Tag: orgasm control

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Mailbag

Matt Cook hasn’t had an orgasm in seven months, and he hopes never to intentionally have one again.

Now that’s an opening line. Certainly one that will grab my attention. It comes (ahem) from an article found by the inimitable Tom Allen in which the practice of Karezza is described. Kareeza, also know as “coitus reservatus”, is described by Wikipedia as “a form of sexual intercourse in which the penetrative partner does not attempt to ejaculate within the receptive partner, but instead attempts to remain at the plateau phase of intercourse for as long as possible avoiding the seminal emission.”

The article on Matt Cook wasn’t the first time I’d heard of Karezza, though. I received the following from reader Athena an embarrassingly long time ago:

I would be very appreciative to read a mans view, in particular your view regarding “Coitus Reservatus” or aka Karezza. I’m requesting this because you’re very gifted at expressing yourself in a manner that is easily understandable for your Female readers.

I want to approach the topic with my boyfriend, as I’ve been researching the practice lately. But finding contemporary and relative articles has been a challenge.

Would you agree that Karezza can be, for some the next step in the progression of chastity within a relationship?

I’m not sure I’d compare Karezza to enforced male chastity for a couple of reasons. First, chastity is, as we practice it, more than incidentally about power exchange. It’s a form of BDSM. Karezza, as I understand it, has no element of power exchange whatsoever. The man willingly controls his orgasm to promote the “deepest human affection.” Secondly, it sounds is if there is regular penetration by the man (and some kind of preternatural ability to avoid orgasm on his part). In my experience, the penis rarely gets wet, especially for recreational fucking without possibility of orgasm (alas). Of course, the end product of both is similar. The girl comes and the guy doesn’t. The resulting feelings and attitude of the man are likely very similar, but the getting there is all different.

But that doesn’t mean I disagree with you that it (or some form of it) could be a “next step in the progression of chastity within a relationship” for some. Honestly, I’ve felt for a while now that I was doing this chastity thing all wrong. I want to be denied. I do not want to come. Oh, I do, from time to time, get the urge and feel the need and she does let me, but immediately afterward I invariably wish I hadn’t. Even as I’m building toward the orgasm, in the back of my head I’m hoping she won’t let me. In all the hawt chastity porn, the man is desperate for orgasm all the time and his evil wife is constantly dangling the possibility out there but rarely letting him have it. That’s not me. I want to be denied and denied and denied. I’ve felt this way for a long time and, I recall, when I first said on this blog that I didn’t like having an orgasm as much as not having one, some readers suggested I was Doing It Wrong. Perhaps my denial has led me to a place not unlike where practitioners of coitus reservatus find themselves. Like Matt, I’d be happy if Belle told me I would never intentionally come again.

So yeah, the idea of coitus reservatus does appeal to me, but the lack of any kind of domination or submission doesn’t. I am where Matt Cook is, mostly. But I still want the D/s, bondage, and masochism. I’m a kinky bastard, after all.

Anonymous said:

After few months with playing with CB-6000 and some doubts, my wife came to conclusion, that she like benefits of using chastity device (short term, not permanent), but not the device itself. Reason – tube-like shape and imagination of everything inside swollen, sweaty, and without much ventilation, works for her rather as a turn off. We looked for some cage-like devices, but I still don’t get it – how to take it off with full erection, while most of them (all?) has closed, one-piece rings? I know the ordinary method (one potato, two potato, weenie to get in, and backwards to take it off), but HOW, when my precious member, when full erected, is pointing straight at my face, when I look at him? is it even possible to take off the ring with an erection?

If the ring is fitted correctly, you can’t get it off when you’re hard. Impossible. But, (again) if it’s fitted correctly, you probably don’t really need to. At least that’s my experience. The A-ring of the Steelheart, when left on, is like an almost but not quite too tight cockring. It has the benefit of making the penis’ erection a tad larger and it gives me a bit more staying power (plus, it’s kinda uncomfortable which pushes my masochism buttons). I’m not sure that a device without the integrated lock would work as well, though. My Jail Bird has a post sticking out for the lock to engage the cage and, while we’ve never tried it, it’s likely that the post would poke Belle.

My advice: Figure out a way to get the ring off before you’re too hard and/or make a fun little game of defeating the erection so the ring can come off (bag of ice water on the cock, for instance).

Beth said:

I’ve never commented but I’ve enjoyed reading your blog immensely for the last year or two. I was hoping I could get a piece of advice. I’m a lady in a 5+ year relationship with a handsome gentleman- I’d say he’s a switch/sub and I’m a sub/switch. We’ve been doing light BDSM play for 2-3 years now but in a couple of weeks we’ve decided to try a 24 hour power exchange since it’ll be the first time we’ll see each other in 3 months (!). I’ll be domming but as we’ve never done anything like this for more than an hour or 2 I figured I’d ask if you had any particular “care and keeping” advice.

From our earlier play I know some of the standard considerations (plenty of conversations ahead of time, sit down in an uncharged situation before to revisit soft/hard limits, yellow/red safeword system, have quick access necessary safety equipment (trauma shears for rope play, etc), plenty of downtime afterward to process and recharge and snuggle) but a scenario of this length is new territory for both of us and I imagine there are things I haven’t thought of. Should I try to break scene every few hours to check in or is that too disruptive to the “subspace”? We’re both very much looking forward to this and I just want to make sure it goes as smoothly as is reasonable to expect.

Beth, to me it sounds like you’re doing everything right. All that communication up front is so critical and it sounds like you’ve done it in spades. With regard to breaking the scene, if I were in his position and had the requisite safewords, etc., I wouldn’t want you too. The more time spent deeply in the subspace, the better.

Your handsome gentleman is lucky to have such a thoughtful and considerate top.

John said:

Recently got in to chastity with my partner. Actually, he complained about my spanking the monkey too much and sort of took matters into his own hands. I am currently locked in a Bon4. Hoping for a jailbird or steel heart soon. I had reservations at first, but have since found it fucking awesome to hold back. The longest time so far is 5 days. He teases me mercilessly while i am locked up. We had to do some experimentation with different ring sizes, lubes, underware, etc., but thanks to the advise on your blog, things have improved significantly. Just wanted to say thanks for the awesome blog, and keep up the good work.

Have I mentioned how hot I find the idea of gay male chastity? Sweet Jesus. I’m glad things are going well for you guys, John. Send pictures. Really.

I apologize to those who sent in feedback. It took me far too long to get to it all this time around.

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How I should be

Got home Saturday after three days on the road. I love these trips, but the getting there and back is grueling. Before the sun went down, Belle was already saying I needed to go back in to the steel. Not until Sunday, though.

Sunday morning, she was up early getting the boy ready to leave for camp. I wanted some fun, but it wasn’t to be. By midmorning, I had the Steelheart back in place. But, you may be thinking, didn’t I have a new Jail Bird waiting for me? Yes, I did, but it wasn’t right. I ordered it with a security screw and it came with a hole for a regular little padlock. I tried it with the one and only little padlock we still have from the old CB6K days but it was one of those black Masterlocks with the plastic shell and it made the unit too bulky. It was quite visible poking through my sweats. Also, I’m not a big fan of the way the lock sits sideways on the JB.

I don’t really consider the screw omission to be Mature Metal’s fault entirely. The order started as an email exchange about getting a new base ring, the more observant of you might remember, and it evolved into a whole new device after several messages sent back and forth. We ended up using a non-standard channel for the order and they missed a detail. Had it gone through their site, I’m sure it would have been right. In any event, it’s going back to get screwed.

By Sunday night, Belle and I had found some personal time. Naked, I laid close to her with my head down on her chest while she fingered my sack and basically drove me crazy. She asked me how I was doing being back in and I, in that state with that sensation, would have told her anything. I said I was glad to be back in. I was happier that way. I told her how I never got used to having a normal penis during the trip. Each time I took a leak it felt weird handling a soft flap of meat rather than a steel tube. And in the morning, the unencumbered erection was a distraction. I felt like I was cheating somehow. It was wrong. She told me I was suited to being locked up. That it was how I should be. Then she let me get her off.

When it was over, I was amazingly turned on. The tube throbbed with beat of my heart, bit into my nascent erection and pulled on my nuts. I wanted…something. Not to be out, but to be out. Not to fuck her, but to fuck her. Not to come, but to come. All the conflicting and otherwise contradictory urges that come with the denial of orgasm.

I’m on my third day back in the steel and it feels like I was never out. Belle’s right. This is how I should be.

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Fireworks

So it’s true, sports fans. The bunny did come over the holiday weekend. Once on Thursday inside Belle and once again the next day all over my stomach (with Belle in attendance, however).

She let me out in the morning and yet again chose not to get herself off on the penis and opted for my fingers. Once done, she let me go inside and have at it. I tried so hard to make it last. I felt very confident that I would. That I was in control and would have enough time to really enjoy the old-fashioned sex, but my mind started inserting images and thoughts into my head. The fact that Belle hadn’t needed the penis to get off and that it was usually locked up, forgotten, and unnecessary. That it and my ability to control it was a shadow of what once was since, of course, I have essentially no control over it at all anymore. That lack of control is what makes it such a worthless object for Belle. There’s really no way to stop the orgasm. I can’t stop it. It’s coming already…right now…there. Done. Well less than a minute and I was copiously pumping nearly six weeks of pent up ejaculate into Belle. It felt like it was over before it even started.

The next morning Belle wasn’t really interested in anything but allowed me to jack off next to her in bed. Again, I wanted it to last so I could at least really enjoy the build up to an actual climax as opposed to the stopping and retreat that normally happens when I have access to the penis. And again, while I lasted longer than before, it was over so soon. Just a hair trigger it all that remains (at least so soon after I get out).

Friday night, she asked me how I felt. Pretty flat, to be honest. Orgasm is a massive let-down now, though at least I’ve already started to feel the build-up again. The floppy-floppy weirdness of the penis will wear off in a few days (along with the odd jellyfish-like gelatinous nature of my nuts – they’re so much more orderly when trapped by a steel ring).

Next we’re in an interesting period. The boy and I head out later this week to go camping on the west coast. We won’t be home until the 21st. Based on the conditions we’ll be in and the lack of essential privacy, I won’t be able to go with the Steelheart on. It needs to much hygienic maintenance. But, if the new Jail Bird arrives in time, it’s possible I could wear that. It wouldn’t be to keep me from doing anything since the lack of hygiene privacy will mean no masturbatory privacy, either. It’s really more about the control thing. Even when it’s not necessary, it’s there. All the time, it’s there. That’s what we both want. But, if the JB doesn’t land before I leave, it’ll just mean one or the other will go on as soon as I get home.

Now that I’ve come (and assuming she won’t let me do it again before I leave), I’m thinking about the next time it might happen. Belle likes to attach these occurrences to holidays or holiday-like events. My birthday is close to Labor Day, so that’s a possibility. In mid-October is our anniversary. Closer in, there’s a couple of weeks here and there when both kids will be absent at camp or visiting relatives. Those are also viable options. Or, since she’s reading this and knows I know how it works, she might skip over all those options entirely. Or she may not care and pick one anyway. In either event, I won’t know very far in advance and will have little choice.

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I neglected to add…

Belle got home late last night and wished me a happy anniversary. I had no idea what she was talking about.

“I read the blog,” she said. Ahh, I see. Four weeks. As in, my observation on Saturday that I’ve been locked for four straight weeks today. That anniversary.

And it was, truly, late – a school night, no less – so I didn’t think anything sexual was going to happen. And it didn’t. But even just hearing her acknowledge that my condition was known to her made a difference. That she hadn’t forgotten and, presumably, didn’t take it for granted. I laid next to her in bed, half rolled over on my side, and she left her hand in a spot where she could idly finger the hair just above the penis in its prison while we fell asleep. That minor, intimate contact along with the simple words charged me up. It was enough so that when I woke up this morning with the massively tight tube I didn’t feel grumpy or annoyed. I felt contained and comforted. I don’t need to be strung up and whipped or tied to the bed all night or facesat until I turn blue to know she cares. Sometimes, all it takes is a few words and a gentle touch.

Regarding the the thing I neglected to add as referred to in the title of this post, I forgot to mention in my previous missive that working out has become a sure-fire way of avoiding the dreaded chastity insomnia. I am trying like hell now to work out every day, not just because I crave it and want to feel good, but I’ve noticed that no amount of hormonal blood level can stop me from sleeping on the days I either see the trainer or run for three miles.

Friday afternoon, for example, I wanted to run badly, but the kids and I went out to see a movie and have dinner. We didn’t get home until after sunset and while I wanted to, I didn’t put the shoes on and take off. Subsequently, I was restlessly tossing around until after 2:30 AM. Not sure when I finally slept, but I knew as I laid there staring at the ceiling and doing everything except looking at porn (which is what I really wanted to do) that had I exerted myself, I would have been in dreamland.

Speaking of dreams, I’ve had several recently in which the chastity device was featured. I can’t recall the details, of course, but in one, the device just fell off of me. I’ve had that happen in dreams before and each time I remember feeling like I’m going to be in trouble. Try as I might, the device simply won’t go back together and I’m left with it in pieces in my hands. Other times I suddenly find myself in a situation where the device is visible in front of other people. I’m either all of a sudden naked or it’s out of my pants or something weirdly dreamy like that. At least one dream involved a urinal and other people. Not sure how, exactly, but the device was discovered.

Speaking of devices, I’ve ordered a new Jail Bird. There’s not a thing wrong with the Steelheart (obviously since I’ve been in it for a month) but sometimes a boy just wants some variety. For those keeping score at home, the previous Jail Bird went permanently out of commission when I accidentally snapped the post off the A-ring in an attempt to make it less constricting. I was going to just send the cage back and get a new ring, but I can’t find the damned thing. It’s got to be somewhere, but it’s not in any of the little hiding places I’ve used before. I suspect I got clever in where I put it but too clever to remember where that was. So, in any event, a new one has been ordered. I went with a slightly larger A-ring this time and opted for the oval option. We’ll see how that works. Expect a full report when it arrives.

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A pair of milestones

Two milestones to report on today. One of minor consequence, one not so much.

I’m coming up on four weeks in the Steelheart. Not a record or anything, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the little feller for a month (on Monday). Long term lock up and denial, like everything else in the universe, operates on a cycle.

  • I first go in, usually after just coming, and the best I can hope for is that the device doesn’t piss me off for the first week.
  • By the second week and into the third, I’m pretty horned up. Everything is sparkly and fun and the hormones leave me nicely buzzing.
  • Past the third week, absent any external boost, things start to drag. Occasionally, it’ll feel OK being in, but left on my own, everything starts to sag. I can get depressed, demotivated, and all around bummed out by the experience.

The third stage can be averted though some kind of sexual contact with Belle. I think it’s possible to stay in the second stage or very early in the third indefinitely as long as I’m getting the kind of stimulation that keeps the hormones fired up. Belle’s got a new job and is working a lot and has shown little to no interest in me, so I’m well into the third stage now. Plus, she’s out of town again this weekend so there’s no hope of any relief on the horizon. I’m not abjectly depressed or anything, but the bloom is off the chastity flower. Long term chastity is a team sport, as I’ve said. You can’t play it by yourself. I’m not to the point of wanting out or crying uncle, but something has to give soon.

The other milestone is with my personal training and exercise. Getting fit seems to be a bit of a trend in the kinky blogosphere of late. Must be something in the lube. Anyway, I though I was six months in, but doing the math in my head yesterday, I realize I’m not quite there yet. I started in mid-January, so mid-July will be six months. Right?

So. Progress. I have lost weight, but it’s not happened in way I’m familiar with. According to the scale, I’m down to 223 pounds from my peak of 237. On paper, that doesn’t sound too impressive over five months, but I think a lot of the fat loss has been compensated by muscle gain. I feel different. I’m harder all over, but especially in my legs and arms. I have muscles where I’ve never seen them before. Drying off in the bathroom the other day, I was shocked at what my shoulders and arms looked like. Plus, my clothes are fitting differently. It’s definitely working. My scale is one of those fancy ones that measures fat as well as weight and the fat line on its accompanying iPhone app is dropping faster than the weight line, so again, yippee!

I’ve found that cutting back on food has been very difficult, especially as I’ve started to run more. I just need more fuel than I used to. Eating like a bird now would impact my ability to function. I don’t really pay attention to the weight I’m using at the gym, but I know that I can now bicep curl 120 lbs (both arms at the same time) and bench press in the neighborhood of 150 lbs. Those aren’t Olympic numbers or anything, but they’re way better than I could have pulled off before. I’m also able to run for more than 4 miles on a treadmill (which is easier for me than running outside – the best I’ve pulled off on the road is like 3.3 miles) and plank for almost two minutes. I remember the first day working out I was only able to plank for about 30 seconds. God, what a lump I was.

The thing about all this working out is that once you start, it becomes kind of a perpetual motion machine. I wake up every day after the gym with some kind of muscle aching and the running can often cause my legs and feet to hurt the next day, but the only thing worse than doing the exercise is not doing it. I crave it. Running is not all that much fun, either when it’s happening or immediately afterward, but I really want to do it. It bugs me to go more than one day with no exercise of any kind now. That’s good…right?

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Pillow talk

Belle and I had one of those checking-in moments the other night. She knows how desperate I am right now and wanted to make sure I wasn’t going off the rails. Usually, this starts by her asking me how I’m doing and me answering in a non-verbal grunt and shrug kind of thing. This from the guy who always says communication is so important in our kind of relationship.

She teased more out of me (so to speak). I told her I was fine. Not GREAT. Just fine. I told her how horny I was and she once again reminded me that I had only been locked up for a week. A mere flicker of a butterfly’s eyelid for me. Do butterflies have eyelids? It matters not. You get the gist.

I may have asked how long she meant to keep me in. Usually, it’s fairly easy for me to see the milestones upon which I get out. I can’t see one of those before mid-July at this point. She told me she was thinking of letting me out for Father’s Day. Honestly, I had forgotten all about Father’s Day. If I hadn’t, I might have dismissed it since it was relatively so soon after Memorial Day (about three weeks). It’s not always easy to know what “getting out” means. Do I also get to come? Or is it just freedom?

In my somewhat needy and totally horned-out condition, I admitted I didn’t want out. I didn’t want the device off and I didn’t want to come. OK, accuse me of bottom topping. Go ahead. I’ll wait…

Humming…

But it’s true. Yeah, my body is saying it wants out and wants to come, but my soul wants to stay in and be denied the pleasure. Even on Father’s Day. Especially on Father’s Day. The denial is so much more potent when it happens even when a reasonable person would expect otherwise. It’s best when it’s capricious and unfair and in no way respectful of what’s “right”.

What I want more than anything else is her. Not the porn, not the stories, not anything but her. To feel her writhe at my touch and hear her breathe fast and ragged before she finally tenses up in orgasm. That’s what I want. Not freedom. Not access. Certainly not orgasm. I have that feeling in my loins of a swollen prostate and I clutch and claw at the steel tube desperately wanting to get at its contents and I end up grinding into the mattress and being too distracted to sleep, but I also don’t want it to stop. Not ever.

I can’t tell if after all this time she’s thinking about letting me out because it’s what she wants or if it’s what she thinks I want. We seem to be past the point of her showing any kind of interest in the penis as a sexual object , though I supposed she might still want to feel it inside her. Maybe even wants to see it flopping around in the air. I don’t know. We kinda fell asleep after all that (which is to say, she fell asleep and I laid there soaking in my swirling hormonal caffeine).

Yesterday, I was grumpy at the end of the day. More annoying life stuff that I had misinterpreted or forgotten about or whatever. We were snappish at each other. Not sure how much of that was the hormones talking. It does manifest that way sometimes. I desperately wanted to defuse the situation so, when she came to bed, I offered to rub her feet with the lotion. I had hoped it would end in sex, but it didn’t. Just her feeling really nice (which is good, too). I again failed to fall asleep before 2:00. Still too wound up.

Belle leaves in a few days for a trip with some girlfriends. Yes, the kind of trip where in the porn stories the wife tells her friends about her husband’s locked penis. Just the girls and some wine in a quaint setting. I hope to be able to get her off before she leaves. If not, I’ll makes sure her favorite vibrator makes its way into her suitcase. If she’s going to be so relaxed anyway, it’s better for me to know she’s able to take advantage of the opportunity. Even if I don’t get to participate.

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Twice is not enough

Memorial Day weekend came and so did I. Twice.

Belle didn’t let me out of the Steelheard until the morning after we arrived (Saturday), but after having me get her off with my mouth and fingers (no penis, again), she let me fuck her until I came. It was one of those super intense orgasms that you get after an extended denial that wasn’t bad but wasn’t exactly good, either. Somehow anticlimactic. By 3:00 that afternoon I wanted to go again but I had to wait until the next morning when she let me fuck her once more (but with her top on). That one was all about me (which I’m not a huge fan of) but it was a better orgasm.

Usually, twice in quick succession like that would spend me for a while. Monday, though, Belle wanted me back in (all of 48 hours out) and by the time we got home that night I was as horny as if it never happened. So horny, in fact, that it almost became a chastity-induced night of no sleep. As it was, I only slept for about three hours. That made the trainer especially fun the next morning.

She let me get her off again this morning. I was up on my hands and knees rubbing my face against her breasts while she reached under and gently caressed my balls. The steel tube pressurized completely while my fingers found her wet snatch. It was all over far too quickly. She held my hand against her, my finger curled up toward her G spot, and she came intensely yet quietly. After a respectable amount of basking time for her, I grabbed her and held on, pressing the tight tube into her. Fuuuuuck, I’m horny.

“You haven’t even been in there a week, Thumper.”

Whimper.

I know that, of course, but tell it to my body. I can’t remember ever having two orgasms leave me essentially where I was before they happened like this.

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Clinically punching the little fucker

I’m home from my trip, but still technically on vacation so, in combination with needing to wait around for a guy to fix our washer (hoping, of course, he’d be hot, though I was sorely disappointed) I decided to stay home yesterday. After the non-hot appliance repairman had gone, my thoughts turned to my predicament. Of course, the desire to get off was strong but my ability to do so was nonexistent, so I made due. Perusing my options, my eyes landed on the njoy Pure wand. I love both my njoy toys, the Pure Plug 2.0 and this wand.

It’s been a little while since I got the Pure wand wet so I had forgotten how gobsmackingly good it is at tickling a prostrate. And by “tickling” I mean “punching the little fucker out”. I got warned up with this nifty little inflatable butt plug I got a while back. Not sure I’ve ever mentioned it here, but it’s exactly the thing you want for that filled up feeling. Totally deflated, its circumference is 4.6″. At three pumps of its bulb, that stretches to 6.25″. Six pumps is 7.75″. I only measured it to eight pumps (8.75″) so I can’t tell you how big it was after 12 pumps, but that’s how many times I pumped it. I pumped it up, thought, “Oh my fucking god,” then let all the air up only to pump it up once or twice more the next time around. Unsurprisingly, that pressure against my prostrate squeezed out a fair slug of goo.

Once I had my fill of that (literally), I got the wand. I decided to well and truly try to milk myself. For the uninformed, “milking” is what it’s called when one massages one’s prostrate sufficiently to cause seminal fluid to express without ejaculation. Some people (like Belle) worry about that fluid staying in the body for too long (though the science on this is sketchy) so prostate massage is a good way to get it out absent the spasms of orgasm. I’ve been somewhat successful with it in the past, but I’ve read accounts of the stuff just pouring out and I want to experience that myself. After riding the wand for a bit, I decided to get clinical (what I won’t do for my readers). I grabbed a small bowl for catching goo and set a timer on my iPhone for 10 minutes. I decided I’d use the wand to stimulate my prostrate constantly until the timer went off and see how productive that was.

For the first five minutes or so, it was just precum. Quite a bit, to be fair, but it was just the clear salty stuff. After that, though, I felt the most amazing sensation. Almost like needing to pee, but not exactly like that. I had to close my eyes and my breath came quickly and caught in my throat at the intensity of it all. The feeling built and then crested causing me to push down as if I was trying to urinate an then flexed the penis. A long, thick slug of creamy semen leaked out of the end of the tube. That’s milking.

These intense waves of sensation came and went, always depositing a new slug of seed into the bowl. After the timer went off, I decided I wasn’t half done and reset it back to ten minutes. The productive period of milking started about five minutes in and lasted for about ten minutes. After that, it felt good (if too good can still be called good), but there didn’t seem to be much left in me. All told, I’d guess there was about two tablespoons of fluid in the bowl, about half creamy and half clear (of course, it didn’t go to waste). I read somewhere once that in some men, the milked fluid expresses internally into the urinary tract and not down the urethra. I peed when finished and noticed that it ran thickly at first, so some of it did apparently go the other direction.

After that, I put the Pure Plug 2.0 in and left it as I showered and left to run some errands. It’s a fantastically comfortable plug with its only downside being the oval handle with has some severe edges. Even so, it can be in there for a long time, if you want it to be. Feeling its incredible heft shift and push against my abused prostrate as I walked and moved at first was amazing but eventually started to be too much for me to take. I got home a few hours later and removed it with a pop. No extra leakage, of course, since I was already well drained.

Today, I can feel the prostate sitting in there brooding over its abuse. Regardless, I am temped to see if I can coax any more juice out of it.

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Aaaand, we’re back.

Got back from my trip early. I wasn’t sure I could take that long in the wilderness (I was an hour from the nearest highway) two weeks was too ambitious. Maybe next time.

As expected, my privacy was very limited. There were several of us sharing a remote cabin, so I didn’t even have the luxury of a tent wall. We did have one of those pop-up camp showers, but even then it was just a tall tent with a door that threatened to flap open in a stiff breeze. Except for the random morning squeeze in my sleeping bag, I left the penis alone while there. I did have two hotel nights on each end and that first night was incredible. I was as close to the edge I could possible be. There were times when the slightest touch would have set it off. My friend (the one who knows) was surprised that I could masturbate without orgasm. As if it was impossible. Fact is, that’s pretty much the only way I do it now. The best possible outcome would be to feel as I did that night. With the penis all hard and quivering and slimy with its own leakage, my balls all tight and swollen and ready to pump…but nothing else. No actual relief. In any event, my ability now to slice the space between stimulation and completion into smaller and smaller units is, when I really concentrate, pretty amazing. Ironic that being denied orgasm puts you so much more in touch with how it happens.

On the way back, though, I barely touched it. Something about getting closer to home and likely lock-up and Belle’s control made it seem less appealing. First thing I did when getting to my room was to strip down since I do so love being naked and there were no opportunities to be that way on the trip, but that didn’t lead to the orgy of self abuse I had on the first night. Sometimes, I even had a hard time keeping it up.

Upon my return, it didn’t take Belle too long to tell me she wanted the penis back in its home. She said I might get a “holiday squirt” this weekend, but not with any certainty. I locked myself up yesterday as soon as I was done with the trainer. She patted my crotch when she got home and told me I was a good boy for making myself the way she prefers me to be. She likes that she doesn’t have to tell me to lock up, only that she wants me that way, and I do it willingly. After ten days, I admit to wanting it as much as she did.

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Unnecessary hardness

The conversation with my friend lasted past midnight. By the time I got home, it was 12:30 and I was exhausted. I set up Belle’s coffee for the morning and plopped into bed. And laid there. And laid there some more. I cursed my hormonal state and tried to think about things that usually make me go to sleep, but no dice. Every time I moved, I could feel the penis shift or graze the sheets and the small flame in my brain would flare briefly and refuse to extinguish. Two o’clock ticked by. Three o’clock. I may have fallen asleep sometime between 4:00 and 5:00, but it was useless restless sleep and Belle was up around 5:15. That was that. Just another night in the life of the habitually denied.

Yesterday was awful. I had the trainer at 7:00 and it was the worst session since I started going. Even worse than the first few when I was certain death was descending upon me. I struggled through that and the rest of the day, slogging zombie-like though meetings and the young one’s choir concert until bedtime. As exhausted as I was, it was our last night together for two weeks. The penis was out. I was super horny. I had high hopes that she’d let me come. Unfortunately, I was grumpy.

Of course, it had been nearly 40 hours since I last slept, so the random bullshit of life was annoying me and Belle was spending a lot of time doing small things elsewhere while I was thinking about using toothpicks to keep my eyelids open. By the time she got to bed, my tone was decidedly un-bunny-like. Thankfully, she persisted until I snapped out of it. Going to bed mad that night would have created very bad juju indeed.

After some talking about my trip and a few other things (like my friend, whose new insight into our relationship she didn’t know about until then), she pulled up her top and told me I could give her an orgasm. I rubbed my face against her breasts in my sleep-deprived stupor, feeling her nipples graze against my nose and lips. Heaven.

“How do you want to come?” I asked dreamily.

“In the usual manner.”

“The penis is right here,” I pushed its hardness against her thigh to help demonstrate its proximity and preparedness.

“I know.”

“…” Gah!

“I’ve come to appreciate your other talents.”

So that’s that then. I was there, hard and unlocked, with my wife whose historical preferences strongly leaned toward penetrative pleasure, and she was choosing my fingers. My built-in equipment was redundant and not preferred.

“And you’re not going to come.”

“I’m not?”

“Nope. And I don’t want you coming while you’re gone.”

“Oh. I was sure you were going to let me come tonight.”

“I know.”

So then I got her off. The penis was throbbing but the best it got was rubbing up against her leg while my fingers danced across her clitoris and my tongue flicked across her nipple. It was painful. As her desire rose and her hips moved against my hand, palpable sensory phantoms of the penis sinking into her hot wetness flashed like bombs in my head. I wanted in her so bad. I wanted to fuck. The craving for an orgasm was ringing though me. The lizard of my sexuality roared in its cage but the rabbit was in control and, though sweating profusely, made sure I performed my part of our sexual dynamic so that Belle’s satisfaction was maximized.

After she came and while she was basking in the afterglow, I moaned pitifully with the stupid stiff penis quivering against her.

“That’s not going to move me, you know.”

“I really want to be inside you. I really want to come.”

“You’re not going to.”

After a few quiet moments, she got up to use the bathroom and left me to clutch the unnecessary hardness. I laid across the warmth of the spot where she just came trying to catch any lingering energy she may have left behind.

“Move over.”

I did and then moved back, clutching her from behind and holding her and smelling her and needing her.

“I don’t want to you staying up all night tomorrow looking at porn. You need to rest before your long drive.”

“But I like porn.”

“I know.”

I pressed into her more intently. Jesus god, the desire was incredible within me.

“You can stay there as long as you’re not annoying. If you don’t behave, I’m sending you to the other side of the bed.”

I stopped squirming as best I could. We laid there, breathing together. I was still raging inside, but the massive bulk of sleeplessness was crushing my desires, compressing them into diamonds.

“Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for giving me what I need instead of what I ask for.”

“I know you, Thumpie. Good night.”

“Good night.”

And I slept.