Tag: malesub

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Reconsideration

[I]t may be the case that the weight of the goal is somehow sitting on her shoulders in a way that ruins the game for her.

Belle read that like aloud last night as she closed her laptop.

“What?” I asked, “Did you read that for a reason or were you just admiring my prose?”

While she said my prose is right fine, she told me that sentence resonated with her. So, that’s that. End of the goal.

Me: “So you going to let me out now? Do I get to come?”

Her: “No.”

And yeah, I feel stupid for even bring the idea of  the goal up. Especially when, as I predicted, some would argue that men in my position expressing any kind of opinion regarding  how their relationship might play out are secretly seeking to control those to which they have supposedly ceded control. I reject that point of view. I have to. Otherwise, how would I ever be able to communicate my needs? If every idea or suggestion was a powerplay for the reins, it’d be impossible for anyone on the lower-case side of the slash to help the upper-case side know what’s working. I assume even those in a dominent role are concerned about the well-being of their subs.

But I digress. None of that bullshit has anything to do with Belle and I. There was an idea, it was tried, and we rejected it. I believe I presented it in a way that best respected our dynamic. My only hope is that she didn’t feel compelled to do it.

Whatever. It’s no biggie. We move on.

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Under advisement

Just to recap, I was feeling a little down, Belle and I talked about it and I suggested maybe, if she wasn’t feeling like playing the game right at the moment, that we could take a break. Then everyone was like, you know what you should do is take a break, and I’m like, well, it’s not up to me (and yeah, I know that deep down inside it is up to me as much as it’s up to her, but I’m not going there).

Then this weekend rolled around and on Friday she told me, again, that, all things being equal, she’d much rather have me locked up than not. She actually prefers the cock to be locked in a steel tube over it’s natural state. And I have to tell you…woof. That’s like pouring gasoline on a fire for me. It’s exactly what I need to hear, even though she’s already told me this before. Her reason remains the same — control. She likes knowing exactly where it is and what it’s doing (nothing) to the alternative of me being able to have my way with it whenever I like. But I crave the reinforcement of hearing that’s what she wants. I know that makes me sound pathetically needy, but there you have it.

It also helped that she then proceeded to alternately caress my balls and smack the hell of out them. I fell asleep curled into her, tube painfully tight and balls aching warmly.

Last night, she read Friday’s post and the comments. While she rejected the idea of taking a break when I brought it up, she said, based on the comments, that she’s now considering it. The past 72 hours have been very healing for me. She paid some attention to me, let me stick my fingers in her wet pussy and feel her come, and told me I was exactly as she wanted me to be. I feel like I’m gaining altitude again. That’s not to say she’s still not really feeling like dealing with the whole chastity thing, so if she wants to take a break, I’m fine, but I want her to know that right now what I want is what she wants. I sense a hesitancy on her part. The last thing I want is for her is to be doing this solely out of some sense of obligation, so if she’d rather not, I’d rather not. If there’s something missing that she needs — something I can give her or make happen — I hope she’ll tell me what that is.

The thing that keeps coming up, both in our conversation and in some of the comments, is the six month goal. In my opinion, that’s got nothing to do with what’s happening between us and in my head. I’m “only” six weeks in, anyway. If it’d had been four months since the last time I came, then maybe, but it hasn’t. I’d done six weeks before. I’ve done twice that. It’s not the duration, it’s what happens or does not during the period. I can imagine a situation where I was only two seeks denied and still be feeling the way I was a week ago. Now, it may be the case that the weight of the goal is somehow sitting on her shoulders in a way that ruins the game for her. If so, she should end it. I would have no problem with that. I’d prefer it over her struggling. Yes, it was my idea, but I honestly believe and respect the fact that she controls what happens. She can modify it in any way and I will comply. She could say I’ll come when I come, I’ll come right now, or I’ll come on the next February 29th. Whatever. It was just an idea I had, that’s all. She makes the law, not me.

So, to recap the recap, she’s considering a break. Ironically, I’m in a way better place today than I was this time on Friday, but she may not be. In which case, a break might be a good idea. But whatever, I do what she says. The cock belongs to her. I just want us both to be happy.

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Willing prisoner

Belle and I had a date the Saturday before I left on my trip. It was at a nice restaurant, one of her favorites, though I remember when the space had been a hot dog joint and, truthfully, I liked it better back then. In any event, we had a long and, for me, difficult talk about Where We Were with regard to the whole chastity thing.

Last week, in a comment, I used the metaphor of a pond in trying to describe what it was like being a man in near constant chastity. It’s not a perfect analogy, but the combination of my sexual drive, desires, emotional state, and need for intimacy – what I’ll call my sexuality for short – is like a pond. When the water’s moving, things are good. A nice chop on the surface makes me feel energized and gives me the buzz I crave when locked up. Certain things get the water moving better than others. Porn can be like dropping a little pebble in the water. Having permission to play with myself can have a pretty good effect. Getting Belle off makes a decent size splash while her teasing me and leaving me panting for more is like dropping a boulder. Some combination of all these things is necessary to keep the water moving, though the driver – the most important element – is anything having to do with connection to Belle. Right now, we’ve gone about a month and I’ve only been able to be sexual with Belle once in all that time. At the time of our dinner conversation, it had been about three weeks. The water had stilled and become like glass.

What I eventually was able to say to her is that I need to know she’s still involved in my chastity. That doesn’t mean, necessarily, that we’re having sex, but it does mean I still have an idea that she’s aware of my status and what I’m going through. The few simple words she gave me on her birthday are a good example, but then Friday night came along and, from what I could tell, a wide open window of opportunity presented itself for us to have sex, but we didn’t. No words, no explanation. She just sort of rolled over and that was that. It was very frustrating for me (and not in the good way) because I crave some really good, really sexy quality time with her. Badly. It’s not just that I want sex. I want connection. I want intimacy. I want to exchange our pleasures. I want to send a strong current of energy along whatever line binds us together. And, if she’s not in the mood for it, I need some recognition of that. Not explanation. Not apology (god, please, not that) just words. That she knows what I want and that it’s still not going to happen because she gets to choose and she chooses no. But in the absence of any of that, I am left to stew in my own juices (literally and figuratively). And that’s a Bad Thing.

I think we may have started to confuse the health of our larger relationship with the health of our D/s slash chastity overlay. It is an overlay. Something stacked on top of the foundation of our love and commitment. I suggested that if we find ourselves in a place where we’re not able to connect for a long time (either because of distance or the ebb and flow of emotion) that we put the chastity overlay on hold. Maybe even the orgasm control and denial overlay. We should not look at that as a failure or a sign of relationship troubles. As long as we keep communicating, it should be OK. As in all other things, communication is the key.

The thing is, she can disengage from our chastity game pretty easily but I cannot. I’m in it 24/7 for as long as we’re doing it. I never stop playing the game. I can’t. Eventually, without context and without recognition and without communication, I start to feel disconnected. Adrift. Resentful. It will not be the end of the world if one of us says to the other, “You know what? I’m just not that into this right now.”

Which is where I was last week. I want to do this with her, but not the way it was happening. We left the meal with the understanding that I was still not allowed to come, but would be free for my trip. Last night, I was super horny and needing her, but it wasn’t going to happen. She asked how I was feeling and I said it was very hard being out. Very hard. She had said I would go back into lock-up on Sunday, but seeing how distracted I was with whatever I couldn’t keep my hands off of in my pants, ordered me back in on the spot. I went in the bathroom and put the device back on. Nothing happened sexually, but I felt better knowing she was thinking about me and the cock and my issues. I am desperately horny at the moment but I’m also just as desperate to feel her body. I fell asleep last night fantasizing about her laying me on my back and straddling my face. I imagined my hands reaching up to her breasts while she smothered me with her wet pussy, pushing and grinding it into my mouth for her pleasure. God, I need that. I need to feel her, taste her, make her come. I woke this morning with a highly pressurized tube and, for the first time in five mornings, wasn’t able to grab an erection. It felt pretty good.

The picture in this post is a little voodoo doll I picked up in the airport on the way home. I thought it was cute and pretty well perfectly summarized our relationship. I am a prisoner, literally. Her willing prisoner. My well being is in her hands as much as mine. The chastity device I wear is both a symbol and an assurance of my dedication to maintaing that status and, as long as it’s going to remain a positive force, requires us both to be engaged with one another. We both know this but, like anything else between two people, we sometimes need a reminder. Maybe that’ll be the doll’s job.

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Squeaky clean

Air travel stinks. I was talking to my coworkers as we flew back yesterday and one of them remarked that when she was young her family dressed up to fly. How it was such a big deal. Now, planes are nothing more than busses with wings. Endless charges for such luxuries as baggage and rude attendants and knees pushed up into your chin for three hours. Man, I’ve had it.

Anyway, I’m back home. Finally. Night before I left, even with a numb dick, I couldn’t fall asleep. It was a combination of being really horned up and having had a glass of iced tea with dinner. That little extra jolt of caffeine mixed with the hormones kept me up to four in the morning so I got maybe two or three hours of sleep. The tossing and turning went on so long, the feeling came back to the cock and in my delirious half sleep, half awake state, my hand found it again and again. I’d edge myself then control would come back and I’d roll over only to find my fevered brain reinserting all kinds of pornographic thoughts before me and the cock would swell and the whole thing would start over again. I knew that if I just came I’d likely fall asleep quickly, but I resisted the best I could. It was one of the hardest evenings of orgasm control I’ve had in a while. The barrier between pre and post orgasm was membrane thin and, by the time I pulled up and stopped stroking, I was leaking great quantities of ejaculate. I didn’t get the tingly sensation of orgasm and the thoughts and desires came back quickly enough for me to know it wasn’t an orgasm, but it was a very close scare. In the future, even if Belle lets me go to these things unprotected, I should probably bring the Steelheart along for those times I feel I’m losing control. When it’s in place, even if I hold my own key, the Rule of Law descends and my relationship with the cock changes completely.

Got home well after Belle went to sleep last night so I’m still free. I took the opportunity to clean out the Steelheart tube thoroughly this morning. I find that when I’m locked into it for weeks at a time (as I just was – essentially a month), a type of build-up appears at the end of the tube. It appears to be some kind of mineral-type stuff that I assume is left there by frequent contact with urine. It clings to the steel and can’t be cleaned out with soap and water, but I’ve found soaking the tube in a vinegar bath loosens it up enough that it can be wiped out.

I took the opportunity afterwards to take the above picture. I shows how tight things are in the end the tube with the PA fixing and 4 gauge ring. All that squished with the penis meat into a 2.5″ long steel cage. Time will tell when the meat is again so squished. Belle’s given me no indication when she wants it back in there.

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New shiny

Belle gets home today. She’s currently over the north North Pacific on a beeline for San Francisco, completing the second to last leg of a four-flight journey back to me. She’s been in China, Cambodia, Indonesia, and Vietnam on this trip. Obviously, I’m very excited for her to get home. It’s been a long couple of weeks.

While she was gone, I picked up a new shiny piece of steel, though not one I wear between my legs. In this case, it was a stainless cuff from House of Collars by Dom Wolf. I’ve been looking at them for years and almost bought one on several occasions. I finally pulled the trigger. It locks on using itty bitty headless torx screws. Here’s what it looks like on yours truly.

There’s lots of reasons I love this thing. First, it’s stainless. I have a real thing for shiny steel. It’s nicely made yet still a bit rough around the margins as something befitting a slave should be (though that’s not really me, is it?). Also, it’s a piece of genuine bondage equipment I can wear 24/7, out in public, that’s practically invisible as such to 99% of those who see it. Over the course of the week or so I’ve had it on, only one person said anything about it but didn’t seem to recognize it as anything other than a chunky bracelet. And it is pretty substantial. It’s not simple jewelry. It feels like a handcuff on my wrist.

Which, of course, turns me the fuck on. After putting it on for the first time, every time I felt its heft shift on my wrist, I thought what it’d feel like to have one on both wrists and on my ankles and even around my neck and the tube contents would swell. I imagine the cuffs around my wrist being locked to the ones around my ankles, a chain attached to the collar, tube dripping…*shudder*.

Anyway, it’s a nice feeling having a little sliver of what’s going on in my pants out there on my arm for the world to see. I didn’t talk to Belle before getting it so it’s not like I’m wearing it for any other reason except that I want to and I like it, but it represents more than just a chunky bracelet. It represents the enforced restraint and lack of control that turns my crank so lustily.

If you’re in the market for such a thing, I highly recommend Wolf’s work.

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Damn dam

As I was preparing myself for the day yesterday, the though occurred to me that there was a chance I’d be confronted by a metal detector. I mean, it was our plan to enter a Federal installation and all. There was the key and there was the device (all freshly cleaned and lubed), but I decided against it. I had been to Hoover Dam several times, but not, apparently, since 2001.

So there we were, in line to the visitors center, and I had already passed by about 56 large yellow signs warning me of the extreme security measures in place, but I looked right though each of them. We were in line for the 90-minute tour, though my mom had already said she wasn’t interested in it (some kind of fobia about being at the bottom of the damn and all that water or something) and the female offspring didn’t seem all that into the idea, though the boy was. Then, just as I was about to cross the threshold into the lobby, I saw them. It was just like an airport in there. Multiple X-ray conveyers and metal detectors. And guys in uniforms. They might even have had guns.

Shit, I thought as a cold wave of inevitability laced with a healthy dose of panic washed though me. Then I thought, I can’t go through there. I’ll set it off, and apparently said it out loud, too. The boy made some kind of acknowledgement, though I was feverishly woking out what to do next and didn’t really hear him.

“Let’s go have lunch,” I blurted. It was 11:30 and the tour was an hour and a half, so it was a plausible cover to get me out of there. On the way back up the escalator, I worked though all the escape options. There weren’t any, of course. The device cannot be removed at all absent heavy tools or the key (which was on the 47th floor of our hotel back in the city). There was no way we were getting in there.

At first, I was very disappointed. Not just because I wanted to see it, but mostly because I was going to potentially ruin it for everyone else. However, when I came up with an alternate plan over a meal of snack bar burgers and turkey wraps, nobody seemed to mind. In the end, we spent an entirely enjoyable couple of hours crawling over the dam, checking out its nooks and crannies and muscular WPA architecture (it really is a beautiful thing).

So anyway, vacation planning affects aside, it’s probably a good thing I’m in it. When I took the SH-S off before we left, I should have done it after my shower since, once again, I succumbed to the sensual pleasures of antibacterial soap applied properly (though without climatic completion, of course). The cock’s siren song is so strong that this morning I saw the key in my dop kit and really, really, really thought about using it. Just a little bit of jacking off surely wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just a little? I can only imagine what it’d be like were it not there.

And, for the record, I did not use the key.

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No cheating

We’re travelling today so I need to come out. The plan was for me to pop the seal on my emergency key and then reseal it when we get back on Monday (and, in between, put the device back on). I wanted to be able to demonstrate conclusively that I did not release the meat prior to our departure, so I made the following video. Nerdy, true. Obsessive compulsive, maybe. But, no one can accuse me of cheating.

[wpvideo sQO50L0W]

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Bedtime story

Sleep is good. Saturday, the night Stryker’s Beast mauled me, I got to bed late and slept little. Too horny. Sunday night, I went to bed early but woke up two hours later and was wide awake until 3:30. Horny again. Yesterday, I felt like the walking dead by about 6:30 in the evening. Slogging through the kids’ homework was torture. By 8:30, I was ready for bed. The kids were all down and out by 9:00. The pillows were waiting.

But then, the little voice of the hormone sprite whispered in my ear. “It’s time,” he squeaked. The irresistible force of my horniness started to push up against the immovable object of my exhaustion. I procrastinated in the bedroom, looking at dirty pictures and reading smutty stories. The Beast called to me. The occasional twinging aftereffects of my weekend ass stretching had reduced to nearly zero. I had kept the area shaved and was ready and very willing to put that dildo back where the sun don’t shine. Except for the tiredness. I laid there, internet in hand, and waited for the internal struggle between raging hormones and expiring brain cells to work itself out. Finally, at about a quarter to ten, I gave up. Whatever fire the sexual frustration lit was smothered under the blanket of weariness. I slept like a stone and didn’t wake up until 5:30.

The pressure in the tube was intense and reassuring. I could have eased it by taking a leak, but I decided to lay there and revel in it. I even exacerbated it by rolling onto my stomach and putting my ass up so as much blood as possible rushed into the cock. I rolled over on my back and let it’s awkward heaviness flop around. I reached down and felt the hard smooth tube and the heat it radiated from within, my tight nutsack and the hairless trail that led from its encircling steel ring to my asshole. I still needed rest, but I was rested enough that the peaks of my desire rose above the fog of sleepiness. Had it not been so close to the start of the day, I might have acted, but there was no time. Instead, I simply allowed myself to experience the unique attributes of my life of chastity. Tight tubes. Hormones. Desire.

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While the pussy’s away…

Belle leaves tomorrow. She’ll be on the other side of the world for two weeks. Sucks.

Normally, the cock would be secured during her absence, but smack in the middle of her trip, the kids and I are flying to see Grandma in Vegas. So, obviously, the SH-S will need to come off due to national security concerns. For me, this is a tricky thing because I could just say I need to be out for four days because of travel and leave it at that, but I know (don’t I) that I really only need to be out for a few hours on the two days I’m travelling. If I stay out the whole time, I’ll feel like I’m cheating. Also, I know temptation will be too great to avoid unauthorized diddling with the merchandise. So, the plan at the moment is to stay locked up until Friday morning when I’ll pop my emergency key and take the device off for the flight. As soon as makes sense on the other end, I’ll put it back on until Monday when we fly home.

Once home, I would, theoretically, have access to a free key. That’s not going to work for me. I can be trusted, but keeping the key secure is hotter for the same reason using the PA fixing is. The further away access to the cock is, the better.

As you can see, the current security tab in the keysafe is number 553. That’ll be broken on Friday and replaced with 543 on Monday. I’ll post a picture here of the locked device and the keysafe with 543 in place as soon as I’m resecured. Cheating will be impossible (even if it is also very unlikely).

It’s typically the case that Belle lets me pleasure myself in ways unrelated to the cock while she’s gone. She hasn’t yet given me the word, but assuming it’s coming, I’ve obtained a new toy. Well, actually I’ve replaced an old one. Back with I was single and young, my roommate had a porn tape starring Jeff Stryker. I have absolutely no idea what it was called, but the story line involved Jeff’s character being locked up in jail for an ill-defined offense. Once there, of course, he fucked just about everything with his quite impressing cock. There were a couple of scenes in particular I liked. The first was his check-in at the jail where the guard made him strip, turn around, and spread his cheeks. Jeff always played the top (at least in the stuff I saw him in) so to see him have to submit to authority like that was really sexy. There was another scene with him in a supply closet where he totally dominated another prisoner and yet another in his cell where he fucked a guard. Really hot movie. Pretty sure, between the two of us, that my roommate and I wore that tape out. (Edited to add that after spending about five minutes on the Google, I think the movie in question was called Powertool.)

In any event, the reason I bring it up is when I started buying my own sex toys one of the first I got was a “realistic” Jeff Stryker dildo. It looked like Jeff’s cock, but man. It was so big. And yeah, his cock was big, but I don’t remember it being that big. Regardless, I certainly got my money’s worth over the years with that thing. It was big, but just big enough so that I could really get going with it and not feel like I was about to injure myself. Also, I liked that the first half was fatter than the lower half. Interesting sensation, that. Pull out and feel yourself stretch, push in and feel yourself fill up.

Blah blah blah. Fast forward about 20 years and I received a brand new Jeff Stryker realistic dildo in the mail yesterday. Assuming I get the customary permission to abuse myself in Belle’s absence, I’ll post a review here on the blog. Will Jeff’s giant schlong be as great as I remember? How will my 43 year old ass deal with it? These questions and more will be answered…as long as Belle gives me permission to find out.

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6/24/182.5

So, yeah, six months. That’s what we’re doing now. What’s up with that?

A casual observer will claim this is topping from the bottom. I suggested it to Belle so, therefore, I’m a bottomtopper (or whatever). In fact, it was a suggestion. I brought it up but also made clear to her that it was nothing more than a suggestion that she could decide to disregard or modify or whatever.

The logic in favor was pretty simple. She likes me better when I don’t come and am locked in the device. I like me better that way, too. So, why not see what would happen if I was put into an essentially orgasmless existence. No coming and no chance that I would at all for a long time. That’s an interesting element since the way she’s handled me before now, there was always at any time a chance she’d let me come. Now, according to her, I will not be coming – no chance – until mid-September. Will that change how I behave? Knowing that nothing I can do will grant me relief? That was one of the things she made me agree to before making the final decision that this was what we were doing. She’s going to hold me to the six month term absolutely.

There are downsides, of course, and mostly for her. She likes to fuck me. It will be very difficult to do that for any extended period if she’s really serious about not letting me come. Also, she seems to like letting me have orgasms. Not frequently, of course, but she enjoys seeing me enjoy them. So, committing to this means she will be sacrificing, too.

For me, this is about taking things to their logical extremities and seeing how that works. Truth is, I still do like to come. The moment of orgasm is utterly fantastic and, especially when they come so infrequently, totally universe exploding for me. I come so hard now that it feels like I’m turning inside out from the effort. Icy tingles run over my scalp and down my back. Probably the most intensely pleasurable sensations I’ve felt. Those measly little squirts over the bathroom sink I used to give myself with regular frequency aren’t even the same species of what I feel now.

But, everything else that I feel is so much more exiting and just plain better when I don’t get to come. Those nuclear orgasms are really great, but they happen so fast. Once I know I’m going to get to have them, it takes just one or two minutes for me to get there and then they’re totally spent in about ten seconds. In exchange for maybe five or ten minutes of bliss (including the post orgasmic drunkenness), I get hours and days and weeks and months of craving it. Constant tension and expectation and dripping precum. I don’t know if you’re like me, but when I fix myself on something I want, I find that wanting it is almost better than getting it. The actual obtaining of my desires is often (though not always) a bit of a let down. I’m sure there’s a clinical description of this phenomenon and I’m also sure it’s managed by brain chemistry. What I’m not clear on is if it’s a universal behavior or if it’s only present in some people (and if its presence makes one more likely to kink on orgasm denial).

So, I have essentially three questions I hope this experiment will answer:

  • Are longer, extended periods of one kind of mostly low-intensity pleasure (orgasm denial and craving) in exchange for incredibly short yet powerful bursts of pleasure more or less satisfying?
  • How does removal of any hope of orgasm change how I feel and act while being denied?
  • Is there a point of diminishing returns after which continued denial is actually detrimental?

Let’s just say that the answer to the first question is, yes, I a find long-term orgasmless existence more satisfying than infrequent yet occasional orgasms. Plus, let’s say that removal of any prospect of coming does nothing to abate the behavioral benefits Belle and I both recognize as the result of not coming and that extending the denial for a really long time doesn’t have its own adverse results. Would we be able to logically conclude that I don’t ever need to come again? If Belle could accept the changes that would mean to her preferred lifestyle, could this mean I actually do start living an absolutely orgasm-free life (or one that’s essentially so because they’d occur with extreme infrequency and probably accidentally)?

The answer to these questions can only be found in the fullness of time. Also, the answers might not matter if Belle decides that she’d still rather see me come every once in a while. While a lot of this territory feels like ground we’ve already covered, the big difference now is that I’m aware that this is a two person arrangement. While it is, obviously, about me, it’s only partly so. Wherever this experiment takes us, it has to work for us both.