Tag: orgasm denial

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In out up down

Hey, kids! Miss me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three months to go.

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Handjob

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” I said quietly. Meekly.

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

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

“You can stay out for the night.”

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

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

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

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

Like I said. Complicated.

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Seafaring

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

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

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

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Little words

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Whimper. “It’s so hard,” I reply.

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

Pinch.

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Clean up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Manifestival

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

Recently, he posted his “personal manifesto”:

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

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

He begins…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Total agreement with all that. 100%.

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

HAPPINESS

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

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

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Kinky or no?

On a recent post, a reader left this comment:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Pure pleasure

As I mentioned in my previous post, the njoy Pure arrived yesterday. Mere happenstance brought me home early (no, I swear) so I had a chance to get it wet all by myself and then, because I liked it so much, I made use of it again later that night. Here are my thoughts.

Before I start, I admit I’m not this thing’s typical consumer. Chances are I’ll never have an orgasm while using it. All it does for me is allow an outlet for my need to feel further heights of stimulation while also coaxing backed-up fluid out of my reproductive system. Most guys, I assume, would be jacking off while using it which, naturally, would lead to a very different outcome than mine.

The out-of-the-box experience is quite good. Not Apple kind of good, but way better than the majority of sex toys on the market with which I have experience. This is a premium implement and it comes with a premium package. The case itself is a sturdy black plastic and contains a cut-out in the shape of the Pure and is lined with soft cloth. Closed, it’s very understated and could live in a nightstand without attracting any undo attention. Since the surface of the Pure is polished stainless, I’m glad they include such a nice box in which to store it. The thing itself is pretty indestructible, but I’m sure it would scratch easily rolling around in the toy box.

The wand is 8 inches from end to end and terminates with a one inch ball on side and a 1.5 inch ball on the other. The balls are offset so, on the inside of the wand’s curve, they have a bit of a lip to catch on the sensitive bits of whatever orifice in which you’ve put it. It weighs in at just over 1.5 pounds and that, plus the mirrored finish, give it a presence to be reckoned with. As soon as you take it out of the box, you know this is a serious tool.

I’ve purchased at least four implements purpose-built for stimulating the prostate and I have to say that the Pure puts them all to shame. I used it for about a half hour in the afternoon and maybe an hour later that night and the Pure allowed me to feel things I’ve just never felt before. This thing fucking rocks.

I started out with the smaller end to get things rolling. I found the one inch ball, on the narrower end of the wand, to be all about precision. Seriously, I just can’t say this enough. With the Pure, I can hit places I hardly could before and with a consistency that literally took my breath away. Once the party really got started, I moved to the larger end. This side is about gravitas. You can feel the density and mass of the thing as it rides up and over your prostate. This isn’t about tickling or teasing, it’s about rolling over stuff and teaching it who’s boss. I can’t really say I liked one end more than the other. They both have a role to play and I found myself switching back and forth.

For lubrication, I used Astroglide. The stainless is so smooth, you don’t need much. One of the things I’ve always (or nearly always) experienced in the past with using dildos is an irritation and sensitivity around my anus afterward. The Pure, though, isn’t about penetration. It’s like a laser-guided smart bomb compared to the typical dildo’s bunker-busting brute force action. Once inserted, you can focus entirely on the P-spot and forget everything else. For those with hang-ups about penetration, this could be a really good thing. But, for those times when you just want to feel like you’re getting fucked, it’s not the best choice.

In any event, this morning I woke with the definite feeling of having an itch I’ve already scratched too much but want to keep on scratching. Inside, I feel like I’ve been raped by a biker gang (you know, in the good way), while outside is nothing but perfectly pink pucker. The Pure provides for an amazingly comfortable ride, both during and after. I can still feel a subtle happy glow burning away in my colon even now and admit, unless Belle texts me to put an end to my fun, I know exactly what I’ll be doing again tonight once the kids are asleep.

Another interesting aspect of the Pure is the temperature-trapping qualities of the stainless steel. I can imagine a lot of interesting temperature play options with this thing. Holding it in your hand for a few seconds takes the chill off as it can be a bit cold at first. After a little while, though, it comes out hot in a way I found very satisfying. So much of this device’s success, for me, is how it plays with your senses. Feeling it slip out as hot as I was after using it made me love it that much more.

Clean up is, naturally, a snap. The steel is totally non-porous which means it can be used with any lube and easily comes clean in hot soapy water. It’s not unlike a fork that way…

As a milking device, it’s exceptional. My earlier session seemed to have moved most of the accumulated fluid out so that, by the time things really got rolling that night, there wasn’t much left. I’ve always been a dribble and squirt kind of milker, though, and have marveled at the guys who’ve demonstrated the gush of fluid that comes out in a long continuous stream. I’d never been close to that kind of event, but I think, had I still been juicy, it would have happend to me last night. After 30-40 minutes of stimulation, I felt something like an urge to pee, but different. I can’t really describe the sensation, but it felt like, had the system still been primed, it would have been evacuating its contents at that moment.

It’s not all pixies and sunshine, though. The smooth mirrored surface responsible for the terrific comfort also makes holding on to the thing something of a challenge when it’s wet. It’s hard to feel as though you have a really good grip on it. Also, the weight can be an issue. You can just use it and use it and, eventually, your hand’s going to get tired. Finally, it’s expensive. I paid $108 with free shipping at Eden Fantasys. However, I think its expense is easily justified when you consider it should last, literally, a lifetime. Combined with how fantastically it does its job, I think buying one is a no-brainer. Next to Belle’s little pink vibe and the Steelheart, this is among the best sex toy purchases I’ve ever made.

Rating: 4.5 little fuzzy bunny tails out of five

Posted on

Permission

“Just so I’m clear,” I said, embracing Belle with my arms and legs and pressing my face into her right breast, “I’m allowed to fuck my ass and torture my nipples while you’re gone?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“How about my balls? Can I abuse my balls? Can I make them hurt?”

Silence.

“No, you can’t do that. You need something to look forward to for when I get back.”

“You’re right, Belle Fille. Thank you.”

—

Belle’s off to NYC until Thursday leaving me alone with permission to do the things I used to do anyway back when it was up to me. Sera said in a comment to a previous post, regarding Belle’s appropriation of just about every one of my physical outlets, “Glad to hear Belle is rejecting the myth that cock=male sexuality,” and I guess that is the best summary of what she’s done. I think even I had fallen into that trap.

I had been lobbying Belle for another chance to make her come on Sunday night since she’s going to be gone for most of the week and well past the 72 hour no-fly zone that follows her orgasms, but as I laid there and held her, even with a full tube and a quivering desire fluttering around in my chest, I felt very calm. I’ve felt this from time to time before and I should probably bookmark this post for when I stop feeling it in the future, but it was one of those crystal moments when I totally accepted my place and her power to decide what was going to happen. I think this is due to her flexing her control and the acquisition of her new powers. The number of technicalities I was able to carve wiggle room out of have been drastically diminished by her. It’s almost refreshing to know I can’t do anything to or with my body without her permission. In any event, it focuses the mind quite a bit.

Which, in fact, is all I have left: My mind. Of course, it would be very difficult for her to control that to such an extent that I couldn’t use it to at least work myself up (not that I think she wants to or that I want her to or that it would be in any way good for our relationship). I still have blanket permission to consume porn which, at this point, it purely a mental exercise. That’s just about the last thing I can do all on my own that involves sex. I suppose she could require that I ask permission before engaging in it, but I do so at a frequency I’m sure she’d find both alarming and annoying if I asked her each and every time. Maybe if I had to ask each day or something. I dunno. Maybe I shouldn’t even talk about it. Yeah, let’s change the subject…

Saturday night, I almost made her come without ever touching her pussy. In fact, I know I could have. It had been two and half weeks since my last opportunity (due mostly to my trip) and she was ready. I started out playing extra special attention to her nipples, licking and sucking each while rolling the other between my fingers. Her nipples are so wonderfully big when she’s really horny. I camped out. Her hips were digging into the bed forcefully before I pulled her pajama bottoms down.

But then, instead of moving right in and stroking her clit, I ran my fingers lightly over the skin and taut tendons to each side of her pussy. She moaned and purred like a kitten.

“Ohhh, you’re teasing me.”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

It was an unexpected reversal. She was so hot I know that if I had kept at it for 30 more seconds she would have exploded. But, as soon as I realized how close she was, I slipped my fingers onto her dripping clit. Turns out, I wanted to feel her pussy as much as she wanted me to. Seconds later, she was coming. My only regret was she was so worked up and she came so fast that my pussy time was incredibly short. She had a fantastic orgasm, though. I was up for hours, but she slept like a baby.

So anyway, the njoy Pure showed up today. I got home a little early and had time to myself to give it a spin. Short story so far is the thing is fan-fucking-tastic. I’m counting the minutes until I can play with it again.

And with that, I think I’ll go take advantage of my permission.

Posted on

Exhibitionist

Back in March, I posted HNThumper XV to the portfolio. Since then, it’s been reblogged by five six people and liked by six others. Certainly, as Tumblr porn goes, those numbers are quite modest but I find it interesting that it seems as though the guys reblogging it don’t get that that’s not me filling out my jeans in such an impressive manner. One guy added the comment, “Damn this is too hot for words!” I don’t necessarily disagree with him. I also find it very hot. But, that ain’t no cock behind the demin.

That particular picture is a worst case scenario with regard to how the device looks under pants. I guess, looking at it out of context, it does look like a big fat penis. Since I know what it is (in fact, am what it is), it’s hard for me to see it as anything other than a big steel tube. While I have more or less gotten over worrying what people think when they catch a glimpse of the occasional bulge in my crotch, it’s comforting to know that, at least sometimes, they’re just assuming I have a really big dick. I suppose that’s because the truth is so far outside most people’s experience that they can’t imagine it’s anything else (plus, you know, who doesn’t want a really big dick?).

In related exhibitionist news, this site’s been getting a record amount of traffic in the past month or so. I can’t tell how I compare to others in the blogosphere, but the numbers are getting big enough that it’s making me pause to gape at them. Back in the day, I’d get a few hundred views a day and just be happy I wasn’t talking into an empty box. Now, I can tell there a number of people are reading the entire blog every day (I assume they’re new to the site) and July’s traffic will be higher than any month before.

I don’t say this to brag or anything. There’s a part of me that would rather those numbers stop growing because the more people who discover this little corner of depravity the higher the likelihood, while still very small, that someone I know will figure out it’s me. If that ever happens, my only wish would be for the discoverer to tell me they know. I don’t actually like having this alter ego and secrets I need to protect. I’d rather be open and honest, though not to the point that I’ll volunteer details of my sexual proclivities for no reason.

There’s also nagging in the back of my mind the fact that I’m playing to an audience now. At what point do I stop being a person on a virtual soapbox saying whatever comes to mind to whoever happens to stop to listen and start being aware of all your eyeballs looking back? Yeah, of course, I always knew you were lurking out there, but for some reason there’s a difference between 100, 500, 1,000, and 25,000. I only wish I had something more profound to share with all you peepers (which is not a passive-aggressive prompt for you to comment how profound you think my blather is).

In assturbation news, Belle’s allowed me to purchase an njoy Pure Wand (see what I did there?). I had previously purchased a G-Force for p-spot play, but have found its floppy tendencies somewhat annoying. I have been able to use it with some success, but, since it’s made of silicone, it’s sometimes hard to practice any kind of precision. The Pure Wand, being solidly made of my favorite material, should prove to be much easier to control and a more productive prostate juicer.

 

Even though it’s not really a fucking tool, Belle says I still need to ask her permission before I get to use it. I had thought she only wanted me to tell her when I was craving a healthy reaming and that something like the G-Force, or soon the Pure Wand, would be allowable under the “clinical” definition she has established, but it now appears as though I’ll need ask permission before I shove anything up my ass at any time for any reason.

The occasions when that happened used to be private, of course. I admit there’s an amount of embarrassment I feel in needing to go to her for permission beforehand, but there’s also a lovely warm feeling of being that much more controlled by her. Bonus points that it was entirely her idea. It’s yet another aspect of my previously personal sex life that’s been exposed to and is now “managed” by her.

In short, I’d say things are going swimmingly for us at the moment. I fell asleep last night with my head on her stomach and my arm wrapped around her waist while she caressed my back and watched TV. It was a simple moment and, to an outsider, a fairly innocent position to be in, but it made my inner sub hum with satisfaction. I know there will be good times and bad and that now is just an exceptionally good one, but I’m not sure she could make me any happier than I was as I dozed there.

It’s good to be Belle’s Thumper.