferred method of getting off; riding my erection to orgasm. She rarely came any other way. I’m sure an exhaustive search of this blog would allow me to find about when I became unable to get her to orgasm with the contents, but it might be ten years ago.

After that, she made do with feeling me fuck her after I got her off with my fingers or mouth. Sometimes, she’d come from riding a strap on or an extender fit over the erection and, honestly, my very favorite time to fuck her was right after that. I have seared into my memory the time she said, “I can barely feel you,” to me as I slid into her and it might be the hottest thing she’s ever said to me.

But even then, I disappointed because the length of time I was able to fuck her got shorter and shorter. If she let me do it right now, I wouldn’t last two minutes. Maybe not even one. The length of time between opportunities to fuck her got longer as the shorter my stamina became.

I say all this because as I was laying here in bed waiting for Belle to wake up, I was reflecting on how much adaptation she’s had to make to her sexual preferences over the years. And since the primary dynamic in our relationship now is that sex is for her and her pleasure over mine, always, then the actual years of being allowed to fuck her after I was unable to bring her to orgasm that way were a gift. Especially all those times she let me do it when I shot my load just a few minutes after sliding in. Every one of those times were essentially charity on her part. They were her being exceedingly indulgent. And I knew it.

I should not spend a moment pining over my memories of fucking her now that she’s told me I never will again. Instead I should sit in gratitude of all the extra times she let me do it even after it had become clear that the useful life of the contents as a method of her pleasure had clearly passed.

Even if she was only letting me inside her every couple of months, each time she did and I came almost immediately were a gift. A gift. And, I suppose in looking back at it, it should have been clear that their number was finite.

So anyway, that’s how I think about being made pussy free now. I should be, and am, grateful for all she’s given me.

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Finger fuckin’ good

Something interesting happened yesterday morning. Well, two somethings. One was Belle let me get her off even though it was a weekday. I especially appreciated that since it was not entirely clear I was going to be able to get her off the next morning (spoiler: I did anyway) and each one of her orgasms is precious to me.

No, the weird thing was while I was getting her off. That was the first time she let me get to her pussy since finding out, definitively, that I wasn’t going to put the contents in there again. And knowing that, even though I was pretty turned on, I observed that I didn’t get very hard. It was…hmm. Plump. A bit of pressure. But a long ways from being tight. Also, I felt myself being very aware of my fingers. Of course, I always pay attention to what I’m doing while getting her off, but, again, I thought about how I’m not getting out anymore and that what I was doing right then was the only way I was ever going to be inside her again. My fingers, sliding in and around her clit, were the only part of my body that was going to “fuck” her from that point forward.

There was like an arch of energy going from my brain to the tips of my fingers similar to how I felt the last time I came inside her. Similar to how fucking with the contents felt. As if the finality of hearing, plainly and without prevarication, that that part of my life is done was causing certain pathways to be re-etched inside me. Brains are funny things, right? People talk of senses being heightened when others are lost. Limbs and appendages adapting to new purposes. Maybe that’s what’s happening here. No more pretending like maybe today, after 489 days, will be the one she lets me out to fuck. Every part of me knows it now and accepts it so maybe my lizard brain is making do with repurposing my fingers for what it would prefer the contents be used for. I have absolutely no idea, but it felt different to me.

I’m not saying I won’t every get super hard while pleasuring her again. I suppose I will at some point. But I noticed again this morning while going down on her that I was like yesterday. Plump, not packed.

In fact, I’m harder now writing about this than I was with my face in her pussy. 🤷🏼‍♂️

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What I asked for and need

Over on the hellsite owned by the misogynist, anti-LGBTQ, trans-hating, pro-fascist manbaby, where, unfortunately, the pro-sex/kinky crowd still hangs out, there’s been some concern by a few of my followers that Belle’s decision to no longer let me fuck her has left me feeling sad or something. I’m not trying to come off as remorseful, so I’m not sure where this is coming from.

I suppose some of it could be projection (or something like it, I’m no psychologist) in that, they would be sad if their spouse told them “You should have no reason to expect I’ll ever let you fuck me again,” so they read my reaction to the news in a sad light. I guess that’s natural since, for most people, being told they were done fucking would not be welcome news.

Of course, I’m not sad. I’m not…happy about it either. It’s complicated. But I’m 100% not sad. No remorse. No resentment. No regrets. I’m not mad, worried, depressed, or in any way perturbed by her decision. It’s her decision and she’s made it.

Thing is, I’m a sub. I crave her control over me sexually. I prioritize her pleasure over mine. I have always wanted her to make the decision for me as to when and how I’d be part of her pleasure. So, in no uncertain terms, she is giving me everything I’ve asked for.

Over fourteen years ago I wrote:

I like the inequity! I get off on the unfairness! Being arbitrary and capricious in the doling out of sexual experiences is exactly what I want. She should come ten times more often than me. She should tell me every day for a week when I’m going to get sex and then, on a whim, decide against it. I want her to leave me straining and hard and constantly yearning for release. (God, just writing this sends waves of excitement through me.) Of course, simply saying this can’t stop her from feeling guilt, but I can only continue to say it in hopes that eventually she’ll see that keeping me frustrated and in a state “normal” society would define as terrible and unfair is one of the ways I can find happiness and some sort of satisfaction.

https://denyingthumper.com/2008/12/09/unpainting-corners/

The only thing that’s changed since then is that she doesn’t need to be capricious. She has perfectly logical reasons why I won’t fuck her again and I understand them. Kind of the opposite of capricious, actually. Of course, I wrote that when I still had a functioning “cock” and she was wired to prefer being penetrated by it.

So no, not sad. What I crave more than orgasm and getting the contents wet is being used for the pleasure of someone else without regard to mine. She’s given me that.

I may be indulging in some lingering mourning for that part of my life being over. I mean, it was over before I even realized it was over, but now I know so it’s, like, final. It’s perfectly natural for me to enjoy the sensations that come from sliding into a warm, wet pussy and even I crave orgasm when denied it long enough. Those feelings are never going away. And I don’t want them to. I need to feel that gnawing craving desire to keep me motivated. But I don’t want them more than I need to be controlled.

I told Twitter today that I woke up horny. I sure did! Don’t always, but there was something about how the contents felt packed into the Orion that hit different than most days and horny I was. Someone replied with something along the lines of, “Some days it’s hard to remember why we do this.” Well, no not actually. Again, I wasn’t saying that in a negative way. Being denied is what I want more than anything because it’s the outcome of being controlled and deprioritized. It’s the byproduct of being able to live in a truly sexually submissive state. It’s what it feels like to be me.

I guess in the same way some people can’t imagine living as I do, I am honestly totally unable to imagine living like a normal boy. Having a penis I can see and play with at will? Leaving my load on the shower tiles whenever I felt like it? What? God, it sounds bleak to me. I feel like if I came regularly and when I decided to a piece of me would die. The piece that was born nearly 15 years ago when the first device was locked onto me and Belle and I started fumbling though establishing the dynamic that brought us to today. I never, ever want to go back to those before times.

The last fifteen years have been a process of finding myself. I’m beyond lucky that my life partner is OK with who and what I am at this point in my life. Of course, I’m so grateful to her that she has taken the lead with our sex and learned to adapt and evolve as I have. There’s nothing in that that should be interpreted as a bad thing by anyone.

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ThumperGPT

So, I continued to play with ChatGPT 4.0 (see last post) and asked it…

My spouse is interested in employing enforced male chastity in our relationship. Can you tell me the plusses and minuses that are entailed in this practice?

And it said…

Enforced male chastity is a consensual and intimate practice often associated with BDSM and power exchange dynamics. It involves one partner (the “keyholder”) taking control over the other partner’s (the “submissive”) sexual release by using a chastity device. The practice can have both positive and negative aspects, depending on the individuals involved and their motivations.

Plusses:

  1. Trust and communication: Engaging in enforced chastity can foster trust and open communication between partners, as both parties need to be honest about their desires and limits.
  2. Intensified intimacy: The power exchange dynamic can create a deeper sense of intimacy and connection between partners, as one partner surrenders control and the other assumes responsibility.
  3. Increased sexual anticipation: Chastity can heighten sexual desire and anticipation, making eventual release more satisfying.
  4. Exploration of fantasies: Engaging in enforced chastity can provide a safe and consensual space to explore BDSM and power dynamics-related fantasies.
  5. Self-discipline and focus: The submissive partner may develop a greater sense of self-control and discipline as they learn to manage their desires under the control of their keyholder.

Minuses:

  1. Physical discomfort: Chastity devices can cause discomfort or pain if they are not properly fitted or worn for extended periods. It is essential to choose a high-quality, comfortable device and take breaks if necessary.
  2. Emotional challenges: The submissive partner may experience feelings of vulnerability or frustration, while the keyholder may struggle with the responsibility of control. Open communication is crucial to address these issues.
  3. Hygiene: Chastity devices need to be cleaned regularly, and proper hygiene should be maintained to avoid infections or other health issues.
  4. Miscommunication and misunderstandings: The practice can lead to miscommunication or misunderstandings if partners are not open about their desires, limits, or feelings.
  5. Potential for coercion: It is crucial to ensure that both partners are genuinely interested in and consensual about the practice, as coercion or manipulation can lead to negative emotional and psychological consequences.

Before engaging in enforced male chastity, it is essential to have open communication with your spouse, discuss boundaries, and ensure that both parties are on board with the idea. It may also be helpful to research the practice further and consult with experienced practitioners or communities.

There’s me out of a job, then. 👋🏼

It seems really creepy that a computer algorithm can write something like that, but it does become a bit demystified when you dig into how it works. I specifically didn’t suggest whether the questioner was on the key or lock end of the equation and didn’t suggest one of the partners was a woman and the chatbot didn’t assume either which I appreciated. But yeah, that’s a damned fine reply to my question.

But how does an algorithm get so good at answering questions about enforced male denial? Well, thanks to the Washington Post’s digging round, we know what websites are included in one of the datasets used to train generative AIs (but not ChatGPT, though we can assume they use a similar dataset). This blog is in there as is Tom’s, the Male Chastity Journal, Thrill of the Chaste (I’m just…I’m just going to ignore that word, ok?), and Femdom Resource, among others. So there’s lots of grist for the algorithmic mill.

I didn’t ask the bot to role-play as someone locked in a device or as a keyholder. That’s the only way you could elicit the kinds of personal, human experiences I and those other blogs write about. So maybe I’m not quite yet out of a job. And, of course, chat bots are famously good bullshit artists. So I’m not sure I’d take any of their words as gospel on any topic whatsoever.

I remember way back in the misty days of devices being made from river stones, twigs, and bailing wire that a lot of the enforced denial content on the internet was wank job shit. It’s one of the reasons I started this blog in the first place. Now, there’s a lot more good, actual content written by real people (for example, the sites linked to above). We’ll have to see if the coming tsunami of generative AI content will again cloud the waters with nonsense. In the mean time, I will assume your humble blogger will continue to have a place in the enforced denial information ecosystem.

Though, one day, I could conceivably feed my thousands of words into an AI and have it write my posts. I promise, if I ever do that, I’ll tell you.

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Wankless woods

I recently got back from another week in the woods with muggles and, as always, I was locked up. Being camping in the wild in that condition does create its own considerations, but this time around they were especially highlighted by the fact that I was without any keys. I was absolutely, 100% locked up, no matter what, until I got home 8 days later.

I didn’t intend to go that way. There have been trips like these when I left locked but came back unlocked due to issues with the device interacting with my body unpleasantly during our daily, lengthy hikes. So going without a key into similar situations is really not recommended. Except this time I was rushed and forgot to ask Belle for the emergency key and she forgot to offer it. I mean, being locked up is just how I am, so we don’t really think about it at this point.

Once I realized my predicament, I was very, very careful to keep things as clean as possible and well-lubed (thank the maker I remembered my silicone). Thusly, I was able to hike over 30 miles during the course of the week without device-related issues. I think this is also due to how terrific and well-fitted the Orion is. It rarely gives me even the smallest bit of issue and it passed this test with flying colors.

Interestingly, when I got back to the house after my trip, I asked for and was given the key in order to give me and the device a thorough cleaning. The Orion went into a vinegar bath and the contents were shaved and cleaned and, I was amazing to find, they never seemed to stir. The vibe was almost clinical and, even though the shaft was touch, lifted, soaped, etc., it didn’t really do anything. When it came out of the Orion, it looked very pale and sad and a bit Gollum-like and I felt nothing sexual towards it at all. Don’t get me wrong, other penises still get me going. But this time, the one on me simply didn’t. It’s been such a long time since it was used for anything pleasurable and my commitment to the dynamic Belle and I share is so absolute that, if I’m honest, it kinda grossed me out. If there was a way to never have to see or touch it again, I’d take it.

All that it not to say I don’t very much enjoy feeling it strain inside the Orion and I love to grab at it and feel that tension within. I love how the device and my big balls feel in my hand and pressed into the bed under my body or just stuffed inside my jeans. Once the Orion goes on, it and the contents transform into a symbiotic third thing altogether that I really, really like. But on their own, the contents are like…I mean, I can’t even think of an analogy. There’s nothing else like it in my experience. I prefer the look of my ring finger with my wedding ring on it (I’ve made the connection before between the symbolism of a wedding ring and a device that enforces denial), but I’m not, like, averse to seeing it that way. I don’t wrinkle my nose at it or observe it like some kind of specimen in a tray. It’s a unique thing that I suppose you get, if you’re a guy like me, or you don’t.

In other news, it does not appear as though the new shiny Orion will arrive before Belle leaves on a two week work trip (it’s not supposed to get here until mid-month, but I was hoping). I would have preferred for her to either take the keys with her or keep them hidden but I will want to change when the new one shows up and so she’ll leave me the emergency key to use when it does (assuming the new one doesn’t come with its own keys which, now that I think of it, it very will may). I’ll resecure the key and provide evidence to her of it and the contents being such.

We had a house guest this last weekend and, because of an especially needy rescue dog and her annoying habits in the morning and the elaborate process we need to go through in order to secure some alone time, I was unable to get Belle off after being away. And now she’s going away. I really hate not being able to provide her that pleasure. It’s what powers me and it’ll be just me and the Orion for over three weeks before I get to feel her come again. I’m not worried about her. She can always take care of herself. But there’s only so much I can accomplish on my own…

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50/50

There was a point while wearing the venerable Steelheart last month when I realized I didn’t want it on anymore. Which is not to say I wanted out. What I wanted was for the Evotion Orion to go back on. Sort of a shocking moment for me since so much of my identity has been invested into that shiny steel tube for so long. But there I was.

It was all very practically driven. I do love how the Steelheart looks. I love how it feels to have a smooth, warm steel tube in place of the contents. I love how the Steelheart fills out my underwear. But more than all that, I guess I love what it’s like to wear the Orion. So I asked Belle to let me put it back on after a couple weeks in the Steelheart.

March ended like this…

Locked 100% of the month but also almost perfectly 50/50 between the two devices. I didn’t try and do that.

For the record, I’ve been in a device 99.7% of the time so far this year. About 6.5 hours unlocked. I don’t have any reason to believe I’ll have any unlocked time in April. The goal of <24 hours unlocked all year is on track.

I also don’t have any reason to believe I’ll be in anything other than an Evotion Orion for the rest of the year. Or maybe ever. I have a very special and very shiny new Orion being made now I can’t wait to get on and once that’s here, in combination with the one I already have, I might be done looking at and trying on new devices. Like, ever. Unless some very interesting new design comes along that I want to test, I guess. I can confidently say that none of the other devices I have hold much appeal to me now.

You guys, I used to wear like four devices in a month. I was always swapping and enjoyed the variety. Now I’m in the one and like, “Yeah, I’m good.” That’s how great the Orion is.

Based on their guidance, I’m hoping the new Orion will have landed by about mid-month. Looking very much forward to writing that review!

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Preferences

Belle had my balls in her hand while we were kissing this morning. Probably the Orion, too, but you know — all I can feel through the Orion is how tight it is on inside. She was squeezing them gently and rolling them around between her fingers while I was warming her up for her Sunday morning orgasm. But I had a question on my mind.

“Do you prefer me this way?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Why do you think I’ve left you like that for so long?”

A bit sheepishly, I replied, “I know. But sometimes it’s nice to hear.”

“I want you locked up. Always.“

I know, it was a dumb question. She’s kept me locked up for more than year straight. But…like I said. It’s good to hear from her. That that’s how she wants me. That it’s how she prefers me. To hear that she doesn’t want the contents as much as she wants my fingers and mouth and hairy chest and strong legs and wide shoulders. She wants a man to get her off on her terms, not his. Her focus, not his. Her orgasm, not his.

And you, since this is probably not the first time you’ve read my blog, know that’s how I prefer it, too. For her to come first and last, always. For her pussy to be worshiped and elevated over all else. For it to spasm under my touch, her post-orgasmic glow punctuated by the gnawing of my unrequited craving. That’s how I’m wired.

And somehow, along the way, it’s how she got wired, too.

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365

Today is the one year anniversary of the last time Belle let me fuck her. The last time she let the contents out for anything other than fact of life-type necessities. When I did the sleuthing to figure out how long it had been, after I realized it had been a long time, I said I didn’t have a memory of that fuck. Luckily I have a blog and I (less often than I used to) write about the sex we have and, as a matter of fact, I wrote about that time.

It felt like the orgasm wouldn’t end. Even after I had shot my load, I felt involuntary contractions trying to milk as much juice as possible. My whole body arched around the erection. My abs actually kinda cramped from the effort.

I mean, if that is the last time, it sounds like the kind of one I’d want as the last one. And after reading my account of it, I do remember it. It was nice. I also wrote…

When will it happen again? Will it be five months? Five weeks? Five days? Tomorrow!? No idea. I don’t even bring it up. I’m not allowed to either 1) ask for an orgasm, or 2) advocate against one so I tend to just not talk about it at all with her for fear of it being misconstrued as one or the other. Of course, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to do it and I certainly don’t need to know if and when she wants it to happen again.

My reticence to ask about being let out makes it very hard for me to even ask if it’ll ever happen again when it seems like it won’t. But the other day, I screwed up the courage (since that’s all I can screw lol) and asked. She laughed and kind of scoffed at the question. But, in fact, she can’t say. She likes me locked up. She wants me that way more than not. Has wanted me that way for at least a year now. As much as I want closure on the matter — certainty — she doesn’t want to be boxed in. And I don’t have the right to ask her to be.

So, I suppose, nothing has changed. That’s been her basic POV on the issue for just about forever. But we’ve never gone this long without the contents getting wet so, to me, it kinda feels like we’ve turned a corner. Nothing has changed and everything has changed. But she won’t commit. She doesn’t have to. That’s the deal. It’s what I signed up for. It’s what I begged for.

I ended my post from a year ago the same way I could end this one.

In a way, that total lack of control creates its own kind of peace. All I have to do is be ready for whatever she wants.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.