Tag: orgasm denial

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Lost in the sheets

I was away from Belle over the weekend. Thursday through Monday nights. I was having a nice time, but it was miserable not to be with her. Especially in the morning when the penis was pushing against the Trainer as hard as it can and my hand only found unfeeling plastic and not a hard shaft to play with.

I wish I knew more about the brain chemistry of love and attraction or that someone would do a study on the brain of a denied male. My feelings for her are made so much more intense by the lack of orgasm. My craving for her and her warm softness so much more acute by the locking of the penis. When I got home, I was all over her and her scent and lips and curvy female form made my heart flutter.

“I have to hear you orgasm,” I whispered into her ear.

Later that night, I snuggled up next to her under the covers as we watched Sherlock and as I ran my hands down her body they found the tubular shape of Pink, her favorite vibrator. My assumption was she put it there for me to use on her once Holmes and Watson saved London from terrorists, but no.

“Is that still there?!”

Turns out she had made the bed over it the morning before. While I was clawing at a compressed needy hard-on through its plastic trap, she was pleasuring herself with the little pink vibe. I instantly saw her in my mind doing this and could hear the thrumming rise and fall as she pushed it in and pull it out of her hot snatch.

And of course, I moaned. And melted inside.

I suggested christening her new dildo but she wanted my fingers and now we’re down to ninety-six. Even though I was horned up nearly to distraction, feeling her body tense with the wave of orgasm and then go limp in the afterglow triggered in me the need to sleep. So I did.

There’s a bit more to this one, but it comes with the standard NSFW warnings, so…

Continue reading “Lost in the sheets”

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Two more

I forgot two of my New Year’s goals/notresolutions.

First, I’d like to be tied up more. Doesn’t have to be ropes since they’re technical. Could be cuffs and harnesses, etc. Just restrained. There’s all manner of lovely strappy things to accomplish such a goal. Hogties, hobble belts, and various spreader bars. Even awesome-looking shackles.

I think Belle worries about what to do with me once she’s bound me up. Sure, I’d also like to be whipped and otherwise tortured, but she could just leave me. The idea of having my wrists bound to my thighs or even just leaving them cuffed together all night (preferably while wearing a collar, ‘natch) is highly appealing. Or shackling my hands and ankles. Basically, anything where she removes more of my control is too fucking hot.

Yeah, so, I’d like stuff to bind and restrain me plus a lovely harness. Just because I think they’re sexy as hell and I’ve almost got my upper body into a shape that one would look good on me.

Have I mentioned my strappy leather kink? I must’ve. Once or twice.

Second, I want to be in a state where I want to come. Yes, duh, right? But no, not if you think about it. So many guys into denial are into denial (myself included) which means they want to be denied. Where I’m saying I want to be more often is where I want to fucking come all the time and don’t only because she won’t let me. If she said, “Thumper, now!” I’d happily spew forth without reservations.

Case in point. This morning. I was up before her and sofuckinghorny. I wasted some time on the Tumblr (which did nothing to resolve the horny thing) and otherwise ground the steel into the bed and waited for her to wake up. Eventually, she did, and it wasn’t long before she was naked and needing to choose how she’d let me get her off.

She has many options. My fingers, my mouth, the little pink vibrator, the big blue dick, the little white one, and a new addition to her stable: The Vixskin Maverick. It showed up on Friday and is the solution to her wanting to get fucked by a big dick but not necessarily wanting to let me out. Some further backstory…

Belle wanted me in the Steelheart but also wanted to be fucked and, back around Christmas, asked if Blue would work over the device. No. But, I had a thought. The penis fits pretty well in Blue and Belle’s old dildo Mr. Darcy is nearly the same size as me so what if I put Mr. Darcy in the strap-on harness he was bought for and stuck Blue over that? Kind of a sex toy turducken. We gave it a shot.

Didn’t work. Darcy, while about the same size as the penis all around, doesn’t compress the same way inside Blue. What we ended up with is a much fatter and less flexible dildo arrangement. It made her uncomfortable and I had to get her off a different way. Ah, well.

And that led to the arrival of Maverick. I chose the chocolate color because I felt the pinkish-white one looks kinda sickly and pale and the “caramel” one looks like cheap spray tan. The chocolate color is warm and rich. Really lovely. It showed up and as soon as I saw it I thought she’d think it was too big. On paper, it’s the same size as Blue. Seven inches by two. In reality, Maverick has a much bigger and more pronounced head. Also, it looks thicker. I compared the two to each other and found that they were essentially identical in proportions, though. But Maverick’s head. Holy cow. Blue tapers a bit while Maverick stays hefty all the way to its fat, flared helmet.

Funny thing, though, when I showed it to Belle. “Oh, that’s a really good size,” she said immediately. Yes. A perfect size for her, I think.

So back to this morning. Her choice. Fingers, mouth, pink vibrator, big blue dick, big black dick, or little white one. She decided she wanted me out, so it was Blue. Maverick’s christening will need to wait for another day.

After Blue had its way with her (ninety-eight to go, BTW), she let me fuck her. Again, the sensation of being inside her and feeling how much the dildo she thinks is a “really good size” stretches her beyond my ability really fucking clicks with something very deep inside me. The sensation of being second. The subtle and implied humiliation of knowing that she came so well from something so much bigger. Knowing that no matter how hard I fuck her, I’ll never touch the spots touched by her big dildos.

And sweet Jesus, it makes me want to come in her. To spray myself all over the walls that bigger dick pushed beyond my reach. To mark and retake her pussy as mine. It hurts, I want to come so bad. So I told her.

“I want to come in you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“But I do…”

Silence.

Had she said the word, I would’ve done it. Like that. But she didn’t so I didn’t.

Her goal not to let me come once this year: Intact

My goal to want to really a lot: Intact

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Sleepytime tip

Reader Tim added this comment to a recent post:

I have been pretty much 24/7 for the last 18 months in a Jailbird. I unlock about every other weekend for a release, etc. Lately I have been extending periods of lockups so that now I am at every 6 weeks or so. It seems that my first hurdle is about day 18-20 when I will have a sleepless night, etc., and I know that a good j-o would solve the problem. As you have gone for longer periods locked up, are you find these hurdles as well, and if so how you do you think you might managed them?

I’ve been meaning to talk about the sleep thing as I’ve recently discovered a way around it. Other long-term denial hurdles…well, that’s what this whole blog is about!

In the past, I’ve been reluctant to take anything to help me sleep because by the time I realize I’m screwed (figuratively, of course) it’s too late and I’m worried about not being able to get up in the morning or feeling drugged and groggy. Lately, though, at the earliest sign of potential sleeplessness, I take one of these: A small tablet with 3 mg of melatonin that melts in my mouth. I find that the melatonin lets me fall asleep in a way that feels more natural. I don’t feel drugged. Also, while I do still feel the effects the next morning, they’re not as severe as a regular over the counter sleeping aid and seem to dissipate more quickly.

The trick is knowing when I’m about to have a sleepless night. That comes with experience. There’s a difference between having trouble falling asleep and staring down a hole of six or seven hours in bed with no relief. I can’t really describe it, but the sleeplessness is like a small burr between my brain and skull. Just enough to keep me on enough of an edge that sleep never manifests. But with the little minty pill, the edge goes away. I could probably get by with half a dose, but they’re already pretty tiny. They’d be tricky to halve.

Some people might have an issue with taking a sleep aid (or any drug), and I’m not crazy about having to do it. However, the alternative is truly terrible and the alternative to the alternative (jacking off to completion) is not an option. I am comforted by the notion that melatonin is one of the hormones the male brain produces following orgasm. In a way, I’m cutting to the chase and getting the sleepytime post-orgasmic effects without all the messy spewing about.

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2014

Happy new year, pervs!

I don’t like resolutions. Just don’t like the feel of them. The built-in expectation that many or most will fail. I prefer goals. Things to work towards.

In that spirit, Belle and I discussed our 2014 goals this morning prior to getting it on. First things first. On the orgasm front, she’s reiterated her goal that I should have none. Zero. Donut. She’s on board with my goal for her: 100. That’s not even two a week. No pressure. Totally doable. So, to sum up, the ratio of orgasmic release between the two of us is infinitely weighted in her favor. As it should be.

There were some other goals exchanged. I will continue to work at being the best sub I can be. In whatever way I can. She’s decided she doesn’t want me to ask her every single day how I can serve her. Too much pressure. Now it’ll only be on the weekends. Regardless, this will likely be something I will work on for the rest of my life. There is no perfection in this regard.

Another goal of mine is to get Belle into some ridiculously sexy lingerie. Something with straps and buckles. I really like straps and buckles. Straps connected to stockings and bodices with breasts spilling out. Mmmm. Good stuff. Yeah, that’s a goal.

The goal of Belle taking a boyfriend was discussed, but she’s not interested. One man is enough for her and, at times, too much, so no way she’s going to deal with looking for another. She’s also concerned that she might develop feelings for this other guy and I say of course she would, but there’s feelings and then there’s feelings. But whatever. Moot point.

The last goal was another of mine. I told Belle I really wanted to start getting fucked. Not just by myself, but by another person. My first suggestion was she could do it, but her position on that hasn’t much changed in the past 18 or 20 years so it remains very unlikely. On the other hand, she doesn’t seem to have a problem with me getting a boyfriend/friend that is a boy to do the deed. She’s said in the past that the concept of me being fucked by another guy doesn’t seem too far removed from mastrubation in her mind. It seems as though I have been officially cleared to investigate the options.

The only condition is that I have to remain locked up. As I should be. The penis is Belle’s, not mine and not something I can give to anyone else. So, assuming I go forward with this and she remains comfortable with it, what I have to offer someone is essentially a couple of holes and some hands. No penis.

I admit that I’m both excited and a little scared by the prospect of putting myself out there. I’m sure I’ll have a lot more to say on it in the future.

In the mean time, Belle and I hope you all have a very fine 2014.

Oh, and…uh…ninety-nine to go!

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Frisson

This morning, I babbled like a besotted schoolboy. Embarrassing in retrospect. I mean, all good intentions. Just…wow, what a sap I was.

Belle’s continued to leave me in the Steelheart. Usually, when holidays role around (or any kind of special event like vacataions, etc.) she’ll let me out. We’re out of town for Christmas and I assumed that this would be like every other trip of this type and she’s let me out on the first morning away and not require that I go back in until after we’d been home. I would have been justified in expecting I’d be free and flopping at least through New Year’s and maybe all the way to the Monday afterward.

But not this time. As I said the other day, she’s inclined to leave me in for a while. We had setted into a routine for the past couple of months where she’s let me out on the weekends for a little activity that included pussy time for me. That’s done for now. And the change it’s had on me is apparent.

On Tuesday, I referenced an early post where I laid out my thoughts on the then-new idea that Belle would control how often and in what way I enjoyed orgasm. In it, I said…

There is so much on the web around OD, tease and denial (T&D), and domination and submission (D/s), etc., that is very anti-male. I admit to being new to this scene, so it’s entirely possible what I’m reading is just people staying in character, but I don’t think so. Many sites written by women for women (example) make men out to be little more than sexual animals who can’t be trusted to control their urges and whose sex drives can be harnessed to make them do all manner of things they wouldn’t do otherwise. I’ve even read men on forums regurgitate this POV. Like somehow OD saves them from their inner pigs. (The notable exception, and luckily the site I found very early on in my exploration, is Tickleberry.)

The above line of thought is so alien to me it’s not something I can even pretend to be into. Again, I do not judge anything anyone else is into, but personally, I revel in my maleness. I rejoice in the differences between women and men. The fact that I enjoy sex as much as I do, that it’s as important to me as it is, that I think about it all the fucking time is wonderful. I would never want to abdicate my male prerogative to anyone else, even my beloved Belle Fille.

I was scared of letting go of my “male prerogative.” Yes, I wanted my sex controlled but I also didn’t want to “waste” any of my desire for it. I felt then strongly (and still do when I allow myself) that my desire for sex is a limited natural resource. That something should be done with it when it presented itself and that something was that Belle should let me get her off. I’ve evolved significantly since then.

I still don’t ascribe to any overt anti-male feelings, but I do feel that — at least for me, though I suspect it’s true for a lot of men – that we’re fundamentally selfish beings. It may be genetics or maybe it’s socialization, but easy access to my body and the orgasms that result tends to make me far less attuned to her and her needs. I withdraw and focus on my own interests. The less I come, the easier it is for me to recognize what she needs. On top of that, the more she keeps the penis in the device and the less attention she pays it even then, the more motivated I become in not only recognizing what she needs, but in doing something about it.

This is the mysterious alchemy of my denial. Where the competing and seemingly incompatible forces of my intense background horniness meets with my deep desire to satisfy her. They beget each other. Power each other. The more I have of one, the more I have of the other. Where their hard edges strike, a bright frisson sparks within me that I find simultaneously exhilarating and calming. Warm and loved. And loving. It makes me feel alive. When it’s really working, it’s like that scene in The Wizard of OZ where Dorothy opens the door to her house after it’s fallen from the sky and suddenly sees the world in blazing Technicolor. (It’s not like I haven’t written about this before. You have a blog that’s five years old in which you essentially write about the same thing over and over, you do find yourself walking in your own footsteps more often than not.)

I felt it last night. The frisson. I was laying in bed, Belle was fast asleep, and I was dead tired. But I couldn’t sleep. That’s the dark side to all this. That flame burned so intently that it scared my own sleep away.

For the past several days, I’ve started each of them asking Belle a simple question: How can I serve you today? She’s given me tasks and I’ve tried my best to do each of them for her. She’s left the penis in its cage where the energy radiating from the plutonium decaying in its heart can be put to good use. She’s let me make our sex all about her. I’ve asked that she hold me truly accountable for the things she asks me to do. And that makes me very happy.

In a way, I suppose trying to live as the best service sub I can is a little like being a priest (says the atheist whose first exposure to Catholics was when he married one — and ohbytheway, “service sub” is a phrase I would have run from five years ago). You strive for a goal and sometimes you make it and sometimes you don’t. But you’re dedicated to it and want to do the best you can. That’s how it is with me. I not only want to see the things that will make her happy and her life more enjoyable, I want to be motivated to put my own desires aside so that I act on what I know I need to do. Unintuitively, the more generous she is with me, the less motivated I become. The more I start to expect the generosity. Expectation is the enemy of gratitude and leads to disappointment and resentment.

So yes, what I know now that I didn’t then is orgam denial and femdom and chastity can make at least some men better people. Men like me. I never could have imagined feeling this way. I have had my sex drive harnessed — happily — and now I want the saddle and the crop and the spurs and to be ridden around like a pony. And it’s what I was blubbering on about this morning. I feel so lucky to have a woman like Belle who, while never signing up for anything like what she got in me, has figured out how to adapt and even embrace our dynamic. She’s worked through her own socialization issues and found the difference between my desires and my needs. And I love her so much for it. I am so grateful.

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Pussyfooting around

Last night started with me rubbing her feet with aromatic lotion and ended with my face in her pussy.

She told me straight away that I wasn’t getting out. I like that kind of certainty. I like when she tells me how it’s going to be and I don’t need to waste any energy thinking about it. I like it when she doesn’t mess around and just tells me things like she’s the boss. Because that’s what she is and it’s sexy to hear her own it.

The foot massage was long and indulgent. I got new foot lotion and it lasted a long time so I just kept going. Can’t say how long it was, but I guess it was close to 45 minutes. She made appreciative little sounds and that made me feel warm and loved.

Before she let me make her come, she fingered the Steelheart and ran her fingers over my balls. The sack got tight as the penis pressed against its confinement. Being so close to her, face to face, breath to breath, and having her tease me that way makes me feel dopey and light-headed. It’s coming up on six months since my last orgasm and the power of tiny little touches is amplified and reamplified by my hormone load.

As she took off her clothes so I could go to work, I leaned back and felt the device’s bite as the straining penis flopped heavily from one side to the other. I hungrily sucked on her tits and ran my fingers around her snatch, teasing her lightly. Getting her juices going.

After rubbing her clit for a few minutes, she asked me if I’d go down on her. That’s cute. Fucking yes, of course I would. Always. And asking makes it sound like I have a choice. I’ll do whatever she wants. Whatever she says. Always.

I licked and lapped over the folds of what feels sometimes like the center of my universe and reached up with my hand to finger her nipples. I had a hard time getting into a position where I could lay on my stomach with a hard locked-up penis crushed between me and the bed. Belle “helped” by reaching her foot down and using her toes to play with my balls and the hard, hard tube while I buried my face in her. She came nicely and I lingered between her legs, breathing deeply on her pheromones.

She fell asleep quickly. Me, not so much. Even after I found it, sleep was fitful. I was preoccupied with being as close to her as possible. With being able to feel some part of her or hold her or just rest my head against her body. I woke up this morning pressed up against her still. I wrapped my arms around her and felt the tube filled with morning erection press between us.

I admitted to her that leaving me in like that during sex was good for me. It was hard to say, not because I didn’t think it was true. I do. All the way down. I can feel that it’s true. But there’s a not inconsequential part of me that’s been spoiled with all the pussy access lately. I wanted out. I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to edge myself right up to the point of orgasm and then stop so I could feel the single surge of ejaculate flow through me and into her. But not being able to do that left me feeling so close to her. So needful of her. So much more devoted to her.

That’s what this is all about, after all.

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Good boy

Rule number 13 from Thumper’s Big Book of Blogging (Random House, 2008) is to never apologize for not having blogged in a long time. So I’m not going to do that. What I will say is I’ve been very busy at work in the kind of way that saps my brain and leaves me without a lot of gas in the blogging tank.

So. An update. Belle left me unlocked for more than a week. She let me out for the typical R&R and I found I had a small wound on the bottom of the shaft that needed to heal up and it took at least five of those days. Probably from some pinching and a badly situated weld on the bottom of the tube. The “don’t play with it” rule wasn’t really an issue because the little fucker hurt too much when I took it in hand, but sometime near the end of the unlocked period, I discovered whilst showering that the little fucker had healed sufficiently that I could, if I wanted to, play with it.

And I did.

So I did.

Not for too terribly long. Long enough to make it spurt in a non-orgasmic way, though. Then the guilt. Which made the pressure drop so that the stupid thing went soft. So, to recap, I haven’t come in over five months and desperately want to jack off but knowing I’m not supposed to but having done so anyway was enough to totally kill my hard-on. Training!

I did tell Belle about the transgression. She muttered something about punishment but never followed through.

Sunday, I had to go back in. I had been out for nine days and that was enough to be used to the feeling of being free and seeing the penis rather than the steel every time I went to the bathroom. She told me I had to go in on Sunday but had fallen asleep before checking and making sure I was. The thought of staying out one more night was a tempting one, but as I settled in for the night the subby nagging bit in the back of my mind told me to get up and put it back on. I left the key on her nightstand.

Monday night, Belle said to me, “That’s a good Thumpie, putting yourself back in like that.” I made a noncommittal whiny grunting sound.

“You’re better when you’re locked up,” she continued. I felt a pang of submissive reaction and avoided looking her in the eye. “And you know it,” she whispered, “don’t you?”

I melted.

Yes, of course. It’s true. By the end of that week out, I would see myself naked and unlocked and think, “Man, it’s good to have that thing off. Why do we even have to use that? What a pain.” Today, I got out of the shower and saw the shining steel between my legs and thought, “I’m a good boy,” and felt all the way down that locked was more natural than not. Funny how that works.

Last thing, then back to work. In that not awake but not asleep dream state we can find ourselves in in the morning, I dreamt today that I was jacking off again. I was edging myself and really enjoying it and then thought, “I’m just going to do it. I’m going to jack off just for the pleasure of jacking off.”

“But what if I come?” I asked. “What if I get too close to the edge?”

“Then I come,” I thought back. And I started to stroke it. I felt it get hard in my hand. It lengthened the best it can and swell up and I felt the locking of the orgasmic mechanism inside me and the ejacualte presure start to build for the shot across my stomach.

Then the bite of the Steelheart woke me up. I wasn’t jacking off. I wasn’t going to come.

I’m a good boy.

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Lizard’s lament

Last Thursday I went for a 5k run while wearing the Looker 02. Usually, this is not a problem, but on occasion I find the urethral insert can irritate me. It’s hard to know when I need to apply a bit of lube to it beforehand and when I don’t. I needed to this time and didn’t so I had to take it off.

Belle wanted me in the Steelheart anyway, so it was all good. Except that we couldn’t find the Steelheart. She looked in the place she keeps all the devices when they’re not in use and didn’t see it so I looked in the various spots I stash them before cleaning them and giving them back to her. No dice. I emptied drawers looking for it. Several times. I looked in places I knew it couldn’t be. It was really bugging me. She told me I put it in a sock or something (which I had zero recollection of and didn’t think was right). I stayed out all that night.

Next day, after my shower, I looked in Belle’s spot. There is was. And I’m the one who never finds things where they’re supposed to be.

Anyway, the Steelheart does something to me that none of the other devices do. It’s the real deal. It’s totally enclosed. It’s totally inescapable. It’s her favorite. My entire mindset changes subtly. In a way, it’s the most authentic of chastity experiences.

After spending the better part of three weeks in the L02, the Steelheart is a more demanding experience. It’s tighter and harder to sleep through the night in. When it clutches the erection, it’s more vice-like than either the Looker or Jail Bird. It’s just that much harder to hide in my pants. That little tube means business and doesn’t want me to forget it.

Last night, I was standing behind her in the kitchen as we made dinner. I reached around her with one arm pulling her close and put my other hand down the back of her pants. I felt the soft curve of her ass on one side of my hand and the hard curve of the device on the other as its contents surged and my knees got weak. I may have made a little moaning sound.

The Steelheart really is her device. It’s not at all mine. Knowing that makes my subby heart hum and thrum.

I got out this morning for the (currently) regular weekend activities. The penis was already hard so it did that slinky-snake-out-of-a-can trick where more came out than could possibly fit. Then I couldn’t get the A-ring off. I had to lay there and try to change the subject in my crotch just enough to give the hydraulics a bit of a break. Once done, I was able to turn my attention back to Belle.

The penis was leaking expectantly. I said something to Belle about how she always lets me out for sex on the weekends now. She said something about being a creature of habit and asked me if I’d rather not be let out. I told her before she presents the key I think about how hot it would be if she wouldn’t let me out but once the device is off I want inside her desperately. She told me she thought briefly about not letting me out this morning. The she grabbed the stiff penis and I stopped talking.

Her choice of orgasm delivery vehicle this morning was Big Blue. I got it on and again felt the odd tightness of it. How it grips the entire erection hard but simultaneously inhibits any other sensation. Belle mounted it and again made sounds she doesn’t make when it’s just me she’s fucking. She came with Blue balls-deep inside her and I never felt a thing. She told me how much she likes her new toy. I told her how happy that made me.

The first time Belle fucked Blue, she didn’t fully engage with it and came quickly. The second time, she fucked it well and good, but I didn’t get the chance to fuck her without it on until the next morning. This time, I was still hard and raring to go when she told me I could go in. And what I felt when I did took my breath away. She was so open. The big blue cock had pushed the walls of her pussy out in all dimensions in a way I never had. I could feel the penis moving through Big Blue’s shadow. She didn’t grip me as hard and I felt no “bottom” to her.

And the thought of that. That this cock that gave her so much obvious pleasure was so much bigger than me and filled her so much more than I could. That its presence in her moments before me made her feel like an entirely different woman. The memories of the little sounds she made when filled up by that cock, sounds I never heard before, and the look on her face while she was riding it, a look not quite like any I’d seen before. All of that hit me in a matter of seconds and I was as close as I could be to shooting my load right there. My brain was on fire with it. The knowing that the way bigger not-me was so satisfying to her and my lizard brain hating that and screaming about it and wishing both that Big Blue had never been bought and that I had a cock that was 7″ long and 2″ wide but feeling that I obviously did not and, all the while, the higher bunny brain totally getting off on the lizard’s torment and the idea that I was not and never would be equipped to pleasure her as well as that big blue dong.

I could barely fuck her. Every time I started a rhythm, I had to stop. I was right on the edge the whole time. Belle asked what was wrong and I told her that she felt different and how close I was. She smiled. Wondered aloud what I’d be like if she let me. One, two, three strokes and I’d be there. And I wanted it. I wanted to fill the space made by the big dick in her with my seed. My whole being was crying for the chance. But no, of course not, she said. Of course I wouldn’t come.

Shortly after, she told me I had to stop. But I didn’t want to. I wasn’t even close. I wanted to come. I wanted to try and fill her up. I wanted to mark my woman’s pussy that some other had been in. I know that’s not what had happened. I know it was actually me that fucked her with the big blue dick. But my lizard brain felt it differently. She had been violated. She needed to be reclaimed. And she wasn’t going to let me do it.

Laying next to her, grabbing and gripping my balls and the still-hard shaft, my brain actually hurt from the clash of emotion and desire and, undoubtedly, hormones and brain chemicals. I wanted back in there. I wanted to pump her full of me. But I wanted her to tell me no. To leave me wanting. To leave the lizard screaming.

FUCK, it was intense. In the best possible way, of course.

I know I’ve recently said I don’t suffer from blue balls all that much anymore. But I am right now. My groin hurts from the unreleased desire to reclaim Belle. As it should, I suppose.

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Mailbag

LadynMonkey asked…

Right now, I have hubby in an “off the shelf” bird cage until his Jail Bird is done. Unfortunately this means he is able to get a partial erection inside the current cage. I have made the decision to remove his cage for teasing when I an dragging our the teasing for hours. Do you feel this is a good idea? I mean how long can a guy be squashed in the cage turning deep reddish purple? It can’t be good to have him hard like that for 3 hours at a time, right?

Well…you might be asking the wrong guy that question. In my opinion, as long as nothing’s gone numb or turned blue, everything will be fine. I don’t know that I’ve ever been raging hard while locked up for three full hours, but I’ve spent many hours in that state (hundreds) with no ill effect.

The other thing I’d found is, with time, his dick will become “trained” and not get hard while locked up, even if he’s super turned-on. That happens to me all the time. The same situation will leave the penis tiny and flaccid while inside the cage and stiff as a board outside. The body adjusts.

So currently we are just getting to one week locked and denied but I’ve decided for the next few nights of tease sessions I’m going to remove the device for a couple hours and then he can lock back up when I’m done.

Whatever works for you guys. There’s no one right way. Some guys are always locked up, some only during the day, some for certain periods but not others. Find what’s good for you and don’t be afraid to try new things.

Also did/do you whine to Belle about the pain from getting an erection while caged and wince and complain “omg that hurts”? Do you want to be told to deal with it? Told poor baby all locked up and hard, that’s too bad I’m not letting you out?

Er, yeah. I whine. I want her to know I’m suffering and I want to hear her say that’s what I have to do. One hundred percent. As long as you’ve established a safe word or some other indication he can use when he really needs out for some reason, just tell him to suck it up. That’s what he probably wants to hear, too.

Devilsfan wrote…

It has been a long time(about 10 years)since I was last in chastity and I am kind of nervous..Any suggestions for someone who is returning to the lock and key after a long time away

Ten years is a long time ago in the world of chastity. What kind of device were you in back then? If you’re nervous, I’d go with one of the silicone jobs. They’re pretty tame. If you want to be a little more serious without breaking the bank, check out the CB-6000 (or CB-6000s).

You don’t say if you have a keyholder now or not. I’m curious about that. Also, why did you leave chastity? Did you have a bad experience? So many questions.

A reader named Joe and I have been corresponding. Several question came up…

I know what having blue-balls feels like (and rather enjoy the feeling for a day or two), are you in constant pain? If so, how do you deal with it – both physically and/or emotionally?

When I was being weaned off regular orgasms, there were times when my balls hurt like fuck. Seriously tender and sore. It would come in waves and, if I remember correctly, was associated with new record lengths of denial and after being edged and teased (or just left to stew after getting Belle off). Nice warm baths usually made me feel better. Eventually, though, whatever part of me that was hurting got used to it. I still have the occasional feeling of blue balls, but without the pain usually. Just a “full” feeling down in my sack. Like there’s a lot of stuff backing up. I suspect all this is what’s caused my balls to be bigger now than they used to be. Maybe the pain was just the various parts stretching out and becoming accustomed to not being regularly relieved of their contents.

So, physically, not that big of a deal anymore. Emotionally, it was really hard at first. There are so many more hormones in me and, oddly, they usually make me act out in a more stereotypically female way. I’m more sensitive, easier to feel slighted, quicker to anger, etc. All that emotional sensitivity would make me susceptible to feeling like a freak. I didn’t understand why I felt how I did or need what I needed and when it was difficult for Belle to interpret me, I felt it was all my fault. Lots of crying back then. Not anymore. We’re good now. I don’t feel like a freak (at least, not in a bad way). But I still have surges of high emotion. Still carry around those hormones.

Is the perceived permanent state of arousal a myth, or do you ALWAYS feel turned-on?

It is a bit of a myth. When you’re first starting out, you do feel it all the time. It’s a palpable high. Then you get to come and it all crashes down. Each denial and orgasm cycle, it takes just a bit longer to feel it again and the high isn’t as high. Eventually, you get to the point where the denial high requires longer and longer periods to build to a level where you can feel it. Past that is a different plane of existence. You find that even with no release, there are rhythms. I’ll go though periods of feeling intensely horny most of the time (going though one of those now). They last a couple to several days. I’ll can also go through periods when I feel almost asexual. Those are horrible. Luckily, they’re the least common. The most frequent feeling is one of having a hair trigger. I can go from zero to 80 in three seconds. So it’s not so much being horny all the time as it is being able to get REALLY horny REALLY quickly.

From the dates on your blog—and from what I’ve read thus far—you’ve been doing this a while. In all sincerity, do you miss: 1) the ability to orgasm, 2) the ability to achieve an erection, 3) anything about your sex life prior to the introduction of chastity?

1) Yes. But the five to ten seconds of bliss isn’t worth what I get in return for not coming. If I could somehow come and then take a pill to feel denied 15 minutes later, that would be perfect.

2) YES. I love having a full erection. But…I really fucking like how it feels to be locked up and constrained. I like rolling over in bed and feeling the steel shift and pull me around and how nice and hard it is to lay on and how it squishes the penis and how it’s always there in my pants and how sometimes, if anyone was looking, they’d be able to see it (if they knew what it was). I also love all that because it’s how she wants me to be. She’d rather I be locked up than free. That means a lot to me.

Since she keeps me locked up almost all the time now, I’ve come to feel that being locked up and constrained is normal and being floppy and free isn’t. A real erection is a treat (and usually associated with her wanting it). The stifled one is what I’m supposed to feel. Honestly, when she leaves me out for more than a couple days, I really miss the feeling of a tight and straining tube. It almost feels like I’m cheating. Like I’m being indulged.

3) The only thing I really miss is the ability to jack off whenever I want to. And I want to all the time. But it’s not just not allowed, it’s impossible since I hardly ever get out when she’s not around.

Was this an expected/desired outcome; i.e. that your interest be abated?

The only thing from which my interest has honestly abated is orgasm. All other interests of a sexual nature (ALL of them) are greatly enhanced.

There was no way I expected way back when the CB6K first landed at our door that five years later I’d always be locked up with no hope of coming. The desired outcome was a more fulfilling sex life and emotional connection with Belle. We got that. in spades. But I guess that’s how life is.

More Mailbag posts. Have a chastity question? Ask away.

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Nurturing my nature

Today, I’m feeling it. More than usual, lately. That sort of random and free-floating non-orgasmic anxiety that results from extended denial. I keep thinking about the penis. Keep having flashes of needy images. It out and hard in my hand. Stroking. Just jacking it. Sometimes while being fucked. A lot of non-specific erotic explosions at random moments.

The rule of Belle’s that I don’t play with it unless she tells me I can doesn’t much matter recently since I only get out of the device at those times she wants to fuck me. Typically, I get out the night before and am back in before noon the next day. I don’t have any opportunity to obey or cheat. I might be out four or five days in a month. So it’s a moot point. This morning, though, I expect I would have cheated. I have the need to feel a hard penis and milk it. To lick up my own ejaculate and feel it silky smooth over my tongue. I feel the need for some me-time. The time I don’t get anymore.

I am not complaining. Instead of getting to feel the pleasure of jacking off, she allows me to enjoy the feeling of being in her pussy. That’s the only penis-centric action she’ll let me have. In a weird and unexpected way, it’s frustrating because she’s taken away the way all men first realize what sexual pleasure can be. All men masturbate (those who can, anyway). The popular culture will tell you it’s a poor substitute for fucking someone, but in fact, a lot of the time masturbation is done only for the joy of masturbation. I can’t even remember the last time I masturbated like that. I think it was right after she let me fuck her and then allowed me to ruin an orgasm for the sake of my prostate. So, she was right there. Since then, though, only her pussy. Intentionally or not, she’s ratcheted up my already well-developed dependance on her for pleasure.

She’s nurturing my nature.

By nature, I’m all about sexual service. I want her to have pleasure above mine at all times. Even before we initiated the D/s overlay to our relationship, I always wanted her to come first. I’m obsessed with her pleasure. Big Blue is, to me, a natural extension (so to speak) of that desire. In any event, I’m wired to please before anything else. The denial and the chastity and the rest have all reinforced and extended that inclination. The other night, right after she got off on Blue so well, she told me I could fuck her. But, even though I had been hard as a fucking rock before Blue, I couldn’t get it up after. Not because I didn’t want her. I did. But we had been to a nice dinner before coming home for sex and I knew that, had I been on top fucking her, she would have been uncomfortable. I couldn’t stop thinking about that. I’d roll off and she’d play with the penis and I’d kiss her face and hold her head in my hand and the penis would start to stiffen but as soon as I got between her legs, it’d go flat again.

It even extends to why I like to fuck her. Of course, for all the obvious reasons, but also because I know she likes to be fucked. I know she likes to feel me on her and pumping into her. She like to feel my ass muscles flexing and my moderately hard and muscular arms wrapped around her, holding her close and tight. Basically, she get’s off on the feeling of a big man having his way with her. So, in my mind, half the reason I fuck her is because it feels good to me and the other half is because it feels good to her. That thought never leaves my mind. It can’t because if it does and I get too much into the part I feel I’m playing and I’ll lose control over my ability to stop the orgasm that invariably wants to manifest.

What I’m saying is, I don’t know that I’ve ever fucked anyone in my life for my own sake. Not once that I can recall. I’ve never used anyone as a hole for me to put the penis in. That’s just my inclination. I have been used as a hole more than once, but even then, I don’t have residual bad feelings about those times. To a certain extent, sex has always been about service to me. Now more than ever.

It’s even extended to a rewiring of my autonomic orgasmic responses. When I’m locked up and she comes, I start to feel the effects of the post-orgasmic refractory period. She comes, I feel sleepy and laconic. If I had an erection, it goes away. Rarely am I so turned on that this doesn’t happen. If I’m not locked up and she lets me fuck her, the quasi-refactory period starts after she tells me it’s time to stop. Often, I can feel that it’s time to stop before she tells me. Even when I’m still in her and having a good time, I can feel the penis start to lose pressure.

I even feel as if I know her orgasm as well as I ever knew mine. Sunday morning, after the night with Blue, I did as I usually do and tried to get her off before she was going to let me have a do-over from the night before. I could tell that it wasn’t going well. She asked for Pink and I, shortly after turning the little vibe on, knew it wasn’t going to work. I can just feel it. Like I’m tapped into her pleasure centers somehow. Enough to know that her orgasm wasn’t a lost cause so that I went back in with my fingers and got her off in matter of just a few seconds. I knew where and how to touch her. I knew that it would work.

I know I’m rambling.

I think about chastity and denial and how I sometimes wonder why everybody doesn’t live this way and why it’s good for some but not others and how sometimes, like with us, it goes really fucking deep and ends up with me never wanting to be allowed to come, forever wanting to come. Sexuality is such a crazy thing. So complicated. Infinitely complicated. Trying to interpret it is like trying to identify the individual pieces of glass while looking through a kaleidoscope. Seems to me that, when it comes to successfully using chastity and denial in a relationship as we have, it would be helped if at least one of the partners thought as I do. Pleasure is a service. Theirs should be a priority over your own.

You have to start somewhere.