Tag: orgasm control

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Familiar ground

Saturday, Belle told me to take a bath and jack off. I was allowed to come. Knowing that it was probably my last time for a while, I drew it out and spewed copiously. Would have been better has she been with me, though. I have clearly been conditioned to feel that a solo shot is inferior to an accompanied one.

Yesterday, I was told to stay out of the device until today since she might want to have use of the penis one more time. That didn’t happen as it turns out, so I went to bed feeling a little hornier than usual (but not too horny considering I had just come the day before).

This morning, the day had arrived. I woke up with a boner pressing into Belle’s ass, cognizant that it would likely be the last for several months. She told me I was going to stay locked up until our Spring vacation at the end of March. We got to drowsily laze in bed since she has the day off. The boner didn’t subside, partly because I was naked and next to her warm body, partly because I knew the luxury of waking with a fully realized erection was about to end.

In the bathroom, I took the Steelheart Short out of its fuzzy sack for the first time in weeks. I had neglected to give it a proper cleaning before storing it away, so while I showered, it soaked in vinegar (which eliminates the scale that develops with weeks of wear, either from my urine or our relatively hard water or some combination thereof). After soaping myself up, I indulged in some final stroking. I took the big PA ring out since it’s not the one I use inside the device so I was jacking like the old days, all the way over the head and back. I felt the thin, pliable skin of the shaft stretch and flex over the firm meat, the thrill of electricity as my fingers grazed the coronal rim, the sympathetic sway of the scrotum keeping time with my pumping fist. Sensations at once so familiar but also so out of place.

Now, the penis is back in its home, swelling against the confinement even as I write this. In our bedroom, Belle turned the key through my parted bathrobe. Then we kissed. I do love her so much.

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Control

First off, happy new year, everyone!

In response to yesterday’s post, Celtic Queen said:

It’s not so much the absence of orgasm that drives my hub but the control he has handed over and the randomness with which he is allowed to orgasm. He says he feels “lost” without the device, uncentred and unhappy and hates the feeling of his penis re exerting control over him.

Of course, it’s going to be somewhat different for everyone. I agree that the lack of control aspect is key. I don’t know that I could (or would necessarily want to) do this by myself. Belle is clearly the controlling partner when it comes to the penis and what I get to do with it and that’s pretty awesome. I suppose control and denial are not welded together and that either are valid dynamics alone or in combination with other aspects. Yesterday, I was only addressing the denial part since it’s the thing that’s been missing for the past month. Obviously, I’m happiest when they’re served together.

Speaking of which, I know there must be many men reading this blog who wish they were being controlled and denied by their partners (or, conversely, some women who wish they could talk their men into being denied and controlled). I think that limiting a man’s sexual release to only those times he’s with his partner (or has explicit permission by them to do it himself) is a really valid alternative to chastity as Belle and I do it. While I’d lose interest in the dynamic as soon as I came, it was only a matter of a few days or so before I was interested again and, therefore, interested in her. While I was still coming, I was still dependent on her for the pleasure. I think a guy who hasn’t been able to get his wife interested in control and denial would be well served by living as if he was anyway. That is, don’t come when you read the chastity porn. Reserve that for when you’re with her. For a woman in a similar situation, this kind of arrangement might be less intimidating for her guy.

Anyway, I also totally get CQ sub’s point about feeling lost without the device. I’ve written several times how I feel incomplete when I’m not wearing it. I haven’t worn it for like six weeks and I’m really ready for it to return. I suspect it’ll be tricky readjusting (and not just mentally), but I’ve missed it. I thought about asking for it yesterday, but she said Sunday so I didn’t.

What day is it again?

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In it for the want

I go back in tomorrow. Belle told me on Friday, so that’s a month out and nine (so far) orgasms.

She observed last night over dinner that I didn’t seem to like being out as much as I like being in. It’s true. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed the orgasms Belle’s let me have (especially the last couple), and being able to feel the penis whenever I want has been nice (as has been the uninterrupted sleep). But that’s not how I’m wired anymore. Now, I’m in it for the want. For the not having. For the everything but.

Over the past month, I have had periods of feeling desire and frustration, but they’ve been short-lived. A few days at most before Belle and I fucked or she let me take care of myself (only two of the nine have been by my own hand, thought I might get another that way before tomorrow). Yesterday morning, she woke me up by stroking the peachy fuzz on my ass where its cheeks and my legs come together. I rolled over a bit and she fiddled with the penis. One thing led to another and soon she was coming hard on my fingers. The penis was as stiff as it gets and I was cleaving to her side in a very familiar way, surging with the need to fuck her. I knew it was going to happen, but at least as much of me wanted it not to. For her to leave me that way. She didn’t and I came really well.

There must be a term or set of words to describe this feeling. When one decides they don’t actually prefer the destination as much as the travel. The unending trip to the mall looking for the unfindable perfect ski jacket. Traipsing through the woods with your rifle and never finding a deer. Forever connecting though airports and never arriving to the vacation. I guess that’s me now.

Sitting here at the fulcrum point between the ebb and flow of my own sexual desire, I can say with all honesty that she could never let me come again and I’d be OK with it. More than OK.

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Four after ninety-nine

I’ve started this post like three times. When it comes to writing for my blog, my muse is my frustration.

So, yeah, she let me come. Two times in each of the last two weekends. I know I reported here before that she was going to let me do essentially whatever I wanted to do with the penis, but the rubber’s hit the road and she’s told me I can’t come without her being present.

And, honestly, I’m perfectly happy with that. In fact, the other night I was begging her never to let me come without her again. She cautioned me to think about what I was asking for, but I was all rapturous and liked how her hand felt around the very stiff meat and maybe wasn’t thinking too terribly deeply about what I was saying. Regardless, I meant it (and still do).

Therefore, I am not, at the moment, Thumper denied. I am at best Thumper restricted. I can pleasure myself and fiddle around with the penis but orgasm can only happen when I’m with Belle. So far, that’s meant in Belle, though I don’t know for sure if that’s part of the rules I’m working under. I’d like to feel an orgasm of my own doing, but she hasn’t let me.

The orgasms she’s let me have were interesting in that they were all different. The first, after ninety-nine days of denial, really wasn’t all that good. How could it have been? It was more like sneezing after feeling one coming on for a long time but being unable to make it happen. Not so much pleasurable as it was just a release. The next day was number two and it was a little better, but still just OK. Then everything cratered. Belle went to NYC and I lost any and all interest in sex or sexual thoughts. Even this blog curdled for me. I couldn’t think about it. It embarrassed me. So I ignored it. I also sank into a shallow depression that probably wasn’t entirely driven by the sudden change in my brain chemicals but couldn’t have been helped by it. I was pretty miserable.

Then the next weekend came around and my libido stirred like a sleepy cat in a sunbeam. I came twice more and cratered again, but only briefly. At least these two orgasms were pleasurable. By Wednesday, I was feeling horny again (which was quite the rebound). It’s amazing how low I go now after I come. My sex drive doesn’t just drop to zero, it goes into negative numbers. It creates a vacuum.

Yeah, so anyway, this shift in the rules isn’t at all what I thought it’d be. I’m very happy to find I’m not entirely free to do as I please because I don’t ever want to live like that again. I’m also pleased that Belle seems to be getting whatever she wanted out this little experiment. I’m sure she’s missed getting fucked by an apparently normal male and I’m also sure a girl likes her guy to squirt inside her every once in a while. But, if I’m honest, I’m also looking forward to the day we can go back to “normal”. After two weeks, I still can’t get used to this squishy floppy bit of meat between my legs. It’s just not right. (The DCR, BTW, hasn’t been on that much. Belle hasn’t wanted me to wear it.) And while I like the idea of coming, the aftermath turns me off (literally and figuratively). I’m actually kind of afraid of it.

I don’t know. I’ve been so far away from normal for so long now that even this not normal approximation of normal leaves me feeling off kilter. I’m still controlled and there are still rules and I like that, but it’s not the same. I’m not complete without that steel tube. I miss its company and crave its confinement. I want to see my reflection looking up from my crotch, not a pink prick. I’ve thought of locking myself up during the day just to feel it again, but have resisted. I will remain as I am without complaint for as long as Belle wants me to, or course, though I look forward to the day she puts things back they way they should be.

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December’s come, I haven’t

You may have noticed that the entire world is now in the month of December. Even here, it’s definitely the 12th month of the year. The month in which I will have an orgasm after more than three without.

In not unrelated news, it’s remarkable to me how long I can jack off now and not come. I have become amazingly well tuned to the stages of orgasm and know within a hair’s breadth where I am from actually going over the falls and squirting all over, how long to let it chill before going back in for more, and when even breathing on the head will cause an eruption. Also, that I can essentially walk away from it even though I’m thoroughly juiced, primed, and ready to blow. “Oh, look at the time.”

The other morning, I was looking down at the penis, all greased up and nestled into my fist, and could practically see it begging me with it’s silly sideways mouth. Sometimes, jacking off is just a thing you do to another thing for a particular purpose, but other times there’s this circuit made between the cock, your hand, and your brain and they become one functioning, pumping unit looping feedback between one another. That’s what it felt like when it looked like it was begging. “Pleeeeeease!?” it seemed to be asking. But no. I was going to abide by the rules.

Perhaps Belle could sense how close it and I have become lately because last night she laid down the law. First of all, when I come, it will be in her. She wants to catch it all. Oh, and by the way, she’s on her period, so no, it won’t be for a few days. Also, I’m to stop touching the penis. No more yankie the wankie until after she says it’s time for me to come. Regarding that timing, she jets off again in a few days, so the window of opportunity will be small before then. If I have to wait until she get’s back, then it’s about a week from now. If she leaves on the trip without allowing me to come, I will beg to be locked up.

The double cock ring continues to be on me and, indeed, feels to be just as much a part of my body as the Steelheart can at times. I’ve found that the inside of the penis ring is not smooth like the rest of the device. It’s rough and somewhat unfinished feeling. Not sure if there’s a way to polish it up, but I may try and find out. It’s not a problem, but I can feel it and it bugs. Other than that, I have no complaints. Sleeping, by the way, is cake. If I happen to wake up with an erection, I can feel it filling the rings, but it doesn’t wake me up by itself.

Well, that’s about all I got. Today is ninety-eight days. Tomorrow, ninety-nine. Almost there. I hope.

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Rubbed raw

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Regret/relief

We were laying in bed, talking.

“What are you doing down there?”

“Where?”

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

“There.”

“Nothing. Just…nothing.”

“You’re jacking it.”

“Only a little.”

“Maybe it’s time to put you back in.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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Say hello to my little friend

Belle let me out on Saturday. The idea was she was going to have me put lidocaine on the penis so she could fuck it without having to worry about me enjoying it too much. But then one kid had a friend over and other went to a party with a bunch of other preteens and needed to get picked up at 10:30 and, the next thing you know, she’s asleep and I’m all drowsy with a totally numb wiener.

Next night didn’t work because (duh), football (she’s the fan, not me) and then it was Monday and yet another football game (and besides, it goes without saying that Monday is not the night anyone has sex) and now it’s Tuesday and she’s at work dinner thing and, well, so it goes. All the while I’ve had to deal with a free penis. Like, four whole days. This is excruciatingly difficult for me since, as they say, the flesh is weak. It’s especially weak 82 days since it last had an orgasm. I usually get my mornings to myself and yesterday the penis and I had a pretty good time (check back on HNThursday). Too good a time, actually, and I eventually covered it in the handy lidocaine so it’d stop bothering me. This morning, I went right for the stuff and slathered it all over to help blunt the distraction. Belle said something about needing to lock me back up soon, but I don’t know when that’s going to happen.

What I do know is I’m only about two and half weeks from an orgasm and a promised “break” in which I’ll get to come whenever I want for a while. I’m fixated on this. Whenever I think about the penis or get turned on by Belle or whatever, my mind goes straight to how it’ll feel to finally get to have an orgasm. And not just one. As many as I like, apparently. It sounds ridiculously indulgent, even as I write it out. As many as I like. Imagine getting to sit down as soon as you’re done trick-or-treating and eat the whole damn bag of candy. That’s what this impeding spurtathon feels like to me.

Several weeks ago, I ordered a double cock ring from Steelworxx. I just got notification today that it’s been shipped which means it should get here right in time. I bought it because, the truth is, I just don’t like how it feels not to have anything at all around the penis. Totally natural feels unnatural now. I also like that it locks and even if I get to do with the penis whatever I want, Belle can still hold my key. That’s important to me.

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The lady in the floor

Here’s how bad it’s gotten. See that floor tile? It’s from our bathroom. Specifically, it’s the floor right in front of our toilet. I get to look at it a lot since, as most everyone know, it’s easier to pee into a toilet sitting down when wearing a chastity device (some of them require it).

Anyways, I’m sitting there looking at this tile and all of a sudden I see something I’ve never seen before: the form of a reclining nude woman. I can see her breast, her stomach and right leg. Even her bush. And I’m like, what. The. Fuck.

The phenomenon of seeing meaningful shapes in otherwise random patterns is called pareidolia, though I’ve never heard of it being driven by hormones.

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Thirty before sixty

“It’s nearly November, Thumpie.”

“Yeah…?”

“November’s your month.”

“No it’s not. You said December was.”

Pause. “I did?”

“Yes! You said December!”

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

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

Fuck.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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