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.

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.

Paws off, Rabbit

Traveling again. In an attempt to not repeat the weirdness of my last expedition, I chose to go through security unsecured. Since I was flying at 6:00PM, I was out all day. And, in an irrational burst of caution, I packed the Steelheart in my checked bag rather than carry it though the checkpoint as I’ve done in the past.

I should note that Belle is also traveling. She’s overseas and will be getting home the same day I do. She left traveling west and will return from the east, which is nifty, but it means I’ve been more or less self-locking for the past ten days or so. Having already figured out my game plan for the this trip, I let myself out prior to my shower to use the opportunity to properly clean everything and shave the bits the device conceals, etc.

It should not have been surprising, but nevertheless was, that even simple and utilitarian contact with the contents caused it to start to swell. The very concept of “penis” changes when it’s continuously locked away. It goes from being a (most of the time) low level nag of desire to something 100% real and pressing and actionable in seconds. While locked, even when I have the key, I know the penis is there and smoldering like Smaug under the Lonely Mountain, but like a dragon laying on a pile of gold, it’s an abstract threat. Once the cage comes off, the fire returns to its belly and it becomes fucking ready.

I was able to tend to its maintenance without doing anything untoward but the simple feeling of the water from the shower head striking the tip of the thing made my knees buckle and the shaft stiffen. It took every bit of will power to avoid going to a Bad Place. And knowing I’d be on my own recognizance for over 16 hours…

I decided that my own personal rule was going to be that if I was unlocked for some reason other than maintenance (cleaning, shaving, etc.) or when Belle was with me and also naked and she was expecting me to use it for her, I would not touch it. Not ever. Not even to pee. I bargained with myself about touching through clothing and had decided through my jeans was OK but not my underwear (which, if you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you know is often skimpy and sheer) but then scolded myself for such a thought since there was no legitimate reason to touch it through my pants other than to make it hard and feel pleasure. So no touching at all. Side effect of that means I have to sit to pee, but guys like me are used to that already.

I’ve never done the device-less chastity thing. It was…interesting. As soon as I finished my internal debate and set this new limit, the exposed contents veritably loomed before me. Tempting. Yet radioactive. All of a sudden I became massively aware of it. Its every movement. How it moved when free, how its plumpness caused that to accentuate. At one point, the tip of it bumped the bathroom counter as I was getting ready and the contact caused a sharp intake of breath. I was relieved when it was stowed into underwear and then packed away in my jeans. And even then, the hypersensitivity that comes after being inside a steel tube for weeks was incredibly distracting.

I thought peeing would be pretty straightforward but in realty, absent steel pulling it down, it turns out the penis doesn’t naturally drop so that, untouched, its stream would go into the bowl and not spray over or against its edge. I eventually figured out if I spread my legs wider than usual and pushed down above the shaft I could get it in a usable position.

Hours later, I got into my hotel room, exhausted and ready for bed. Like most men do, I absently put my hand down my pants and BAM felt it. Fuck. Get that Steelheart, I said to myself. After turning the key, the steel weighed the newly secured penis down. The pull of the cold metal set me at ease.

I know, I know, I know, I’ve said this before, but it never ceases to amaze me how much more normal being locked makes me feel. To not feel cool air on the device contents and to not feel it move naturally and flop around. To instead feel the the tug of gravity or just the snug tidiness of compression. To be unable to touch any part of that part of myself except for what I can reach with my finger.

I’ve written before that I feel I was born for chastity. How I was pre-wired for it. Over the years, it’s been so firmly planted in my existence that the object involved is something my body and mind feel are an internal part of my body. I don’t feel comfortable or secure when it’s not on me. In it’s absence, I feel more exposed. Vulnerable. I am left with the assumption that, for some of us, being in chastity is 100% natural. For some of us, it is how we’re supposed to be. Which, by itself, is a comforting notion.

Initiation

Regarding my 10 Rules For Locked Men post…

There were some comments on Twitter and even one on the post about Rule 5:

You are not to initiate sex other than to reinforce your availability to your keyholder to satisfy their needs and desires.

It was pointed out that sometimes people do like for their men — even their locked men — to initiate sex. That’s, of course, correct. Regardless of the state of the penis, one’s sex partner won’t always want to be the one to initiate, for a variety of reasons. The point I was making was based on my experience and probably mostly directed to men who are newly locked up.

I recall early on I was fucking horny (stars, asterisks, daggers) all the time. I wanted sex and a lot of it, even if the penis wasn’t coming out. I was all over Belle and left her feeling pressured to have sex. So, for a while and once I pulled my head out, the “never initiate sex” rule was one I put on myself. Now, I do initiate sex. But I only do it thoughtfully and based on an understanding of her rhythms and preferences. I don’t jump on her during the week. I will ask or suggest or offer. But it’s her call. Weekend mornings I know she’s receptive so I feel comfortable being more physically forward then. She can say no and I’ll back off immediately without complaint, but I know that’s less likely. She prefers sex in the morning and weekends are the days she’s most comfortable doing it. I shape my behavior around her preferences.

Like any good sub, I want a list of ALL THE RULES but I also know no two couples are exactly the same and my list was merely an attempt to document how we/I approach being nearly always locked up. The correct approach for anyone who finds value in them is to discuss them with their partner and amend, extend, or delete whatever doesn’t make sense.

The one thing I think is inviolable for submissive men who are locked up (oddly, not all men in chastity are subs or see their conditions as acts of submission) is that to allow one’s penis to be secured by another is to acknowledge a totally new, radical, and fundamentally different relationship to sex. Almost everything men are taught to think about it and how to approach it by culture has to be retrained. Reflexive responses need to be rewired. Behavior needs to be reconditioned. If you read the rules, they all basically point to the same basic set of ideas:

Sex does not belong to you. It’s not for you. It’s not about you.

The penis has been put in the middle of our cultural understanding of sex through thousands of years of conditioning. Mostly led by men. Mostly in cultures where men were trying to cement their central role of being in control. But for a guy in chastity, sex may not include his penis. Not often or maybe not ever. And he has to be OK with that. Has to really believe and feel it. Has to be willing to only have sex that’s in service to his keyholder’s pleasure and satisfaction. That’s what Rule 5 was about. It’s what they’re all about. It’s what chastity, in my opinion, is about.

I didn’t get that at the beginning. Didn’t get it for a while. But I get it now.

Thumper’s top ten rules for locked men

We’re in Mexico for Christmas. Ten days away from cold and snow and sunsets that seem to begin right after lunch in exchange for warmth and walks on the beach and sunsets that happen at reasonable times and look like this:

Now that’s a fucking sunset.

It’s not all sombreros and sunshine, though. I came down here with a nasty cold and it got worse on the way. Kept me from diving one day and is threatening to do it again (you can’t scuba dive if your head is so congested that you can’t equalize the pressure outside your head with the pressure inside your head). I’m feeling better, though now my mother-in-law and daughter have the cold (which seems to have infiltrated the family through Belle).

Anyway, once I was starting to feel better, Belle allowed me to get her off two days in a row. The first day, I stayed in the Steelheart and the second she wanted the penis so I was out. She got carried away and decided to get on top and ride it which lasted about 48 seconds but she paused long enough for me to avoid orgasm (though it was a messy near miss). This morning, I was awake well before she was and the Steelheart was heavy and full along with my balls which felt huge and seemed to hang down far lower than usual between my legs. She started to wake up and I spooned into her, nuzzling the crowded steel tube into her ass.

“Not today,” she told me while wiggling her butt a little.

A complicated cocktail of emotions followed. Sure, I was horny. But I was also content. Because there are rules that dictate our dynamic and specifically sex. And I’ll share them with you now.

These aren’t the same as Belle’s rules for me. I think of these rules as how men locked in chastity should behave, in general. Of course, there’s no One True Way™ and everyone gets to figure this out as they go, but these are the rules I’ve made in my head and applied to my relationship and they work for me (and us, I suppose). If I taught a class on male chastity as a lifestyle, this is how I’d tell the men they should approach their new lives. As a man who’s given up control over the thing that defines his manhood. You give that up, you give up a lot of other things, too.

Thumper’s top 10 rules for the well-behaved and happy locked man

  1. Sex is a service for your keyholder.
  2. You don’t decide when and how or how often sex happens.
  3. You are not entitled to sex.
  4. You are not to have any expectation of sex.
  5. You are not to initiate sex other then to reinforce your availability to your keyholder to satisfy their needs and desires.
  6. You are not to demonstrate any emotions that indicate dissatisfaction with their decisions regarding sex.
    • It is acceptable to show sexual frustration, within reason, assuming your keyholder is OK with that.
  7. Pleasure you experience while servicing your keyholder is secondary to theirs always.
  8. When your keyholder allows you to service them sexually, it is a gift.
  9. Always do your best, but don’t expect perfection from yourself.
  10. Your keyholder can situationally alter these or any rules based on their needs and desires. In other words, don’t be pedantic.

Most of these go against everything culture tells men they’re entitled to. Accepting and embracing these realities are among the hardest things I’ve ever done. But now they’re so deeply embedded in my core code, I don’t think I’d ever be capable of acting like a “normal” man again.

So, when Belle told me not today, I felt frustration and regret…but also acceptance. And contentment because I know what I am.

Whatever she wants. Always.

Cratered

It’s been a very strange month for me. It’s not quite time for my monthly numbers update, but here we are. I’m writing anyway.

For the first time in a really long time, I didn’t want anything at all to do with being locked up. I was already feeling this way while getting ready for Spring Break and asked Belle if she wanted me to be locked up while we were away. “Of course,” was the reply, though I had hoped she’d say, “Nah.” But she didn’t. And even though I didn’t want to wear it and was feeling pretty anti as opposed to just meh, I wasn’t so far gone that I forgot the rules: I have to wear a chastity device unless she says otherwise. But being in it left me feeling resentful and I should have said something, but I didn’t. That’s my bad.

Anyway, it’s been bugging me for days. It annoyed me on the plane, in the car driving around, everywhere. Had it been the Steelheart, I would have especially resented it in the mornings, but I’m in the Holy Trainer V3 nano and it leaves me feeling quite nicely compressed in the wee hours. Barely wakes me up.

But then something really unexpected happened. We were at Dodger Stadium and I had to pee. In the old days of the stadium, when I was a kid, the men’s room urinals were just long metal troughs. Quite intimidating to a locked pee-er. I hadn’t been in one since then, that I recall, and I’ve read they’ve been updated. They have, except now the individual urinals are all situated in neat rows on long walls, rather close, and with no separators between then. They’re the low bowl kind and offer zero privacy. But I had to go, so out came the HT and, luckily enough, everything was lined up well enough that I could pee in a straight line. The HTv3 nano is a pretty low profile device, but it was still out there definitely not a penis and could have been seen. Maybe it was, I dunno. But I realized afterward that I wasn’t feeling bad about it anymore. Like, being in that uncomfortable situation over which I had no control acted as a hard reboot to my attitude. It’s weird.

Early this morning, I woke up a bit and felt the tube pressing in on me and…I really liked it. I flexed into it and made it squeeze as hard as it could. I rolled over and pushed it into the mattress. I was really digging the feeling. And now, it’s just different. It’s not locked on me anymore. It’s me again. I have no way of explaining it. It has to be a hormonal thing, I guess. I haven’t even opened Tumblr for days, but did today. I’m actually feeling a tad bit horny and I was very not feeling that 36 hours ago.

So…anyway. That’s that. Everything passes, apparently, and I think it’s a good thing now that I didn’t say anything to Belle. I’d probably be feeling worse now if I had. Hopefully, I’ll stay on this trajectory for a while.

MSM cuckoldry

CNN just posted an interesting article on cuckolding to their website.

In our current political climate, the term “cuck” — short for “cuckservative” — has become an insult of the so-called alt-right, aimed at men they view as spineless and emasculated.

Since I don’t identify as a conservative, I’ve never been called a “cuck” but I think it would be one of these weird non-sexual things that occasionally crosses over to give me a little thrill.

Anyway…

According to a recent study by David Ley, Justin Lehmiller and the writer Dan Savage, acting on cuckolding fantasies can be a largely positive experience for many couples, and hardly a sign of weakness.

The paper Dan contributed to deals with cuckolding in gay male relationships. I follow a few tumblrs on that topic and have to admit it’s something that doesn’t really trigger any kind of significant sexual response. I can’t explain it, but for me, the formula that works is “woman + other guy – denied male partner.” In the best case, the husband is cucked against his wishes (but then comes around after the fact because, you know, it’s all fantasy anyway). For whatever reason, if she turns into a he, the helium totally escapes from the fantasy ballon. The paper also suggests the issue of interracial cuckolding isn’t prevalent with gay men as it is in straight couples. Again, for me, that’s not a critical element. I do respond to it, but it’s not an element in my relationship fantasies. The fantasy guy just needs to be one with a better tool.

The article quotes Lehmiller as saying…

We found several personality factors that predict more positive experiences acting on cuckolding fantasies. For those who have a lot of relationship anxiety or abandonment issues, who lack intimacy and communication, and who aren’t careful, detail-oriented planners, acting on a consensual non-monogamy fantasy could very well be a negative experience. In other words, not everyone who has a cuckolding fantasy should think about acting on it.

This makes so much sense to me. I’m no expert, but it seems perfectly logical as a person who is confident in the strength of his relationship that either of us going outside the marriage for sex simply doesn’t seem to bother or threaten me. Far from it.

Ley said…

For men and couples considering the issue of cuckolding, it’s important there be honesty, integrity, communication, mutuality and shared values. I’ve seen men who try to trick their wives into cuckolding them, and this never, ever ends up well.

Guys, DO NOT trick your wives into this. Come on. What a dick move. Otherwise, yes, honesty, communication, integrity. It’s not on his list, but also trust.

This really surprised me…

Lehmiller surveyed thousands of Americans and found that 58% of men and about a third of women had fantasized about cuckolding.

Holy shit. Most men!? And a third of women? That’s so many more than I would have guessed.

Part of what makes cuckolding arousing for heterosexual men is that they tend to view it as a taboo act.

I can remember my earliest reactions to the concept of cuckolding (helped by writing about it at the time). Not being an expert in human sexuality, I can’t say for certain how taboo influences what turns me on, but cuckolding for me seems just another expression of sexual inequality, domination, and denial. In that post I wrote nine years ago, it seemed clear to me even then, though I certainly would not have written it in the same way today. I have evolved.

Unlike then, the concept of inferiority is clearly motivational for me when it comes to the idea of being cuckolded. Of being inferior to the fantasy him. He’s got a cock more to Belle’s liking and can fuck for days (and he knows it) whereas I know I’m not as big as she would prefer and I can’t fuck for very long at all without needing to stop well before she’d like me to lest I orgasm. I still feel in most aspects of our life Belle and I are equals, but certainly not in our sexual relations and I’m clearly inferior to this fantasy sex partner of Belle’s.

It’s one of the things that has complicated the potential of being cucked in real life. The actual guy who might make it a reality is, it turns out, an emotionally stunted turd (IMO — she’s more charitable). Literally the only part of him that’s superior to me is his cock. He has and might again hurt Belle emotionally and so my dander is up in general. It’s an interesting situation to be in. On the one hand, the penis never strains against the steel more than when I’m thinking about him fucking Belle, but on the other, he bugs the shit out me for being such a putz. Belle might see him when she goes through London on this trip and, if she does, then something else might happen, too, but neither of us are counting our chickens just yet. And I’m more likely to want to go punch him for being a dick to her than I am wanting to stroke myself at the idea of him putting his dick in her.

In any event, it’s somewhat encouraging to see mainstream articles on non-monogamy. Gives me hope that what seems to be such a natural part of our sexuality won’t have to live in the closet forever.