Tag: male chastity

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Token

“I kinda like watching you squirm. When you’re like this.”

Belle said that to me last night as we were laying in bed and I was looking up at her, imploring her to allow me to share in her orgasm. It was a no-go, but she let me dangle just long enough for me to get really squirrelly.

“Whimper,” I replied.

A little while later, after I had internalized the hormones from earlier, I thought about how I’d like to work myself over with the Njoy pur (and whatever else struck my fancy). But, as I’ve mentioned before, Belle doesn’t let me do anything sexual with my body without her permission. No ass play, no self-administered nipple torture, no solo activities of any kind (other than the consumption of porn). I have to ask first.

“So, how’s this work?” I asked. “If I want to play around by myself. Do you give me permission in advance…?” I trailed off.

“Sure. You don’t have to run off and do it as soon as I say yes. You can do it whenever you want.”

Which is a relief. The only thing more embarrassing that having to ask your wife if you can masturbate (even with a locked cock) is having to then scamper off and lock yourself in the bathroom…where she knows what you’re doing.

“So will I have blanket permission for a certain period…or what?” It seemed to me that it made sense to let me have permission to take advantage of whatever private moment I could find, but how would she know when I was done? Seemed like I could find a way to abuse that arrangement.

“We need a token,” I said. “Something physical that I have to get from you that allows me to play with myself that I can give back when I’m done or that you can take back when you want to.”

“Like the little reward tokens at daycare?” she joked.

“Pretty much exactly like that, yes.” I said. “Can I have the token now?”

“What token? We don’t have one.”

“I don’t know. Can’t we have a virtual token or something for the time being?”

“OK, sure. You can have it. We need to pick something.”

“Agreed. Thank you, Belle Fille.”

Then she more or less fell asleep. I almost drifted off, but, as usual, my buzzing sexual background radiation woke me back up. I was laying there, spooning into her, wide awake. And still in my pajamas. She had forgotten to give me permission to take them off. Damn.

I rolled over and read porn. Lots and lots. Kristen again, but also Nifty. Nifty is mostly gay stuff and I’m finding recently that my pendulum is swinging back in that direction. As I peruse the Tumblr porn tsunami, I tend to linger on the gratuitous cock shots. I don’t have any particular urge to do anything with them when I see them, but not having a hard cock of my own to appreciate, I’m draw to these others instead. Fat ones, fatter ones, soft(ish) ones, hard ones, smooth ones, hairy ones, flying ones, big ones, really big ones – all kinds. I’m a little obsessed. I stare at them, slack-jawed. Sometimes, when I get like this and I’m all locked up and can’t see a real live hard cock for myself, I feel kinda like a third sex. I don’t have what they have. Instead, I have this hard shiny thing that gets really uncomfortably tight from time to time.

Anyway, I’d read some porn, then roll over to try to sleep. But my brain would keep working and I’d be drawn back to the iPad to read just one more story. Well, that one wasn’t all that good. Maybe just one more. Fuck the device is tight. This is killing my nuts. OK, time to sleep. *sigh* I’m not tired. Damn, iPad’s back on again. And so on. I eventually did drift off about 2:30 or so only to be woken by a late-summer thunderstorm. Belle woke up, too, so I spooned back into her again, just as I had done hours earlier.

“You can take off your clothes, Thumper,” she said  sleepily as she rolled over.

“Thank you, Belle Fille.”

And then I slept.

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Evolution

The hardest thing to deal with regarding this whole enforced chastity thing (at least the way we play it) isn’t being physically locked or not coming for weeks and months or anything like that. The hardest thing to deal with, for me, has been really and truly accepting that she has control over my sex. All the time, no matter what. I’ve struggled with that over the nearly two years (seriously? has it been two years already?) since I gave her the cock, sometimes more successfully than others. Lately, though, I feel like my ability to deal with this reality has improved.

Fundamentally, I’m a fairly self-centered and selfish person. Not to a fault, but my default POV regarding any situation is usually to ask how it can be made to benefit me. I am, to put it bluntly, spoiled. It may be partly the effect of being an only child, but I don’t thing it’s that simple. In any event, top that with a healthy frosting of control-freak tendencies and mild obsessive-compulsiveness and you end up with a person who has to try very hard to see when he’s being selfish.

But that’s what I have always been with regard to sex. Even before Belle, but especially after chastity entered our lives. Before, if I was in need, I could take the situation in hand and resolve it (and resent her for not being a part of it). Now, that’s simply not possible. She’s the sole focus of my sex drive. On occasion, all that pent up energy has led me to become too pushy. Too much focused on my urges and not enough on hers. So much so that I’ve forgotten our deal. The deal I proposed and wanted.

At the end of my last lock-up, there was a period in which we had no sex. Maybe 10 days or so. I really wanted it, but she never responded to my advances and made none of her own. I don’t know what the deal was, but anyone in a relationship knows this happens from time to time. In the past, something like that would have seen me building up pressure like a propane tank with a faulty safety valve. Eventually, there would have been words and hurt feelings and all kinds of nastiness. But not this time. All I needed to know was that she hadn’t forgotten me. That she knew I was still there and still dealing with the consequences of what I had given her. That was all. Somehow, that was enough to help me deal. Oh yeah, I still wanted to feel her hot wet pussy and eat her all up, but the feeling was in stasis. Waiting for her to need it.

This is a big deal. Somehow, all the months of denial – from ejaculation and access to my own body – have made me lose the feeling of being owed sex by her. As if it was an entitlement. It is not mine anymore. I have willingly given up my right to it. And I know it. I can feel it.

Frankly, the thought that I’d someday be in this place scared me. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought truly submitting my sexuality to hers would mean I’d lose mine. That by not acting on my urges or by insufficiently acknowledging them, they’d go away. Or something. I don’t know. What I do know is that submitting (or “surrendering” as the cool kids are calling it 😉 ) is really hard.

This doesn’t mean I’m still not horny as hell. I am. I’m all kinds of horny. But I’m not going to pressure her no matter how bad it gets. I will still struggle from time to time, but I know that this is how things are supposed to be between us. I feel like I’ve reached a high ground and, when things get bad, I’ll only need to find it again and not wonder if it exists at all.

The thing I really want Belle to know with regard to this is that she should never feel guilty. Not even a little. When she feels that way she tends to close up, get quiet, and let it fester and then it blows all out of proportion. I want her to know she can manage our sex lives in any way she wants. That I really want her feel the freedom to do or not do anything. I will be OK.

And if I’m ever acting like I’m not OK, please remind me of this post and tell me I’m just being a spoiled brat.

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Travel wear

It occurs to me that I’ll be travelling at the end of October. Those of you keeping score at home realize that the end of October would be a little over half way through the three month program Belle placed me on the other day. Everyone else with even a passing understanding of me and my horny rabbit brain knows I can’t be trusted to keep my hands off the meat, especially after six or seven weeks…alone…in a hotel room. Oh, god yes. That would be fantastic…

So, yeah, I will need to be secured. And the Steelheart can’t fly. I’ve been trying to figure out ways of travelling with it, but they all require me having a key since Belle won’t be with me. If I have the key and am expected to take it off prior to x-ray and such, then I might as well leave it at home. I’m a good rabbit, but still just a dumb bunny. The temptation would be too great.

I suppose I could always break out the old CB-6000, but Belle seems to have retired it permanently. This is based on aesthetics more than anything else and, as I said, she won’t be with me, so maybe she’d be OK with me wearing it. The stainless-looking model is off the table since, as I’ve pointed out, it’s very rough on the cock and I’m not even sure the chrome finish wouldn’t trigger the metal detector anyway.

The other option is a new device. Travel wear, as it were. Something for those times when the full metal jacket is not practical. Given a choice between using something old or buying something new, I tend to lean towards the new stuff. And that’s lead me to the PA-5000. I’ve read several reviews so I know it’s not perfect, but all I really need is a physical barrier sufficient to making jacking off difficult. I need a deterrent.

I’ve been very curious about the PA5K since it came out. I have no idea what it will feel like. Chastity has always been equal parts cock and ball constriction. Now, it will just be the cock. Also, large portions of it will be open to sensation. Very different than the Steelheart which sometimes feels like a sensory depravation chamber.

I think I measured it right. The tube come in three sizes and they recommend a quarter inch larger than your flaccid state. I measured this quite a while back and I’m about 34mm (about 1.33″) in diameter when soft, but the largest tube they sell has a diameter of 31.75mm (1.25″). When hard, I’m 40mm (about 1.57″) in diameter, so the tube will definitely be snug. I am not accustomed to ever wearing the largest of anything on the cock, so I guess we’ll just see how it goes. The funny thing about penises is they’re highly variable little hunks of meat. I’m sure it will work out. Expect a full report as soon as Belle lets me wear it.

On other fronts, I’m starting just my sixth day of lock-up after being in for two months. I can say that, right now, I’m way hornier at six days than I was at six weeks. Funny how that works. Belle (and everyone in the house) went to bed kind of early last night leaving me wide-eyed and restless. I eventually picked up my phone and started reading stories on the Kristen Archives (the porn site for every perversion). Hours later, I finally put the phone down, exhausted, only to fall into a very restless sleep.

I’ve said before that I don’t often get blue balls, but I had them last night and right up until this morning. Yeah, part of the ache was caused by the ring and the near constant erection I had all night, but it was way worse than usual. They felt much more swollen and tender. There was definitely a big load of something backing up in there. Every time I’d turn over, the device would flop heavily from one side to the other taking my fat balls with it. I couldn’t find a comfortable position and each time I moved to a new one it’d get another wave of achy ball pain.

I was awake way before Belle and, as soon as I figured out she was up, too, I was all over her. It’s that non-specific sexual urge feeling where I just want to squeeze her into a ball and grind my steel tube into her. I was breathing hard and kissing her mouth and trying my best not to bite her face when she said, “Why don’t you put that energy into making my coffee?”

“Anything, Belle Fille. Anything you want,” I said breathily, “It’s all for you.”

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Two birds, one stone

Responses to two commenters that I, in my fevered brain, think tie together into a unified arch.

First up, palemale said:

I am a little disappointed that you were allowed to orgasm. So many site have men claiming to be in chastity for a year and they just aren’t believable. You on the other hand seem exceedingly truthful and I was hoping that Belle would deny you an orgasm for a full year.

A year.

OK, we’ll come back to that.

Disappointed? Well, not me. Not this time. I think there’s a point up to which I want to be denied longer but after which I’m really OK with being released. This time, when she told me two months in that I was going to orgasm, I was able to shift from indefinite denial mode to really wanting to come mode very quickly. I’ve become so accustomed to being denied and, frankly, enjoy it so much that it has to be a really long time before I get there. A few weeks wouldn’t cut it. A month wouldn’t. Two months – at least this time around – was enough. Yeah, I was prepared to go longer. I would have loved if she had made me go longer. But it didn’t make much difference since I was ready.

With regard to other blogs, I can’t say of course. I think some of them are pure fantasy. I think others are truthful. The thing I’ve come to realize is each guy is unique and each guy is at a different point at the path in their orgasm denial journey so what’s long for me might not be for another guy. And, of course, being in chastity and being denied orgasm are different things. Belle seems to be treating them as one and the same (i.e., I will be locked up and denied for at least three months). Honestly, without the device, I don’t think I could be denied three months. I’d never make it. But I digress…

A year. I’ll admit that a full year is a personal goal. But, until such time Belle decides that’s going to happen, it will remain just a goal. I don’t yet know if there’s a difference between two, three, six, nine, or twelve months. And if you get to a whole year, what’s next? Indefinitely? Forever? The thought makes my heart race, I admit. But again, it’s not my decision.

Palemale went on to say:

I particularly liked your comments about the let down you feel after being allowed to orgasm. I would love to hear more about the specifics how your natural urge to have sex changes with exceeding long periods of denial, even denial of milking your prostate.

Which is related to what the next commenter, NaamPC, said:

Myself, if I had been released after two months of captivity and told I could cum, my first though would have been, “Bend over, please.” After all, you have been doing what and how much with her with so very little for yourself that by denying yourself the very first cum after your incarceration being inside of her, and letting your hand do the work, it seems to me you cheated yourself out of that experience.

I didn’t feel cheated at all. Because, and in regard to palemale’s question, I find that the longer I go the more I want come by my own hand. Or, to be more precise, the more I hope she’ll let me come that way. Of course, I want to fuck her, too, but when I dream about it (and claw at the device and writhe and grind into the mattress), more often than not I want to get a hold of it and pull an orgasm out. I also crave to be inside her, but that’s not equitable anymore to having an orgasm (that is, fucking ≠ orgasm). Those are separate urges for me now. Remember, I was denied not just orgasm for two months, I was also denied access to an important part of my body (for all but a day). When locked up, I am physically disconnected from something I’ve had easy access to for over 40 years. The urge to reconnect with myself becomes just as strong as my urge to connect with her. And, of course, I do connect with her, even when I’m locked up, since I get to make her come with my hands or my mouth or whatever. My connection to her sexual pleasure is so strong now that it’s as if it never existed before.

Long way to say, I desire not just orgasm at the end, I also desire jacking off. A lot.

With regard to palemale’s question about prostate milking, I don’t find it offers any kind of relief from the frustration of denial. It only serves to make me even more horny afterward. I enjoy it immensely while it’s happening, but that’s all. It never culminates into anything that blows off steam.

NammPC then said:

With me, arrangements would gave been made before-hand to let her have whatever time she felt she wanted for herself and after that when it’s my turn, I really am going because it’s my turn. Yourself, you think and feel what you’re going to. That’s my thought on it.

You’re assuming there is a “my turn”. Be that as it may, it’s also true that when the first opportunity to come after a really long time presents itself, the old boner’s on a hair trigger. If she wants a nice long fuck by the biocock, that’s not going to be in the cards right out of the gate. That’s what led to the idea of letting me come in the morning. Didn’t turn out this time, but I still think it’s the right strategy. When she finally did get her ride, I didn’t come and wasn’t really all that close when she did. It would have worked…if only I could have gotten it up.

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5352

For the record, my new key lock number is 5352.

I post this because I know where she keeps the extra locks and I want to be as above board as possible.

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In out up down

Hey, kids! Miss me?

So…what the fuck’s up with you? Sorry for the prolonged radio silence. Started out, there wasn’t much to talk about. For the week or two before Labor Day, things got quiet between Belle and I. No sex to speak of and me locked up tight. It’s the kind of thing that would have made me all introspective and pissy before, but this time there was a more peaceful vibe settled over me. It’s hard to describe, but I was contentedly anxious. I wanted the contact with her very much but also was able to recognize that control over that contact was, as I wanted, totally hers. I would get it when she was ready, not before. We talked a little somewhere in there and I told her not to worry about it. All I wanted was to know that she hadn’t forgotten me.

Then Labor Day rolled around and, as usual, so did my birthday. She let me out after just over two months because the time had come. She wanted to feel her cock inside and she was going to let me come. I had this great idea that she should let me come before she wanted to fuck me so I’d be better able to control myself when the big moment was at hand. She went along with it and allowed me to jack off next to her in bed. That orgasm had been about nine weeks in the making and felt, as usual, amazing. So much better than a normal orgasm. While it was happening – mid-spurt, as it were – I couldn’t breath. I was pumping semen all over my hand and stomach and literally could not take a breath. That’s how amazing it was. Immediately afterward, I was disgusted by all the sticky, creamy stuff all over me. Plus the smell. Ew.

That night was a disaster. She was ready, but I couldn’t get it up. Oh, the irony. She felt like it was her fault and felt bad which, of course, made me feel bad. I don’t know what the deal was, but it sucked. Then she got her period.

I was out for the rest of the week. Belle said she wanted to “air it out” for a while. So I walked around like all the other boys, but was pretty much always aware that things were not “normal” down there. I could feel stuff I wasn’t used to feeling. I slept through every hard-on. It was kinda like being on vacation.

Saturday, we went on a date. She asked me how I was feeling being unlocked and still under the effects of a (relatively) recent orgasm. I kinda shrugged. I felt fine. Truth is, I don’t like the empty post-orgasmic period. Everything feels less interesting and kinda gray and flat. I have grown so accustomed to the heightened sensation of living with all those hormones pumping through me that, while I still really enjoy the actual orgasm when it happens, I dread the time that follows. Which is good, I guess, since Belle told me I was going without for three months this time. She’s thinking Christmas/New Year before I come again.

In any event, Saturday night she finally got what she wanted earlier in the week. All the plumbing worked this time and I was able to hold off long enough for her to ride me to a very satisfying orgasm. After, she let me fuck her until I came, making sure to mention along the way that it wasn’t going to happen again for at least 90 days.

Sunday, the day I was supposed to be reincarcerated, I woke up feeling very much not in the mood. I was pretty happy with my free meat and decided not to bring up that she had intended to put me back in that day. I thought I had gotten away with it, too, when she finally came to bed that night, but she tossed the device at me, lock disengaged. I sighed and disassembled the parts. As I started to put it on, the meat shrank back at the cold metal’s touch. It’s back to being a thing, not a part of me. All day today it’s been pinching and shoving and generally being in the way. I feel encased. And, as usual at this point in the game, very much against the will of my body.

I got a text message from Belle just before lunch. She said,

I forgot to tell you this morning, “Welcome to Day 1” 🙂 I love you. Have a good day.

Three months to go.

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Unchaperoned

Belle and I were apart for the first few days of last week. She was at home and I was in the north woods compound hanging with the family and enjoying the few remaining summer-like days we in the higher latitudes have left before hellish winter descends out of Canada.

Not long after leaving home, I started to feel a twinge in the tube. I knew immediately what it was since I’ve felt it before. The corona of the glans will, from time to time, become irritated and inflamed. I have no idea what causes this, but it usually means I need to come out of the device while things sort themselves out.

This time, though, I was on my own. Belle was 250 miles away. It was just me and my emergency key. I tried extra flushes of warm soapy water thinking it was maybe a hygiene issue and was able to tough it out the first night, but by midday the next, I couldn’t take it anymore. I popped the lock on the emergency key and used it as intended. I admit there was a moment when I worried she had perhaps mixed up the keys between the two locks, but the little brass mechanism turned and slid free of the two steel parts. Shortly afterward, so did I.

And, just as I thought, the corona was not happy. Angry red splotches covered the left edge where the PA fixing made contact with the skin. Slightly less angry-looking marks ran across the top. Very unsexy and very sensitive. All that day I could feel the affected skin move across the fabric of my underwear. Not painful. More like extreme over stimulation.

So yeah, I was out. When Belle called, I told her the situation. She didn’t say much other than she hoped I felt better (or something like that). I had been in for over six weeks with only about 15 minutes of out time and, as usual, everything felt weird. When I went to bed, I put lotion on the complaining area and was annoyed I had to wear underwear since the free and flopping meat coming in contact with the sheets was unacceptably distracting.

Of course, I was very much aware that I was alone and unchaperoned with a very needy cock (damaged though it was). I said to myself I wouldn’t play with it when I took the device off, but there it was like a snake describing all the positive attributes of the fruit I wasn’t allowed to eat. I’m weak, it goes without saying. I admit I failed. I had to reposition my grip to avoid the damaged part, but was able to wank the serpent. I didn’t come, but was surprised at the how quickly and in what volume I was leaking.

My sleep could be described as fitful at best. It seemed like it was hard all night. I woke up several times rubbing it through my underwear or with the underwear pushed down below my balls, fisting the stiff meat. I was awake, but also not. I kept telling myself I shouldn’t. That I was breaking rules. But honestly, I couldn’t stop myself. I have a great deal of respect for the guys who can go indefinitely sans device. That ain’t me.

By about 24 hours later, the redness was a bit better, but the pain was totally gone. In the light of the day, my subbie bunny reasserted itself and, pain or no pain, decided the cock needed to go back in the tube. I left the PA fixing out, though. Honestly, I don’t need the fixing. Playing with the merchandise unlocked is one thing, but I could never defeat the device and cheat with it on my body. That’s a line I won’t cross, even though the Steelheart is easily escaped. In any event, not being sure I had had enough recovery time, I thought it best to remove possible irritation points inside. Worse case, I figured, if the discomfort came back, I’d take it off again.

But the discomforted didn’t come back. Not at all. The 24 hours out was all I needed, apparently. Belle, expecting me out, was happy to see me back in when she showed up. I told her I had been bad and she verbally chastised me for being weak, but gave me points for proactively reasserting her control.

Saturday rolled around and I was heading home, but Belle wasn’t. I’d have another night and most of a day by myself. I removed the tube in order to make a visual inspection and saw that everything was back to normal. The cock was its pale, hairless mole rat self without any marks. I put the PA fixing back in and left the key where Belle would find it.

Everything is back the way it belongs.

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Nope

We were at a nice restaurant last night. Unexpectedly, both the kids were away so we got a surprise date night.

“You thought I was going to let you out this weekend,” Belle said over the caesar and crab cakes, “You said so on the blog.”

“Yes,” I replied, “You dropped hints. You practically told me you were going to let me out.”

“What did I say?” she asked.

“I don’t remember specifically, but hints were dropped. Several of them.”

“Well, whatever I may have said, you misinterpreted it.”

“Really?” Fork full of romaine paused in mid-flight.

“Yes.”

“So I’m not getting out?”

“No.”

Pause. “I thought I was. This weekend.”

“Nope.”

Pause. “And you knew I thought this and you just let me go ahead thinking it?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

Damn.

Looking at the calendar, it’s entirely unlikely I’ll be out in either of the next two weekends. That means I will have been left in the device for over two months at least. At one point, she mentioned our anniversary in mid-October as a goal but she also mentioned my birthday which is in early September. At any rate, it seems as though I need to get any idea of release out of my mind since it’s not happening soon and nothing she says on the matter can be trusted.

—

Back at the ranch, with the candles lit and me naked as directed, I started to get into bed before she stopped me. I hadn’t asked permission. Bad boy. I asked and she let me in.

I knelt on the bed before her, the device that was not coming off glinting softly, and she pulled out the handcuffs. She ratcheted them down tightly, but not too tightly. Then she brought out my collar. Ooooooh, my collar! I love that thing. She hadn’t put it on me in so long. I dropped my head and she attached it snugly around my throat.

“Now you know how the dog feels,” she said.

Whimper.

Finally, she brought out the Japanese butterfly clips. She pulled my nipples out with her fingers so the clips would grab a fat chunk of meat. So there I was, caged, collared, cuffed and clipped. Bliss.

I nuzzled into her with my face, awkwardly trying to balance with my wrists chained together. I wanted to smell her, feel her. Kiss her. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin – her beautiful lips were right there – when she yanked down on the chain between the clips, pulling me with them. Yes, it hurt, but it was all the really good kind of hurt. I was so there. So ready to be abused.

She released the chain and I started back up her body, trying again for the kiss. She pulled me back again, this time I didn’t even make it to her neck. Several more times we did this – me going up, her pulling me back down – before she finally let me get to her mouth. The kissing was all the more fantastic for the waiting. For the work it took to get there. Between my legs, the heavy tube strained to rise, plump full of cock.

She directed me to the side of the bed. She got up and walked around to where I was. I felt the suede lashes gently run down the length of my back and over my ass. Then, the opposite journey, up over my ass then toward my shoulders. Gentle. Soft. A warning.

Lightly at first, so I could get used to the sensation, I felt the flogger fall across my upturned ass cheeks and upper thighs. I arched my back to bring my ass even further up, but in doing so unwittingly exposed my nutsack so that when she hit me with the first really strong stroke, the lashes also found my balls. I don’t know if she meant to do that, but the full force of the flogger striking my sack – already pulled tight by the erection filling the tube – made me see stars and scream into my pillow.

She alternated back and forth between the flogger and the crop. I was free to cry out as loudly as I wanted since the house was empty. It stung (especially the really hard blows), but the pain – all of it – was warm and almost soothing, in a way. More than once, my reaction to the blows caused the cock to flex and I felt slugs of precum travel down the compressed meat. I was so. Fucking. Loving it. As usual, I lost track of time. Also as usual, as soon as she was done, I wanted more. More and more and more. And harder. I still don’t know how deep I can go when I feel like that. When the pain is all good and I’m really humming. What’s my limit?

Mind you, I’m not complaining. I loved it. Every second. And I love her for doing it for me.

She backed me out by again running the flogger lightly over my back and ass. Then she uncuffed me. Then, sadly, the collar came off. Finally, the clips came off the nipples. Twin flares of pain shot up as the little jaws unclamped. I laid next to her as we went to bed. Loving her. Adoring her. Wanting to fuck her so goddamn badly. I told her so.

“I’ll let you know when you’ve earned it,” she replied sleepily.

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Ultimate Sarah

Sarah Jameson has just released her magnum opus Be Careful What You Wish For: The Ultimate Guide to Male Chastity (270 pages, according to my PDF reader). Very typically Sarah, that title. The ultimate guide. It’s one of the things you either like or hate about her, I suppose. She’s not very often in doubt. Also available is an MP3 of Sarah reading the book which, if you’ve got a thing for British accents, could prove to be entertaining in its own right.

As a fellow marketing weasel, I knew she was building up to some kind of payoff event like this. Mind you, I don’t begrudge her the chance to make a buck (or a pound or a pence or whatever) at all. Good for her. It’s the American Way (so to speak). You could just see, though, with the way her site’s designed and the manner in which she cross promotes the email and the blog and the upcoming book, replete with yellow highlighter styling on the really important text, that she was either going to try to sell us something at some point or start a series of seminars we could attend at the local Airport Marriott (maybe both, who knows). The tactics are well known. But who cares? Someone’s got to do it and why shouldn’t they be rewarded for their effort?

I like the tone of the thing. Very Sarah, if you know what I mean. I like that she sets up male chastity as something like a marital aid. That’s what it is, really. A way to bring passion back to a relationship. I totally agree. Her writing is characteristically straightforward and confident. If you have any questions on how to proceed with the chastity lifestyle, I have a hard time imagining you won’t appreciate her guidance. It’s also interesting to me to see the parallels between how she and John progressed and how Belle and I have. I have no idea if enforced male chastity really is picking up new adherents en masse, but it seems like it’s at least proving to be a reliable and even fun way to bring a spark back to an old married couple. She does a wonderful job of capturing that quality.

It’s not all sunshine and pixie dust, though. I entirely disagree with her characterization of submissive men. She says on page 13, in the “How I Discovered Male Chastity” section, “I like my men to be confident, masculine and in control…and most definitely not submissive, obedient, fawning and following me around like little puppy-dogs!” followed on page 16 with, “John, like many men with a desire to be kept in male chastity is not a submissive man in any respect…Like all the men I’ve known, I like him to be a man, just the way he is: strong, assertive, confident, protective and…well…100% masculine.” Of course, submissive men can be (and often are) strong, assertive, confident and, if not 100% masculine, at least above 75%. She’s obviously not enamored of the other kind (and neither am I, really). I just wish she wouldn’t lump us all together. She ends up perpetuating a stereotype (replete with French Maid’s outfits and “sissy clitties”) that is the only black mark on an otherwise outstanding guide to the lifestyle.

Bottom line advice: Buy the book. Especially if you’re just starting out or are thinking of approaching your partner for the first time. Her advice is very, very good.