Tag: malesub

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Size matters

“I wonder if we could use Blue over the Steelheart,” my Belle asked me this morning.

Alas, no, I doubt it would work. Without the stiff penis inside, the penis extender is too floppy and would collapses in on itself when pressure is applied around it. The Steelheart is too short to give it any support. It may also be too fat to easily get up inside there and, even if it was, the contortion that would place on the penis trapped within might be too much to handle.

The point of her question is two-fold. One, Belle’s interested in keeping me locked up more often than I have been recently. Pretty much the only reason I need to regularly get out is to provide Blue the internal structure it needs to be useful to Belle. Since she also said to me this morning that she could see keeping me locked up is good for me, it’s hard to know when she’ll let me out. She does love Blue, so I suspect the next time the penis sees the light it will be to wear Blue.

Which leads to the second point of her question. Belle really likes big dick. She has a hard time being up front with me about this. It’s sweet, really. I don’t think she wants to hurt my feelings. The size of the penis is something I can do nothing about, of course, so if she admits to me she likes them bigger than me, won’t that be terribly damaging to my ego? Well, yes, but I’m OK with that. Truly.

That’s not to say, of course, that I wouldn’t like a bigger dick. Of course I would. And knowing that I’m not big enough to really get her off does burn. Luckily, I’m not only a physical masochist, I’m a psychic one, too. That is, even though I once told her I didn’t want her to demean me, in actual fact, I totally kink on humiliation. If I’m not big enough, I want her to tell me that. I want her to remind me that it’s only because I’m not bigger that she needs something like Blue in the first place.

Our entire marriage, she’s always gone out of her way to tell me how much she liked the penis. During sex, she would just come out and say it. I never asked or prompted. This is in the context of knowing her first husband had a really big dick and now knowing how well she enjoys Blue. So I have to wonder who she was trying to convince. As I said when introducing Blue, I think what’s closer to the truth is that I’m not too small. But that doesn’t mean I’m just right.

So anyway, she should feel free to own what she really likes and also feel free to use that information to tease me. I like that kind of hurt as much as I like feeling the sting of a flogger against my ass. Also, as I’ve often said, I think the purpose of sex is to get her off. It’s primarily a vehicle for her enjoyment. Therefore, knowing that we’re using something that so well achieves that goal makes me very happy.

Getting back to her original question, no, Blue won’t work while I’m locked up, but I’ve found a potential answer. Vixen makes a lovely dildo compatible with a harness called Maverick. It’s proportions are essentially the same as Blue’s: 7″x2″. I showed it to Belle and she asked if they made anything close to my size. Yes, I told her, they did and we had it. We even have a name for it. Mr. Darcy. We bought it about three years or so ago and, I reminded her, she didn’t much like it. And it was pretty much exactly the same size as me. So we’ll be trying Maverick.

Yee-haw!

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Sex talking

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking I need to get your key. I’m thinking I should put it my nightstand at night so I don’t need to get up and get it in the morning. What are you thinking about?”

I couldn’t say. I was thinking that I was excited about getting out. I was also thinking that I always get out. I was thinking that she lets me out no matter what. Whether I deserve it or not.

She got the key and I unlocked the Steelheart and watched that thing happen where more of the penis than should fit in the tube come out of it. I rolled back over and she was naked and I put her nipple in my mouth and started to feel around her body. She felt warm and soft and the penis was very hard.

“How can I make you come today, Belle Fille?”

She purred a little. “I want Blue.”

She didn’t want me to jump right up, though. I could play with her pussy a little before. And I did. Fucking hell, I love her pussy.

“I play with your pussy more than I play with myself.” A lot more.

“Yep.” Said in a well, of course you do tone.

She fingered the penis. Traced it and gave it some tugging squeezes. That simple contact made me dizzy. Such a small thing but so powerful for someone who hardly ever even sees his erection let alone touches it.

Then I got Blue and put it on. It adds so much swaying heft. I can’t believe there are actually guys with dicks this big. With my hand wrapped around it, I couldn’t help but feel the pang of wishing it was me but knowing it wasn’t. Not even close.

She climbed up and fucked it and I fucked her back. There’s so much more intensity in her face and her sounds when she’s got that thing inside her. When she came, it was hard enough that I could feel her clamp down through the layer of stretchy blue fake dick. She gathered herself while laying on me and I raced inside.

After she rolled off, I pulled Blue off and snuggled into her. The penis was pressing hard against her. What if she told me no? What if she said that was it? But it wasn’t. I could go in.

I slipped easily inside her. So easily. Barely filling the void left by the big dick I had been wearing for her. The feeling of her like that does something profound to me. I had to move slowly to avoid coming immediately.

“Do you like Blue?”

“Yes, I love it.”

And I want to hear her say that. To hear her tell me she loves that long fat cock.

While I’m fucking her, we talk. I tell her all I want is for her to be happy. To be the one to make her happy. And that she’s so nice to me. But what I want isn’t important. What I get doesn’t matter. I want to feel that I have no control over what happens. That I don’t deserve to expect anything in return. She asks me if I want her to be mean to me. It’s hard for me to say it while I’m inside her because it feels so good and it’s the only good feeling that comes from the penis, these mornings she lets me fuck her. But she doesn’t have to feel that she needs to be nice to me. I admit yes, I would like her to be mean to me. At least when it comes to sex. I want to be used for her pleasure and only be given my own when she feels I’ve earned it. I should not expect anything. Whatever I get, it’s because she wants me to have it, not because I should get it. Not because I want it. What I want isn’t important. I should focus on her. Getting her off. Making her happy, in whatever way that is.

 

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Working it

One other time, I had a dream that I had sex with a co-worker. Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week. Then it happened again just a few days ago. Different one this time. Funny thing is, this time around, I couldn’t remember which one it was until she was sitting next to me in a meeting. Then it all came rushing back and I’m quite certain I blushed.

The dream is lost to me. All I remember is she was the aggressor in it. She’s somewhat aggressive in real life, so that figures. It’s still affecting me, too. She came to my desk earlier today to ask my opinion on something and, standing next to me, I felt somewhat…I don’t know. Uncomfortable. Hard to describe. Not bad. Just weird.  My imagination drew suspicions from her movements and closeness, ascribing her dream persona’s motives to her in real life. Silly, but palpable.

Similarly, I was in a client meeting today (the client I’ve been so focused on recently). All men, which is rare. There are a lot of women in my field and they’re usually the majority of any meeting (as they are at my office), but not at this client. Kind of an old boy’s club. Their culture is competitive and the guys I was meeting with were all directors and above and, while being perfectly nice to one another, that competitiveness was always just under the surface. The room was barely big enough for the conference table let alone the nine of us. I found myself very much aware that I was the different one in the room. It didn’t show. I was holding my own, but I felt…again, I don’t know. Disadvantaged? In a room full of women, I can feel energized. My condition only accentuates that. I think they sense it and it works. In a room full of guys, visage aside, I’m likely the beta male. Of course, it’s possible (and even likely) that I’m not the only one there with one face for the public and another for my wife.

In any event, I realize that often the device and my state can feel like a superpower. But today it was the opposite. That which made me different felt like a detraction. Something in the room was my Kryptonite. It set me on edge. I was happy to be out of there.

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Good boy

Rule number 13 from Thumper’s Big Book of Blogging (Random House, 2008) is to never apologize for not having blogged in a long time. So I’m not going to do that. What I will say is I’ve been very busy at work in the kind of way that saps my brain and leaves me without a lot of gas in the blogging tank.

So. An update. Belle left me unlocked for more than a week. She let me out for the typical R&R and I found I had a small wound on the bottom of the shaft that needed to heal up and it took at least five of those days. Probably from some pinching and a badly situated weld on the bottom of the tube. The “don’t play with it” rule wasn’t really an issue because the little fucker hurt too much when I took it in hand, but sometime near the end of the unlocked period, I discovered whilst showering that the little fucker had healed sufficiently that I could, if I wanted to, play with it.

And I did.

So I did.

Not for too terribly long. Long enough to make it spurt in a non-orgasmic way, though. Then the guilt. Which made the pressure drop so that the stupid thing went soft. So, to recap, I haven’t come in over five months and desperately want to jack off but knowing I’m not supposed to but having done so anyway was enough to totally kill my hard-on. Training!

I did tell Belle about the transgression. She muttered something about punishment but never followed through.

Sunday, I had to go back in. I had been out for nine days and that was enough to be used to the feeling of being free and seeing the penis rather than the steel every time I went to the bathroom. She told me I had to go in on Sunday but had fallen asleep before checking and making sure I was. The thought of staying out one more night was a tempting one, but as I settled in for the night the subby nagging bit in the back of my mind told me to get up and put it back on. I left the key on her nightstand.

Monday night, Belle said to me, “That’s a good Thumpie, putting yourself back in like that.” I made a noncommittal whiny grunting sound.

“You’re better when you’re locked up,” she continued. I felt a pang of submissive reaction and avoided looking her in the eye. “And you know it,” she whispered, “don’t you?”

I melted.

Yes, of course. It’s true. By the end of that week out, I would see myself naked and unlocked and think, “Man, it’s good to have that thing off. Why do we even have to use that? What a pain.” Today, I got out of the shower and saw the shining steel between my legs and thought, “I’m a good boy,” and felt all the way down that locked was more natural than not. Funny how that works.

Last thing, then back to work. In that not awake but not asleep dream state we can find ourselves in in the morning, I dreamt today that I was jacking off again. I was edging myself and really enjoying it and then thought, “I’m just going to do it. I’m going to jack off just for the pleasure of jacking off.”

“But what if I come?” I asked. “What if I get too close to the edge?”

“Then I come,” I thought back. And I started to stroke it. I felt it get hard in my hand. It lengthened the best it can and swell up and I felt the locking of the orgasmic mechanism inside me and the ejacualte presure start to build for the shot across my stomach.

Then the bite of the Steelheart woke me up. I wasn’t jacking off. I wasn’t going to come.

I’m a good boy.

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Lizard’s lament

Last Thursday I went for a 5k run while wearing the Looker 02. Usually, this is not a problem, but on occasion I find the urethral insert can irritate me. It’s hard to know when I need to apply a bit of lube to it beforehand and when I don’t. I needed to this time and didn’t so I had to take it off.

Belle wanted me in the Steelheart anyway, so it was all good. Except that we couldn’t find the Steelheart. She looked in the place she keeps all the devices when they’re not in use and didn’t see it so I looked in the various spots I stash them before cleaning them and giving them back to her. No dice. I emptied drawers looking for it. Several times. I looked in places I knew it couldn’t be. It was really bugging me. She told me I put it in a sock or something (which I had zero recollection of and didn’t think was right). I stayed out all that night.

Next day, after my shower, I looked in Belle’s spot. There is was. And I’m the one who never finds things where they’re supposed to be.

Anyway, the Steelheart does something to me that none of the other devices do. It’s the real deal. It’s totally enclosed. It’s totally inescapable. It’s her favorite. My entire mindset changes subtly. In a way, it’s the most authentic of chastity experiences.

After spending the better part of three weeks in the L02, the Steelheart is a more demanding experience. It’s tighter and harder to sleep through the night in. When it clutches the erection, it’s more vice-like than either the Looker or Jail Bird. It’s just that much harder to hide in my pants. That little tube means business and doesn’t want me to forget it.

Last night, I was standing behind her in the kitchen as we made dinner. I reached around her with one arm pulling her close and put my other hand down the back of her pants. I felt the soft curve of her ass on one side of my hand and the hard curve of the device on the other as its contents surged and my knees got weak. I may have made a little moaning sound.

The Steelheart really is her device. It’s not at all mine. Knowing that makes my subby heart hum and thrum.

I got out this morning for the (currently) regular weekend activities. The penis was already hard so it did that slinky-snake-out-of-a-can trick where more came out than could possibly fit. Then I couldn’t get the A-ring off. I had to lay there and try to change the subject in my crotch just enough to give the hydraulics a bit of a break. Once done, I was able to turn my attention back to Belle.

The penis was leaking expectantly. I said something to Belle about how she always lets me out for sex on the weekends now. She said something about being a creature of habit and asked me if I’d rather not be let out. I told her before she presents the key I think about how hot it would be if she wouldn’t let me out but once the device is off I want inside her desperately. She told me she thought briefly about not letting me out this morning. The she grabbed the stiff penis and I stopped talking.

Her choice of orgasm delivery vehicle this morning was Big Blue. I got it on and again felt the odd tightness of it. How it grips the entire erection hard but simultaneously inhibits any other sensation. Belle mounted it and again made sounds she doesn’t make when it’s just me she’s fucking. She came with Blue balls-deep inside her and I never felt a thing. She told me how much she likes her new toy. I told her how happy that made me.

The first time Belle fucked Blue, she didn’t fully engage with it and came quickly. The second time, she fucked it well and good, but I didn’t get the chance to fuck her without it on until the next morning. This time, I was still hard and raring to go when she told me I could go in. And what I felt when I did took my breath away. She was so open. The big blue cock had pushed the walls of her pussy out in all dimensions in a way I never had. I could feel the penis moving through Big Blue’s shadow. She didn’t grip me as hard and I felt no “bottom” to her.

And the thought of that. That this cock that gave her so much obvious pleasure was so much bigger than me and filled her so much more than I could. That its presence in her moments before me made her feel like an entirely different woman. The memories of the little sounds she made when filled up by that cock, sounds I never heard before, and the look on her face while she was riding it, a look not quite like any I’d seen before. All of that hit me in a matter of seconds and I was as close as I could be to shooting my load right there. My brain was on fire with it. The knowing that the way bigger not-me was so satisfying to her and my lizard brain hating that and screaming about it and wishing both that Big Blue had never been bought and that I had a cock that was 7″ long and 2″ wide but feeling that I obviously did not and, all the while, the higher bunny brain totally getting off on the lizard’s torment and the idea that I was not and never would be equipped to pleasure her as well as that big blue dong.

I could barely fuck her. Every time I started a rhythm, I had to stop. I was right on the edge the whole time. Belle asked what was wrong and I told her that she felt different and how close I was. She smiled. Wondered aloud what I’d be like if she let me. One, two, three strokes and I’d be there. And I wanted it. I wanted to fill the space made by the big dick in her with my seed. My whole being was crying for the chance. But no, of course not, she said. Of course I wouldn’t come.

Shortly after, she told me I had to stop. But I didn’t want to. I wasn’t even close. I wanted to come. I wanted to try and fill her up. I wanted to mark my woman’s pussy that some other had been in. I know that’s not what had happened. I know it was actually me that fucked her with the big blue dick. But my lizard brain felt it differently. She had been violated. She needed to be reclaimed. And she wasn’t going to let me do it.

Laying next to her, grabbing and gripping my balls and the still-hard shaft, my brain actually hurt from the clash of emotion and desire and, undoubtedly, hormones and brain chemicals. I wanted back in there. I wanted to pump her full of me. But I wanted her to tell me no. To leave me wanting. To leave the lizard screaming.

FUCK, it was intense. In the best possible way, of course.

I know I’ve recently said I don’t suffer from blue balls all that much anymore. But I am right now. My groin hurts from the unreleased desire to reclaim Belle. As it should, I suppose.

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Nurturing my nature

Today, I’m feeling it. More than usual, lately. That sort of random and free-floating non-orgasmic anxiety that results from extended denial. I keep thinking about the penis. Keep having flashes of needy images. It out and hard in my hand. Stroking. Just jacking it. Sometimes while being fucked. A lot of non-specific erotic explosions at random moments.

The rule of Belle’s that I don’t play with it unless she tells me I can doesn’t much matter recently since I only get out of the device at those times she wants to fuck me. Typically, I get out the night before and am back in before noon the next day. I don’t have any opportunity to obey or cheat. I might be out four or five days in a month. So it’s a moot point. This morning, though, I expect I would have cheated. I have the need to feel a hard penis and milk it. To lick up my own ejaculate and feel it silky smooth over my tongue. I feel the need for some me-time. The time I don’t get anymore.

I am not complaining. Instead of getting to feel the pleasure of jacking off, she allows me to enjoy the feeling of being in her pussy. That’s the only penis-centric action she’ll let me have. In a weird and unexpected way, it’s frustrating because she’s taken away the way all men first realize what sexual pleasure can be. All men masturbate (those who can, anyway). The popular culture will tell you it’s a poor substitute for fucking someone, but in fact, a lot of the time masturbation is done only for the joy of masturbation. I can’t even remember the last time I masturbated like that. I think it was right after she let me fuck her and then allowed me to ruin an orgasm for the sake of my prostate. So, she was right there. Since then, though, only her pussy. Intentionally or not, she’s ratcheted up my already well-developed dependance on her for pleasure.

She’s nurturing my nature.

By nature, I’m all about sexual service. I want her to have pleasure above mine at all times. Even before we initiated the D/s overlay to our relationship, I always wanted her to come first. I’m obsessed with her pleasure. Big Blue is, to me, a natural extension (so to speak) of that desire. In any event, I’m wired to please before anything else. The denial and the chastity and the rest have all reinforced and extended that inclination. The other night, right after she got off on Blue so well, she told me I could fuck her. But, even though I had been hard as a fucking rock before Blue, I couldn’t get it up after. Not because I didn’t want her. I did. But we had been to a nice dinner before coming home for sex and I knew that, had I been on top fucking her, she would have been uncomfortable. I couldn’t stop thinking about that. I’d roll off and she’d play with the penis and I’d kiss her face and hold her head in my hand and the penis would start to stiffen but as soon as I got between her legs, it’d go flat again.

It even extends to why I like to fuck her. Of course, for all the obvious reasons, but also because I know she likes to be fucked. I know she likes to feel me on her and pumping into her. She like to feel my ass muscles flexing and my moderately hard and muscular arms wrapped around her, holding her close and tight. Basically, she get’s off on the feeling of a big man having his way with her. So, in my mind, half the reason I fuck her is because it feels good to me and the other half is because it feels good to her. That thought never leaves my mind. It can’t because if it does and I get too much into the part I feel I’m playing and I’ll lose control over my ability to stop the orgasm that invariably wants to manifest.

What I’m saying is, I don’t know that I’ve ever fucked anyone in my life for my own sake. Not once that I can recall. I’ve never used anyone as a hole for me to put the penis in. That’s just my inclination. I have been used as a hole more than once, but even then, I don’t have residual bad feelings about those times. To a certain extent, sex has always been about service to me. Now more than ever.

It’s even extended to a rewiring of my autonomic orgasmic responses. When I’m locked up and she comes, I start to feel the effects of the post-orgasmic refractory period. She comes, I feel sleepy and laconic. If I had an erection, it goes away. Rarely am I so turned on that this doesn’t happen. If I’m not locked up and she lets me fuck her, the quasi-refactory period starts after she tells me it’s time to stop. Often, I can feel that it’s time to stop before she tells me. Even when I’m still in her and having a good time, I can feel the penis start to lose pressure.

I even feel as if I know her orgasm as well as I ever knew mine. Sunday morning, after the night with Blue, I did as I usually do and tried to get her off before she was going to let me have a do-over from the night before. I could tell that it wasn’t going well. She asked for Pink and I, shortly after turning the little vibe on, knew it wasn’t going to work. I can just feel it. Like I’m tapped into her pleasure centers somehow. Enough to know that her orgasm wasn’t a lost cause so that I went back in with my fingers and got her off in matter of just a few seconds. I knew where and how to touch her. I knew that it would work.

I know I’m rambling.

I think about chastity and denial and how I sometimes wonder why everybody doesn’t live this way and why it’s good for some but not others and how sometimes, like with us, it goes really fucking deep and ends up with me never wanting to be allowed to come, forever wanting to come. Sexuality is such a crazy thing. So complicated. Infinitely complicated. Trying to interpret it is like trying to identify the individual pieces of glass while looking through a kaleidoscope. Seems to me that, when it comes to successfully using chastity and denial in a relationship as we have, it would be helped if at least one of the partners thought as I do. Pleasure is a service. Theirs should be a priority over your own.

You have to start somewhere.

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The end (and the beginning)

The other night, in the middle of the night, I was seriously fucking horny. Like, the kind of horny that wakes you up. I kept finding my hands on Belle and putting them under her bed clothes and generally getting all worked up by feeling the hot, smooth skin up and down her ass and up her back and all that. I’d fall asleep for a bit, wake up and do it again, the tube would get all full, then I’d fall back asleep.

Next day (yesterday, actually) I asked her if I was bugging her when I did that. I didn’t want to bug her but honestly couldn’t stop myself in that half asleep horned up state without her coming out and telling me to stop. No, I wasn’t bugging her, she said. She kind of liked it.

Not sure what we talked about then, but I mentioned something to the effect that if I ever did bug her too much, she could always just let me come and I’d be manageable for a little while. She scoffed at that saying I’d also get all moody and pissy and grumpy and she preferred the hot and horny version of me over that. She keeps saying that I was a pill after she made me come over July 4th, but I still think I was pretty OK with it. Whatever.

That led me to asking something about when my next orgasm was going to be because if there’s one thing a guy in denial likes to talk about it’s his denial. We’re all over that shit. A few other things were bandied back and forth before she just came out and told me something she’d already decided.

I wasn’t going to come again.

She won’t go so far as to say “never” because that’s a long time. Suffice it to say she has no plans whatsoever to let me come and is inclined to leave me in my current state indefinitely. As far as thinking about orgasms or wondering when they might happen or whatever, I might as well stop because they’re not on the table. They’re not next to the table or under the table. They’re not in the room with the table or in the house with the room with the table in it.

Of course (OF COURSE) as soon as that sunk in (while I was hugging her and kissing her neck and generally feeling very submissive and lucky, etc.) a little part of me suggested I remember what an orgasm felt like. I tend not to think about that, but now, for some reason, it seemed OK. So I did. I thought about the mental fireworks and the wave of release and the euphoric afterglow and…how I would not be feeling that again. At least not intentionally. At least not for a really long time.

I remember back when we first started at this and my denial periods could be easily counted in hours and reading about guys who were permanently denied orgasms and how I thought, OH JESUS FUCK WHO WANTS THAT!? It was both scary but, I should have known, terribly stimulative. But here we are. I have no problem admitting I’ve wanted this. I think it’s the next logical extension of the path we’ve been on.

Some might wonder what the point is of living a permanently denied life. Some might think that taking the orgasm out of the equation might somehow alter the outcome such that its no longer appealing. Basically, some guys, even denied and locked-up ones, might still like the idea of occasionally coming (or, at least, the promise of it). I get that. That’s not me.

I’ve changed a lot. I’ve stopped directing my desire for sex at Belle as if its something she owes me. I still want it, yeah, I and still feel OK making her know I do, but I don’t feel compelled to push her on it and don’t feel in any way slighted if she doesn’t produce. Not like I used to. I’ve written on this recently so I don’t need to dwell, but at some point, I feel like I passed the “me” phase of sex. Now it’s minimally “us” and, more often, “her.” And to me, that’s what’s natural and right. Orgasms change how I feel about that. They short circuit it. I don’t want to come because when I do it fucks with how I like my brain chemistry to be.

I guess what I’m saying is I’ve willingly traded in my ability to orgasm so that I’m left in this constant state of needing and wanting and totally subsuming my needs to her will. For some people, that might sound scary or even unhealthy. It is, for me, the most total and comforting and satisfying submission I can imagine. We have sex when she wants. Period, end of story. How she wants. Period, end of story. The only release and climax I get is whatever I can sap off of her when she comes. I don’t come because doing so upsets the balance we both prefer.

I’m not concerned about the health implications. I ejaculate plenty. At least if “plenty” can be defined as “every week or two when she lets me inside her and the penis leaks semen right after I get close to coming.” It’s kind of like milking, really. Or ruined orgasms. I get myself up to the edge and then stop and it comes out. Lots of it. Prostate problem solved.

Now that we’re here, I’m going to try and change my behavior a bit.

  1. I will never ever ask Belle if I can come. Not once. This is the bed I wanted and I’ll have to lie in it.
  2. I will never ever tell her I want to come, even if I do. She already knows me well enough to know when I’m feeling that way. She can assume that if I’m fucking her, I will be feeling an intense desire to come in her.

I don’t know why I feel it’s important to do these things. Maybe it’s because she’s made this decision and I need to show that I respect it and will live by it. Maybe it’s because in the past I may have sent mixed messages and I don’t want her to feel even a microscopic iota of guilt or doubt. Maybe it’s to show that I’m ready to live like this, fully and completely. It almost feels like a new commitment between us. A new level of marriage or something. As marriage is an outcome of dating, this new commitment is an outcome of our several year experiment with denial. The next stage of the journey is starting.

So, you know, NO, I’m not going to say this is the route everyone should take. But I’m very happy she’s decided this is our route. I’ll follow her right along it until she decides to take us in another direction.

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Das penis

Bondagebuddy asked:

I’ve been following your blog for well over a year now and obviously enjoy it. However, I’m curious about one thing. Why do you always refer to your penis as “the penis”? It is still very much a part of you. I think you are to be commended for your devotion to chastity, but it is noteworthy that proper reference is never mentioned.

Early on, Belle and I had kind of a contract that said I wasn’t allowed to refer to it as mine anymore since I had given control of it over to her. I was supposed to call it “her cock” or “the cock” or whatever. Some time later (I can’t find the post at the moment found it), I stopped thinking that the noun “cock” was the proper term to use since cocks have a very specific (to me) connotation about them. They have attitude and purpose and even a bit of pride and in general seem to me to be somewhat aggressive. The member I carry around isn’t like that, in practice or intention. It didn’t feel right to me to call it that so I started calling it by its more clinical term. It’s a penis, not a cock, even if it’s unlocked and fully erect.

When I first started at this blogging thing I’d read this kind of twisted phraseology and roll my eyes (the whole personal pronoun capitalization thing still bugs me, but I get it and why people do it). They’re confusing (as you’ve demonstrated) and cause sentences to sometimes be awkwardly structured. Honestly, I find it to be a bit of a pain to not be able to just write the very plain and straightforward “my cock” and, every time I have to do it, I consider just dropping the practice entirely.

The reason I don’t (even though Belle’s no longer invested in what possessive I use) is because awkwardness and inconvenience are part of the chastity experience. Referring to it as “the penis” is a literary reflection of wearing a chastity device all the time whenever she wants me to regardless of how I feel about it. To me, talking about it like it’s a thing separate of me is a perfectly honest way to write. It reinforces the reality that I don’t control it and can’t use it how I want. Even when I’m unlocked, she’s explicitly forbidden me from playing with it absent her permission.

At the moment and under the terms of our dynamic, I don’t really have a man’s cock. It’s a penis. And it’s not mine.

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Focus

Something I was thinking about late last night when, in one of those random moments of wakefulness, I reached over and spooned into Belle and let my hand run under her nightclothes and over her smooth ass and the contents of the Steelheart pulsed and craved. It directly relates to my previous post about finding a Zen-like place to keep all my pent-up desire.

I mean, I wanted her. I needed her. Her pleasure is mine and I am really, really wanting to feel that. Distractingly so because it’s been so long since I had it. In the early years, it was remarkably easy to find anger in that. To want to throw all the internal stress out at her. But I don’t anymore. I know she knows how I feel and I know she’ll take care of me eventually. In due time. Not yet.

The way I was able to get through this period last night was to, as they say, see the glass as half full rather than half empty. Yes, I’m desperately needy, but I’m also exactly as I wanted her to keep me. Exactly. I am locked up, unable to touch my own body or attain a normal erection or in any way pleasure myself. I’m totally under her control in that way as I wished to be. It’s all I wanted for her to control my sex and now she does, completely. The best part is, she wants me this way. It’s impossible to imagine that she would have left me unlocked while she was gone last weekend. That’s just not an option for me anymore. And while I was unlocked while I was gone the weekend before (unavoidably, perhaps), she put me back as soon as I got home. I rarely get to stay out for more than a night at time now unless something external intercedes or it’s a special occasion. So I have the best of all possible situations. I’m locked and controlled because that’s how she wants me. That’s how she prefers me to be. I asked for exactly this.

Back around Labor Day, we talked some about that. How she considers my willingness to be locked by her a romantic gesture. She sees my sacrifice of orgasm and self-pleasure as a token of my dedication to her and our marriage. She finds comfort knowing what I’m not doing when she’s not with me. I allow this to happen to me because I acknowledge it makes me a better and more attentive partner. It makes our relationship stronger.

Yes, of course, that’s all true. But it’s not like I don’t get anything out of it.

And what I get out of it is what I concentrated on last night. The feeling of the hard steel pressing up between me and the mattress, squeezing my wannabe erection. The knowledge that I wasn’t getting what I wanted in that moment but I was getting all I wanted in the bigger picture. How, in only the way possible in this kind of dynamic, even not getting what I want is exactly what I want.

I’m desperately horny for her. That’s the reason we do this. We have sex when she decides. Period. I’m supposed to crave what I have no control over. Her pussy. The penis. Our sex. Everything. I’m not ignored, even though circumstances have conspired to make me feel a little neglected. I’m actually quite loved and cared for.

That’s what I focused on.

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Hyperactive mojo ball

Belle went out of town for the weekend yesterday. She won’t be back until Sunday night. Last weekend, I was out of town. The four days in between she was on her period. I don’t think we’ve had sex in two weeks. Le sigh.

If you’re a man (like me) who is sexually frustrated (uh, yep) and is married to a woman who locks his penis up because he can’t be trusted not to play with it all the time when she’s not around (guilty) and, even if it wasn’t, you’re not allowed to come anyway (you’re looking at him), you can deal with this kind of situation in one of three ways. I know because I’ve done them all.

  1. Be a whiney bitch. Feel sorry for yourself and act like nobody in the world appreciates what you’re going through.
  2. Get mad at your keyholder. See number 1. You’re miserable, she doesn’t appreciate you or your sacrifice, and why doesn’t she realize this is time you’re never getting back? Life is unfair and she’s worse.
  3. Fucking chill out and get all zen on this shit.

Regular men without the locked dicks or prohibitions on ejaculation can nip all this in the bud by nipping the fuck out of their buds (or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays). When you can’t do that, though, the brain chemicals and emotions and unrelieved reproductive fluids all gel together and form a hyperactive mojo ball that floats somewhere down behind your belt buckle, occasionally jetting out solar eruptions into your balls and cock or up into your brain making it foggy and unfocused.

Think of it like the core of a nuclear reactor. You can’t just let those things sit around anywhere. They need to be covered and maintained. In the wrong hands, they’re explosively deadly. When handled appropriately, all that power can be harnessed for good.

When I was first dealing with this stuff, I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know how to deal with the surges and the compulsions. Belle didn’t either, of course, or even really understand what I was feeling. But at some point, you figure out how to envelope all the crazy fluttering and need to do something and jitteriness. It’s still there. I can feel it right now. Physically. In my balls and in my chest and in my guts. Tingling and tickling me. But it’s not sending me into a bad place. Sure, it makes me want to look at a fuck-load of porn, but emotionally, I’m stable.

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you how to do this (so maybe you don’t want that book I was talking about after all). How to refocus and learn to draw on the energy at the moments she decides are right is key to being able to live with denial. I don’t know if those who are only denied for short periods can ever have enough time to figure it out (or even need to). That’s not my life experience, of course.

I recall early on someone left a comment here that’s not too much unlike what I’m saying. The horny guy in me railed against what he was saying. Pushed back on it hard. Hated to hear it. But the guy I am now gets it. All the way down. It’s not always easy. We’re playing with a kind of fire, to be sure. But whatever and however it works, it makes things better for us. That’s all that counts.