Tag: orgasm control

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Travel wear

It occurs to me that I’ll be travelling at the end of October. Those of you keeping score at home realize that the end of October would be a little over half way through the three month program Belle placed me on the other day. Everyone else with even a passing understanding of me and my horny rabbit brain knows I can’t be trusted to keep my hands off the meat, especially after six or seven weeks…alone…in a hotel room. Oh, god yes. That would be fantastic…

So, yeah, I will need to be secured. And the Steelheart can’t fly. I’ve been trying to figure out ways of travelling with it, but they all require me having a key since Belle won’t be with me. If I have the key and am expected to take it off prior to x-ray and such, then I might as well leave it at home. I’m a good rabbit, but still just a dumb bunny. The temptation would be too great.

I suppose I could always break out the old CB-6000, but Belle seems to have retired it permanently. This is based on aesthetics more than anything else and, as I said, she won’t be with me, so maybe she’d be OK with me wearing it. The stainless-looking model is off the table since, as I’ve pointed out, it’s very rough on the cock and I’m not even sure the chrome finish wouldn’t trigger the metal detector anyway.

The other option is a new device. Travel wear, as it were. Something for those times when the full metal jacket is not practical. Given a choice between using something old or buying something new, I tend to lean towards the new stuff. And that’s lead me to the PA-5000. I’ve read several reviews so I know it’s not perfect, but all I really need is a physical barrier sufficient to making jacking off difficult. I need a deterrent.

I’ve been very curious about the PA5K since it came out. I have no idea what it will feel like. Chastity has always been equal parts cock and ball constriction. Now, it will just be the cock. Also, large portions of it will be open to sensation. Very different than the Steelheart which sometimes feels like a sensory depravation chamber.

I think I measured it right. The tube come in three sizes and they recommend a quarter inch larger than your flaccid state. I measured this quite a while back and I’m about 34mm (about 1.33″) in diameter when soft, but the largest tube they sell has a diameter of 31.75mm (1.25″). When hard, I’m 40mm (about 1.57″) in diameter, so the tube will definitely be snug. I am not accustomed to ever wearing the largest of anything on the cock, so I guess we’ll just see how it goes. The funny thing about penises is they’re highly variable little hunks of meat. I’m sure it will work out. Expect a full report as soon as Belle lets me wear it.

On other fronts, I’m starting just my sixth day of lock-up after being in for two months. I can say that, right now, I’m way hornier at six days than I was at six weeks. Funny how that works. Belle (and everyone in the house) went to bed kind of early last night leaving me wide-eyed and restless. I eventually picked up my phone and started reading stories on the Kristen Archives (the porn site for every perversion). Hours later, I finally put the phone down, exhausted, only to fall into a very restless sleep.

I’ve said before that I don’t often get blue balls, but I had them last night and right up until this morning. Yeah, part of the ache was caused by the ring and the near constant erection I had all night, but it was way worse than usual. They felt much more swollen and tender. There was definitely a big load of something backing up in there. Every time I’d turn over, the device would flop heavily from one side to the other taking my fat balls with it. I couldn’t find a comfortable position and each time I moved to a new one it’d get another wave of achy ball pain.

I was awake way before Belle and, as soon as I figured out she was up, too, I was all over her. It’s that non-specific sexual urge feeling where I just want to squeeze her into a ball and grind my steel tube into her. I was breathing hard and kissing her mouth and trying my best not to bite her face when she said, “Why don’t you put that energy into making my coffee?”

“Anything, Belle Fille. Anything you want,” I said breathily, “It’s all for you.”

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Two birds, one stone

Responses to two commenters that I, in my fevered brain, think tie together into a unified arch.

First up, palemale said:

I am a little disappointed that you were allowed to orgasm. So many site have men claiming to be in chastity for a year and they just aren’t believable. You on the other hand seem exceedingly truthful and I was hoping that Belle would deny you an orgasm for a full year.

A year.

OK, we’ll come back to that.

Disappointed? Well, not me. Not this time. I think there’s a point up to which I want to be denied longer but after which I’m really OK with being released. This time, when she told me two months in that I was going to orgasm, I was able to shift from indefinite denial mode to really wanting to come mode very quickly. I’ve become so accustomed to being denied and, frankly, enjoy it so much that it has to be a really long time before I get there. A few weeks wouldn’t cut it. A month wouldn’t. Two months – at least this time around – was enough. Yeah, I was prepared to go longer. I would have loved if she had made me go longer. But it didn’t make much difference since I was ready.

With regard to other blogs, I can’t say of course. I think some of them are pure fantasy. I think others are truthful. The thing I’ve come to realize is each guy is unique and each guy is at a different point at the path in their orgasm denial journey so what’s long for me might not be for another guy. And, of course, being in chastity and being denied orgasm are different things. Belle seems to be treating them as one and the same (i.e., I will be locked up and denied for at least three months). Honestly, without the device, I don’t think I could be denied three months. I’d never make it. But I digress…

A year. I’ll admit that a full year is a personal goal. But, until such time Belle decides that’s going to happen, it will remain just a goal. I don’t yet know if there’s a difference between two, three, six, nine, or twelve months. And if you get to a whole year, what’s next? Indefinitely? Forever? The thought makes my heart race, I admit. But again, it’s not my decision.

Palemale went on to say:

I particularly liked your comments about the let down you feel after being allowed to orgasm. I would love to hear more about the specifics how your natural urge to have sex changes with exceeding long periods of denial, even denial of milking your prostate.

Which is related to what the next commenter, NaamPC, said:

Myself, if I had been released after two months of captivity and told I could cum, my first though would have been, “Bend over, please.” After all, you have been doing what and how much with her with so very little for yourself that by denying yourself the very first cum after your incarceration being inside of her, and letting your hand do the work, it seems to me you cheated yourself out of that experience.

I didn’t feel cheated at all. Because, and in regard to palemale’s question, I find that the longer I go the more I want come by my own hand. Or, to be more precise, the more I hope she’ll let me come that way. Of course, I want to fuck her, too, but when I dream about it (and claw at the device and writhe and grind into the mattress), more often than not I want to get a hold of it and pull an orgasm out. I also crave to be inside her, but that’s not equitable anymore to having an orgasm (that is, fucking ≠ orgasm). Those are separate urges for me now. Remember, I was denied not just orgasm for two months, I was also denied access to an important part of my body (for all but a day). When locked up, I am physically disconnected from something I’ve had easy access to for over 40 years. The urge to reconnect with myself becomes just as strong as my urge to connect with her. And, of course, I do connect with her, even when I’m locked up, since I get to make her come with my hands or my mouth or whatever. My connection to her sexual pleasure is so strong now that it’s as if it never existed before.

Long way to say, I desire not just orgasm at the end, I also desire jacking off. A lot.

With regard to palemale’s question about prostate milking, I don’t find it offers any kind of relief from the frustration of denial. It only serves to make me even more horny afterward. I enjoy it immensely while it’s happening, but that’s all. It never culminates into anything that blows off steam.

NammPC then said:

With me, arrangements would gave been made before-hand to let her have whatever time she felt she wanted for herself and after that when it’s my turn, I really am going because it’s my turn. Yourself, you think and feel what you’re going to. That’s my thought on it.

You’re assuming there is a “my turn”. Be that as it may, it’s also true that when the first opportunity to come after a really long time presents itself, the old boner’s on a hair trigger. If she wants a nice long fuck by the biocock, that’s not going to be in the cards right out of the gate. That’s what led to the idea of letting me come in the morning. Didn’t turn out this time, but I still think it’s the right strategy. When she finally did get her ride, I didn’t come and wasn’t really all that close when she did. It would have worked…if only I could have gotten it up.

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Cosmo

I was checking out at Target the other day when something on the cover of Cosmo caught my eye. And no, it’s not the thing that usually catches my eye on the cover of Cosmo.

Here’s a close-up…

Own His Orgasm - What men secretly want right before blast off

I should have bought it. No, I don’t think a magazine like Cosmo is where the male orgasm control revolution will begin and I suspect that whatever is in that article would be very disappointing were I to read it, but I have to admit it’s been gnawing away at me since I saw it. I checked out their website. No dice. The article wasn’t there.

Anyone out there willing to admit they read Cosmo?

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In out up down

Hey, kids! Miss me?

So…what the fuck’s up with you? Sorry for the prolonged radio silence. Started out, there wasn’t much to talk about. For the week or two before Labor Day, things got quiet between Belle and I. No sex to speak of and me locked up tight. It’s the kind of thing that would have made me all introspective and pissy before, but this time there was a more peaceful vibe settled over me. It’s hard to describe, but I was contentedly anxious. I wanted the contact with her very much but also was able to recognize that control over that contact was, as I wanted, totally hers. I would get it when she was ready, not before. We talked a little somewhere in there and I told her not to worry about it. All I wanted was to know that she hadn’t forgotten me.

Then Labor Day rolled around and, as usual, so did my birthday. She let me out after just over two months because the time had come. She wanted to feel her cock inside and she was going to let me come. I had this great idea that she should let me come before she wanted to fuck me so I’d be better able to control myself when the big moment was at hand. She went along with it and allowed me to jack off next to her in bed. That orgasm had been about nine weeks in the making and felt, as usual, amazing. So much better than a normal orgasm. While it was happening – mid-spurt, as it were – I couldn’t breath. I was pumping semen all over my hand and stomach and literally could not take a breath. That’s how amazing it was. Immediately afterward, I was disgusted by all the sticky, creamy stuff all over me. Plus the smell. Ew.

That night was a disaster. She was ready, but I couldn’t get it up. Oh, the irony. She felt like it was her fault and felt bad which, of course, made me feel bad. I don’t know what the deal was, but it sucked. Then she got her period.

I was out for the rest of the week. Belle said she wanted to “air it out” for a while. So I walked around like all the other boys, but was pretty much always aware that things were not “normal” down there. I could feel stuff I wasn’t used to feeling. I slept through every hard-on. It was kinda like being on vacation.

Saturday, we went on a date. She asked me how I was feeling being unlocked and still under the effects of a (relatively) recent orgasm. I kinda shrugged. I felt fine. Truth is, I don’t like the empty post-orgasmic period. Everything feels less interesting and kinda gray and flat. I have grown so accustomed to the heightened sensation of living with all those hormones pumping through me that, while I still really enjoy the actual orgasm when it happens, I dread the time that follows. Which is good, I guess, since Belle told me I was going without for three months this time. She’s thinking Christmas/New Year before I come again.

In any event, Saturday night she finally got what she wanted earlier in the week. All the plumbing worked this time and I was able to hold off long enough for her to ride me to a very satisfying orgasm. After, she let me fuck her until I came, making sure to mention along the way that it wasn’t going to happen again for at least 90 days.

Sunday, the day I was supposed to be reincarcerated, I woke up feeling very much not in the mood. I was pretty happy with my free meat and decided not to bring up that she had intended to put me back in that day. I thought I had gotten away with it, too, when she finally came to bed that night, but she tossed the device at me, lock disengaged. I sighed and disassembled the parts. As I started to put it on, the meat shrank back at the cold metal’s touch. It’s back to being a thing, not a part of me. All day today it’s been pinching and shoving and generally being in the way. I feel encased. And, as usual at this point in the game, very much against the will of my body.

I got a text message from Belle just before lunch. She said,

I forgot to tell you this morning, “Welcome to Day 1” 🙂 I love you. Have a good day.

Three months to go.

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Handjob

I think I’m going to come this weekend. Belle’s been dropping hints. I think, after the month and half (or whatever it’s been), that she wants her cock inside her.

On the one hand, I could describe the usual angst that goes along with coming, etc., but on the other hand I’m really fucking horny. Really. No, I’m serious. Really. I was looking forward to the challenge of staying in and orgasmless until October, but yeah, coming would be nice too.

Thing is, I don’t want to come just a little. I want to come and come and come. I want to spew for days. And, of course, because I’m the charmingly complicated fellow that I am, I also don’t want to come. Not at all. Like, ever. Complicated.

The other day, she offered me a session with the njoy Pure if I accomplished a small list of chores over the course of the day. What I really wanted, though (and what I’ve wanted for weeks) was to feel the cock, nice and hard, getting stroked. Besides, she wouldn’t want to be there when I fucked myself with it and I really wanted to connect with her. I wanted to be with her, no matter what happened. The Pure is a solo activity with Belle. So, after finishing my tasks, I asked if I could exchange the Pure time with a 15 minute edging session. She agreed.

That night, she unlocked me and I placed the various metal bits that came off onto my bedstand. She started to play with the cock. It seemed a little dazed in that it took a while for it to start to plump up. Like it was being duped or something. Like it didn’t trust what was happening. But it eventually came around and she started a nice rhythmic pumping on the rapidly inflating meat that caused me to arch back and close my eyes. It was fantastic. Stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke. It was so fucking nice.

Then she let go. I panted. I wasn’t really ready to come, but I was getting into the groove pretty well. After a few minutes, she started again with the pumping. Same story as last time, except I could feel the disused ejaculation mechanism warming up just before she let go again leaving the meat hot and bobbing. My left hand grasped and ungrasped wanting so badly to wrap around the hard cock that was so close, but she hadn’t said I could and I sensed I wasn’t allowed.

She started in again and I felt myself fall into the sensation of her handjob, the thin, sensitive skin sliding under her hand, over the flare of the cock head, back down the shaft. I closed my eyes again and felt nothing but the strokes: up down up down up down, again and again. Nothing else existed except that hand job. And just as I was slipping away – just as I felt the orgasm that had been waiting six or more weeks to come into being start to build – she let go. I groaned. Sweet Jesus, I wanted that back. More than air.

“Can I do it? Can I stroke it?” I pleaded as calmly as possible.

“Do you think you deserve it?” she asked, “Did you do a good enough job to have earned that?”

I thought about it. Fuck it, I thought. Say yes! Just say yes, yes you did and get to it!

“No,” I said quietly. Meekly.

“I don’t either,” she replied as she placed the baggy fully of icy water onto the still-hard cock.

It was so cold, that water. It hurt. The blood in the engorged flesh fought back, but I could feel it deflating just a bit with each thump of my heart. We had previously agreed that I’d go back in the device when the session was over, so once I felt the cock wither sufficiently to allow me to put it on, I reached for the metal.

“You can stay out for the night.”

ARGH! The cock was now cold and small. Useless. And she was rolling over to go to sleep.

“I might jack off in my sleep, you know.” It’s true. I’ve woken up doing that more than once.

“Try not to,” she said back to me, shortly.

So anyway, yeah, now I think she’s going to really fuck me. This weekend, I bet. Maybe I’ll come, maybe I won’t. Maybe she’s just fucking with my head. I don’t think so, though. At least, I don’t think I don’t think so.

Like I said. Complicated.

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Seafaring

This morning, I’m for some reason suddenly kinda blown away that this whole enforced male chastity thing works at all. That you can lock a bunch of stainless steel (or polycarbonate or silicone or…whatever) onto what is a very tight, moist, presumably delicate part of a man’s body and just leave it there. For days, weeks, months, or (for some lucky/poor SOBs) years. And, you know, for the most part, nothing happens. Shit doesn’t fall off. There are (and I’m serious about this) no long-term adverse issues. It’s kind of crazy if you think about it. Such elastic things we are.

I’m also amazed by the realization that I have no idea when my last orgasm was. I can’t remember it. I know it must have been in June, but since that was the recent nadir of my blogging activity, there’s no record of it. Like most guys in my position, the time, date, and circumstances of my orgasms have typically been of high importance to me. But now, suddenly, I’m adrift in a vast orgasmless sea with no idea where the shore is or was or which direction I’m heading. On the one hand, it’s kind of liberating. I’m not looking backward at one and I’m not (literally and figuratively) looking forward toward another. I just am (and they are not). Don’t get me wrong; I still want them. A lot. But wanting them is better then having them. At least for me (at this moment).

Belle locked me up around the 6th of July. I think I had been without orgasm for about two weeks at the time, so that would have me at almost two months now. In the old days, six or seven weeks would have equalled three or four dozen ejaculations, mostly into the bathroom sink or onto my hand or stomach. This is better. Way.

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Little words

I stand next to her bed and pause a moment before getting in. I shouldn’t ask. I really shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t expect. It’s a privilege.

In the light of candles, I can see her look up and nod. I have permission to undress. I remove my bedclothes and lay them over the footboard neatly.

As I ease my almost naked body into her bed, she says, “You look good locked up.”

I gently grind the steel tube attached onto my body into her thigh. I can barely help myself. I’m so glad she likes how I look. I’m so glad she likes how I look wearing the chastity device.

—

I wake as I do every morning at about 5:15 AM, steel ring biting into my straining morning wood. I spoon into her as she sleeps next to me. This morning, the extra steel rod inside the tube that goes through the ring that’s been pierced through the head of her cock that keeps it permanently and securely trapped is pinching me more severally than usual. It happens sometimes. A fold of skin ends up where it usually doesn’t. I’ll have to check that later. Maybe even ask that we remove the extra security for a few days.

In any event, I’m not going back to sleep and, while I want to touch her badly, I also don’t want to wake her this early. She’d be very unhappy about that.

I get up and take a long leak which deflates the hard meat pressed into the tube. Then I attend to a few things and make her coffee for when she wakes up. I can still feel an odd pinching in the tube.

Later, when she’s awake, I’m back in bed with her, arms and legs wrapped around her warm, still sleepy body. I want her so bad. I want to devour her. It’s been so long. A little whimper escapes me.

“It’s good for you to suffer, Thumper,” she volunteers.

Whimper. “It’s so hard,” I reply.

“I know,” she says, “I appreciate how hard it is.” Her hand plays idly with the hair on my forehead. I whimper again. Her little words cause me to burn inside. Cruel, beautiful words.

Pinch.

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Clean up

Belle’s home. Right off the bat, I’m told my permission to enjoy the njoy is over. Also, no self-inflicted nipple torture. Maybe, she says, if I do a good job on my to-do lists over the next several weeks she’ll let me go at it, but not before then.

This morning, day 31 in the tube, she let me out for about 15 minutes to clean up. Not so much me, but the device. After a couple three weeks there starts to be what looks like hard water build-up on the inside of the tube, the PA fixing, and on my PA ring. Not sure if it’s from the water (we do have hardish water) or if it’s minerals from my urine (ew), but if left unattended it can start to be abrasive. Soaking the parts for five or ten minutes in vinegar will loosen them up so they rub off easily.

This never seemed to happen in the CB6K, but that device had more and larger openings and was made of a totally different material. The Steelheart tube is entirely closed except for the hole in the end. I try my best to get extra liquid out, but I can see that the curve of the tube and the way it hangs allows anything still in there to create a small pool just above the hole. The inside of the tube is damp pretty much all the time. So far, that hasn’t been an issue, but it means hygiene in this device is of utmost importance.

The penis always looks so sad when it comes out after a long lock-up. Kind of defeated and definitely pale. I imagine it’s not unlike a prisoner coming out of a long stint in solitary confinement. This time, I noticed a few spots that looked somewhat abraded, but nothing hurt. I’ll be paying special attention to how things feel over the next few days and will probably ask Belle to let me check in again on Sunday.

While the steel was soaking, I washed up in the shower and shaved the little spots I can’t get to normally. I didn’t try to get an erection, but any kind of contact with it causes a reaction. I mean, seriously, I haven’t even seen the damned thing in a month. What do  you expect? It didn’t get totally erect, but it was past the pleasantly plump phase. I was a good boy, though, and ignored the opportunity. Not even one stroke. I put all the steel back on as soon as possible and left the key for Belle to turn.

That’s about all I have today since she was tired when she got home. I was able to sleep naked since she was there to give me permission to do so (I love to sleep that way but only do it when she says I can). I’m really only writing this because I’m trying to blog something every day this month. We’ll see how that goes…

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Manifestival

I’ve always enjoyed cricketed’s blog and not just because I love how they called his device “the cricket” (there’s a whole Pinocchio/Jiminy Cricket/nose erection thing in there somewhere, right?). He writes well and the way chastity has affected his relationship has always seemed to mirror ours (more or less). The main difference between he and I involve tone (he comes off a lot more serious than me) and his inclusion of a lot of NSFW images as a way to punctuate his posts (which is not to say I’m not a fan of NSFW images…I mean seriously).

Recently, he posted his “personal manifesto”:

In order to understand me — not necessarily male chastity, or submissiveness, or anything except how those things apply to me and my life with J, you have to understand the following principles we’ve come to embrace, and, tentatively, subtly, espouse to others. Please don’t take anything here personally or as an invitation to an argument. I can only speak for me, and how J and I are growing in our relationship. Also, please don’t get the idea we’ve sat around and hashed out the wording of this. This is all merely my thinking. A man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.

First off, I am not going to be arguing with him. My intention is only to react and reflect similarly and give his observations my personal spin. I really like the line “a man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.” That’s for damned sure. Hence this post. Second, I totally appreciate what drives his need to espouse. I’d love to espouse (as I said in my last post) so I get what drives the desire to write a manifesto. Maybe this is just me doing the same. I dunno, but I do know I’m not arguing. Just…commenting.

He begins…

1. Women are superior to men: intellectually, physically, spiritually, emotionally. At first this idea held only erotic attraction to me, but the more I thought about it, the more apparent it became to me, and I now consider it to be a general truth.

I do not consider women to be superior to men. That’s not a PC statement, it’s an opinion based on over 40 years of observation and interaction with both genders. Men are really good at some things, women at others. That’s just common sense. While this is clearly the largest disagreement he and I have, I don’t think belaboring the issue would be time well spent. Suffice it to say, I’m not that kind of chastised man.

2. In any relationship between a man and a woman, the natural place for the man is in subservience to the woman. In a marriage, the woman should as a general matter be acknowledged as the dominant partner, and the man’s role is to accommodate her needs and desires.

I’m a lot more on-board with this one, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say any relationship. Mine and his, obviously, but I have no idea if everyone should work this way. What about submissive women, for example? Or gay couples?

Anyway, I have noodled with the idea that men should, as a matter of custom, give women control over their orgasms when they commit to them (with or without devices). This is something cricketed touches on later, but the benefits of permanently attaching one’s partner to their sexual release have, for us, been tremendous. I wish it were more common. I think the “woman should be the dominant partner” and “the man’s role [should be] to accommodate her needs and desires” parts flow from that, but also require the man not to be an idiot in the first place. As has been noted elsewhere ad nauseum, chastity and orgasm control cannot fix a broken relationship or make you a beter partner than you already have in you to be.

3. Orgasm control is essential for the healthy sexual expression of principles 1 and 2. A man’s unfettered access to his own penis is cancer to his personal relationships.

Sentence number one, yes. I agree. Maybe not the only essential thing, but a big one (IMO). Second sentence, I’m not so sure about. “Cancer” is a very strong word. Also, I don’t necessarily blame the penis but the fact that access to it could, as it did with Belle and I, loosen a couple’s physical bonds to each other. Because I could jack-off, I eventually stopped trying to get Belle to have sex with me. Because we weren’t having sex, I eventually had an affair. It was a nasty little snowball that rolled along for a decade before nearly knocking over our marriage. Had she been controlling my release the entire time, who knows what would have happened.

4. Men are unable to control themselves regarding their own orgasm, and require a woman’s control in order to abstain from masturbating.

Men certainly do like their orgasms, don’t they? Millions of years of evolution have designed them to have frequent emissions. However, not all of them are unable to control themselves. Steve from The Glow Inside (a moment of silence, please – I miss Steve) was 100% mental with his chastity. Head on over to FetLife and you’ll find a bunch more like him lording over those of us under lock and key their superior self-control.

Yeah, it’s a whole hell of a lot better when she’s involved. In fact, absent a women (or any partner, for that matter) I’m not sure what the point of orgasm control would be. Were I single, I’d be coming every day (twice on those with vowels in their names). I am not one of those who believe lack of masturbation and orgasm makes me a better person. Better within my relationship, yes. Better in general, no.

5. Without orgasm control, a man’s thoughts and desires are unmoored and scattered. With it, his focus remains constant and unyielding on the goal of continually pleasing the woman who controls him. The dynamic of orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.

My experience is totally the opposite of this. My thoughts are way more scattered after a couple of weeks orgamsless. I’m easily distracted and find myself thinking about sex way more often than usual. I am a ton more focused on Belle, but that’s at the expense of everything else. It’s not debilitating or anything, but very noticeable.

As I said yesterday, I totally agree with the sentiment that “orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.” I believe that entirely.

6. A man’s resistance to the principles set forth above is rooted in arrogance. The current standard cultural definition of masculinity is profoundly flawed, and is a product of the insecure arrogance of men.

Sentence two, I agree. Our culture doesn’t recognize or value submissive masculinity at all. Not, at least, as it pertains to relationships with women. Some might point to military dynamics as an example of submissive masculinity that’s seen as worthy, but the context is all wrong. Men who submit their masculine prerogative to a woman are weak, period. I wish that perception was otherwise.

Sentence one. Maybe it’s arrogance for some or maybe it’s just that it’s not their thing. While I do think a great many men (and their partners) would benefit from a chastity lifestyle, I don’t pretend that it would be right for all men everywhere. We’re just too diverse a species for that kind of blanket thinking

7. A woman’s loving humiliation of her husband, including but not limited to the use of a chastity device, will over time act as an antidote to his arrogance. Masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you.

Not every guy wants to be humiliated. And why should chastity be seen as humiliation? Yeah, it’s power exchange, but that’s not humiliation. I admit that I’m unclear where humiliation fits in my personal set of perverse triggers, but I know that it’s not central to my chastised experience and not even among the top five things I like about it. In fact, I can say pretty confidently that Belle’s never humiliated me, even though there might be a little tiny part of me that would like it.

That being said, “masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you” I like a lot. It goes directly to my issues with our restrictive definition of it and also seems much more a “one size does not fit all” kind of statement than anything that came before it.

8. A chastity device is a symbol of fidelity, a reminder of submissiveness, an expression of love, and a piece of decorative jewelry. It shouldn’t be forgotten that all of this is fun and erotic and hot and beautiful and lasting and real.

Total agreement with all that. 100%.

TELL HER TODAY: I did a little more than a year ago, and guess what?

HAPPINESS

Yeah, same here, though it’s been almost two years for me. It has made me, on balance, a much happier person.

To conclude, I want to reiterate that I’m not picking on cricketed here. I think there’s a lot of truth in what he says, but I also tend to get hives whenever anyone speaks with such zeal and authority regarding The Truth™ (regarding matter of sexuality or anything). My truth is not his truth is not that guy over there’s truth. There are a multitude of paths to happiness and the experiences of any one blogger will never be your path. You have to do what feels right and good and enjoyable for both of you. If I have a manifesto, I guess that’s it.

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Kinky or no?

On a recent post, a reader left this comment:

Belle appears to be very serious about having things her way, which I think is wonderful. She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.

On the face of it, this might seem to be a fairly innocuous thing to say, but this same reader then went on (in another comment) and said I lacked “true submissive values” and that I demonstrated too much of a concern for my own pleasure and not enough for hers. You know, that same old bullshit. As a matter of fact, as any long-time reader of my blog knows, I do consider myself something of a selfish sub, but that’s not to say I’m still not a sub. Who in the hell wants a partner, submissive or otherwise, who seems to have no interest whatsoever in their own happiness? Isn’t one of the hot things about topping someone that you occasionally make them wait (or even refuse outright) that thing that they really want? Isn’t that part of the fucking dynamic? If they don’t really want anything other than to please you in some servile, pathetic way…then what?

And besides, I think it’s incumbent upon everyone to be mindful of their partner’s motivations and needs. You’ll just have to trust me on this, but I know my Belle. Better than any of you. She really wants me to have what I want. She wants to give me what I need. It’s just how she’s wired and it’s part of the complexity of structuring a D/s relationship since what I seem to want isn’t always what I say I want and she’s left to decide which she should be thinking about. For example, the other night I said to her that I really, really wanted to fuck her. Like, really. And, of course, that was true. But, what I really wanted, more than anything else at all, was for her to tell me I couldn’t. To refuse me the thing I had a very strong urge to do. Because she can and I like it when she does. See? Fucking complicated!

But whatever. I digress. The real point of this post was to mark the approach of one month locked up and how my dear reader’s comment has stuck with me.

I think she locked me up around July 6. That would make today my 29th day encumbered which, while not a record or anything, is the eve of a bit of a milestone worth noting. Oddly enough, I have no idea what my longest stint in a device is. Seems like the kind of thing I’d remember, but I don’t. I suppose it’s recorded here on the blog somewhere, but it’s not in my brain. I know it can’t be much longer than five or six weeks, though. I’ve either had to bail out due to physical damage or she’s decided she wanted to play with the contents or I’ve had to travel or something before it got much past that point. So anyway, I’m going to say that six weeks is the record duration just for conversation’s sake.

Will I be locked up longer than that? Well, she’s intimated that I may be locked up until our anniversary in mid-October. That’s still 10 or 11 weeks from now. I’ve never done anything close to 100 days in any device, so the prospect is exciting. However, she’s been coy about that and I haven’t been able to pin her down. Our anniversary might just be the next time she lets me come. Or maybe that’ll be this weekend. I honestly have no idea. I do think she’s heard Sarah’s “add 50% to whatever he says he wants” advice and is pondering it in application to me. I would be thrilled to be made to wait longer than my last longest orgasmless duration, but I’d also really want to fucking come way before then…see my earlier point about complication.

In any event, back to the comment. “She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.” While I certainly don’t think being unlocked is kinky, I can say that when I’m in and have been for a while (like now), it’s hard for me to imagine what being out and about is like. Plus, I get to a point where being locked seems both normal and natural for me. I like feeling like this, as hard as it is sometimes, and I like having even the possibility of sneaking in some quiet edging (or more) taken away from me. So, I start to think being locked is normal and natural and I get a happy, warm and even comforting feeling being that way. It’s at times like these that I totally understand that whole “being locked up for the rest of my life would be so fucking hot” thing.

It’s also when I actually do the opposite of what my dear reader wanted. Instead of thinking not being locked up is kinky, I stop considering being locked up as kinky. Like I said, it’s natural. It’s normal. It’s how I should be. So? And then I want to share it with people. I think it’s just human behavior to want to tell your friends when you’ve found something fantastic that’s changed your life. I wish I could find a way to explain it to them (some of them, anyway). But I can’t. Because even though I don’t think it’s kinky anymore, they do. And this isn’t some run of the mill relationship advice. This is my sex life. And I think it’s inappropriate to bring anyone into your sex life if they don’t want to be there. So I’m stuck.

Someday, maybe, after the consumption of alcohol perhaps, certain topics might come up in conversation that would allow me (or Belle, even) to share the secret in a way that seemed, at the very least, relevant. In the mean time, I’m exactly where I want to be. And it feels really good, whether or not it’s kinky.