What I want. Really, really want.

I used to write here several times a week and that meant Belle would read this several times a week. But as I’ve found myself having said most everything I needed to say (several times over, it feels like), the frequency of my posting has dwindled. And Belle’s checking to see what I’ve written has, too. That’s just natural.

So it was a week or so ago when we were sitting in the snug (a wonderfully British word for the TV room off the side of your house) and she was on her phone and found herself here and read something that made her go, “Huh.”

And I was like, “Huh?” A dozen years of blogging and she found something that made her go “Huh!?”

The huh-inducing passage was this from a post expounding on the use of Joe, her strap-on dildo:

I also get off on being denied a me-centric sexual experience and release. Keeping the penis in the Steelheart while she’s fucked cross-eyed is a massive turn on for me (and that, in turn, is basically cuckolding’s next door neighbor). Feeling the penis strain while fucking a dildo in and out of her while she squirms in pleasure is absolute perfection.

“Guess I never knew that,” she said. And then my head exploded.

It’s just the central thesis of the whole blog that’s all. The core to my sexual identity. The very definition of who I am as a sexual being no big deal! I thought but said, “Really?”

Which is to say, the single most important aspect of successful D/s (and kink in general and for that matter life in general) is communication. And while I assumed this blog with its hundreds of thousands of words and lord knows how many posts would count as some pretty elite-level communication, it’s always possible that we’re being misinterpreted. Or perhaps not taken perfectly seriously. Or whatever.

Of course, it’s not Belle’s fault she never picked up what I was putting down. Even though I was putting it down as thick as the Exxon Valdez put oil down on sea birds. Here we are all these years later and whatever needed to click (or the exact right sequence of words to be typed out) clicked (or clacked).

So, to be as clear and pedantic about my thoughts on PIV-style sex with Belle as possible, here is my ranked order preference of the three available options:

  1. Joe the dildo in the harness
    Besides the reasons explained in the above quoted text, Joe is the preferred way to fuck Belle because it takes a great deal of stress off me. It can’t come too quickly. It will always perform. I can think only of pleasuring her without distraction. Without the possibility of feeling the guilt of poor performance or stamina.
  2. Joe the dildo in the harness then me
    There is nothing better than feeling her pussy after it’s been fucked by a tool more of the size she prefers. To feel it opened and stretched in ways I can’t. To be unable to feel the places it reached. It’s maybe the most intensely erotic experience I can imagine. This would be number one except for the fact that I like it so much and think it’s indulgent to allow me that much pleasure.
  3. The penis
    If she hasn’t come and is wanting the penis for pleasure, this is by far the least preferred option. Number three out of three but really like a hundred slots down from the top two.

It’s a complicated thing, to be sure. This morning I got Belle off with my fingers and stayed as I usually am, locked in the Steelheart. The urge to fuck her was intense. Deeply primal, the tube was biting hard when she came. But urges are not the same as what I want. I want to be denied. I want to feel the urge unfulfilled. It’s a form of psychological masochism. Allowing me to give in to the urge would ultimately make me feel guilty. Just because I desire a thing does not mean I should get it. I don’t deserve that. It’s not my place.

Bottom line is, I will always crave more than I get. And in the manual of the care and feeding of Thumper, there’s a part that says (or should say) one is better off, on balance, and can never lose by not giving me what I crave rather than letting me have it.

Ultimately, Belle decides. Always. If she wants to feel me inside her, I should be inside her. If she wants to feel me come in her, I should come in her. I will always do (or try to do) what she wants. But if she’s wondering what I want up high in my logical mind and not down deep in my lizard brain…well, here it is.

Jack and Rose and the base code

I was thinking last night after one or another of the dogs decided that 1:04 AM was exactly the right time to get up and take a piss in the back yard that at some point my natural reaction to being incredibly horny went away. Well, perhaps not went away, but…transformed. I’d like to imagine that it was like a switch getting flipped but that’s not how being kept changes one’s base code. It’s less a sudden transformation and more a slow and gradual thing. Like when Titanic pulled away from the dock in Southampton and got ever so smaller the longer one looked at it until it disappeared, a small black dot on the horizon. Poof.

I’ve spent many a night struggling with the affects of being kept (remember, that’s the word we’re using now). Very early on, I wasn’t always even locked up. Belle would let me lay there in bed next to her while she slept and edge myself over and over leaking copious amounts of oozing ejaculate. Then, when we progressed to me being locked more often than not, I’d feel the tube of the Steelheart fill and tighten, then loosen, only to repeat again and again like the waves on a beach driven by the tidal force of my erotic imagination. And I can recall how my lizard brain would poke and prod.

*poke* You should jack off.

No.

*poke poke* Really, jacking off would make you feel better.

…no.

*poke poke* Look at the time. You know where the key is. You need to sleep. Jack off and you will.

…whimper.

*POKEPOKEPOKE* JACK THE FUCK OFF *POKE* ASSHOLE *POKE* WE BOTH NEED THIS. *POKEPOKEPOKE*

I mean, that’s natural. It’s how things are supposed to work in a penis-having person. You get horny and, absent a willing sex partner, you beat it. And to be fair, before being kept I would only get maybe 5% as turned on before taking matters into my own hands. Absolute tops, 10-15% and that was when I was looking at porn and trying to get all hot and bothered. I didn’t know anything about what being truly, deeply, profoundly horny was really like. Not the neither-of-us-is-even-sure-I’ve-come-this-year-yet kind of fucking goddamned horny. The kind that makes its own gravity well and light can’t escape it.

Of course, I’m not always like that. It comes and goes. Like the moon cycles or something. But when it comes, hoo boy.

And honestly, it’s the hardest part about being kept. I’ve more or less come to accept it now and know what it’ll be like the next day and know the absolute minimum amount of sleep I need to be marginally functional after. But it’s still hard. It’s the loneliest part of what’s hard about being kept. The occasional sleeplessness.

But this isn’t about that. It’s about how I deal with it. And, as I said, in the past an overwhelming desire to jack off was the most frustrating part. My body knew how to eliminate the feelings I was having and couldn’t figure out why my brain was refusing to accept its advice. There was a day when that urge to masturbate was like Rose on the prow of the great ship, held up by Jack, arms out, music swelling in the background. Then one day she was in the icy water, kicking Jack off (get it? Jack…off?) the bit of jetsam clearly large enough for both of them. Rejected, he drowned. Sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Whoa, this metaphor. (And yeah, I know, Jack left her, but my metaphor works better the other way around.)

Anyway, yeah, that desire to slink off and abuse myself for relief of late night horniness is dead and gone. I still want to jack off just sort of generally. But I don’t consider it as an option when pressed. The desire doesn’t consume me. It feels like the part of me that used to poke at my brain and push that option is just a stump. Unable to make contact.

So I just lay there and try my hardest not to let my imagination run crazy. Which is pointless and when it inevitably does it’s important to point out not a single of my fantasies involves me getting off. Quite the opposite. They’re all about further frustration. Being further tormented without release. I never, ever have any sexual fantasies about penetrating another person. About enjoying them sexually. They’re all about the exact opposite. That’s…significant. That’s what being kept can do to rewrite the base code of a penis-having person. The package locked away burns with desire of release, my balls aching and heavy, but those inputs have lost their receptors in my brain.

I’ve learned the only way to deal with being kept and surreally horny is to simply let the reality of the situation be there with me. I need to accept it. Not fight it. Not stress about it. Not worry. It just is. How I asked for things to be. How I want them to be. Obviously, how they’re meant to be.

Kept

Time really has lost all meaning. I was about to start this post with “the other day, Tom blogged…” and then, when I went to get the link, I realized “the other day” was like more than four months ago. That’s either cabin fever or old age or a combo plate of both. Anyway.

The other month, Tom made this great post about definition and terms related to chastity and denial. Like, what does “permanent” mean? And then, in further discussion, what’s a good term to use for the whole practice of what we do? I’ve often resorted to saying things like “chastity and denial” because they don’t always go together. And if the practice (which Tom suggested should be called “erotic orgasm denial”) is called whatever it is, what word should guys who are locked and denied use to describe themselves? What’s the right adjective? The right verb?

“Chaste” is often thrown around but the obvious problem with that is those of us who are locked and denied, usually, are not chaste. Belle and I have had more and better sex since the penis was locked up than before. “Chaste” means to abstain from sex and that’s the fucking opposite thing that happens while in chastity.

Of course, chastity is the root of the problem because it conflates access to genitals and ability to have sex. It has a very PIV bias. Chaste comes from chastity (or maybe the other way around) so the mess is predictable.

But what I want and have wanted for years and years (this blog and my chastity are now solidly into their thirteenth year) is a single, different word to encapsulate what Belle and I and, apparently, millions of others are doing by locking up one or the other penises in a relationship. One word that isn’t literally wrong or totally made up or just dumb sounding. And then, a word that I really like came to me.

Kept. Belle keeps the penis from me. She keeps me from masturbation. She keeps me from orgasm when I want to. She keeps me at a heightened state of sexual arousal. She keeps the key. She keeps total control over the penis and how I get to enjoy sex. I am kept.

I just…like it. I like how it feels. I like how it sounds. I like the protective nature it implies. The connotation of care. Of benevolent control and discipline. I am kept in this place, mentally and physically and emotionally, because it makes me a better lover and partner and person. Because it is what I need.

When the folks at Holy Trainer reached out to me and offered the new fourth version of their device for me to try out and review, they also offered to customize its “cartridge” (the part of the base ring that receives the lock). I wasn’t aware of this as a thing they did, but you can have image or words put on the device. The first and only thing that sprang to mind was “kept.”

And at first, I was like whatever. I did it because they offered and presumably wanted people to know it was an option when I reviewed it and posted the inevitable multitude of pictures of it locked on me I am apparently unable to stop doing. But I have to say, every time I look down and see KEPT looking back up at me…it’s a soothing, comforting thing. It centers me. It’s powerful.

So yeah. Kept. That’s me. Maybe it’s you. But I like it and will be using it from now on to describe who and what I am. I am kept. By Belle.

There is no spoon

An interesting little exchange on Twitter about Tom’s chastity/denial matrix. I was trying to formulate a response but found the Twitter construct limiting so I’m doing it here. The exchange was this, in response to a tweet of mine about the matrix and asking people where they’d put themselves on it:

While I don’t think of chastity and denial as a punishment, I also don’t strictly speaking think of it as a life choice. I mean, yes, of course it’s a choice. I have a choice as to whether I’m locked up and denied. I entered into this arrangement with Belle and, theoretically, could get out of it if I needed or wanted to.

That said, I feel that accepting chastity and denial is more than a simple choice. I feel, deeply, that I am meant to be locked up and denied. That it is my natural state. It’s how I am supposed to be. Some of us are meant to have orgasms and some of us are meant to cause them.

So, no, I’m not being punished. Because I have done nothing wrong and there is nothing wrong with me. But access to the contents of the device and the pleasure of orgasm are being enforced and subjected upon me. Left to my own devices, I would eventually succumb to desire and give myself an orgasm. My nature and my evolutionary programming are at odds that way.

Tom left a comment on my reblog of his post saying that too often chastity and denial are conflated as the same thing. Some men are denied but not locked up. Some are locked up but are allowed to come fairly regularly. And that’s totally true. Tom suggests it all falls under the umbrella of “erotic orgasm denial,” and that works, but I do find myself wishing we had a word that was exclusively for the part of the Venn diagram where one is both locked and denied. I have no idea what that word might be. Some people use “chaste” but that’s not at all right since it’s a synonym with celibate and chastity and denial lead to more and better sex, not less. Certainly not none.

In reality, being denied but not locked would make me a non-functional adult. I would not be able to concentrate on anything at all after a few weeks. The device makes the denial not just possible, but also doable. I’ve read some blogs where the sub or the Dom consider devices a crutch or not “real” denial. Because the sub isn’t in control of it, their keyholder is. Of course, there is no One True Way. But for me, deviceless denial is a non-starter.

Also, I like the gear. I’m a nerd. I like stuff. I like to think about stuff. I like to compare them and consider their plusses and minuses and how they might be made better. I’d miss if the device was absent because I like it as an object. And, as I’ve written about a lot lately, I’ve grown to think of the device as part of me. It’s not separate from my sexual existence. It is my sexual existence. Like I said above, I was meant for this.

Also also, I’m into the compression. I’m into bondage. I’m a masochist. I like the feeling of having a locked penis and especially when it’s locked and trying to get hard.

So anyway, to circle back, it’s not about punishment. But it is about discipline. And it is about control and order and security. And I crave all those things down deep in my core.

Being bad

Left unlocked and knowing it was wrong, I couldn’t help myself. I was in a place where I could jack off in private, but not so secluded that it was guaranteed I wouldn’t be caught. But I had to. Had to. Now or never.

I wrapped my hand around the hard shaft and indulged. Quickly, alarmingly so, I was on the edge of coming. And I wanted to. I intended to. No one would know unless they walked in on me. They might, but I couldn’t stop. I focused my efforts on fast, short strokes near the head of the penis. The final stage of masturbation that would lead inevitably to spewing my long-denied orgasm. Oh god, I wanted it so bad. I wanted to feel it so, so bad.

Stroking. Quickly. So close. So…close. Just…close. Why…why am I not coming? I’m stroking. I can feel it in my balls. I can feel the orgasm right there. I’m stuck on the edge. I can’t make it happen. I can’t come. I’m…

…in bed. My hand wrapped around the hard, unyielding, packed steel.

Fuck.

I will myself back to sleep. Back to the fantasy.

And there I was again. Different place. But the same in that I could have been found out. If someone had looked in just the right place. They would have seen me just like I could see them. They would have seen me totally nude, contorted so that I was jacking off over my face, mouth open. Ready to eat it. Wanting to. And again, I was right on the edge. So close. Balls tight and tingling and the pressure of the impending eruption building along the hard shaft in my hand. I opened my mouth and extended my tongue to accept the inevitable.

Stroking. Faster. Faster. Oh, god, so close. So fucking close. Right there. Right…there…

And I’m awake again. Sharp, tight pain from the steel tube. So tight. Throbbing. I try to stroke the tube and the PA fixing pulls on the PA ring and makes it hurt even more. Impossible.

My heart is pounding. The steel won’t relent. I’m so horny. Desperate. Consumed.

Just another Locktober night.

The reason for the season

Belle and I found ourselves alone in the house Saturday night which, as the parents of two, is not the usual situation. We watched some random TV for a while then it occurred to her that she could make noise. Which means, she could scream her head off while coming which is her favorite way to come.

So the TV went off and to the bedroom we went. We started with some light making out then heavy petting then she told me to strip. She took my balls in her hands and roughly massaged them before moving to straight up squeezing and abuse. Of course, she knows I’m a masochist, but she also seemed to be enjoying this. I don’t think it was just for me.

“How can I make you come?” There are many options, even with no available penis between us. I could use my fingers. I could use a vibrator. She could use a vibrator. There’s her glass dildo. But what I really wanted, what I hoped she wanted, was for me to eat her out.


This whole interaction between us is, I think, indicative of what Locktober is all about. We’re about halfway through at this point and what I see a lot on Twitter from guys in similar predicaments is stuff about how long we’ve been locked up and how horny we all are and pictures to prove both (and, of course, I am totally guilty of all these things), but really, that’s not what we should be focusing on. Our denial is not what denial is about.

I think the purpose of enforced chastity and orgasm denial is to teach us that…

  1. The point of sex is pleasure and satisfaction for our partners, not us.
  2. The pent up energy of denial frustration should be redirected to maximizing their pleasure and satisfaction.
  3. We need to recognize and accept that the frustration and craving is our version of pleasure. Their orgasm is our satisfaction.

Every cell in my body tells me these things are true. But every cell in my body has been trained by a decade of being locked up and I am 100% submissive. There are probably a lot of guys (and their keyholders) out there who are just starting out who may not yet get that chastity and denial aren’t about being as horny as possible prior to eventual release and explosive orgasm. Of course, everyone gets to do this their own way and ultimately our keyholders are the ones who decide, but penis-centric thinking is the antithesis of what chastity and denial represent.

As the Ancient One told Doctor Strange, “It’s not about you.” It’s about them, our keyholders. If you think of chastity and denial as a thing you endure until they let you come again, you’re still thinking with your penis. If you talk to your keyholder about how long you will be locked up — either asking for that time to be extended or reduced — you’re thinking with your penis. Worse, you’re making them think about your penis.

Guess what? Once you hand over the key, it’s not your penis anymore. It’s theirs. And what happens or doesn’t happen to it is up to them, not you. Which is why your best bet is to only think about their pleasure. Their orgasm. Their satisfaction.

Locktober isn’t about you being locked. It’s about why they lock you.


Belle did want me to go down on her. I could barely contain myself as I moved down her body, kissing her nipples and her stomach and her pelvis before placing my face before the heat of her sex. Humid and potent, I pushed my tongue into her wetness and lapped at her clit. Hands on her hips, I could feel her gyrate against my mouth. Pressing her pussy into my face to make sure I hit all the right spots.

The Evotion 8 locked on my body became painfully tight and I was unable to lay flat on my stomach. I had to angle my hip up to relieve the pressure on the throbbing, desperate contents of the device.

The volume of her ecstasy grew as her hands moved from her breasts to the hair on my head. As she got closer to orgasm, she grabbed fistfuls of it, almost using it to steer my attention. Her pussy juice was flowing freely down my chin and coated my nose and face. The discomfort between my legs distracted from focusing all my senses on the tip of my tongue and how it was flicking over her and the reactions that elicited in her movements and exclamations.

Her orgasm exploded in a great, deep bellowing of pleasure. She was screaming her satisfaction and her pussy was spasming under my mouth. Her whole body tensed then released, one thing after another. First her hips, then her fistfuls of hair, then her back, then her legs.

I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to stop tasting her. To leave the center of the power she has over me. I was in the throne room and couldn’t bring myself to back out. So while she basked I lingered, breathing deeply her pheromones. Letting her pussy saturate my senses. The black plastic locked on my body refused to relent in its grasp.

I stayed as long as I dared. She’d be wanting me to snuggle and embrace her. She’d want the covers back up over her body. I wanted…what I wanted wasn’t the point. Of course, I wanted out. To fuck her. To slip into her fantastically wet pussy and pound it until I came. But that was fantasy.

And thinking too hard on that was unproductive. So I moved up and covered her and held her and kissed her and thanked her for everything she does for me. Including keeping me locked for all of Locktober and every other month.