Tag: orgasm denial

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Denial is a river in Egypt

The other day I mused on the subject of orgasm control vs. orgasm denial. I don’t know if I actually came out and said it that clearly, but that was the point of the post. Right now, Belle denies me orgasm (rather severely). Denial of orgasm is a form of orgasm control, of course, but it’s not at all the same thing. Orgasm control does not imply denial, though it’s a direction it could take.

ANYWAY, point being (and the point I made in my previous post) is that I firmly believe orgasm control is Right and Natural. There’s nothing kinky about it. It’s totally clear to me now that literally every man in a relationship should have his orgasm controlled by his partner (no, I’m not ignoring you gay guys, but I need to leave you out of this for clarity’s sake). I know that sounds very out there and draconian and like I know what’s best for the entire world. Can’t help it. You can disagree with me if you want, but it seems that, for a man, the act of committing himself to a woman would take on so much more significance if he was also committing one of the critical things that defined him as a man: his orgasm. Not only that, it would make it much more difficult for his partner to drift away. If he really meant it and lived up to his word, the two would be forever locked in a symbiotic feedback loop.

Yeah, like I said, out there.

Of course, there are probably a bunch of men who don’t want their orgasm controlled by anyone. That’s fine. It’s a free country. I think they’re wrong, but that’s my right, too. Everybody should be doing it this way.

I only bring it up again because it seems to have developed into a little meme. Sarah Jameson sent one of her email updates the other day on this very subject. She starts out…

Hi Thumper,

Gee, it’s like she wrote it just for me!

She continues…

I had an interesting conversation with John last night about the difference between orgasm control and orgasm denial.

Because they’re not the same thing, even though we tend to see them and talk about them as if they were.

Our conversation was prompted by a couple of emailed questions from a lady who wanted to know, in effect, what I and other women get from subjecting (or treating, depending on your perspective) our men to orgasm denial.

I honestly tried to figure out which bits I should quote with the idea that maybe she wouldn’t want me spilling the entire thing here in a public forum, but I found at the end, “Share this email with a friend or lover. Thanks.” While we’re obviously not lovers, I shall, for legal purposes, consider you all friends. For the time being, anyway. If you like what see, go to her site and sign up.

For many men… male chastity isn’t about orgasm denial… it’s about…

Orgasm Control

Of course, orgasm control then gives rise to the likelihood of orgasm denial, but it’s not always a given. I know from my inbox, many women don’t practice orgasm denial in the sense they always allow their man to come whenever they make love, but they don’t allow it at other times.

Is this orgasm denial? I wouldn’t call it that, but then I’m not the final arbiter of these things, and neither is anyone else.

To my own way of thinking orgasm denial is both more long term and more explicit, meaning we engage in lovemaking and John doesn’t get to come. To me, allowing him to come every time we made love, even if it was only when we made love, well that would be more just orgasm control.

Now many will argue these arguments and discussions are irrelevant and unimportant (and if that’s the case for you, then for you they are).

But I, think they are important, and I know many agree with me.

Why do I think they’re important?

Because to John and to other men, the distinction is very clear.

To John…

Orgasm Control is the Key

Meaning, while he loves orgasm denial for the feelings it gives him, both physical and emotional, and while his full year of orgasm denial is going to drive him up the wall with pleasure and frustration, the real deep satisfaction comes from my orgasm control.

In other words, his greater pleasure, long term, comes from knowing I am the one who gets to choose when he comes. And while if I chose to let him come every single time we played around it would probably take something away from the game, it’s also true that allowing him to come once a week, once a month, or even at random times would be just as pleasurable for him as the full year is proving to be (even though he’s not even a full month in yet).

Just food for thought, I suppose.

Fact is, for most men, at least in my experience, it’s the orgasm control not the orgasm denial that’s important, and as a woman I admit I find the former much easier to understand than the latter.

I have no idea what drives the need for orgasm denial. I think that the desire to be locked up, at least for me, eventually grows out of being denied in that it’s just easier to live when the cock has been removed from the table if I’m not going to be allowed to come anyway.

Case in point. Last night, Belle was out of town and I was feeling a little horny. Even thought it’s been almost a month since the last orgasm, yes, it was just a little. But I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t look at porn, I didn’t try to self-abuse. I didn’t do anything. Because the cock was off the table. There was no point. In the past, that would have saddened me (and it may again at some point), but for the time being, it just made everything easier. I know that, had she been gone and the cock hadn’t been locked up, I would have spent a great deal of time playing with it. Not being able to was a great relief. It’s taken me more than two years to think that way and it’s required a total commitment on my part to Belle’s control (and denial) of my orgasm.

The second part of my mini-meme theme is from a new blog, Delving into Deviance. It’s written from a dominant woman’s POV and includes a post called “Orgasm Control”.

Fuck toy and I enjoy control, but I don’t like putting him in chastity for too long because I enjoy his orgasms and I enjoy riding him for ages and then coming together. In fact, for his impending birthday I’m going to make him come till it hurts, and that’s a very exciting idea.

That’s the flip-side of orgasm control, obviously. Over orgasming. That sounds fun, too.

However, all of these are things that he can do with me. He’s not going to be allowed to come on his own anymore. That isn’t to say that he’ll come any less often or that he won’t be allowed to watch porn. Just that his orgasms always have to happen with me. Being so intimately tied in with his sexual pleasure will be fun. Just as Thumper’s said, I have no problem with men’s masturbatory habits generally. Masturbation isn’t a problem or anything. And sometimes, if I’m sleepy, I may allow him to simply masturbate beside me as I snuggle up to him. But always sharing that moment will, I think, be rather magical and deepen his submission.

Sometimes he won’t be allowed to come, and there will certainly be plenty of times that he doesn’t get to come as soon as he’d like too (I love edging). However, realistically, most days he will have an orgasm because I enjoy watching him in that moment. I love his face, his noises, his surrender. It’s beautiful.

In the beginning, when for me this game was all about denial, a dynamic like this would have been very unsatisfying. Now, though, I think I could live indefinitely as described above. I’m not asking or suggesting Belle change anything, but like I said, I am now totally and completely committed to Belle owning my orgasm. I will come whenever and however she lets me and I’ll be thankful for it. I won’t push for any specific duration and I won’t be disappointed, regardless.

I want to be tortured, and I want to be made to squirm, and I want to be pushed, but more than any of that, I want Belle to always control my orgasm. Always. Because that’s how it should be.

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A token’s worth

The good news is I didn’t lose control of myself yesterday. Yes, there was good deal of self-abuse and I enjoyed myself very much, but I never quite crossed the line into orgasm. I got right up to the line, but didn’t tumble over.

The interesting bit regarding that is the internal conversation that takes place in the moment of trying to stop whatever it is I’m doing in time to avoid the inevitable. It’s like, “I’m getting really close, I’m getting really close, I’mgettingreallyclose…STOP! Stop, stop, stop!!” And everything grinds to a halt. But in those moments of “I’m getting really close” recognition, there’s this other voice interjecting it’s own agenda.

“I’m getting really close.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m getting reeeally close.”

“I know. It’s no big deal. You can go further.”

“I’m getting really, really, really close!”

“OK, just think for a minute. Should you stop? I mean, honestly? Imagine how good it’ll feel if…”

“STOP! Stop, stop, stop!!”

“Goddamn it.”

The ancient reptile part of my brain conspires with whichever little bits of my higher brain are against this whole orgasm denial thing – not in order to talk me out of stopping, but to distract me for just a tiny bit at the end when I’m so close that even a second’s worth of dithering will mean I go over the falls and squirt violently all over the place. I was there four or five times yesterday but it wasn’t until the last two that things got dangerous. Both times I stopped in time to avoid the internal fireworks, but not in time to avoid ejaculation. So, if nothing else, I’m well milked.

Having the cock as a member of my little party was highly unusual. I’d pull up just in time and look down at it all shiny and slick and it, in turn, looked back up. It doesn’t have a face, but it’s distain for me was apparent.

“Oh, just fucking do it, already!” Throb. Squirt. Throb. Bob.

But no. I didn’t. I did exactly what I was allowed to do and no more. And before anyone thinks of ripping me a new one for my prolonged masturbatory indulgence, remember I had permission.

Afterward, I took a shower and decided it would be best if I put the Steelheart back on, but the 5:00 hot spot I talked about yesterday was still pretty hot. Belle inspected the situation last night before sleep and said she’d give it another 24 hours to heal. I enjoyed my freedom and still hope she might want to take advantage of the situation for herself somehow, but honestly, the distraction of having a cock I can reach down and touch, with real hard erections and everything, is almost too much for me to handle. I will be grateful to be shut off from it again.

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Pillow talk

It went something like this…

“I’m horny.”

“I know.”

He grinds into her, pressing the steel cage between their bodies.

“It’s been a long time.”

“A long time?! It’s only been…what? Two and a half weeks?”

Whimper.

“You’ve gone far longer than that, haven’t you?”

Quietly, “Yes.”

The cock in the cage swells.

“You’ve got a long time more to wait.”

Quietly, “I know.”

“Two weeks is a long time for a normal man, but you’re not normal, are you?”

“No.”

“No. You’re more…evolved. Aren’t you?”

Whimper.

“You don’t need to come as often as regular men. Two weeks. That’s nothing for you, is it?”

“No.”

The cock is pretty hard now, but stifled in its prison. Her cock, not his. Right where she wants it to be.

“Maybe you’re getting weak. Maybe we need to push you to new feats of endurance.”

Whimper.

“Stop whining.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He kisses her on her lips. Her full, warm, lips – redolent of all the things he wants but will not get. Not that night.

“Good boy. Now, I’ll let you give me an orgasm.”

“Thank you.”

Whimper (inside).

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Just don’t

During my recent week of ridiculous orgasmic bliss, while laying in bed with Belle enjoying the afterglow of maybe the second or third she had let me pull out of myself and onto my hand and stomach, I said something to the effect that all orgasms should be like that. That is, enjoyed in the company of one’s partner.

In the moment – that dopey, sleepy, unfocused moment – it seemed so right. So natural. It was one of those “everybody should be doing it this way” kind of epiphanic visions that those of us who fuck around with our hormones experience from time to time. If the time comes when Belle and I no longer use chastity devices, I think this will be a permanent modification of our lifestyle. It seems like I’ll only ever come with her knowledge and/or permission from now on.

I realize this is skating pretty close to the point of view that it’s men’s “addiction” to masturbation that drives couples apart. I still don’t buy that. Men are not addicted to masturbation. Saying that is like saying they’re addicted to breathing or eating when they get hungry. A man’s reproductive system and the motivation behind his need to orgasm are totally different than a woman’s. It’s kinda like that candy production line Lucy and Ethel worked on where the chocolate keeps coming out, forever and ever, no matter what they do. With age, the line might slow down a bit or even stop, but for the majority of a man’s life, that line just keeps on chugging, driving the desire for release, piling up little chocolates that need to be wrapped.

We know what happens when that cycle is tampered with. I’ve been trying to describe it for the past 2+ years on this blog and I still can’t fully relate what it’s like, but the net result of letting that natural desire for release build (and then attaching it to your partner’s pleasure) can lead to relationship-altering benefits. It’s not all sugar and fairy dust, to be sure, but then again, nothing ever is.

So anyway, back to my moment. I saw that absent a device and absent the partner’s control over the release, another way this could work (and perhaps work just as well) would be to always – and I mean always – come in the company of your partner. Just don’t ever let yourself fall into the lazy trap of disconnecting sexual pleasure from your partner. That’s what happens when men become “addicted” to masturbation. They and their partner allow them (consciously or not) to take the path of least resistance and, after time, a groove gets carved into their brain and it becomes the main way they achieve the release that’s always building within.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. Just don’t let it. Just don’t come without them. I guarantee you they will be thrilled by the idea. You don’t need to bring D/s or chastity or any of the “weird kinky shit” into the conversation. Just tell them you never want to have another sexually pleasurable moment without them ever again. They’ll melt.

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Where I am

I’ve received a couple of messages like this one from reader Andy (who’s favorite color is green):

No entries in so long…what’s up? Are you ok?

Yes, I’m OK. Thanks to all who asked.

To recap. Last we spoke, I was unlocked. Belle left me out for the period between Christmas Eve and New Year’s. I think I went back in on the 2nd. Anyway, I had come five times in that week. It was an interesting period for me because, even though I was coming fairly regularly, I didn’t really lose the urge to do so until the fifth time. After that one (which, like the first, happened inside Belle), I was well and truly tapped out.

But the fact that I wanted to come more even after the third and fourth effort and how the urge shut down so completely after the last makes me think there’s a significant mental component to my desire to orgasm. I knew she was going to let me come a lot over a relatively short period of time, so I kept wanting to do it. Also, I knew when the last one had happened and my need for more shut down commensurately.

So anyway, she put me back in the day after the fifth. I did not want that fucking thing on me. I’ve written about this before, but the stupid thing really bummed me out for a while. Four to five days, I’d guess. I was just this big, heavy, clunking thing and I had razor burn behind the ring and it hurt and I was grumpy about it and hated it. And she said she didn’t care. In-the-moment hottness factor of zero, retrospective hottness factor of 8. Then, at some point, I asked her why she put me in it. First, she said, she thought it was sexy. Yes, she now apparently thinks her husband is more sexy with a secure cock than he is with a functioning one. Two, she said she thought it was good for me. I am imprisoned for my own good.

It speaks to how I’m in such a different place now that just writing those last few sentences have filled my tube and caused my heart to pound in my ears. About two weeks in and the hornies have started to come back. I had a hard time falling asleep last night because of how turned on I was and that hasn’t happened since she put me in. That’s a good sign, I suppose. Also, the device has transmogrified back into an extension of me and not some clunky steel thing I have to put up with. That’s always kind of a magical thing, to be honest.

So, as is typical for men in my position, I start to wonder how long I’ll be like this. The Christmas/New Year’s break, while unscheduled, was not entirely unexpected. It was one of those markers on the calendar that seemed like logical points for her to let me out. Birthdays, anniversaries, major religious holidays, etc. But, looking forward, I don’t see another logical release point until our family vacation at the end of March. She hasn’t said anything other than making vague and ominous warnings about “duration records”. I have an overnight business trip in February, but other than that, it’s not looking good for the cock.

There’s where I am. Not bad. Not fantastic, but could be way worse. Thanks again to those who took the time to enquire.

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Let’s get small

Belle let me out on Christmas Eve morning. I had absolutely no idea it was going to happen. She hadn’t dropped any kind of hint whatsoever. Even more surprising was the orgasm she let me have right after the tube came off. Note, I said tube, not device, because the ring was still on. By the time the cock popped out, it was too fat to get the ring off.

“That’s OK,” she said, “We’ll fix that soon enough.”

The ring is very tight when the tube’s not there to restrict the erections and it made my ball sack plump out like a punching bag. Ironic since she did give it a few whacks, but nothing extensive (alas). She mounted me and slid the overly engorged cock inside the warm wetness. We came shortly afterward at essentially the same moment (which she always likes), though the tight ring made the ejaculation feel restricted and weird. For those playing along at home, that was just about seven weeks since my previous orgasm.

She let me go again this morning, but it was for the sole purpose of making me come. She didn’t even remove her top. I fucked her for maybe 1.3 minutes before spewing so fast that I almost missed it. We had discussed the possibility of putting me through a “hard reset” with regard to orgasm. Perhaps making me come 5-7 times over a week to “flood the zone”, as it were. Then go back to denial. This morning’s quickie might have been step two in the zone flooding procedure. She’s not sure yet.

Anyway, as to why I came so fast. I told Belle today about my last post (which she has not yet read). I told her that the cock felt smaller to me, even though it wasn’t. She immediately got it.

“Well, it is smaller than that hunk of steel you were carrying around down there. Also, I’m sure the feeling of smallness reenforces your submissive tendencies.”

She’s right, on both counts. No, neither of us are saying that guys with smaller dicks are naturally submissive or anything like that. Nor that guys with non-small dicks can’t be submissive. But, I admit, the idea that I have a small dick does put me more in the proper subbie state of mind. Of course, it’s not small. It’s perfectly average. Also, we both know it gives Belle a great deal of pleasure. But the idea. That’s the thing.

So, back to the uber-quick orgasm from earlier. The entire act seemed perfunctory. She essentially said something to the effect of, “Come on, let’s go.” This wasn’t about making love, it was about getting me off as efficiently as possible. In my head, I had a flash of a trusty chastity porn story: This was the one day of the year the lovely wife let her normally chastity-bound husband put his little dick where her boyfriend’s much more substantial member frequently goes. I mean, seriously, I don’t even think it was that well formed in my head, but as soon as the outlines of the concept of the fantasy appeared, it was like a direct circuit snapped into being from the cock to my brain and BAM!, I was coming.

It was later that day when she correctly deduced two of the three reasons I’m feeling small. One, the device feels bigger than what it contains. Two, it plays into my submissive tendencies and I’m projecting smallness onto it. But three was that the guys I’m seeing stream by in the never-ending current of pornographic images I peruse for the Portfolio are all bigger than me. Even the softies are big and plump and heavy-looking. I know, duh, right? It’s porn. They’re going to use the better-than-average-sized guys more often. But, when I’m locked and have been for a while, their cocks become my only frame of reference. I don’t have a proper one (just a big steel tube), so when it makes an infrequent appearance, it seems smaller than normal.

So I say to her, “You know, you could use this to your advantage.” Meaning, she could reenforce my feelings of penile inadequacy to drive me deeper into my subspace. I know she doesn’t think the cock is small. I know it isn’t. I know she loves it and gets off on it and all that. But if we pretended otherwise – if she were to comment on how small it was or how she wished it were bigger – that would have an impact on our dynamic.

It sounds cruel, but it’s just make-believe. Not unlike the other make-believe we use in our relationship all the time. I don’t know if I’ll always get off on the small penis thing. Like I said last time, I’m as surprised as anyone that I’m feeling this way. Now we’ll see if Belle’s willing to use it against me.

Mailbag
You may have noticed a link at the top of the page called Feedback. It’s a new way to share your comments or questions with me, as a few people have already done.

Eric said…

Hey there, Love your blog! You’ve really inspired me to get the same set up. However, I’m wondering if it is possible to use a cable to support the weight of the device. Check this out. Hopefully you won’t have a problem viewing this, as you may need to log in. Do you think this would fit with the integrated lock and PA fixing? Thanks and happy holidays! Eric

The image Eric linked to is of someone’s CB6Ks fitted with a long wire worn around the guy’s waist like a belt. I’m guessing it’s an anti pull-out measure.

To answer your question, Eric, I think the weight of the Steelheart would make a thin steel cable bite into your skin. It would probably work with the Steelheard since it has two alignment posts like the CB6K does, but if you’re wearing a PA fixing like mine, I’m not sure what the extra cable would accomplish. I don’t find the device needs any extra support, though someone wearing a larger cuff ring might, I suppose.

Chaste said…

Thumper, I’m shopping for a strap-on as a stunt dick for servicing Goddess. Where did you get yours? Thanks and Merry Christmas and Happy new Year

Merry Christmas and happy New Year to you, too!

I got Mr. Darcy and my harness at Edenfantasys. Good luck!

Long-time reader Pastry Chef said…

Hey Thumper-can’t say I like the new look. I miss the links and the low contrast is just boring. I was wondering-do you find yourself less pulled to blog now that you run a forum? Happy Holidays!

Happy holidays to you, too!

I’m sorry you don’t like the new look, but I do. A lot! I switched three minutes after finding it. I love the minimalism and the Helvetica. I know from previous experience, though, that I can’t make everyone happy. Every new look as turned someone off. Hopefully, you’ll get used to it. In the mean time, I’ve added a links page.

Regarding the forum and posting less, my recent spat of postless days has had more to do with what was happening in my head than on the forum. In fact, I haven’t spent any time at all there for several weeks. Back when I was, though, I wouldn’t say it was making me less interested in posting, but it does burn off some of the finite daily energy I use to write on the blog. On the other hand, it’s also given me things to write about I might not have otherwise. It’s probably a push. As I’m just trying to get back into the swing of things, I suspect I’ll spend more time and energy here than there, though.

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Objects are larger than they appear

Yes, we’re still alive over here.

Belle did let me out. I wanted it but at the same time didn’t. In any event, I took the key and removed the device and was free. That was as we went to bed, so I slept and woke several times due to the weird feeling of having a cock that could feel the sheets rub against it.

The next day, my pants felt empty. You get used to sporting a certain kind of package and when it’s gone, you notice. I was free all that day and again the next night. Even so, I didn’t feel the need to take advantage of the situation. There was no urge to. I was still out of touch with my own sex drive.

The next morning, Belle told me she had her period. She didn’t say it, but I knew that meant I should be locked up again. Back when I wasn’t essentially permanently locked, it was a rule that I had to be protected while she was having her period. That morning, before I put the device back on, I finally felt the desire to play with myself. It wasn’t that big of a deal. No toys or anything, but there was a moderate amount of stroking leading me up very, very close to the edge of orgasm. So close, that I found myself with at least a tablespoon of thick ejaculate in my hand. And how did I know that wasn’t an orgasm? Because I swallowed every bit of it. I ran it around in my mouth, so slick over my tongue, and felt it thick in my throat for an hour afterward. And I wanted more. A lot more. So no, I didn’t come. Then the device went back on and there it’s stayed. Belle has the key again and shows no interest in letting me have it back any time soon.

An interesting observation from my morning self-abuse, though. One of the things you’ll read on the web is that chastity devices make your dick smaller. I’ve always felt it was crap. And I still do, but I may know where the idea comes from. While I was stroking myself and feeling the cock get as long and as hard as it could get, it felt smaller to me than I remember it being. Now, I don’t have a big dick to begin with. It’s perfectly average in length and girth, but I could have sworn it had shrunk. I even got the tape measure out to make sure, but it was still exactly the same size as before (about 5.75″ long).

The thing is, as I said above, you get used to swinging a big steel tube between your legs. So much so that, when it’s gone, the contents feel much less imposing by comparison. It may not get longer when I’m excited, but the tube is always fat and stout. It’s easily twice as big around as the engorged cock and, while shorter, it carries a certain gravitas that mere meat cannot attain. Whatever memory I had of what my former cock felt like had been somewhat displaced by the steel tube.

And here’s the next bit of surprising info. When I was sure the cock had gotten smaller, I wasn’t all that concerned about it. As a guy, you’re conditioned to obsess over the size of your member. But, as the kind of guy I’ve become, it doesn’t really matter. The cock simply isn’t a regular player anymore. The only thing I worried about was that it may not be enough to satisfy Belle. But really, the idea that I was being made smaller and less…I don’t know…prominent seemed perfectly normal. To be expected. The cock isn’t that big of a deal anymore, so why shouldn’t it be minimized in every way? I’ve even started to like the idea that a lot of guys are bigger.

Of course, I’m glad it’s not getting smaller. I’m glad it’s exactly as it was before being encased almost all the time. But I’m clearly kinking on the idea of nullification. The idea that my penis should be made superfluous and of minimal importance, figuratively and literally. It’s an odd little cul-de-sac of my sexuality I didn’t expect to find myself in. And I wonder, all those guys who say they’ve lost size due to being in devices, if it’s not all in their heads. If it’s not a combination of wanting it to be that way and, because they’ve lost touch with themselves, thinking it actually is.

So, anyway, the turbulence I wrote about the other day hasn’t entirely left. I have lost touch with myself. With my independent sexuality. I know it must still be in there, but it’s way in the back somewhere. So, without that, I need Belle’s. I need to feel sexual through her. And when I don’t, it feels like something’s been amputated. Something really important. And its loss leaves me aching and depressed. I’m not entirely sure what will become of me. On the one hand, I’m committed to this existence. I’m quite convinced that I don’t need to ever have another orgasm. On the other hand, while I can live without the orgasms, I can’t live without being sexual. It’s more than the old saying that chastity isn’t abstinence. Of course it’s not. But I really feel that a transference is taking place. I have adopted her sexuality almost entirely in the place of mine. If this turns out to be the case and if it’s permanent, I don’t know what will happen. Right now, I can feel parts of me resisting it. But there are other parts of me that want to keep going.

The other night, I was dry humping her leg and, when I would usually say something like, “God, I want to fuck you,” I said, “God, I want to feel you come.” I guess that’s a perfectly natural thing for a guy with no cock and no ability to achieve independent arousal to say. What else is there now except her pleasure and, ultimately, her orgasm?

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Turbulence

It’s all cyclical.

This weekend, I was feeling very much not into chastity. Instead of it being fun and sexy and titillating, it’s been annoying, intrusive, and a bummer. The device that, at times, I’ve come to think of as my natural state has turned into a stupid hunk of steel I’m forced to drag around everywhere I go.

I’ve been hinting to Belle that I was moving in this direction and last night I pretty much came out and said I’d like it come off. That’s a potential minefield since it’s become more than just a sexy game. It’s now an integral part of our relationship. Maybe even unhealthily so. That’s why I was nervous and somewhat apprehensive about saying I wanted it off and that’s why she was disinclined to let me out.

Which, I suppose, on one level, could sound really hot. The ultimate wank fodder fantasy, right? Being locked up against one’s will is the Holy Grail of hawt chastity p0rn. Except when it happens in real life. That’s not to say she told me I had to stay locked up. She didn’t, exactly. But she did say she’d let me out in the morning. Then morning came and there was a bunch of running around (more than usual) and the key was never produced.

Why do I feel this way? No idea. One part of it may be that I’ve switched back to the Steelheart and, after wearing the Jail Bird for a while, it now feels really big and clunky. Another piece of it (a big piece) is that we had no sex this weekend. In fact, we haven’t since before she went to NYC last week. Yet another piece is I am finding it very difficult to achieve any kind of meaningful arousal by myself. It’s as though I have no sex drive separate from her. She gave me the token while she was gone (meaning I was free to abuse myself in any way I could while still in the device) but, just like last time this happened, I couldn’t muster the energy. All I want to do is feel her. Fuck her. Come though her. Again, that’s another element from the wank fodder. Being trained not to want any kind of sexual pleasure other than hers. Well, I’m here. In my current frame of mind, it’s left me feeling less hot and more depressed. It’s like there’s a hole in me. Something really important is missing. Oddly, though, any kind of drive or desire to serve her is absent. I’m not feeling a subby vibe. I’m not really feeling anything.

So anyway, she didn’t let me out last night when I asked. Made me wait. I don’t have a problem, in theory, with the idea that, by default, I need to wait 12 hours to be let out if I’m asking for any reason other than physical pain. A waiting period, if you will. Yes, she effectively said, you can get out after your waiting period. Just to make sure I’m serious. Because, as I said above, it’s a Big Deal for us if I’m not locked up.

But, she didn’t say that and we don’t have that agreement. She just said, “Later.” It kind of pissed me off. I was already grumpy all weekend and this didn’t help. Though now, after a bit of reflection, maybe I’m OK with it. I’m not really mad at her. I just wish there had been more conversation about what was happening. If she asks me again tonight if I still want out, I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to say. Yes, because I’m not feeling it. Yes, because it should be fun and sexy. But, also, no, not if she really wants me to stay in. No, not if she’s going to engage with the fact that I’m locked up and depressed. No, not if she can help me come out of my funk.

That’s the part they don’t talk about in the hawt chastity p0rn. The part maybe even you, my faithful reader, can’t really appreciate until you realize you may have lost your independent sexuality. That’s a freaky, scary feeling and it’s like losing a massive part of what makes you you.

I don’t have a tidy ending to this post. But, life is like that sometimes. We’ll see what happens later…

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48 free – Part 2

I look the Jail Bird off just before dinner and went to bed free. We had to wait a long time for the boy to fall asleep, though I could tell Belle was tired.

I started kissing her (once the coast was clear) and immediately got hard. I wasn’t entirely sure anything was going to happen, but assumed there’d be action since she left me out an extra night. She tasted amazing. Just the kissing was getting me going pretty good.

“Can you keep a secret?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“I’d rather be locked up than free now,” I admitted while nibbling on her neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The cock kept waking me up last night. Always in the way. All hard and pokey.”

“Like a kickstand?” She laughed at her joke.

“Kinda. Anyway, who needs it? Such a distraction…” Kiss, kiss. Tongue.

I know that if I were to spend all my time unlocked and freely swinging that I’d get used to that again and the device would feel weird, but that’s not where I am now. It’s been locked up pretty consistently for months and months with only a few days here and there unprotected. I’ve become accustomed to what being locked in a cage or tube feels like and, since I’m not allowed to touch or play with it anyway, prefer it locked away. More on that in a minute…

“Well, you’re going back in tomorrow morning.” Then she lifted her shirt.

I was going with the flow, not trying to lead. She had an idea of what she wanted and I tried to give it to her. I worked on her nipples while her hips gyrated in sympathy, then I moved a hand to her snatch. Eventually, her pants were off and my finger was in deep and she was coming. The cock was very hard, uninvolved and dry.

She laid perfectly still as she usually does after she comes, basking. I laid as still as I could manage. It was hard. My hips were trying to hump all on their own, though my brain was ready for anything. I would have accepted more sex or her rolling over to sleep. I actually felt, even though I was hard and horny, the normal sleepiness that comes to me after her orgasm now.

After a few silent minutes, she said, “Come on, you can take a ride.”

I immediately mounted her and put the cock inside. So warm and so wet and so fucking awesome. This is what I wanted this time around. What I couldn’t stop thinking about. Sometimes, I crave my own hand, but this time it was the soft and hot confines of Belle’s pussy. I came close to orgasm several times but was able to catch myself. After the fourth or fifth time (the interval between which getting shorter and shorter), she told me the ride was over. I slipped off and out and felt the hard cock slap wetly against my thigh. She went off to the bathroom to freshen up and I pulled on my balls and tried not to touch her cock.

As worked up as I was, the sleepiness cued by her decision that playtime was over soon fell over me. I did drift off clinging to her, pressing the still-fat cock against her, my arm up her shirt, skin on skin.

Shortly afterward, though, my eyes snapped open. I was fully awake and still horny. This isn’t unusual, either. The feeling of two warring factions in my body is a regular one now. The forces of her control against the reptile brain insurgents. This time, though, the insurgents knew the cock had been left undefended. Their time had come.

In no time, I was on my phone checking out porn and pulling on the meat. The battle was evident in my head. The little bunny voice telling me to stop was being drowned out by the lizard trying to distract me until it was too late. Finally, I got so close that a large amount of ejaculate pulsed out of the cock and got all over it and my right hand. Not an orgasm by any mean (I could tell because of how much I loved licking the sticky scream off myself), but clearly a sign that my reproductive system was in full battle readiness. I was so close to coming that I could feel it just one or two strokes away each time I grasped the shaft. Had I lingered too long on the head, I would have spewed.

The little bunny voice had grown hysterical at this point. It knew, better than I, that we were on the verge of disaster. The Jail Bird, it reminded me, was in my nightstand drawer.

PUT IT ON. PUT IT THE FUCK ON.

I retrieved the device and pulled its parts out of the black fuzzy bag. I was careful to place the locking screw in on my nightstand so I wouldn’t lose it in the sheets. I put the ring over my sore and swollen balls but had to wait a long time for the cock to deflate enough to even try to get it through. Eventually, with enough spit and pulling, it popped inside the ring only to then get even fatter due to the constricted blood flow. The cage barely fit over the cock’s head, let alone over then entire member. I waited some more. And then some more. I surfed news sites trying to take my mind off the throbbing tube of meat between my legs. Eventually, slowly, it went down enough for me to squish it into the cage. Flesh was bulging out the sides, but I mated the cage with the cuff ring’s post and the beast was finally contained.

Getting the screw in should have been tricky. I had to align the holes on both the post and the cage (in both the X and Y axis), then get the screw in – all in the dark. Somehow, though, it didn’t take any time at all. As I tightened the screw into place, I felt a calm come over me. It was done. Suddenly, I was very sleepy.

What I found trapped inside the the short, snug cage of the Jail Bird surprised me: freedom. I was free from the temptation of the unlocked cock. I was free from having to control myself. Obviously, I shouldn’t be left alone with the thing anymore, at least when I’m in that state. I knew when I was doing it that I was breaking the rules, but it took every ounce of willpower I had to stop. I was like a dog in a butcher shop, practically unable to restrain my desire for raw meat.

This morning, I handed her the JB key before I even got out of bed. I don’t think she knows I was in it all night. Well, now she does. Anyway, I’m glad to be back in…wishing again that I was out.

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48 free – Part 1

As promised, Belle let me out Saturday morning. I was kinda lobbying for Friday night, but she wasn’t having any of it. So, Saturday morning, she brought me the key and saw the cock for the first time in three weeks.

It always looks so pale and sad when the tube slides off. The head seems to be permanently lighter than it used to be. Not sure what causes that. It’s not like it was regularly seeing the light of day before all tucked away in my pants. It pinked up by the end of the day, but still looks lighter than it used to.

Anyway, having free swinging meat feels really weird to me now. There were several times over the course of the day where I had forgotten I was out only to be somewhat surprised to realize that there wasn’t a hard metal device between my legs. One time, when watching TV, my hand wandered under my waistband (as men’s hands are wont to do) and I was shocked to find soft, pliant flesh there instead of a hard tube.

I was a good boy, though. I took a book with me into a nice hot bath and kept my hands off the cock the entire time. I very specifically did not touch it, though I wanted to. That took some will power, but she hadn’t given me any explicit permission to play with myself, so I tried my best not to.

In bed, Belle told me to get naked and, for the first time in a month, I was really and truly so. We kissed a bit and the cock got long and hard and I dry-humped the space between her leg and the mattress. It was so great being able to feel a full erection where I normally only feel pressure and hard steel rings. I got up on my hands and knees over her body and kept kissing her as she started to play with the cock. It was nice, gentle stuff. Caressing and stroking the meat while sending me higher and higher into my hormonal cloud of arousal. By the end, she was yanking on the cock, pulling it straight down, and I felt like a cow being milked. She told me going in that I wasn’t going to come, but the stoking was fairly purposeful and my expression, I’m sure, told her I was close. I thought she was going to let me come, not thinking that by doing so she’d be letting me spray all over the sheets. Just as I had convinced myself that orgasm was imminent, she let go and told me it was time to go to sleep. The cock throbbed and surged to no avail.

Jesus FUCK! It’s all so different now. When we first started this stuff, I’d have been hoping and wishing she’d deny me, but now I’m just the opposite. I wanted to come so fucking bad, but she wouldn’t let me. As the saying goes, I had been ridden hard and was being put up wet, but not wet enough.

After I blew the candles out, she told me to lay on my stomach. Hard cock beneath me, she stroked my ass going down between my legs and then up along my crack to the small of my back, then in reverse. Eventually, she got her nails involved and was raking my cheeks. I lifted my hips in response and felt a palpable need to be fucked. She totally owns me now and was playing me like a viloin. I would have done anything she asked at that moment.

Even though I was all riled up and laying on what felt like a steel rod, when she went back to gentle stroking and caressing, I went down with her. I felt weariness descend over me and, with a still hard and aching cock, fell asleep. I remember distinctly the very first night Belle and I had sex and I wasn’t allowed to come. I was higher than a kite and didn’t come down until sometime the next day. Contrast that with last night when, after a month of no orgasms or even cock contact of any kind, I was able to fall asleep awash in frustration and hormones. It goes to show how much I’ve adapted to this existence.

Today, Belle told me I’d go back in tomorrow morning. I assume that means there’s still something she wants from the unencumbered cock. Even though she’s not expecting me to be locked until tomorrow, I’ve put myself in the Jail Bird on my own accord because I’m not entirely sure I trust myself after last night. I’ll take it off before bed, but until then, I’m making sure I don’t lose focus.