Tag: male chastity

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Tube talk

Seems like we’ve been talking a lot about sex and emotions and shit lately. I’m feeling the need to give the chastity nerd inside me a little love…

Remember the hair experiment? I can continue to report that keeping a nice, smooth, hairless area around the ring circumference maintains a significantly more comfortable experience than not. I haven’t had any issues with razor burn or stubble. I shave it every other day or so, always with lubricated skin (soap, shaving cream, or just the silicone lube I use to keep the device moving around easily) and a well-used yet still serviceable razor (learned that lesson the hard way). So far, I give close shaving a thumbs-up.

I’m kind of in a weird area now where the 1 7/8″ A-ring on the CB-6000 is a little too big but the 1 3/4″ ring is a little too small. I can wear the 1 3/4″ ring without issue during the day, but find an annoying amount of testicle pain at night (and not pinching of the scrotum, actual testicular pain from my balls being crushed…wait, don’t I like that?). Also, I find the inevitable erection seems to back up behind the ring and cause more internal discomfort. What I need is a size somewhere in between – the Goldilocks ring – but it doesn’t exist. It continues to surprise me how big an impact such a small relative difference in size makes. In any event, I switched to the 1 3/4″ ring this morning and am going to leave it on for the duration of this stint. It feels more secure than the 1 7/8″ ring, doesn’t hang as low, and in general makes for a smaller feeling package to carry around.

I’m not sure what all the variables are, but I can remember when the 2″ ring was too tight and the 1 7/8″ ring was barely wearable. I know one of the things that changes during wear is skin on the scrotum, so maybe I just need a little more stretching there to fully adjust to the 1 3/4″ ring. The 1 5/8″ ring is insanely small, so at some point, the junk just don’t fit. I cannot imagine ever being able to wear that second-smallest ring, even for a few minutes.

I’ve also started wearing the smallest KSD-G3 all the time now. It does increase security, but I find the ancillary effect of it holding the penis down into the tube to be a bigger benefit for me. It helps with lining the urethral opening up with the slot and, even though I’m unable to pee standing up due to the PA piercing, that helps with cleanliness (which I’m a bit of a nut over). I do find that it occasionally will cause superficial “cuts” that don’t break the skin on the top of the shaft, but so far during this stint, they’ve been nothing I can’t deal with.

Speaking of peeing standing up, I recently acquired an external, “Texas” style condom catheter. Basically, it’s a rubber with a short tube at the end and some sticky stuff on the inside to keep it from leaking or falling off. I haven’t put it on yet, but I’m wondering if that will be my ticket back to vertical peeing. I worry about what keeping it on all the time will do to my skin and I’m also wondering what the hygiene implications are. In any event, I’m thinking of trying it out during my next confinement. Anyone else out there ever play around with one of these?

Finally, I can’t forget to ping Tom’s excellent Birdlock review. It’s a very thorough account of the device from an expert point of view that any enforced chastity fan will appreciate. He basically answered my biggest concern regarding the likelihood one could squish and squash oneself to orgasm while wearing it. Turns out, yes, you can, so my fascination with it is essentially over.

There. I feel better now that I’ve gotten all that chastity nerdery off my chest. Our regular programming will resume shortly.

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Pink punishment

I have been punished. Well, at least I feel like I’ve been punished.

Last night, Belle said I was going to rub her feet, which is all well and good and very expected since she just had a pretty terrific orgasm the night before, but before I got started, she asked for Pink, the little vibe that could.

“Get that smile off your face. You’re not going to be involved in anything,” she said.1

Really? … OK.

So I got Pink out of the toy chest and handed it to Belle in much the same way a dog might hand its master a rolled up newspaper if, in fact, dogs could do such things. Then I rubbed her feet for 20 minutes as we watched AC360.2

When the rubbing was done, she was pretty relaxed and, had I not handed her a vibrator 20 minutes earlier, I would have expected she’d be drifting off to sleep. In fact, she looked like she was drifting off.

“What are you going to do with Pink?” I asked, as if I was inquiring about the day’s weather forecast, trying to sound disinterested.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she replied sleepily.

Gah! What!? Why!? Jesus, let me! I didn’t say those things, but they all leapt to mind simultaneously. I didn’t even know where Pink was. She was still in her nightclothes, covers pulled up over her breasts, all cocooned and sleepy looking. No outward indication that she wanted to get off at all.

So, back to AC360. He was saying something about something3, but I wasn’t paying much attention. Too distracted by the mysterious and unusual thing happening next to me. Then, about three minutes later, I noticed a little motion under the covers in the general vicinity of her crotch.

“You’re doing it right now!” In front of Anderson!

“Mmm-hmm.”

I turned off the TV. With it out of the way, I could hear the muffled thrumming of Pink on its lowest setting. Louder, then quieter, louder, then quieter as it was moved up and down, in and out. I started to feel the oh-so-familiar pressure between my legs while I divided my attention between the rising and falling motion of the covers and her face, brow furrowed, eyes closed, mouth half open.

It took much longer than I thought it would. If it had been me doing it, I’d have had her off in half the time, but she wasn’t working her nipples and, while I knew that would help her, I didn’t move in as I wasn’t allowed to be involved. I just laid next to her, eyes darting up to her face, then back to the covers, gripping my pillow and feeling the throbbing inside my tube.

Her breathing turned to shallow pants and the thrumming of the vibe became more insistent as she kick in it’s highest setting. Her hips started to gyrate and the rising and falling of the tent became more noticeable. She was really starting to fuck herself with the little vibe and her whole pelvis was getting into it. She turned her face away from me and started to arch her back and neck. Her heavy breathing became mixed with quiet, rhythmic moans as she got closer to the edge.

I whined, scrabbled at my confinement, and felt totally powerless.

The little rhythmic moans became little rhythmic “oh, fuck”s as she spread her legs open more and, I assume, shoved the little vibe all the way home for the finale.

She came, while inside, my boiling desire howled in protest.

Afterward, I felt…weird. In the past, when she’s masturbated in front of me, we were both naked and I had some involvement. This time, I wasn’t even a spectator. I was less than that. I was immaterial. She was fully clothed, totally covered. She wasn’t putting on a show for me, she was getting herself off in much the same way she would had I not been there. It was 100% about her.

My head was buzzing. I was so turned on, but knew there was nothing to be done about it. I couldn’t use her pleasure to bleed of my excess pressure since she had blocked my access to it. It was done. And all I could do was lay there and churn. She was spent and satisfied and I was ten times hornier than I would have been had I been the one to make her that way. It was torture.

Her hand came out from under the covers and she handed me Pink, wordlessly. Where I had once been the jockey who rode the races, I was now the lowly stable boy left to tend to the tack after the race was won by someone else. The vibe was deeply warm. I resisted the urge to lick it, to suck off her essence. I simply held it and contemplated how well this event demonstrated her position over my sexuality.

I got out of bed to wash her toy and replace it in it’s case in the toy box before climbing back in. She never moved.

“Did you enjoy that?” I asked quietly.

“Oh, yes,” she purred.

“Why did you do it yourself? Why didn’t you want me to help?”

“Look, don’t give me that whiny crap–”

“I’m not whining! I just want to know, that’s all.” I felt extraordinarily submissive to her at that moment. I felt tiny and expendable.

“It’s my decision and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want you involved.”

“OK,” I said, meekly.

Yesterday, I suggested it would be tricky figuring out how to punish a masochist. Today, I know how. This is how. Deny my totally. Nothing for me, everything for her. That’s punishment. Cruel and effective. The mere suggestion of being put through this again will keep me in line.

As sleep approached, I felt disconnected from her. Normally, I spoon into her as I fall asleep, but I couldn’t. She was laying on her back, arms and legs out, in a position that made spooning impossible and, since I still wasn’t sure to what extent I was allowed to engage with her, I didn’t try to put my arms or legs over her. Snuggling felt inappropriate, as if I’d be intruding. Her entire attitude, even in how she laid there, sprawled across the bed, more than a little asleep, was self-centered. I even had to shift my position to make room for her legs on “my” side of the bed. Her embrace of the dominant high ground was striking.

This morning, I’m fucking wired. The sub energy is humming inside – to such an extent that I still feel like I can’t touch her and have a hard time looking her in the eye. She, however, looks at me in an admiring, appreciative way suggestive of a jockey/horse, gearhead/hotrod, master/slave relationship. She owns me. She owns my cock, my sex, my heart, and she owns my soul. And, she knows it.

—

1 As usual, all dialog is approximate yet accurate with regard to intent.↩

2 So what about that Anderson Cooper? Gay, right? He’s like a cute little gay elf you just want to put in your pocket.↩

3 Saying something bad with his mouth, but something good – oh, so good – with those steely blue eyes.↩

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Subbing from on top

Pursuant to my previous post, Belle now says I will lose “privileges” if my performance is sub-par. Still feels a little squishy, but I’m guessing she’ll be judging how I well I’m completing certain tasks and, at some point, there’ll be an accounting. Kinda gets into that whole “how do you punish a masochist” quandary, but I’m sure we can come up with some ideas.

Yesterday evening, I asked if I could suggest something. According to the Covenant, I can’t ask for sex, so this was my way of asking her for permission to break the rules a little. She said it was OK so I suggested, since she’s such a big fan of the cock, that she let it out for a little while so she could ride it to orgasm. We’re now fairly certain my last orgasm was on 4/26, about two and a half weeks ago, so I’m not so far gone that I’m trying to find any way I can to come, but the idea of getting the dick wet is very appealing to me. My desire to pleasure her is rising and I can’t think of any more intense way to do that than penetrative intercourse. Anyway, she said she’d take it under advisement.

Later in the evening, as we lay in bed and she was instructing me where and how she wanted to be stroked and petted (affectionately, pleasantly, non-sexually), she said I would be allowed to pleasure her. In fact, she was going to give me free reign to make her come in any way I wanted…

*SCORE!*

…as long as I kept the device locked to the meat.

*FAIL!*

The cruelty of this flipped over in my chest again and again as my fevered brain tried to find the loophole that wasn’t there. I removed our clothes and mounted her as if I wasn’t locked and the feeling of her skin against mine, all up and down our bodies, instantly flooded me with the desire to fuck her. Yes, of course I wanted to do that anyway, but when you’re locked and denied and know you can’t fuck your sexual desire becomes free-floating and abstract (which is how it attaches to things like body service, housework, and her orgasms). Now, in this familiar position with a brick-hard yet trapped erection, I wanted to, very specifically, fuck her living brains out. I pressed the tube of the CB6K to her open snatch, feeling her wet heat through the little bubble of flesh that presses out of the slot in the end yet totally unable to feel anything else except intense pressure. I rubbed the tube against her clit, making it wet with her juices. I wanted to grind it into her, but feared the lock and protrusion of the posts would hurt her. Regardless, my hips moved on their own as if I was entering her. This was the first time I had ever been in that position, making those motions yet receiving no physical sensation. I nearly swooned from the intensity of my arousal. The desire to bite her was hard to contain.

I finally backed off and buried my face in her pussy. I licked, lapped, and sucked her soft, wet folds until the entire lower half of my face was covered in her juices and they were running down my chin. Then, I moved my mouth up to her tits and used my fingers down below. I fucked her with one, two, then three fingers while she spread her legs wider and wider, wanting to feel more and more of my hand inside her. She lay there, on the brink of ecstasy and milking every bit of pleasure she could from what I was doing, while my balls were made painfully tight by the plastic cage pulling up and away from my body by its swollen prisoner.

She came hard over several minutes, then just laid there, eyes closed, face turned away from me, basking. I remained on top of her, vibrating with desire for her and wishing, now more ever before, that she’d let me fuck her with a strap-on. I know she’d like it. I know she would. And being so close to the mindfuck that chastised intercourse would be reinforced to me how much I’d like it. All I can imagine is she’s denying us this in order to deny me the sensation. I know she’s got a thing against objects in our lovemaking, but she felt the same way before the vibrator showed up and now she loves it. She’d love the strap-on after she tried it, too. I know I’m not supposed to lobby about such things – that she’s in total control of our sex – but, goddammit, I’m lobbying hard for this. She’ll have to punish me to shut me up. It just seems so obvious to me.

When it was all done and I was spooning into her, feeling the lust within me devour itself yet again, she said she might let me come sometime around Memorial Day. That’d be pretty close to a solid month since the last time and the longest she’s made me wait to date. If she keeps me locked up until then, that would also be close to a record. The fucked up part is me thinking that Memorial Day is dangerously close to the end of the month. The competitive, obsessive part of me wants to see what it’d be like not to come for a whole month – to sail through May without any kind of orgasmic release and to be locked up for four solid weeks. The remaining 98% of me, though, thinks that’s insanity and wishes it could figure out how to kick the ass of that annoying, overachieving 2% dickwad.

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Focus-pocus

Here’s one for you. I can’t remember when my last orgasm was. It was either April 28 or May 2. Maybe Belle will remember. In either event, it’s been a while and I can feel it. [UPDATE: Turns out, she can’t remember, either. Glad it’s so important that neither of us can remember the last time it happened. (Insert little eye-rolling emoticon here)]

Saturday night, I really wanted some action. My daughter had a friend over for a sleep-over so Belle was disinclined to do anything athletic (and didn’t even let me sleep naked). In the past, I might have pressed my luck and gotten annoying. The desire was sitting there, just beneath the surface in the middle of my chest, but I felt very much controlled and calm. She wasn’t being particularly dommy or anything, but nonetheless, I kept my hands to myself. It was a nice feeling, knowing that I really badly wanted to make a move but respecting the line we’ve constructed. I didn’t cross it and was pretty happy with my myself.

But just as we were drifting toward that zone where the lights go out and we go to sleep, she asked for a quick, stealthy orgasm. Of course, I was immediately engaged and, with the help of Pink the vibe, got her off as efficiently as possible. What I liked about that was, since I wasn’t pushing, she had asked for the orgasm purely out of her own indulgent desire. This wasn’t about making me happy or anything. It was all about her wanting a lil’ sumthin’ before going to bed. All I got out of the deal was her thanks and little kiss (which, of course, was A LOT).

Last night, similar situation, except this time I slipped. My hand absentmindedly found her nipple through her shirt and was swirling around it making it stand up. She said she wasn’t in the mood for anything like that and I immediately felt bad – much worse than I really should have. Apparently, I’m only capable of maintaining my subby exterior when actively concentrating on it. I felt a little ashamed and more than little disappointed in myself for slipping in such a small yet egregious way.

After the mishap, I asked her if she was happy. If she liked the arrangement we were living under. If I was doing a good job or if I could, in any way, do a better job. You know, typical submissive angst. She, of course, said everything was great. That I was great. That I was doing a great job, etc. But I know I could do better. I know there are more things I could do for her and that I’m not always as timely in doing the things she’s already put on me. But, she’s very sweet and probably thought I was fishing for compliments or something.

A week or so ago, she told me I wasn’t going to come before Memorial Day. Last night, I asked her how far she thought I could go. While talking about it, she admited to letting me have orgasms in the past when I become difficult to maintain. She recognizes the line where, once crossed, it’s just easier for her to let me squirt than it is to deal with my elevated hormones. Being in that sweet spot at the moment where I can still deal with my hormones but also am approaching the peak of my desire to serve her, I hear that as a failure on my part. At some point (that she’s recognized but I haven’t) my focus slips. Just like my fingers accidentially finding her nipple and touching it in a way they shouldn’t have, I lose a necessary level of control over myself.

In any event, Memorial Day is still two weeks away. Part of me wants her to keep pushing me well into June so I can demonstrate better self-control. I’m in that weird, headspacey placy where I want to be denied, denied, and denied some more. Oh, and locked up. Like, for a long time. Maybe, just maybe, she’s a better judge of these things. I think I’ll just do what I have said I’d do: let go and let her decide.

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Nuts!

Even now, after Belle and I have done so many things with (and to) one another over the past six months or so, I still find it difficult to tell her about some new perversion lurking deep down in my nether-psyche. There’s still a layer of embarrassment mixed with vulnerability mixed with guilt that gets dredged up alongside the revelation. No, there aren’t too many things out there that are actually new (as opposed to variations on already established themes), but even taking something we already do at one level up to the next is hard for me to talk to her about.

While I was on my trip, during the evening I couldn’t sleep, while looking at too much porn and struggling with the fact that I couldn’t relive my surging desire while simultaneously unable to stop building on that desire by looking at the fucking porn, I found myself more and more desperate for some kind of sensation.1 Had I the appropriate tools, I’d have probably gone after my ass since it can provide me with a lot of sensation. But I didn’t have the appropriate tools and nothing at hand I could press into service. All I had was my brain, my hands…and my balls.

In the past, I’ve found pleasure in the sensation of having my balls squeezed and pulled or even stung by Belle’s little flogger. Enough that I could see, through the crack of the door, that there was a larger room back there. A deeper desire for testicular torment. I suppose one could make the argument that enforced chastity is, in itself, a form of extended cock and ball torture, so it’s not much of a stretch to think someone who gets off on that would get off on other forms of CBT.

*smack* *whack* *THWACK* (Yes, it was just like an episode of Batman.)

I started smacking them around. Gently at first, but later with more force. Testicular pain is, as any guy can attest, unique. I’m not aware of any other part of the body being able to generate the same kind of sensation. Plus, it’s form changes as it becomes more intense. Low levels of force create small, localized ripples that can make you jump but are over as soon as they come into being. Ratchet up the force, and you’ll find yourself experiencing pain that reverberates through your whole body. It will radiate out of the testes, flood from head to toe, and quickly coalesce into an aching, cramping pool in the pit of your gut where it lingers. This is not the surface pain of being flogged or spanked. This is interior pain. This is reaching deep inside, to the center of one’s being, and making it hurt.

All the plastic in the area complicated the vector of attack, but also did a good job of keeping the targets together and vulnerably positioned. I found that, even in the middle of a series of steadily building smacks on either side and the resulting waves of pain crashing over me in quick succession, that I wanted it harder, more painful. Each time, after a dozen or so strikes, I’d end with a hit as hard as I could possibly bring myself to use. Then, I’d writhe on the bed, doubled over, holding gently the objects of my torment, and absolutely luxuriating in the sensation. Once the pain had fully retreated, I’d crave it all over again. Really, I craved it. I could not get enough.

I also found a certain amount of psychological interest in doing this. The idea that I would actively inflict pain on the one part of my body I’ve always been conditioned to protect – to exploit the most potent of all a man’s physical vulnerabilities – was incredibly stimulating. I was pushing myself to find my limit, to hit my most delicate body parts harder and harder each time. I’m not sure I found that limit. Each time I ended with a harder smack than the last time (and suffered through the resulting torment), but never found one that went too far, that hurt too much. In way, it was kind of scary.2

Eventually, I had to stop. The abuse had left my balls swollen, flushed with color, and aching. They ached all the next day, but not in a way that made me sorry I had done it. On the contrary, the lingering pain left me desirous of the time I’d be able to do it all over again.

And that led me to last night when I finally found the intestinal fortitude to tell Belle that I wanted her to hit my balls. I felt very vulnerable and even embarrassed. She took it in stride, though, and did her best to make me feel at ease for telling her. But then I went further and told her I was also fixated on crushing them using a physical device (like maybe this, or that – but don’t even get me started on this admittedly non-crushing yet still deliciously evil thing *swoon*).

At this, she balked. Belle’s got this thing about bringing objects into the mix of our sex (which is hard to avoid when playing with BDSM). She continues to deal with it to this day. I don’t think she’s entirely comfortable with the cuffs and straps, etc., involved in bondage and flogging. She’s resisted the introduction of a strap-on for me to use on her saying she prefers the real thing (which is sweet) even though she’s never had a high quality dildo inside her and certainly not while it was strapped to my bucking hips. She hardly ever even puts me in my collar.3

Also, there was a tone in her voice that she meant to be playful, but I heard as bordering on teasing or mocking. Not only didn’t she want to add any more accoutrement to our portfolio, but she seemed a little squicked-out by the whole crushing thing. That sent me into an immediate subby tailspin. I closed my eyes, unable to look at her.

Luckily, we worked it out. As usual, “working it out” means I gave in. Hitting, slapping, punching the testes is OK, crushing them will not happen. I have to admit that I’m not sure how I’ll approach the next revelation regarding my ever-evolving perversions. I know I need to communicate and tell her what I’m thinking and what I want, but I still fear being judged by her. It’s still very hard to unearth and expose these things that have always festered secretly inside me. I can’t say this experience helped me get past that issue, but I’m sure it was the right thing to do and a step in the right direction.

I don’t know. As long as she occasionally punches me in the balls, I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best.

—

1 Desperately seeking an alternative to orgasmic release is, for me, one of the signature components of denial. It’s what leads me to find sexual satisfaction in her orgasms and powers my desire to serve her. It also leads me to try or imagine things I wouldn’t have otherwise. ↩

2 I know, I know. This is potentially dangerous stuff. Don’t worry, I have a pretty good resource and am aware of the potential issues. ↩

3 All that said, she sure does like her vibrator, doesn’t she? 😉 ↩

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Going down

Earlier, in the kitchen, I was kissing Belle in that endearing, pathetically horny way I have when I whispered that I needed to do something for her tonight. Mind you, I wasn’t asking for sex because I’m not allowed to do that. Rather, I simply had the urge to service her in a direct way (as opposed to the indirect ways around the house, etc.)

Once in bed, she told me she was going to let me rub her feet with lotion, but that I had to take my clothes off first since it was much hotter for her that way (and, you know, I hate being naked around her). I got the lotion, dropped trou, and straddled her legs to get better leverage. I try to go about about 10 minutes per foot and found that half way through the first one that I was getting a light sheen of sweat all over my body from the effort. She commented on it. I’m sure I was glistening well in the candlelight.

Once the feet were soft and rubbed, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and rejoined her at the head of the bed (though, I’m careful to be lower in the bed than she is so I’m always looking up and she’s always looking down). I then received the very happy news that she was going to let me give her an orgasm. Normally, I’d ask how she wanted it, but I really wanted to go down on her so I neglected to request direction. That’s possibly a violation of the spirit of our Covenant (going for what I wanted sexually) and she can punish me for it once she reads this if she wants, but it turned out pretty well for both of us.

I warmed her up a bit in the usual manner with my hands in her snatch and my mouth on her nipples before diving in. Half the pleasure of going down there is to bask in her scent. The denial amplifies the phermonal effects (or something). Even as I write this, I can still smell it on my face and hands and it’s wonderful. There’s something very primal about rutting around in your mate’s scent. I feel marked.

Anyway, I was lapping her up and sucking on her clit while fingering her and really having a good time. However, I sensed somehow that it wasn’t really heading in the direction she wanted. Not sure what that’s about, but I’m so attuned to her sexual pleasure now, I think I just picked up on a vibe or something. I assumed a more typical approach (mouth on nipples, fingers in snatch) which seemed to be having a more salutary effect when I heard those magic words every locked ‘n denied boy both craves and fears:

“Get the key.”

No questions, no delay, I hopped right up and got her key. She unlocked me, then pushed me gently onto my back. The tube was difficult to get off since the cock was semihard, but not hard enough to penetrate her. She stroked her property for a few seconds (in and of itself, sheer heaven) before mounting me. I tried like hell to focus all my attention on her tits while she rode up and down on the cock. I really really really didn’t want to come accidentally. I could tell by her manner that this wasn’t going to be one of those mutually satisfying occasions.

Happily, she came well while I was able to keep my own climax at bay. While she laid on top of me, basking, I flexed the cock, half in and half out, and generally enjoyed what I could in the few moments of wet pussy time I had left. As she rolled off, the cock plopped out and sprang up, fully and (now uselessly) erect. She redressed herself and got up to use the bathroom leaving the hard cock and I alone in the same room together.

I assumed she wanted me back in the device (since it’s normally my job to put the sex toys away when she’s done with them) but she told me to leave it out for the night and to clean it up in the morning before putting it away. Then she rolled over and went to sleep, but not before I thanked her for the opportunity to service her and the free night.

Unfortunately, the cock flopping around has left me distracted and unable to go to sleep. Hence this post. She’s been asleep for hours but I’m wide awake being kept company by my restless, unfettered little friend.

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Cock shots

In the spirit of my recent rant about dudes posting shots of their cocks locked in CB-x000 devices, I offer you, my faithful readers, the following.

cock_shots

Unfortunately, I don’t have the guts to post these shots sans pants (unlike Tom, nobody’s asked me to anyway). In the least, I imagine they can be used as educational examples of how one looks while packing plastic. The one on the left was taken during my flight home yesterday and the one of the right today while sitting in a four hour meeting (in both cases, I was discrete – nobody saw me take them).

What do you think? A little obvious?

As I’ve posted before, I’ve kinda gotten over worrying if people notice my queer bulge. I’m not going out of my way to show it off, but as you can see, there’s only so much I can do hide it. I’ve tried aligning it with the center seam of my pants, but that looks just as weird since the tip of the CB6K’s tube is somewhat pointed and the seam will usually fit right into the tube’s slot. Nice thing about our sex averse society is no one’s likely to ask me about it even if they do think there’s something weird going on down there.

Quick update on the hair management front: I can report after four days that I have none of the usual issues with skin irritation and pain around the A ring and no razor burn or other issues due to shaving. I’m being very careful to lubricate my skin before removing the stubble each morning and have found much of what I used to assume was skin getting pinched in the seams of the A ring was actually hair getting stuck and pulled. This may be the most comfortable I’ve been while in the device so far, even after days like today when I was sitting at various conference tables pretty much nonstop all day. Color me very happy with my Friar Tuck pube-do.

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Sleepless (again)

For the third time since beginning our program of my prolonged orgasmic denial, I went an entire night with little or no sleep. I’m beginning to think this will happen every time Belle and I are apart since the other two times I was alone, just like last night.

The formula looks a little like this: First, mix in two parts heightened hormonal level. Then, add one part hours of continuous porn consumption (my need for which is driven by three things: a) I’m a guy, and b) I’m fucking horny, and c) Did I mention I’m a guy?). Shake (don’t stir), then remove all my clothes and put me in bed. My imagination and the concomitant swell and release sensations that emanate from the tube are enough to keep me going pretty much all night.

Besides all that, three other events conspired to keep me restless:

  • At 11:15, housekeeping knocked on my door. I had been asleep immediately prior to this for less than an hour, but awoke with a start and a slight amount of viscous fluid on my thigh. If that was a wet dream, it may have been the first of my life (and absent any dream). Anyway, the housekeeping guy. He was there to deliver a new remote for the TV I didn’t ask for.
  • At 1:30, I heard the sound of a very drunk girl trying to open my door with her key. She didn’t seem to understand what the problem was, so she put the key in the slot and jiggled the doorknob about 500 times (I assume just to make sure she was doing it right). Her male companion (who sounded much less inebriated) suggested maybe she had the wrong room.
  • Approximately 20 minutes after the attempted break-in, I heard the same inebriated woman screaming at the top of her voice, “FUCK ME! FUCK ME! OH, GOD, FUUUUUUCK MEEEEE!!!” No lie. I’m laying there, horn-dogged to the hilt, and there’s a fucking porno shoot going on next door. So, I did what anyone else in my situation would do. I put a pillow over my head and tried to go to sleep. I went over to the adjoining passage door, dropped to the floor so I could hear better, and listened to the “FUCKING STUD” slam the hell out of the poor drunk girl. At one point, I thought they were done, as the screaming had stopped and there was general rustling around, so I went back to bed, but moments later FUCKING STUD was back at it and she was taking the Lord’s name in serious vain. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, FUUUUUUUCK MEEEE!!” Then I heard him grunt a few times and knew, now they were done. Of course, I was wondering if he gave her an orgasm first. Pretty sure he didn’t based on the tone of her slurred speech and what I think was an offer to come back to bed. I actually feel pretty sorry for her because the FUCKING STUD was gone less than ten minutes after he came.
  • About 20 minutes after all that, I heard the drunk girl throw up. Hopefully, in her toilet.

So here’s the funny bit. I met that girl at lunch. She was at the same table I was. I know this because, while he was busy making small talk and trying to get his clothes back on as quickly as possible, they were discussing the company she works for (the only person from that company at this event). So yeah, I met her, but couldn’t remember what she looked like other than she was blondish and OK looking. If she had been really hot, I would have totally remembered and been able to retroactively fill in the images to the porno soundtrack I had, but no dice.

So now, I have to speak to a couple hundred people and do some kind of video interview thingy and travel home all on about 45 minutes of fitful sleep.

Super.

Posted on

Active denial

Can’t sleep. Gee, wonder why. Maybe it’s because I sat in my room for hours looking at and reading porn without the ability to do anything about it. *sigh*

How’s it going in there, little dude? Cramped? No answer.

Anyway, since I’m not going to be sleeping any time soon, I thought I’d take a moment to define a term I’ve used several times here and with Belle. A term I’ve defined for her in person, but never in writing (at least, I don’t think I have).

To me, “active denial” is when she’s not letting me come but is doing all she reasonably can to ensure I’m as horny as possible as often as possible. This can be accomplished in several ways. If I’m really around the bend, simply letting me rub her feet can do it. Obviously, any time she lets me sexually pleasure her does the trick. Giving me a list of tasks to perform while she watches with her glass of wine on the couch can be good, too. These are the sort of “passive” ways she can actively deny me. The other ways would be to touch, tease, torture, or otherwise abuse my body. These can be doubled up like when she rides her cock to orgasm but doesn’t let me follow. That’s a twofer since I know how much she likes her cock and I get to feel her climax with my whole body, but I’m left hard and wanting when it’s over. In fact, any time I get to curl into her at bedtime with a hard, fat erection while she drifts off to sleep is good stuff. The other thing she can do to “actively” deny me is to simply talk to me. To tell me things like how horny I must be and how unfortunate it is that nothing’s going to be done about that. Or how hot it makes her seeing me perform household tasks driven by my deprived state’s desire to make her happy.

It does seem to be something of an oxymoron (how can you actively not do something?), but to me, it’s the opposite of just denying me access to any kind of sexual engagement. Locking me up and then not keeping me on edge and horny would be cruel. Locking me up while keeping the arousal stoked and glowing is the nicest thing she could ever do for me and makes being locked up not just bearable, but also enjoyable.

Well, that didn’t eat up as much time as I thought it would. Damn.

Posted on

Hair

poster2One of the things that bugs me about the CB-6000 is the joints between the ring parts and how they very neatly grab and pull pubic hair. I find myself sitting a lot in my job and, depending on how tight my underwear or pants are, my pubes will get caught and pulled hard enough to hurt like fuck but not hard enough to actually pull them out (which is good, I guess).

Debate on this subject is varied. Maymay says trim, don’t shave. I’ve also read on Aarkey’s FAQ that some prefer to keep it long. I can’t stand long, untrimmed pubes, so that’s out. Normally, I keep them about as long as Maymay suggests (around a centimeter), but that’s how I’m also finding myself getting caught. So, for this stint in the device, I decided to NOT follow Maymay’s advice and try a method I’ve seen a few men use via their obligatory online chastity shots.1

Basically, what I’ve done is shave an area about an inch wide all the way around the ring of the CB6K. I didn’t really start out going for an inch, but I kept trying to make it even and eventually just found myself there (yet another piece of advice from Seinfeld that I ignored). After a whole day in grown-up pants and my tightest underwear, I can report that I had NO discomfort around the top part of the ring at all. Normally, I’d be pretty sore up there and even red and irritated, but not today. Smooth as a baby’s butt and no pulling. I’ll have to see how it goes as it starts to grow out. Maymay warns of irritation as the ring interacts with the new hair and the shaving necessary to maintain it. If it all goes horribly wrong, I’ll come back here and tell you all about it.

Regardless, I’m not letting my pubes get bushy, I don’t care how bad it hurts when packing the plastic.

1 BTW, WTF is up with that? Does every guy in chastity think I or anyone wants to see yet another goddamned schlong locked up in a CB-x000? Seriously, the web is littered with these things. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all (but I do award bonus points for the guys in pink lacy underwear, stockings, or any type of French maid’s dress). And, oh by the way, I see one every fucking day on me. And yeah, I know, I use a variation on the theme up there in this site’s header, but the composition is very different. Personally, I’d much rather see guys in full belts or steel trapped-ball devices or anything exotic and stainless over one more pink sausage squished into a polycarbonate tube. Then again, had they not posted those shots I’d never had seen their hair management technique. So yeah, OK. Shutting up.