Tag: orgasm denial

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An open question

I was talking to Drew yesterday prior to he and Axel taking off on an international vacation. Belle and I are also entering into our vacation period, but we’re staying in North America. The kids’ll be at camp for a few weeks so we’re driving into what apparently is called the “Intermountain West” to look at those mountains, visit steamy holes in the ground, and ride a horse or two. Anyway, while talking, Drew asked me if he thought Belle would let me come on this trip.

Some couples do the orgasm denial thing based on a schedule (once a month, one a year, on a certain date, etc.). Or they might leave it to chance (roll of the dice) or they make it a reward for some action or they set a ratio of her orgasms to his (she needs to get x number before he gets one). Belle eschews any structure on the matter. Random number generators take away her control as does a set date as does really any rule other than “it’s up to her.” She wants me to come when she wants me to come and doesn’t want anything to get in her way, not even me.

It’s also the case that some men look forward to getting to come. They think about their orgasm a lot and crave the moment she’ll give it to them. I don’t work that way, usually. At any given point, just sitting there thinking about it, I’ll far more often than not want to be left wanting. I can get really fucking horny and want to fuck or whatever, but it’s pretty much only when I’m fucking (or, far more rarely, jacking off) that I want to come. Within a few minutes of pulling out of her, I will still be horny, but the intense desire to come will subside. Just sitting around wanting an orgasm, for me, is really rare and, as much as it happens, only occurs after a really long period of denial (months and months).

I’m not going to say I’ve developed an aversion to orgasm, but I find talking about it and whether it’s going to happen or how somewhat…distatestful. Kind of like asking someone you hardly know how much they make in a year. Just sort of not done. I acknowledge this is a personal peculiarity of mine. I assume it’s a product of being exceedingly well trained in the art of subsuming my own desire for release into my focus on Belle’s.

So, to answer Drew’s original question…I have no idea. Literally. I haven’t spent any time thinking about it.

In fact, I’m once again totally unable to recall the last time I came. No idea how long it’s been. This, also, is how Belle likes it. Counting up or down bugs her. I haven’t made a conscious decision to stop doing it, but I have. Once we get past a week or so, and unless I blog about it when it happens (and, as I recall, I didn’t last time), it just slips away from me. As it should. My orgasm is not the point of having sex. I shouldn’t have any expectations about it, either as something that might happen or might not at any given point. So…I don’t. Or try not to.

The thing I do think about is being kept away from the penis. Due to our schedules (me in LA with Drew last weekend, Belle having a spa resort trip in SoCal this weekend) and me finally developing the nasty cold that’s run through everyone else in the family (luckily, at the end of my time in LA), I’m looking at three weeks of being in some device. In LA, it was a Holy Trainer. Effective but not my preferred predicament. I was out for as long as it took to remove it and go back into the Steelheart. My only shot at getting out will be tonight if Belle is in the mood after a day’s travel. If not, then it’s probably at least another week before she and I set out on our adventure. My hope is, since she should be in a really good mood from resorty spa activities and might be craving the feeling of me being in her, that she’ll let me out and we can fuck.

A lot of times, when Belle’s not around, my sex drive going into high gear. As if her nearness is a calming influence on me. This time, maybe because I’m just getting over this damned cold, my interest in sex has been nearly zero. I’ve spent a little time on Tumblr, but it wasn’t with much enthusiasm. Waking up in the morning, instead of clawing at the steel in frustration, it’s just there. But she’s coming home now and I feel the pilot light flicker a bit. Being in chastity and denied when your keyholder isn’t around can sometimes feel like a tree falling in a forest with nobody around to hear it. Just a thing that happens.

But now, as I said, I want to fuck. A lot. More and more as I write this. Fingers crossed.

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High anxiety

I was supposed to be driving right now. The plan was for me to be leaving on a week long trip into the wilderness (literally — no plumbing, phone, roads, etc.), but I’m not going. The reasons are complicated.

Purportedly, and for all the world knows, it’s a work thing that’s held me back. That is arguably the truth. I can even convince myself that’s what happened too, though I know it’s not the whole truth. To be sure, sticking around would make things better at work (mostly for other people, not me), but had I wanted to go badly enough, I could have made it work. But I didn’t. I mean, part of me really did. But…complicated.

For the past several years, I’ve noticed the idea of leaving Belle and home has made me feel very unsettled. I’d even use the word anxious. Angsty. Nervous. Emotional. All of the above. Nothing about it feels healthy and there’s nothing she’s been able to say to make me feel any better about it. This does not happen the other way around. I don’t like it when she goes away, but if I’m left home, it’s all good. I can handle it. It’s only when I leave, for any reason and for any amount of time (though the longer the time, the worse the anxiety). I’ve been able to recognize the issue but have been clueless about the cause. And, as I said, it’s been getting progressively worse.

So, even though there were people counting on me and the plans for this trip have been set for months and months, I have been really itching to not go. I’d say my mood has been affected for three weeks thinking about it. It just loomed out there sucking in all my energy. When the work issue came up, my mind immediately latched onto it as a plausible reason to cancel. It is plausible, but it’s not insurmountable. But I took it anyway. And now, while I’m greatly relieved to not be going, I feel really bad about letting my friends down and even disappointed that I won’t be there. Nope, nothing healthy about any of this.

It occurred to me the other day that this may be caused by the denial of my orgasms. The brain chemistry behind sex and mating and desire is fucking potent and one of the main reasons to practice denial, I think, is how it motivates one to be so attached and attracted and focused on one’s partner. Belle is more than the controller of my orgasms, she becomes the proxy for most of my real-life erotic urges (not counting the few days each month I see Drew which are simultaneously different but the same in ways I can’t explain). I don’t want to orgasm, but I desperately want to feel the desire to and that desire is totally focused on her (that part is very different with Drew — I never want to come in, on, or around him). Beyond that, she’s the sole arbiter of when I even get to feel pleasure from the penis which is such a basic and foundationally wired thing for a guy. We play with our penises from nearly the time we’re born. But now it’s not there and I’m not allowed and my higher brain does everything it can to control my base urges and live up to that expectation because all that, every bit, is focused on her.

On these trips, which I take maybe three times a year when I’m able, I sometimes stay locked up the whole time, but more often I don’t. I’ve written recently about how I resent external forces making me come out of a device. Anything that, for whatever reason, supersedes Belle’s wishes. That’s at least part of the deal here, but not the whole thing.

So what I’m left wondering is can this go too far? Can all the good forces of denial become so powerful they become problems? An even more interesting question is, do I care? Or, more precisely, at what point does it become such an issue that I have to care?

What I mean by, “Do I care?” is essentially an extension of the risk/reward thing I wrote about yesterday. Everything has consequences, real or imagined or potential. If one of the consequences of being otherwise very happily denied orgasm means I have this ostensibly unhealthy attachment to my wife, is that an acceptable negative for all the good we both feel comes from me not coming? This is the first time I’ve ever felt like I was close to wherever that line is.

Of course, I don’t know the denial has anything to do with my anxiety. One way to find out would be for Belle to let me come like crazy for a few days and see if the anxiety goes away. But I can’t bring myself to propose that (though, in the meta path that leads through blogging about one’s spouse where she can read it, in a way, I just did). Why? Because I don’t come. I don’t ask if I can come. I don’t want to come. I like myself better when my own orgasm is distant, both in memory and potential. Every single bit of me is so invested in this dynamic that I don’t know I’d ever be able to climb over it on my own. And now, by letting my work issues intercede, I don’t need to.

I don’t have a neat conclusion to this and I can’t know the answers to my question. I know that since making the decision to bail, I have felt more than a little depressed because there was no good choice and none that would make me feel better. And I have no idea if any of this is wired into my kinks or not.

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The coming cancer scare

One thing you often hear when discussing orgasm denial is the concern, based on a few studies and how they’re amplified through internet discussion, that it’s somehow a risk for the development of prostate cancer in men. This perception is helped along by reports like this one called “Best Evidence Yet!: Ejaculation Reduces Prostate Cancer Risk.”

Good news, men: you may be able to decrease your risk for prostate cancer by ejaculating — frequently, according to research presented here at American Urological Association 2015 Annual Meeting.

The frothy advice is not new but is now backed up by the “strongest evidence to date” on the subject, according to lead author Jennifer Rider, ScD, MPH, an epidemiologist at the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health in Boston.

Two things off the bat. First, you do not follow an exclamation point with a colon. Ever. Second, the whimsical use of “frothy” is cute but inaccurate (if your ejaculate is “frothy” you many want to get yourself checked out). But I digress.

The study’s money shot:

After potential confounders were controlled for, the risk for prostate cancer was 20% lower in men who ejaculated at least 21 times a month than in men who ejaculated 4 to 7 times a month. The 20% risk reduction was seen at ages 20 to 29 and 40 to 49, and for the lifetime average (P trend < .0001 for all).

Some perspective. First, prostate cancer affects 1 in 7 men in the United States meaning the average man’s chance of getting it is 14.2%. The chances are far lower in young men and much higher in older men. If this study is correct, frequent ejaculation reduces one’s chances of getting it to 11.4%. It’s not a magic shield against getting prostate cancer. Also, there has been no research that I know of into the opposite hypothesis that infrequent ejaculation leads to a higher frequency of prostate cancer development. There is no data that supports the notion that orgasm denial is more dangerous than not denying orgasms. 

For me, this is another discussion of risk vs. reward. There may be a risk in practicing orgasm denial in your relationship. There are benefits to doing so, however. The question is, which are more important to you? Only you can say.

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A couple of weird ones

This morning, I woke up with a free hard-on thanks to Belle trying to save a little time the night before by putting me to bed unlocked. I wore my heavy circular barbell in the PA and felt it flop hither and to as the erection moved around early this morning. Extremely distracting.

We slept in fairly late for us and are both still sore from a workout class we took together on Saturday. Really kicked our asses. I was pulling my legs out from under the covers and stretching and rubbing my hamstrings and glutes which are still smarting. By then, the penis was back to its soft n’ floppy condition and Belle took the opportunity to reach out and start petting it.

I really, honestly cannot describe how wonderful that feels. The penis rarely if ever feels pleasurable touch like that and the sensation of her fingers lightly brushing its lengthening form, under and up and over and down and around, made me purr and arch my back and bury my face in a pillow. Then it sprang up and she started to give it ever-so-gentle strokes and it felt like I was going to combust into a ball of angsty horniness. I knew I should reposition myself so I could start showing her some attention (she is, after all, the focus of our sex) but the sound of leaking precum smacking at the end of the penis and the feeling of the heavy ring moving inside it with each stroke was too deliciously distracting. So I laid there a bit longer.

Then I just wanted inside her. I figured she wasn’t going to stroke me until I came or anything and while it felt magnificent, the reptile brain wanted pussy so I moved down and went to work. I wasn’t as gentle as usual. I fingered her with two of them and hooked them in and behind her pubic bone before running then back up and around the length of her clit. I fingered the other nipple, rubbing it and pinching it as hard as I dared while sucking the other. I was panting and moaning in heat as her breathing increased and I could feel her orgasm getting closer. She started to gyrate in syncopation with my fingering and with each rotation her hip brushed against the corona of the still rock hard penis between us. Each touch made me gasp into her breast and was enough to make me feel as though I’d shoot if she kept it up for too much longer.

Then the first weird thing happened. She kinda came. Like, maybe 40-60% of an orgasm. She sounded like she was coming and she moved like she was coming, but I didn’t feel her pussy pulsate in waves like it normally does. In any event, she was close enough that she didn’t want me messing with it anymore.

I was still panting, though, and pressing into her and obviously pathetically desperate so she told me I could take my turn. In one motion, I moved up and over her and slid the cock in without even aiming and immediately started to fuck her properly warmed up pussy. As soon as I got in there, she started to make her happy pussy noises that I have zero defense over and are the surest way to make me come. The idea that I would think of something else to distract myself was fantasy as, for me at that time, there was nothing else. Just the feelings of that penis inside her and the sounds it was coaxing out of her. I got so, so, so close to coming and stopped. Dead. And waited.

Even just the feeling of her surrounding the penis was enough. I couldn’t stop it though I tried. I resisted and pushed back against the tidal force of that coming and she told me to go ahead, but it was too late to enjoy. It felt like someone kicked me in the small of my back. Like the penis was burning off of me. My head pounded and my breathing seemed to stop and my stomach clenched. As though instead of riding the wave of the orgasm over the edge I stood my ground like a breakwater and let it crash into me and around me and through me. It was shattering.

At first, I didn’t know what happened. Was that an orgasm? I didn’t feel myself shoot, but I did. A lot. The penis was still hard but failing fast and electric in the post-orgasmic way they are. I had come, but not in a way I ever had before. Not in a way I ever want to again. There was nothing at all pleasurable about it for me.

I slid off and gripped her hard and fought the swell of sleepiness programmed into all men. I could smell the semen and it was not good. Then, she reached into her drawer and retrieved her little purple vibrator. I asked if she wanted any help but she said no which was a relief. All I wanted to do was doze with my face in her hair. I heard the vibe come on and muffle and growl as it went in and out and over her clit and heard her breathing pick up before she came in a terrific shuddering crash that surely would have woken any sleeping neighbors had she allowed herself to vocalize as she wanted to.

She didn’t say anything about going back in the Steelheart and I didn’t ask. I was left reeling from whatever experience that was and any notion of sliding the wet, sticky penis back into the cold steel left me feeling flat. I’m still out, but not down since writing this after a little time on Tumblr has left my pants full of hard-on and a, ahem, stiff desire to head off by myself and do things I’ll regret later. Plus, Belle’s out shopping. So…bad combination.

But I’ll be good. In fact, I’ll probably go put the damned Steelheart back on right now.

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Three weeks, three squirts

I mentioned a few posts back that Belle was going to keep me locked up for three weeks straight. This was more an accident of timing than anything else, but it was also a result of her just not feeling the need for a hard penis when my chance came along and therefore seeing no purpose in letting the one on me out of its confinement. Then she was out of town for a weekend and, even though we had sex after she got back, it was a quickie and was more about my tongue and her clit than anything else. Finally, yesterday, she let me out. And it felt so fucking good to have a real, unrestrained erection.

Too good, actually. She had to warn me to settle down. I get a little rambunctious when she lets me out. Kind of like a dog who sees his leash. It only happens for one reason, really, so when it does I start jumping up on her and wagging my tail and panting and such. I think she likes it when I get excited like that, but also needs me to focus on the task at hand: her.

Feeling your wife’s hot, wet pussy when you’re locked up is a certain kind of torture, but feeling it when you’re not but also not allowed to just fuck the shit out her is altogether another feeling. So much promise and potential and anticipation, made all the more intense by three fucking weeks of being under lock and key. I was rock hard and 12 seconds from coming and only my middle finger was wet. Then she told me to get inside her.

She hadn’t come yet. I think she wasn’t too far off (I am keenly attuned to her orgasmic processes) but she wanted to be fucked so fuck her I did. And she liked it. Vocally. And that expression of pleasure was too much for me. As she liked it more and more, I lost any pretense of stamina. I got far too close to coming before I stopped and the leakage inside her was every bit three weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration. After that, we needed the vibrator to finish her off. It came away from her covered in my juices more than hers.

Early this morning, I was woken up by the sensation of my nocturnal hard-on rubbing against the sheets. The opposite of what normally wakes me up at that time, except this morning I got to grind it into the bed in order to feel more. I’m not allowed to stroke it, but I so wanted to. All I could get was the contact friction against the mattress. I suppose even that was breaking the spirit of the “no playing with it” rule, so I (eventually) stopped fucking the bed.

When Belle woke up, I jumped her and again went too fast for her. She didn’t make me fuck her first this time, so when she was done and allowed me access, I found an unwilling partner in the penis. Even if I’m out and she’s wet and inviting, if she already came, it will often go soft. That’s how well trained it is now.

Luckily, my Belle knows me and gave my (still kinda rough and sore from earlier in the week) nipples a healthy twisting. The direct line from them to the penis electrified and the erection was back in a flash. I got lost in the fucking to the point that I was about a stroke and half away from coming when I finally stopped myself from going over the edge.

That’s when I realized I was expecting her to tell me to come. For whatever reason, my interpretation of how Belle keeps me left me assuming that today was going to be the day and so I didn’t do anything to stop myself from going right up to the orgasm. With that notion still in my head and nearly an entire orgasm’s worth of spunk in her pussy, I started to fuck again. I find my aversion to ejaculate is so complete at this point that the feeling of fucking through my own has become a turn-off, but I was counting on that orgasm so I pressed on. So much so, that I added whatever was left inside me to what came before, but the word was never given. I never came.

I asked her about it after. Told her it felt like today was going to be the day. She laughed. Not unlike two weeks ago when she never let me out, the idea that I would come now never entered her mind. I honestly have no idea how long it’s been since I last came (which she likes very much), but it’s apparently been long enough that I feel like doing it again. Or, at least, I want to feel like I want to again.

As we laid there in (her) post-orgasmic snuggle session, I started to drift off. She thought it was funny that I acted like I had come even though I hadn’t. I could feel in my balls the tightness and weight of being very much denied release, but the rest of me really did feel like I had come. Snoozy, warm, fuzzy. Except in my crotch where this afternoon’s blue balls were brewing. Back in the day, denial like this would leave me wired and bouncing around, but not anymore. Further indications of conditioning.

Right after breakfast, I asked when she wanted me back in. Often, this is a vague kind of thing. It would be understood that I’d need to be locked up sometime before bed. Occasionally, I can stretch that to Monday morning. But she said, “Right now,” and I was like, Oh…OK. So I marched myself into the bathroom, showered off the morning’s fucking and running, trimmed the hair I usually can’t get to, and locked the Steelheart back in place.

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She never even considered it

The penis was very annoying Sunday morning. It usually only wakes me up (when it wakes me up) sometimes between 3:30 AM and 4:30 AM pushing and squeezing and straining against the Steelheart. Sunday, though, it did it four times starting at only 12:30 AM. Then again a few hours later then again at 3:30 then again at 4:30. Or maybe I should stay still at those times since I don’t think it stopped trying to be hard the entire time.

Things were not helped when Belle woke up. Saturday morning she had left bed before I woke up so there was no naked play time, but Sunday she was looking for my services. She made me close the door but did not retrieve the key as I thought she would. I was left locked up the whole time, though she did stroke my balls and perineum and then hit my nuts a few times just to mix things up. The intensity of the attempted erection was perhaps even more painful than the nocturnal ones as I got to work sucking her tits and fingering her snatch. She came hard and all I did was grind my steel package into her thigh.

In the glowy part afterward, she commented on how I was looking at a good long lock up since she’s going to be at a spa weekend with her sister and mother next weekend. She’ll leave Friday morning and not get back until Sunday afternoon. She apparently has no intention of  letting me out at any point before she leaves or the weekend following her return so that’s three solid weeks of steel time.

Sounds bad, but in thinking about it, that’s not so far removed from normal. With the exception of doctor’s visits, I was locked up pretty much the entire time since we go back from vacation at the beginning of April. She lets me out on the weekends if she wants me to fuck her, but the best I can hope for then is being out from Saturday morning to Sunday night. The last time I got to be inside her, I was only out about three hours.

In any event, I suggested she could have let me out Sunday morning for some pussy time but all she did was laugh a little and say, “You know what’s funny? I never even considered it,” before not doing anything at all regarding penis freedom.

I don’t know at this point which of us wants my chastity more. She really likes knowing what I’m not doing with the penis when she’s not around (if you were to ask her, that’s the first thing she’d say regarding what she likes about my chastity). I’m certainly not allowed to have an orgasm without her, but she equally doesn’t want me to have any pleasure from the penis at all without her (preferably, the only pleasure I get from it will be when it’s inside her). This has the effect of focusing me rather specifically on her and her pussy which is, of course, the ultimate intention of leaving me locked up in the first place. When she doesn’t let me out and I feel how hot and wet I make her, a gaping chasm of desire for her opens up in my chest. Looking back on how we were when we married, I’m sure it would never occur to either of us at the time that eventually we’d arrive at a relationship dynamic founded on her leveraging control over me through the denial of my sexual pleasure, let alone that it would be so successful.

I wanted in so bad on Sunday morning that I climbed up on top of her and pressed the Steelheart against what I knew was a soft, wet, and inviting opening.

“Like you’re going to feel anything,” she purred.

“I don’t. I don’t feel a thing,” I whimpered into her neck.

“Exactly.”

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Homecoming

Belle’s home from her two week overseas adventure so all’s right in the world again. It’s been hard keeping my hands to myself and I’m sure I’m annoying her with the attention, but I’m just so happy to have her back in the house.

She landed Friday afternoon and was in the typical jet-lagged haze for the rest of the day. I was able to keep her up until 9:00 PM (totally innocent — we were watching Friends) but then she crashed and was sound asleep seconds after she settled in. At about 4:00 AM, the penis in its tube woke me up. I realized she was laying there staring at the ceiling so I made my move. Turned out pretty well. She gave me the key and I got her off with a fully hard penis waiting impatiently between us. Then, when it was time for me to go for a ride, she told me she wanted to feel me come inside her. A little part of me rebelled at the notion, but I didn’t say anything and dutifully ejacualted as requried. It was not a great orgasm as orgasms go and I’m OK with that. But it was copious and that’s pretty much what she wanted. She told me she needed to feel me “mark” her on her return. That the orgasm had nothing to do with me, really. Sort of an unfortunate byproduct of what she needed to have happen. Regardless, she wanted me locked right back up. I was only out about three hours.

I was out and about all day and not in the office until late in the afternoon. I stopped in only because I was expecting a package from Mr. S to be waiting for me. Indeed, there it was. My business partner called me out for only coming in to pick up a package and wanted to know what was in it. I said it was something for home but he wouldn’t have any of that.

“It’s clearly something you don’t want to tell me about.”

“Clearly.”

“Now I know it has to be something illicit.”

“You’ll never know, will you?”

“You mean you have secrets you don’t share with me?”

I wanted to say, “As a matter of fact, I do. Not only does my wife lock my cock in a steel cage just about all the time and I go weeks and months without coming, I like to stick things in my butt and, oh, I have a boyfriend I get to fuck around with on the side. Did I mention the bondage thing? Or the masochistic tendencies? How’s that for secrets? Want any more?” But all I said was, “You have no idea.”

In the envelope was the Oxballs Cock Lock. I’ll be posting my full impression later, but I was anxious to get it home in time for the weekend. I’ve been wearing it since.

Yesterday’s orgasm has really done nothing to my overall horniness level. I was ready and raring again this morning for something, though Belle told me that there would be no more coming for me any time soon and I wasn’t getting out of whatever device I happened to be in, either. Regardless, I wanted to feel her come, but I wasn’t pushy about it. Luckily, she was amenable to the idea.

Before we got down to it, though, she told me how she and our trainer had been flirting with one another via text while she was gone. I’m convinced this is SOP for male trainers and their female clients. Belle knows what this does to me and, even though I asked for details, she wasn’t forthcoming. I told her I’m pretty sure that someday he’ll send her a cock shot. Yes, he’s that kind of guy. I’m sure with a tiny bit of encouragement from her, it’s entirely with the realm of possibility.

FullSizeRender 18This is not a new thing with him. He once sent her a picture of himself shirtless. Yeah, I know. Fucking hot, right? Based on my own personal experience, I know a guy who will send that picture is also a guy who will send others and of a more personal nature.

Anyway, I immediately wanted to fuck her. She wanted to be marked yesterday, but today, it was me craving the marking. But nope. Wasn’t going to happen.

Before we started, she got her new little purple vibe out of her drawer. She had taken it on the trip with her and, she reports, used it multiple times to get off. I, of course, got off zero times while she was gone. Yes, of course, she knew that. And now I know that one of the times she got off was while she was on the plane. I told her back when I doing that sort of thing, I’d jack off on planes, too. She said that sounded hard to do in one’s seat which is where she was when she did it with her vibrator. In her seat. GAH.

Yes, it was in business class which meant a lot more privacy than back where the they keep the goats, chickens, and regular people, and the thrum of the engines probably helped cover the thrum of the little vibe, but still. Jesus, I wanted her.

The best I got was to be the one pressing it against her clit when she came. And that’s pretty great, too, of course. She told me I might get out tomorrow for some fucking, but I’m certainly not coming.

After her orgasm, we laid in bed and chatted and snuggled. She looked across the room where the t-shirt I got for Drew was and she reminded me I forgot to give it to him. I mentioned to her the recent comment on his blog about how he was “taking me down a path she can’t follow” and the seemingly persistent impression of some people that she’s been coerced into this arrangement that allows me to have my fun with Drew. Like she’s a wilting ingenue in the sidelights.

In fact, giving me permission to play outside our marriage was her idea. She proactively gave me that option based on rules and guidelines she established. The notion among some readers that she’s a victim in all this or that I’m somehow taking advantage of her is preposterous. I’m honestly perplexed by this. I told her these types of people are worried about how Drew is going to ruin our marriage. She laughed and said something along the lines of, “Yeah, look how terrible it is.” I told her how there was concern that Drew was turning me gay. She laughed and laughed. “He’s doing a bad job of it,” was her thought.

In fact, Belle is and always has been the one who holds all the cards in my extracurricular activities. I operate under her rules and within what she’s comfortable with. She lets me do with him a) things she is not interested in doing with me, and b) things she cannot do with me but that she knows I want. She’s as much in control of that relationship as she is ours.

I suppose there will always be those who worry I’m going to leave Belle for Drew or some other man. That, contrary to everything I’ve written here on the topic, I’m not the bisexual heteromantic guy who thinks boobies are awesome and loves to munch on pussy. Luckily, the only person whose thoughts on that matter really count is not one of those people. Belle is confident in her position over my heart. She knows me. Knows what I want. What I need. And I am so happy and feel so lucky that she handles me as well as she does in whatever bed I find myself.

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Dancing around the paradox

I’m told the commenter I reference in this post is probably a troll. Doesn’t change the thesis of my post, but if so, he should rot in hell for being a lying douche.

A reader calling themselves maxnsue left a comment on an older post discussing the concept of permanent orgasm denial. In part, they wrote…

I am in permanent orgasm denial at my wife’s request. [That’s all you have to know as the rest is probably bullshit.]

There’s a lot to unpack in that comment and I’ve only included three-fifths of it here, but the critical element I want to focus on is the fact that the reader’s wife [assuming there is one] was the one who made the decision to permanently take his orgasm off the table.

Right now, it’s only been something like three weeks since I last came. For some, that may sound like a long time, but it isn’t for us. Now that the kidney stone unpleasantness is behind me, my ability to feel and enjoy denial is back as it hasn’t been in months. And I mean back. It is not any kind of hyperbole for me to say that I feel at my best when I’m denied. When external downer forces like the kidney stone thing aren’t present, this, right here, is the way I want to be forever. Like I said the other day, sure, I crave orgasmic release, but I do not want to come.

There’s a kind of Zen-like dance men like me need to perform regarding orgasm. I don’t want them. I want to crave them, but that’s different. I want the need to come to claw at me in the moment I’m in her and on the edge. I want to feel it push at my higher brain as if my life depended on squirting inside her, but that’s it. I would be honestly disappointed if, when she gets home later this week, she let me come. Now that I’m feeling it again, I want to keep feeling it. I never want to not feel it. This is what I hope to be forever.

But not having orgasms is only one part of the denial Oreo (not the creamy center, obviously…maybe an Oreo is the wrong metaphor). The other half is knowing I don’t control my own orgasm. I could beg and cajole Belle to leave me like this forever, but it’s sweetest when it’s her will at work and not mine. If I were to make too much of a production about being permanently denied it would take something off the experience. Whatever happens, it has to be her choice. It took me years to really get that, but I get it now.

So yeah, maxnsue’s situation is very appealing to me. I get where he’s coming from and really appreciate the allure of it. But that kind of dynamic only works when it happens organically as theirs has. It’s perhaps the fundamental paradox of D/s. Being too prescriptive to one’s dominant partner to the point of them doing exactly what the sub wants makes what the sub gets less satisfying. The best bet for everyone concerned is to establish rubbery, bouncy boundaries and then let the top push the sub to them (but not necessarily over them).

Belle gets home tomorrow. I don’t know if she has plans or has spent any time thinking about my state, but I hope she leaves me as I am. I do not want to come. But, if she says I have to, I will. Nowhere is it written that a sub will always want what their dominant lets/requires they have.

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The one about being sick and grumpy

The only thing I find worse than blog posts apologizing for not having blogged in a while are blog posts about being sick. I don’t blame anyone for making these (except for the “sorry I’ve been gone so long” kind — unless you were abducted by aliens or something, my advice is just pick it up where you left off). In fact, I know I’ve made a few posts like that myself…and am about to again.

I’ve been ill a few different ways. One perhaps related to my denial and the other due to our inability to nail viruses like the little bastards they are.

A little over two weeks ago I started to unexpectedly feel an urge to urinate, even when I didn’t need to go. It got worse and worse until it felt almost as if I was always desperately in need to pee even with a totally empty bladder. I chalked this up to three possible explanations. One, perhaps it had something to do with being with Drew. What, I couldn’t say. It’s not like I’ve never had fun with my butt before and this feeling over such a long period was new. However, the issue did develop within 48 hours of seeing him. Two, maybe I had another UTI. This also seemed unlikely as I had no other symptoms at all and couldn’t figure out how I could have gotten one (unlike last time). Three, could it be related to my recent kidney stone adventure? The first time I had a kidney stone, passing it was capped off by a day or so of similar feelings as, I assume, the stone passed through my prostate area. This last time (more than a month ago now), that feeling never happened. I didn’t think much of it until this started. However, I don’t know if kidney stones can go into hiding like that for a period of time before finally passing through. And, even if they could, this one wasn’t passing. If it was a stone, it was just sitting.

Eventually, as the symptoms entered a second week, I decided to go to the clinic.

I know, this is utterly boring stuff.

At about the same time, I came down with a cold. A nasty, annoying, pain in the ass common cold. I’m still dealing with its lingering effects. I only mention this because it was part of the web of maladies that left me feeling depressed and generally really unsexy and totally antisocial.

Before heading to the clinic, I used an at-home UTI test. I didn’t even know they existed but found one at Target. It reported the presence of leukocytes in my urine (one time very minutely and the second time quite apparently) and said they were indicative of an infection. At the clinic, they found no leukocytes and therefore said I didn’t have an infection but the doctor prescribed antibiotics anyway and I dutifully started taking them.

The symptoms got ever so slightly better. Hardly at all. Plus, my cold turned into a raging sore throat. I would have gone in for a strep test, but since I was already on antibiotics, I didn’t bother. I felt terrible and Belle was out of town. Blah.

Good god, could this be any more tedious?

Now, some of you who’ve played around with denial may have had some symptoms like mine before. Sometimes, when I’m really good and turned on and making all kinds of seminal fluids, the prostate will swell and this “I really have to go” feeling will kick in. Imagine that, but about 50 times worse and going on for weeks. At first, I thought that’s what it was. But it got worse and kept going. So I quickly dropped that theory. Then, in chatting with Drew (in a surly and pitiful way) he brought it back up. I decided to ask Belle to come. Not just once. I really wanted to blow things out.

Of course, I did not want to come. Not even a little. But, on the way back home from picking her up at the airport, I mentioned the idea to Belle who agreed to let me. We got home quite late so there was little fanfare. She turned off the lights and rolled over while I got into bed with a little hand towel.

“That was quick,” she murmured into her pillow.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I suppose now you’re going to turn into an asshole…”

For the record, I have definitely not turned into an asshole. But yeah, I did come quite quickly. And the sensation of pushing what turned out to be copious amounts of juice though my prostate was pinchy and intense. I came again the next day and one more time on Saturday.

I am really anti-orgasm lately. I haven’t been denied nearly long enough to want them and I felt a lot of resentment at being in a spot where I need to. Oddly, though, and perhaps because these are “clinical” orgasms, I haven’t felt a huge amount of sub drop.

In any event, the symptoms have gotten better. A lot better. But they’re not gone. Now, I feel them most intensely in the morning and at night. But not as bad as before. During the day, I only feel like I have to pee when I actually have to pee. So that’s nice.

Later this week, Belle and I and the kids are off on our annual Spring Break pilgrimage to the Virgin Islands. Since the symptoms seem to be getting better (even after she did not let me come on Sunday), I won’t be seeking further medical advice before leaving. However, if things are still relatively unchanged upon our return, I’ll be heading back to the doctor. Hopefully it’ll all be good since nobody wants to read (or write) another post like this anytime soon, I’m sure.

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Becoming what she needs

Belle has informed me that I will be locked up until we go away on Spring Break. That’s, roughly speaking, about six weeks of being enclosed in steel. Of course, the thing she’s really good at is doing whatever she wants and exercising her prerogative regarding the penis, so it’s entirely possible she’ll wake up one morning and decide she wants cock and let me out. Or she’ll stick to her statement and leave me in. I don’t have any way of knowing and it’s entirely out of my control.

Her reason for this (relatively) long lock-up (at least by recent standards) is because I’m apparently being insufficiently subbie lately. It’s not surprising considering the shocking number of orgasms she allowed me in recent months. Two in the past two or so weeks, even. That’s approaching 30% or so of what a normal man would have! Heavens.

I do know what she’s talking about. I can feel it. I’m doing my best not to second-guess her now that I’m fully engaged with the “she decides” model, but I know I don’t feel now the way I feel when it’s been a really long time since I last came. It’s actually hard to talk about because I feel like I should be removed from that decision. Whatever I say will influence her and I don’t want to unduly do so, but I will admit to getting used to coming (even if it’s still at a far reduced rate from what other men enjoy).

The thing I have to remember is she controls the penis so she controls me and she controls how I’ll be as a result. Sure, I can try and live up to her expectations, but the hormonal wall of denial is a sturdy backstop that helps keep me where she wants me.

She’s left with a difficult choice. She likes when I come in her and likes letting me feel that. She also likes letting me inside her, though she tells me now that she’s more or less off dick as a means to orgasm. She’s adjusted to non-penetrative techniques involving fingers, vibrators, and tongues. We tried Blue the other morning and it didn’t do much for her. In any event, she digs it when I can fuck her.  But she also digs how I am when really well denied. All the salubrious affects that go along with the pent-up hormonal load. I know when it’s been months I’m totally different and she likes that Thumper better. I can only really be that Thumper when I can’t really remember what orgasm feels like. So, her choice.

We’ll have to wait and see. Six weeks solid is a relatively long time to be locked up. I’m not in the frame of mind yet where I feel really settled into it. I haven’t had that “it’s part me” feeling about the Steelheart. Well, not much. This morning, she let me get her off and she said it was a really nice orgasm so that makes me happy. She also told me she like feeling the hard steel against her thigh. That makes me feel…oh, my. I really wanted out. I really wanted to feel the penis inside her pussy. But I never said it because she, of course, knew I felt that and I, of course, knew it wasn’t going to happen. So instead, while she purred and basked in the afterglow, I felt the PA ring pinch inside the end of a steel tube packed tightly with insistent erectile tissue.

She’s entirely right. Extended lock-up is what I need. It’s what needs to happen to make me that better Thumper she prefers and the person I’d rather be for her.