Tag: malesub

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Rubbed raw

Today is thirteen weeks, four days since the Unfortunate Incident. AKA, ninety-five days since my last orgasm (and officially over my previous record).

The earliest I’ll be allowed to come is day after tomorrow: December 1. However, knowing my Belle like I do, I’d bet she’ll make me wait until the weekend. Saturday will be 99 days. Will she make me wait until Sunday for the even 100? Will she allow me to be out of the Steelheart until then? As I mentioned yesterday, she let me out of the tube on Saturday. Since then, I’ve literally rubbed the penis raw in frustration. Is it any wonder I prefer to be locked up? Do you have any idea how long it takes me to get out of the bathroom in the morning like this?

As an aside, I may need to come up with a better term then “locked up” since the double cock ring also has a lock, the key to which is not in my possession. I am, technically, still locked up, but not at all in the way I am in the chastity device. 

Speaking of rubbing, the new Steelworxx double cock ring (DCR) has forced me to modify my technique. As I pointed out yesterday, when fully erect, the skin on the penis isn’t as loose with the DCR in place. Based on my own first-hand experience with other erect male penises, the skin on “mine” is relatively pliable. I hardly ever have had to use lubrication when jerking off. One guy I know with a particularly fine specimen had to lubricate. When he was hard, it was all monolithic and tight (and so wonderfully hefty). I have always suspected this difference was due to how our individual circumcisions took place (i.e., how much did the doc cut off), but I’ve never been with an uncut guy to verify.

But I digress. My point is, the rings keep things tight down there and that’s partly why I’m raw. I didn’t use enough lube. The other factor is how the skin on the shaft seems to get more sensitive after it’s been locked away for a long time. The other other factor is overuse. Plain, simple self-abuse. Having not been told by Belle not to do it, I have been indulging myself repeatedly.

Besides that, the other new wrinkle the DCR has added to my style is how it’s effectively reduced the length of the penis’ shaft. The penis, as I’ve said here before, is, when fully hard, a perfectly average 5 5/8″ long. The DCR takes about an inch of pullable meat away. Then, on the other end, is the PA ring which can be tricky to masturbate over. Typically, I rub up to it and let my fingers open so they go around. Too much pushing and pulling on the ring can make the hole sore. Take that into account and I’m left with less than four inches of beatable meat. My palm is about 3.5″ across. You see my predicament.

Which, of course, I like. I am, technically, free. And in December, I’ll be even freer since Belle has said I’ll be able to come whenever I want. But the DCR complicates that a bit. I can jack off but it’s awkward. I can get pleasure, but there are still some boundaries and issues. I’m all about boundaries and issues.

I’ll close this post by thanking Tom for the nice call-out the other day on his blog:

Thumper is one of the few — very few — “chastity blogs” that has managed to stay fresh and interesting. I don’t always agree with him; hell, I don’t even always understand him. But there’s no question that Thumper is writing from a special, deep place, and you simply can’t doubt his honesty and emotional openness.

At first I was like, “Aw, that’s nice,” and then I was all, “Wait, doesn’t always agree with me?” and then, “Doesn’t understand me!?” before thinking, “Am I disagreeable? Am I that weird!?” Which, of course, is one of the things about me I’m sure Tom doesn’t understand. In any event, I truly appreciate the props. I’ll do my best not to obsess over the agreeing and understanding bits. As I said…boundaries and issues. That’s me.

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Regret/relief

We were laying in bed, talking.

“What are you doing down there?”

“Where?”

She lifted the covers and saw my hand wrapped around the stiff penis.

“There.”

“Nothing. Just…nothing.”

“You’re jacking it.”

“Only a little.”

“Maybe it’s time to put you back in.”

She got the device and brought it to me. I waited until the erection had subsided enough to push it all through the little ring. Each testicle, swollen with desire, went grudgingly before popping through with a twinge and a yelp. The penis, in that transitional state between plump and stiff, pliable enough to push through if I thought about anything else than what I was doing in front of her and at her direction. I put the security fixing though the PA ring and stuffed it and the still-chubby penis into the tube. I had to force the tube and the ring to join, compressing the swelling contents so the pieces would align. I held the package up to her and she slid the small brass lock into place and turned the key.

“There, that’s more like it. That’s how you should be.”

She placed her hand on the package, but I only felt her finders on my balls.

In my chest, I felt a wave of emotions. Regret that access to the penis was gone, relief that it wouldn’t be a distraction anymore. Satisfaction that my status was no longer in doubt (had she forgotten about me? did she have plans for it?). But mostly just a warm blanket of love and affection for the woman who kept me this way. I sank quickly and deeply into the comfortable fuzziness of my submission.

“Thank you.”

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Thirty before sixty

“It’s nearly November, Thumpie.”

“Yeah…?”

“November’s your month.”

“No it’s not. You said December was.”

Pause. “I did?”

“Yes! You said December!”

I pulled up the relevant blog entry on my phone and showed her.

“Oh,” she said, “You’ve still got a ways to go, don’t you?”

Fuck.

—

We were out Saturday night on a date when that exchange took place. We saw a movie and were having a late dinner (by Midwest standards). Apparently, she forgot I was being punished. Had I just gone along with it, I’d be coming in a matter of days. As it is, 30 more days before it’s even an option.

After we had that misunderstanding resolved, she surprised me by telling me that once I come in December, she plans on leaving me out for up to two months during which time I’ll be allowed to do whatever I want. She says she recognizes I’ve settled into a nice place living without orgasms and she likes what I’ve become, but she wants to see what I’ll be like if I go back to living like I used to. As if I’m Pinocchio and she’s the Blue Fairy come to turn me into a real boy. Regardless, she says I will be locked up and denied again at some point and she expects me to be whiny and complain about it when it happens but that I will have no choice.

This news has left me with mixed emotions. On the one hand, as soon as she told me her plan I wanted immediate release. Why wait, I asked. Let’s just go now! But no, I have 30 more days, like it or not. Knowing that I will not only come in about a month but likely come a lot has got me so horny I can feel it in my teeth. She’s perfectly happy watching me squirm over it.

Then again, I admit to also feeling a sense of loss at the prospect of regaining this element of my life. When you live as I do with a deep well of desire never far away and a piece of equipment immovably affixed to your body, there’s a certain sense of specialness that goes along with it all. The device and my denial demonstrate that someone cares for me enough to take on the responsibility of tending to my sexual release. I’m not like the other boys. Once it’s off and I can squirt away to my heart’s content, I become like any other guy who can masturbate in the shower and come weakly whenever he wants. After living as I have for the past three years, I don’t ever want to go back.

Which, of course, is not to say I don’t have the raw desire to jack off daily. Of course I do. That’s nature. It’s my lizard brainstem pushing to execute its programming (and right now, it’s pushing pretty hard). But enveloping that is the belief (perhaps enhanced and perpetuated by the very hormones it produces) that being denied my orgasm has made me a better person. Once I come (and I will, a lot), this sense of “enlightenment” will evaporate. That’s the thing about denial. It’s like a perpetual motion machine. Once you start, you want to do it forever but once you stop, you barely want to do it at all.

I think what Belle wants to know is if any of my “better spouse” mojo will stick after three years of building it up or will I revert to what I was. I think I know what will happen. Knowing that she’ll eventually force me back to where I am now is a comforting thought.

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Creamery

Belle let me out of my confinement last Wednesday night in anticipation of our family trip to New York the following day. I had been encased for two solid weeks at that point, but I didn’t get much chance to enjoy my freedom since we were up late packing and the alarm went off in the wee hours of the next day so we could catch our flight. Then, three nights with the four of us in a Manhattan hotel room didn’t exactly lend itself to any penis play time.

But that’s not to say I didn’t get something out of it. Like any great city, New York is all about walking. Having not seen the light of day for so long left the head of the penis extraordinarily sensitive. As I’d walk, the motion would cause the penis to move against the fabric inside my pants and I’d find myself very distracted. What’s more, I’d eventually develop a raging boner, all from nothing more than incidental contact with my clothing.

We got home very late Sunday night and Belle told me I’d go in the next night. Monday morning, I found myself edging in the shower. It’s been two months since I came and I’m too weak to keep my hands off when I have the opportunity. Getting out of the shower, I decided to conduct an experiment that would provide me with practical information and make sure I didn’t spill any seed.

I’ve played around with lidocaine cream in the past and found it to be a really good way to temporarily deny myself the ability to orgasm even without a device in place. Recently, I’ve read several accounts of men in my position who’ve used it to allow their partners full penetrative sex while removing worry that it’d make them come (like this one). I told Belle this and she seemed somewhat interested in the idea since the most limiting factor of my denial is her enjoyment of riding the erect penis. Also, I have felt guilt in the past in not being able to give her this activity that she likes so much.

So, I bought a new tube of the stuff, this time at a 5% strength versus the 4% cream I’ve used in the past. What I wanted to find out was A) how long would it take before the penis was numb enough to safely use, and B) what parts of the penis could I leave with sensation and still not be concerned with orgasm?

First off, this stuff ain’t cheap. I got a 2 ounce tube (this one, marketed as an anorectal cream – sexy!) and paid $50. I don’t recall how much the 4% cream I got last time was (and I can’t find it on Amazon any more), but it wasn’t anything like that much. The 5% version is more expensive, but I figured it’d also be 20% faster/longer lasting. Good news is, it doesn’t take much of the stuff to do the job so we should be able to get many session from the one tube.

The reason I wanted to know how long it took for numbness to set in is, of course, I don’t want to leave Belle waiting. Plus, I wanted to know how much advance planning it’d take to use. Turns out, I was sufficiently sedated after about 10-12 minutes (which is a bit faster than the 4% cream). I could still feel a little, but not enough to come. I applied it only on the head and maybe 30% of the end of the shaft, making sure to use the PA ring to get it down inside the urethra, too. I left some of the shaft with sensation since I’m worried that total lack of penile feeling would make keeping an erection difficult. Interestingly, once it had taken affect, the penis felt warmer than it had before. I assume this is because its skin couldn’t feel the air around it anymore. In any event, that was my clue that it was ready to try. I washed the remaining cream off and towel-dried the meat.

I jacked off pretty intensely for about 10 minutes. For most of that time, I had the sensation of wanting to come (my nuts even drew up as if I was about to), but I could never quite get there. It was like having a sneeze ready to come out, but never being able to get it out. I could feel the lower half of the penis pretty good, so my brain knew what was happening, but all the nerve endings in the business end were silent. After maybe 15 minutes, I started to feel like an orgasm was about to happen and I found myself edging again, even with a mostly numb dick. Unlike last time I tried this, there still was sensation in part of the shaft and that seemed to be enough after a long while to move the internal machinery in place. Next time, I’ll make sure to apply the cream further down the bottom of the shaft as feeling in that area seems to be integral in achieving orgasm even when the head has none. Also, if I have the time, I might also apply a second coat.

I think Belle wanted to have sex last night, but it was not to be. She told me I could stay out one more day, but I find being unprotected to be maddeningly distracting. Especially after two months with at least one more to go. Based on that, she allowed me to lock myself back up. After she fell asleep, I did (though not before giving the penis one last round of wanking). If she wants to use it tonight (or whenever), I can get it out quickly enough. If she gives me 15 minutes of warning, I can even make it safely fuckable.

I woke up at 5:00 AM for the first time in days with the incredible pressure of a secured erection. It was intense, as always, but not in a way bad. The discomfort was actually comforting. It’s a feeling only a happily denied man can appreciate, to be sure. The feeling of not being tempted by the annoying penis and there being zero chance of accidentally squirting. It felt safe and secure and perfectly natural.

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The one with the urine in it

I was supposed to be out last weekend. Belle had said I would be, but it didn’t work out that way.

The plan was for the family to go camping with another family we’re friends with at a local state park. Not real camping since there would be electricity and a bathroom nearby (with real running water), plus about a hundred other people in neighboring campsites. Not at all like I’m used to. But, in a tent with a fire so it would kinda sorta feel like camping. Earlier in the week, though, Belle had returned from a business trip with a cold that did nothing but get worse until Friday rolled around so it was just the boy and I who went.

The Steelheart came along, too. Belle had forgotten about it. There were several times I thought to say something, but I never got around to mentioning it to her. So I was still locked (as I have been for two straight weeks). I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to do about it. It wasn’t like being in the device would get in the way of any of the activities we were doing and it was only for two nights. My biggest concern was one of hygiene. Turns out there were hot showers there for the “campers” so Saturday morning I was in there swishing myself clean. Well, cleanish.

I observed something interesting, though. As any guy who is often locked up knows, it’s not always spring fresh down there. And what I’ve discovered is how long it’s been since a good cleaning isn’t necessarily a correlating factor to how it smells. Urine is, after all, distilled continuously and from constantly varying sources. Sometimes, it’s apparently odorless and not unlike hot water while at other times it’s not (as in the morning, for example). What I found was, as contrary to common sense as this may sound, peeing is one way to freshen up one’s steel tube, especially if it’s done after recently drinking a lot of fluid.

So anyway, I came back in reasonable working order and have been feeling pretty randy since Belle has recovered from her illness. She very subtly drove me crazy a few nights ago night by stroking my head and resting her hand on the device, finger tips brushing lightly against my tight scrotum. The next morning, we had some aggressive snuggling that left me feeling a little light-headed. I’m pushing eight weeks since my last orgasm and have only been out of the device for maybe 7-10 days total. I’m minimally seven weeks away from my next orgasm, though it’s hard to say since I’ve only been told “Decemeber”. It could be longer than that.

Anyway, I was moderately turned on this morning but not as frothed up as I can be. So I was surprised to find that I had passed quite a lot of thick, ropey white goo during my morning leak. Not only that, but I kept leaking all morning long, even after my shower. That slick n’ slippery stuff just kept drip, drip, dripping out of me. Plus, I have to say, my nuts felt absolutely massive to me. Fat and swollen as I groped them in frustration.

Last night, she finally let me get her off. Her pussy was so wet and so hot that just touching it made me moan. It’s remarkable how just feeling her there can electrify me. In the past, it was just a junction to get past before inserting the penis. Now, I crave just that. When she came, I had two fingers in and felt the post-orgasmic spasms perfectly. For me, more moaning and an overwhelming desire to bite something. For her, bliss.

Once we had settled down to sleep, me spooning into her from behind, she rapped her knuckle against the device which was at about the same spot as her hand.

“I just love that steel tube,” she said.

*wimper*

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Clarification

Celtic Queen, in response to my last post, left the following comment:

Thumper, this sounds like a trite question (it isn’t meant to be) but are you happier as a person now?

Put another way, did control of your sex make you unhappy?

Then Chaz added…

You state that your OK with it. I think those that say you are trained might offer congratulations, yet I get more a sense of resigned acceptance from this post. It almost has a BCWYWF feel to it. I would echo CQ’s comment. Are you happy? You say you have changed, I would like to ask is it change for the better? Are you a better husband lover friend father? “BROKEN” as a title I would take to mean your will, but could it refer to something that needs to be fixed?

As I started to formulate a reply, I realized I might need a little more room, so here we are.

Starting at the end and with the title “Broken,” that was just a play on words. I used the “broken horse” metaphor in the post to describe how I was feeling about my sexual urges and it was a reference to that. Also, as I alluded to in the post, “broken” might have been how I would have described those feelings at an earlier stage in our dynamic. I wasn’t trying to say I was broken or my sex drive was (hell no!) or we were or anything ominous like that.

With regard to resigned acceptance, I guess that’s not an inaccurate description. What other option do I have? I could rail against my confinement and the generally low level of sexual activity we’ve had lately, but to what end? To put extra pressure on her? To make her feel guilty? To suggest I want out of the device and from under the dynamic? I don’t want any of those things. Hell yes I want more sex, but the timing wasn’t right and no matter how horny or frothed up I get, there’s nothing I can do about it. So yes, resigned acceptance. Acceptance that being the object of long-term enforced chastity isn’t always a crazy pornfest type of existence. Sometimes, things don’t work out how you’d like them to. You might be able to characterize resigned acceptance as negative, but you might just as well call it a healthy frame of mind and more productive than moaning and pissing about my grievances.

With regard to the “be careful what you wish for” vibe, yeah, totally, I was going for that. I can remember how incredibly turned-on the idea of chastity made me even when I was actually in that kind of relationship. I can remember how surreally horny I used to get and hopped up on hormones I’d be. This, though, is perhaps what the long tail of chastity looks like. Once your body adjusts and the new device smell goes away, you have to figure out a way to live with it. Be careful because sometimes it’s not all that hot. Sometimes, it’s freaking boring.

Am I a better “husband lover friend father”? I would really have to let Belle answer that, but I think I am a better husband. I think I was already a pretty good lover, though now I’m not able to use the penis on her in the way I know she likes. I was already very attentive in bed. I’d say that’s a push. Better friend? No, we’ve always been good friends. Better father? I’m not sure any of this has impacted that aspect of my life much at all.

Now, am I happy? That’s a bit trickier.

CQ asked, “Did control of your sex make you unhappy?” In a way, yes, because control of my sex led me to cheat on Belle. But, larger than that, control over my sex also led me away from her as it was easier and more convenient to pleasure myself than to seek that pleasure from her. I’m not making that “masturbation addiction” argument as I think it’s crap, but had I been able to jack off at will over the past few weeks, I wouldn’t be at all drawn to Belle for my needs. And isn’t that pretty much the entire point of enforced chastity? To bring a couple together so they can enjoy sexual intimacy only with each other and not by themselves? That morning we finally had sex was fantastic even though I was fucking horny as hell and left literally dripping with desire afterward.

No, I won’t say control over my sex left me unhappy, but having her control my sex does make me happier more often than not. Nothing in this world in perfect. There are no silver bullets. Living as I do is the same. There are good days, there are bad days. There are fucking amazing days, there are god awful days. In balance, though, I am where I want to be.

So, as a coda to my previous post, I should say having that one sexual session has changed my attitude remarkably. I’m feeling much hornier and more connected to my desires than I was before. Even to the point that holding the device in my hand as I clean it makes me think so much about what it means to have it on that it fills up with chubby penis meat and I can’t flush water through it. I’ll find myself fingering the hard ring under my waistband and, again, the stupid penis will try its best to plump out.

I am denied. My sex is totally controlled. And I am so fucking turned on by that.

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Broken

After almost three years of living with a penis locked into some kind of device, it’s often felt like a battle was going on inside me. My inclination to want to be dominated and denied going up against my hormonally-supercharged sex drive. It didn’t help that the very nature of being denied by a device is, in itself, a kind of sex play that kept desire for actual sex play top of mind.

If you’ve read this blog for a while (or from the beginning), you’ll know what I’m talking about. The number of nights I’ve laid in bed frustrated and angry at Belle for ignoring me and my needs have been numerous. I submitted to Belle in body only. My mind and spirit wanted more.

You might be wondering why things have been quiet here and it’s because things have been quiet here, in the real world, as well. Due to travel and nighttime work obligations and whatever else, we haven’t had sex for at least two weeks. Instead of being petulant or grumpy or in some way pressuring Belle, I just sort of cruised. I didn’t feel angsty inside. I didn’t feel much of anything. It was like my sex drive had been taped up in a box and put away somewhere out of reach.

Sure, I wanted her. I wanted all kinds of things, but I didn’t dwell on it or let any of those feelings back up on her. There was a sort of zen-like calm over me. Had I been out of the device, I’m sure I would have been rubbing the penis at every opportunity, but I didn’t have access and it was like it wasn’t even there. Before, not only would this have been hard for me to imagine, but I would have hated the very idea. Not having a great urge for sex and not really missing that urge would have been a state of mind I would have actively resisted.

Be that as it may, here I am. I’m not unhappy about it. I should be. I would have expected myself to be, but I’m not. How is it possible that I’ve gone over six weeks without an orgasm and have been denied access to the penis for nearly all that time and am not pissed off over the lack of sex? I dunno. If you were so inclined, you’d say I’ve been successfully trained. That the spirit of my inner male has been broken and the animal that once resisted control has now taken to its tack and saddle with equanimity. I think that’s about right. I am not, fundamentally, the same man I was three years ago. Not even one year ago. The experience of infrequent orgasm and nearly perpetually locked manhood have deeply affected me. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like a man anymore. I look like one and sound like one, but I’m not one. I’m something other. And, against all expectations, I’m OK with that.

We did eventually have sex, though. Yesterday, she let me feel her and suck her and finger her to orgasm. When it was over, I was quite hard and packed tightly into the tube. I wanted more. She started gently fingering my nuts and I opened myself to her, silently begging for more of her attention. Instead of more gentle caressing, she slapped me. Smacking my nuts instead of what I really wanted. I didn’t say anything. I just took it. She’d stroke and caress then SMACK! Inside, I was begging her to stop that and only be gentle, but whenever the words got close to being said, I felt them get trampled by the heavy boots of my domination. I don’t have the right to tell her what to do with those nuts. If she wants to make me feel good through them, she can. If she wants me to feel pain though them, she can. If she wants both, she can do that, too. And, while it hurt, it also really turned me on. And it made me appreciate all the more those moments of gentle caressing.

“Fuck, I want to be inside you,” I moaned on all fours, her body beneath mine.

Smack, smack! SMACK!! I cringed. It was as if she was reminding me of my place and punishing my impertinence.

Gently caressing the tight nutsack, she said, “Not now, Thumper. Soon. Maybe. It’s better for you to wait.”

Of course. She’s right. I should wait.

Later that morning, as I walked around the house in my baggy pajama bottoms, I could feel cold sticky strands of precum dripping down my inner thigh, getting caught up in my leg hair. Reaching inside, I could feel the end of the tube slick and covered with the gooey byproduct of my position. Bringing it to my face, I inhaled its subtle aroma and sucked it off my fingers. And I moaned.

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Tale of the tape

It’s been a month now since I came in that nice hotel room all by myself and against the rules. Well, not so much against the rules. More like against The Rule™. Belle says I have just one more night of having to sleep with clothes on but at least two more months before she lets me come again. Just this morning, right after she came, in my charmingly squirmy and needy way, I asked her if she was craving the feeling of her husband inside her. She said yes, but that was too bad. I had, after call, come without permission. Then she laughed at me. Ah, love.

There’s really not much else to say around here. Belle was having her period for a while and then I had a very minor medical procedure that nonetheless messed me up for a day due to anesthetic. There’s hasn’t been a lot of action to report. The one thing I can say is that any speculation on the interwebs about long-term chastity having an adverse affect on the size of a man’s erection should cease. There’s one or a couple bloggers who suggest that keeping a guy locked up for a long time shrinks erections once they’re allowed out and, I suppose, there’s a sliver of logic at work in thinking that. In reality, however, it just doesn’t happen.

As I mentioned last week, I was out of the device for a day and a half due to some irritation. During that time, I found myself with a hard penis in my hand (purely for research and reporting purposes, of course – I’m always thinking about my readers) and decided, since it seemed like it was about as hard as it gets, that I’d check to see how things were going. I got the measuring tape and verified that Belle’s cock is every bit the 5 and 5/8s inches it has ever been, even though it spends almost all the time locked inside a very short steel tube.

I’ve said before I thought all this “chastity makes dicks smaller” stuff was wrong, but it’s worth saying again, I suppose. The root of this talk is two-fold, in my opinion. First, even something as small as the Steelheart Short seems relatively gargantuan when compared to the average flaccid penis. I know while I was out how shockingly small Belle’s seemed when it was soft, especially with a 4 GA circular barbell through the end of it, but as I said, it was exactly the same size as always. Free meat always seems amazingly uncomplicated but also much less substantial and put-together somehow. Second, I think at least some men who have come to the point where they’re kept in a device nearly all the time have also found themselves in a place very unlike that of other men. Specifically, their sex life and the satisfaction of their lover very often has little or nothing to do with their penis. It’s relative importance becomes less and the oversized role it plays in their sense of self diminishes. Some of them could start to wish their dicks were less significant because it plays into the nullification kink they might also be getting off on. They start to want a little penis, it feels smaller when it’s out, therefore, chastity makes it so.

No, ma’am. I’m not buying it.

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Option 4

Mykey said, in response to my suggestion that Belle could punish me with an extension of my denial:

Can’t see the denial working. Belle doesn’t like that control not being hers, as you’ve found when trying fixed long periods before.

If I had suggested the denial extension and Belle had said, “Oh, yeah, good idea. We’ll do that,” then I’d agree with you. It’s why I’m hesitant to suggest these things. Whose idea is this, anyway? But, Belle told me last night that “option four” was one of the ways she’s been considering that I be punished, so it’s not my idea. Also, since she came up with it and has chosen how much extra time will be added to my denial, it is her control. Before when we’ve done “extended denial” the periods were always somewhat arbitrary. Not so this time.

She told me this morning that I won’t come again until December. That’s about a one month extension, but since it was only “November” before and now it’s just “December” we could be looking at up to two extra months, depending on timing. In any event, it’s possible I’ll only come one more time this year. If it happens in the middle of December sometime, then I’ll have gone four months between orgasms. The longest I’ve gone before that was a hair under three months.

I mentioned yesterday that I moved back to the 45 mm cuff ring due to a nasty hot spot under the 40 mm ring. There is, of course, no difference at all with regard to security since the device is still affixed to me by my PA piercing and cannot be removed, but the looser ring makes it feel as though it’s not as secure. Getting it on was a total breeze. I am now able to report with certainty that my testicles are bigger around than 40 mm but smaller than 45 mm. In fact, they more or less fell through the larger ring. No wincing whatsoever. I was interested in how it’d feel overnight, but I can’t tell you. I wasn’t awaked at 4:00 as usual. Not even a little. I slept through all the nocturnal hydraulics. I guess that’s a good thing, but I have to admit that it kinda feels like cheating.

The healing is coming right along so I’ll stay in the 45 mm for the time being. Who knows. Maybe it’ll be the way I go from now on.

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Reaffirmation

The other day, we asked our 12-year-old son to put some meat into the deep freeze in the garage. Well, actually, Belle asked me to do it and I delegated the task to the boy thinking carrying meat and operating a freezer door was within his operational capabilities. Well…about 1:00 AM the next morning, Belle was woken up by some oddly muffled beeping sound. Following it downstairs, we found the freezer door to open just a smidge and the air in the freezer, instead of being its usual -3, was 31. The beeping was the freezer doing its best to tell someone, anyone, of the impeding food disaster.

Back in bed and unable to sleep, I prompted a discussion about the recent series of posts and the revelation that if I was allowed to break the most basic tenant of our dynamic without consequence, then what did it mean to either of our commitments to that dynamic? Long story short, she’ll be deploying a series of punishments for the offense (as she thinks of them, I assume) and I have promised to reaffirm my commitment to never having an orgasm again without her permission. We’re both reaffirming this arrangement.

The first part of my punishment is not being allowed to sleep naked. It’s not that big of a deal, on the face of it, but I really like sleeping naked and have been very good about respecting that rule. Only Belle can permit me to be naked in bed. If she falls asleep before giving me the green light, I sleep in pajamas. Period. Well, kinda period. That’s something else that’s slipped in the past few weeks. I’ve slept naked under the assumption that she’d let me, which is not at all the same thing. So, as of now, I’m not allowed to be naked in bed. Not even when I’m pleasuring her, which I did this morning. I was entirely covered while she was exposed. Part of the punishment.

During our talk, she prompted me to tell her how she might punish me. It’s often been a challenge for her. How do you punish someone who would otherwise like all the normal tactics? It’s hard for me to tell her how to punish me because it seems like cheating somehow. I do tell her things I genuinely dislike, but the act of telling her turns me on. So anyway, a few ideas (only the first two I said at the time) are:

  • IcyHot on the nuts – It’s been a long time since she used that on me. I really do dislike it as anyone who’s ever had IcyHot on his nuts would appreciate.
  • Caning – I bought a nice flexible cane and we’ve yet to use it. If she were to take a couple three whacks at my ass as hard as she could without warm up, you can be sure I would not like it.
  • The nasty nipple clamps – Yes, I usually like them, but they’re pretty cruel. If she put them on me, twisted them around a bit and them ripped them off by force, I would be in a great deal of pain.
  • Extra long denial – Yeah, yeah, I can hear you thinking, a la Admiral Ackbar, “It’s a trap!” but hear me out. I know, based on past experience now, that really long denial gets very hard after 2-3 months and at the moment I really do crave an orgasm, so instead of making me wait until November as she’s doing now, what if I had to wait until January? Or March? And every time I whined about how badly I wanted to come or be inside her, she could tell me that under normal circumstances that would be allowed, but there was that one I stole from her in a hotel room back in August, so…

Leaving me out of her orgasms, as I’ve said before, is maybe the worst punishment but that only works if she’s actually getting off without me. If she never masturbates, then I’m just left to float and that ends up being counter-productive in the end.

In other news, I was forced out of the device for about 36 hours due to a nasty hot spot under the right side of the cuff ring. It was already acting up before I went to the doctor’s the other day, but somehow going back in afterward made it a lot worse. I put it back on yesterday but it was persistently annoying so I’ve swapped out the 40mm cuff with my original 45mm ring. It feels ridiculously large but the irritated spot doesn’t seem to notice it, so it’s better than nothing. It’ll be interesting to see how it feels tonight under “full load” since I’ve never worn this combination of tube and ring before.

Also, I had an interesting dream last night. In it, Belle and I were with an assortment of friends having dinner somewhere (I can’t remember who it was or where we were, of course, but they were friends) and at some point the name of someone we both used to work for came up. We’ll call him “Dennis”.

In the dream, she said, “Dennis? Oh, he kicked the ass of Randy in bed last night!” Randy was another guy she used to work for.

Conversation stopped at the table (in the dream) and I said somewhat nervously, “Sweetie, you were at home last night with me, remember?” But the night before that, in the dream, she had been in New York with Dennis. I had no idea she had been with either Dennis or Randy before she blurted this out.

There was nervous laughter at the table and that’s all I remember.

And yeah, I found that to be pretty f’n hot. Both at the time and in retrospect. I told Belle this morning and we both had a good laugh because Dennis was a pretty good looking guy who may have been good in bed, but Randy wasn’t and didn’t look it. I told Belle how it had turned me on.

“Dew on a blade of grass would turn you on,” she said.

A bit of an exaggeration. But just a bit.