There is no spoon

An interesting little exchange on Twitter about Tom’s chastity/denial matrix. I was trying to formulate a response but found the Twitter construct limiting so I’m doing it here. The exchange was this, in response to a tweet of mine about the matrix and asking people where they’d put themselves on it:

While I don’t think of chastity and denial as a punishment, I also don’t strictly speaking think of it as a life choice. I mean, yes, of course it’s a choice. I have a choice as to whether I’m locked up and denied. I entered into this arrangement with Belle and, theoretically, could get out of it if I needed or wanted to.

That said, I feel that accepting chastity and denial is more than a simple choice. I feel, deeply, that I am meant to be locked up and denied. That it is my natural state. It’s how I am supposed to be. Some of us are meant to have orgasms and some of us are meant to cause them.

So, no, I’m not being punished. Because I have done nothing wrong and there is nothing wrong with me. But access to the contents of the device and the pleasure of orgasm are being enforced and subjected upon me. Left to my own devices, I would eventually succumb to desire and give myself an orgasm. My nature and my evolutionary programming are at odds that way.

Tom left a comment on my reblog of his post saying that too often chastity and denial are conflated as the same thing. Some men are denied but not locked up. Some are locked up but are allowed to come fairly regularly. And that’s totally true. Tom suggests it all falls under the umbrella of “erotic orgasm denial,” and that works, but I do find myself wishing we had a word that was exclusively for the part of the Venn diagram where one is both locked and denied. I have no idea what that word might be. Some people use “chaste” but that’s not at all right since it’s a synonym with celibate and chastity and denial lead to more and better sex, not less. Certainly not none.

In reality, being denied but not locked would make me a non-functional adult. I would not be able to concentrate on anything at all after a few weeks. The device makes the denial not just possible, but also doable. I’ve read some blogs where the sub or the Dom consider devices a crutch or not “real” denial. Because the sub isn’t in control of it, their keyholder is. Of course, there is no One True Way. But for me, deviceless denial is a non-starter.

Also, I like the gear. I’m a nerd. I like stuff. I like to think about stuff. I like to compare them and consider their plusses and minuses and how they might be made better. I’d miss if the device was absent because I like it as an object. And, as I’ve written about a lot lately, I’ve grown to think of the device as part of me. It’s not separate from my sexual existence. It is my sexual existence. Like I said above, I was meant for this.

Also also, I’m into the compression. I’m into bondage. I’m a masochist. I like the feeling of having a locked penis and especially when it’s locked and trying to get hard.

So anyway, to circle back, it’s not about punishment. But it is about discipline. And it is about control and order and security. And I crave all those things down deep in my core.

Cheater’s dent

I don’t remember who told me this, but the indentation on your wedding ring finger left behind when the ring is not there is referred to as the “cheater’s dent.” I thought this was a common phrase everyone had heard of, but it turns out it may not be that prevalent. When I punch it into the Google machine, it steadfastly refuses to acknowledge anyone on the internet has used those words together before.

“Chester Dent?” it helpfully suggests. No. Not Chester Dent. “Are you looking for information on carpool cheaters in California?” No. I am not. “Dental…something or other?” No. Try again.

I have a cheater’s dent on my finger. I bet if you wear a wedding ring, you do too. Apparently, people can figure out if the person hitting on them is already married by looking at their ring finger and seeing if there’s dent.

The only thing I wear more than a chastity device is my wedding ring (but not by much). Turns out, I have two cheater’s dents. And here they are…

Continue reading “Cheater’s dent”

Being bad

Left unlocked and knowing it was wrong, I couldn’t help myself. I was in a place where I could jack off in private, but not so secluded that it was guaranteed I wouldn’t be caught. But I had to. Had to. Now or never.

I wrapped my hand around the hard shaft and indulged. Quickly, alarmingly so, I was on the edge of coming. And I wanted to. I intended to. No one would know unless they walked in on me. They might, but I couldn’t stop. I focused my efforts on fast, short strokes near the head of the penis. The final stage of masturbation that would lead inevitably to spewing my long-denied orgasm. Oh god, I wanted it so bad. I wanted to feel it so, so bad.

Stroking. Quickly. So close. So…close. Just…close. Why…why am I not coming? I’m stroking. I can feel it in my balls. I can feel the orgasm right there. I’m stuck on the edge. I can’t make it happen. I can’t come. I’m…

…in bed. My hand wrapped around the hard, unyielding, packed steel.

Fuck.

I will myself back to sleep. Back to the fantasy.

And there I was again. Different place. But the same in that I could have been found out. If someone had looked in just the right place. They would have seen me just like I could see them. They would have seen me totally nude, contorted so that I was jacking off over my face, mouth open. Ready to eat it. Wanting to. And again, I was right on the edge. So close. Balls tight and tingling and the pressure of the impending eruption building along the hard shaft in my hand. I opened my mouth and extended my tongue to accept the inevitable.

Stroking. Faster. Faster. Oh, god, so close. So fucking close. Right there. Right…there…

And I’m awake again. Sharp, tight pain from the steel tube. So tight. Throbbing. I try to stroke the tube and the PA fixing pulls on the PA ring and makes it hurt even more. Impossible.

My heart is pounding. The steel won’t relent. I’m so horny. Desperate. Consumed.

Just another Locktober night.

The reason for the season

Belle and I found ourselves alone in the house Saturday night which, as the parents of two, is not the usual situation. We watched some random TV for a while then it occurred to her that she could make noise. Which means, she could scream her head off while coming which is her favorite way to come.

So the TV went off and to the bedroom we went. We started with some light making out then heavy petting then she told me to strip. She took my balls in her hands and roughly massaged them before moving to straight up squeezing and abuse. Of course, she knows I’m a masochist, but she also seemed to be enjoying this. I don’t think it was just for me.

“How can I make you come?” There are many options, even with no available penis between us. I could use my fingers. I could use a vibrator. She could use a vibrator. There’s her glass dildo. But what I really wanted, what I hoped she wanted, was for me to eat her out.


This whole interaction between us is, I think, indicative of what Locktober is all about. We’re about halfway through at this point and what I see a lot on Twitter from guys in similar predicaments is stuff about how long we’ve been locked up and how horny we all are and pictures to prove both (and, of course, I am totally guilty of all these things), but really, that’s not what we should be focusing on. Our denial is not what denial is about.

I think the purpose of enforced chastity and orgasm denial is to teach us that…

  1. The point of sex is pleasure and satisfaction for our partners, not us.
  2. The pent up energy of denial frustration should be redirected to maximizing their pleasure and satisfaction.
  3. We need to recognize and accept that the frustration and craving is our version of pleasure. Their orgasm is our satisfaction.

Every cell in my body tells me these things are true. But every cell in my body has been trained by a decade of being locked up and I am 100% submissive. There are probably a lot of guys (and their keyholders) out there who are just starting out who may not yet get that chastity and denial aren’t about being as horny as possible prior to eventual release and explosive orgasm. Of course, everyone gets to do this their own way and ultimately our keyholders are the ones who decide, but penis-centric thinking is the antithesis of what chastity and denial represent.

As the Ancient One told Doctor Strange, “It’s not about you.” It’s about them, our keyholders. If you think of chastity and denial as a thing you endure until they let you come again, you’re still thinking with your penis. If you talk to your keyholder about how long you will be locked up — either asking for that time to be extended or reduced — you’re thinking with your penis. Worse, you’re making them think about your penis.

Guess what? Once you hand over the key, it’s not your penis anymore. It’s theirs. And what happens or doesn’t happen to it is up to them, not you. Which is why your best bet is to only think about their pleasure. Their orgasm. Their satisfaction.

Locktober isn’t about you being locked. It’s about why they lock you.


Belle did want me to go down on her. I could barely contain myself as I moved down her body, kissing her nipples and her stomach and her pelvis before placing my face before the heat of her sex. Humid and potent, I pushed my tongue into her wetness and lapped at her clit. Hands on her hips, I could feel her gyrate against my mouth. Pressing her pussy into my face to make sure I hit all the right spots.

The Evotion 8 locked on my body became painfully tight and I was unable to lay flat on my stomach. I had to angle my hip up to relieve the pressure on the throbbing, desperate contents of the device.

The volume of her ecstasy grew as her hands moved from her breasts to the hair on my head. As she got closer to orgasm, she grabbed fistfuls of it, almost using it to steer my attention. Her pussy juice was flowing freely down my chin and coated my nose and face. The discomfort between my legs distracted from focusing all my senses on the tip of my tongue and how it was flicking over her and the reactions that elicited in her movements and exclamations.

Her orgasm exploded in a great, deep bellowing of pleasure. She was screaming her satisfaction and her pussy was spasming under my mouth. Her whole body tensed then released, one thing after another. First her hips, then her fistfuls of hair, then her back, then her legs.

I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to stop tasting her. To leave the center of the power she has over me. I was in the throne room and couldn’t bring myself to back out. So while she basked I lingered, breathing deeply her pheromones. Letting her pussy saturate my senses. The black plastic locked on my body refused to relent in its grasp.

I stayed as long as I dared. She’d be wanting me to snuggle and embrace her. She’d want the covers back up over her body. I wanted…what I wanted wasn’t the point. Of course, I wanted out. To fuck her. To slip into her fantastically wet pussy and pound it until I came. But that was fantasy.

And thinking too hard on that was unproductive. So I moved up and covered her and held her and kissed her and thanked her for everything she does for me. Including keeping me locked for all of Locktober and every other month.

Evotion 8 review

Evotion 8 male chastity device held in my hand

What I really want in life is a male chastity device that can be my “forever” wear. Not that I would literally never take it off because that’s just a (incredibly hot and potent and loin-stirring) fantasy. I’m talking about a device I never need to take off except for doctor visits, etc. The perfect set-it-and-forget it chastity device that enables indefinite, if not permanent, wear.

Continue reading “Evotion 8 review”

The horny report

I should have know I’d be horny today. That kind of intense, hard-edge gnawing that sits heavily in my balls and radiates out and up like the molten core of a reactor gone critical.

I should have known because last night, as I was in bed and about to go to sleep, I could feel it starting up. That very particular kind of feeling that one without access to a penis or an avenue to satisfy himself sexually feels. The kind of feeling that, in years past, would have kept me up all night. Tossing and turning and clawing at the steel. But last night, it was more like having a neighbor that throws too many late-night parties. Eventually, the noise becomes part of life’s background. Noticeable and present, but not as much an impediment.

But this morning. The party is a full-on three kegger frat house orgy. And my mind won’t stop dwelling on scenarios and imaginings that only make the thumping party music increase in volume and tempo.

This isn’t simple frustration. When a normal boy feels sexual frustration he’s never more than a quick trip into a bathroom stall away from relief, worst case. When a locked person like me feels it — locked in the way I am — there is no release. No hope for release. The frustration just builds on itself. Sometimes slowly and steadily and sometimes with incredible force. And then the mind keeps showing me objects and scenarios and making suggestions that are tantalizingly displayed on the other side of a perfectly clear, perfectly thick and impenetrable wall of glass. And rushing towards those temptations results in slamming against the glass again and again with the only end to the flagellation coming with exhaustion.

On my trip into work this morning, nearly from the moment I was out of the driveway, the tube was thickly full. The pants I’m wearing are among the tightest I have and they were pushing back at the tube and keeping it from rising while it, in turn, pushed back at its throbbing contents. Swelling to the point of feeling my heartbeat in the steel then feeling it back off slightly only to push forward again. That sensation of having a hard-on and feeling the pressure and gripping tightness of a slightly too-small base ring and then grabbing at it in frustration with the hand not on the wheel to try and tease out any kind of pleasurable sensation only to feel the numb, unrelenting hardness of metal. And that adding even more fuel to the fire.

I don’t know why this happened today. It’s apparently random how the hormones mix and cause the neurons to fire. Belle didn’t let me out for sex this past weekend so I was pretty horny after getting her off, but that’s normal. We’ll be apart this coming weekend so no chance for sex then. Maybe not the weekend after that, either. But I’ll be locked up the whole time. She made a point of reminding me last night lest I had any doubt by asking which device I was taking with me (probably the HT Nub, if you’re keeping score).

It’s also interesting to me in the way only a self-obsessed and inwardly analytical kinky geek could appreciate that my fantasies today are very much focused on the heterosexual side of my personal Kinsey Scale. Like most people, I don’t really think about what I’m going to fantasize about but I do pay attention to the porno film my imagination plays for me and this morning it’s exclusively cuckolding/facesitting stuff.

So, anyway, there you have it. This morning’s horny report. And now to Chet with Sports.