Tag: orgasm denial

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One reason

There seems to be a lot of never-ending web chatter asking and discussing why men like to be denied, locked-up, etc. I can’t answer for all men, obviously, though I’ve been thinking recently about what makes me like it and I think it might apply to many other men. For me, it’s above and beyond simply being a common ground where many of my kinks come together.

Belle and I have been married for eleven years. For the past several, leading up to my infidelity, we had what the textbooks refer to as a “sexless marriage”. We did have sex, but on average less than once a month. After my infidelity and the exploration of our relationship that immediately followed, our sex life picked back up. In fact, it was better than it had been at any point in our entire marriage. Then, we got kinky.

As I’ve said before, I “discovered” my denial kink late one night while surfing the web for sex toys. I stumbled upon a site that sold chastity devices and was off to the races. Prior to that, I knew little and hardly thought about chastity, denial, or D/s. Certain elements of those things kept coming up in the porn I liked, but the inclination to engage in them never coalesced into reality. Because we were in a very open and communicative mode, it wasn’t hard for me to show Belle what I wanted to experiment with and she, because she’s wonderful, agreed to try it all out.

What has become obvious to me now is that by engaging in that kind of play – by transferring to her total control over the most basic expression of my sexuality – I have, in effect, bound her to our sex life. We can never drift apart again since, for me, she is the only way I can get any kind of sexual relief. She cannot disengage because I will always be there, horny and desperate. In effect, my denial is like a little bell tied to a fishing line indicating even the smallest change in status.

It’s not as though this is the primary purpose of our arrangement. I found chastity and denial and immediately had a deep and visceral reaction to the idea. Never did the cause and effect of it flash though my mind or even enter my conscious thought until much later. In short, I am not using this to achieve the end of keeping her engaged with me sexually. That’s just a happy side effect.

So, as I’ve read more stories on teh interwebs from men who are desperate to get their vanilla wives to plug in to their domination and denial fantasies, I can’t help but wonder how many of them are doing so, consciously or not, in order to “trick” their wives into being more involved with their sex lives. I can’t imagine anyone going so far as to bring enforced physical chastity into their relationship unless it tripped one of several kinky triggers for them, but who knows?

The bottom line is, moving in the direction that Belle and I have places a tremendous load on the woman in the relationship. Especially if she’s not instinctually dominant or sadistic. Yes, there are a lot of benefits for her, but they come at a cost. And the man gets what most men want more than anything else: A partner intricately and permanently involved in a prolonged sexual adventure.

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I’m fat

No, I’m not. But I feel fat. I am on the fatter side of what’s acceptable for me. I’m in the far suburbs of Fatsville. I can see the glow of it on the horizon. I am unhappy about that.

I’m six feet tall and weigh something like 215 pounds. If you saw me, you wouldn’t think I was too bad, but I’d much, much rather be at least 25 pounds lighter. Why am I telling you this? Because now it’s out there. I have to do something about it. I mean, I tell you guys everything, right? I can’t just pretend I’m a Brad Pitt look-alike and tell you all about how the wax splatters on my hard, rippling abs now, can I? Nope. I’m telling you because by doing so I’m keeping myself honest. It’s out there. I am going to lose 25 pounds.

OK, that’s out of the way.

I have been wearing the CB-6000 since the 19th of February. Twelve days. I’m pretty sure my record is thirteen, so yay for me. The thing is, the device is unbelievably comfortable now. It hasn’t woken me up in days. In fact, it feels so normal and natural that it’s starting to feel like an extension of me. I’ve totally adapted it to my life. Yes, it’s still a bit of a pain depending on what clothes I’m wearing, but there’s nothing I used to do that I can’t still do except pee standing up. Oh, and beat-off. Oh, and fuck. But besides that, the poly and I are living very well together at the moment.

So of course, it’s time to screw it up! I’ve been on the fence regarding what ring size to wear and have been in the 1.875″ ring this time around. My comfort is getting so ridiculously high that I’ve decided to finish this stint in the 1.75″ ring. Why? It’s not a lot more secure than the 1.875″ ring. It won’t be more comfortable (at least at first). I guess the best answer I have is the same mountain climbers use: because it’s there. Stay tuned for whiny missives on sleeping issues.

Belle and I tried to ruin my orgasm on Sunday morning so I could fuck her better with her cock. It all started OK, but she decided she wanted me to work on her a while before we got to me. Mistake number one. My Belle’s orgasms are not unlike freight trains. Once they get going, it’s hard to stop them or change tracks. In this case, I started working on her with my fingers. Once she was on her way, she decided I wasn’t going to stop. She wanted to come. But, she wanted me to make her come with my mouth. Super! But, after it was all said and done, the starting and stopping and thinking about it left her with a fair to middling orgasm. Not nearly as good as it could have been. Plus, there was the little issue of me, out of the device for the duration. She wanted to know if I could ruin an orgasm by fucking her. I thought I could, but really, why? She already had her go. I was just the redundant horny guy in the room who needed to put the plastic back on. Nope, she wanted me to ruin an orgasm inside her. Okey-doke, I’m on it.

Since I had such a focused purpose, hadn’t come in ten days, and knew she had already had her O, it took a remarkably short time for me to get to the place where I could spurt. I started to come, but never stopped fucking her. It was intense. The sensation coming off my head of the cock was almost off the charts, and not in a good way. I kept on going until the little soldier plopped out, all squishy and soft. I was panting and tired, but did not feel as though I came. One orgasm, perfectly ruined.

Lessons learned:

  • If she wants the cock to make her come, we need to deal with the ruined orgasm prior to touching her.
  • I would have been left with a higher level of frustration if, after the ruined O, I had to get hard again and fuck her to her orgasm.
  • I think not getting aroused again did leave me slightly less frustrated than before the ruined O. It wasn’t nearly as good as a real orgasm, but for the remainder of the day and most of the next, I could feel the difference. I got a lot of enjoyment from the quick fuck and we didn’t do anything to re-frustrate me afterward.

Of course, the other way to ruin an orgasm is to abandon it. Next time, I’d like us to experiment with that.

Reading this blog recently, you may get the idea that I don’t think we ever get anything right. Well, the past weekend was filled with mistakes and missed opportunity. That’s OK though. We need to figure this stuff out, right? Trying and failing is a far better prospect than not trying at all.

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The third dimension of denial

My brain is fucking with me. It keeps firing off the little signals that, in the past, would precipitate a masturbation session. “Hey, wouldn’t it feel nice to jerk off? Let’s go have an orgasm!” And I, being a dense male, say, “Sure, sounds great!” followed half a second later with, “D’OH!” Ever show a dog a ball and make like you’re tossing it but really don’t? Know how the dog runs after the ball anyway? That’s me whenever my brains tells me to beat off.

I was getting kind of down this week. The last time I was able to touch Belle was on Saturday. Sunday she wasn’t interested (and we stayed up late watching the Oscars), Monday she was tired from staying up late on Sunday, Tuesday she was at a work thing, got home late and was just not in the mood, and Wednesday I was out late at a work thing. Four solid days where I never even touched my wife in a sexual way, let alone got to lick her nipples or nuzzle into her pussy. I asked her Wednesday before I left for my thing if she liked not letting me grope or otherwise come on to her. Because, of course, as a servile husband, if she likes what I don’t, it works, but if she doesn’t like what I don’t like, it’s poison.

Turns out, yeah, she does like controlling when I touch her. In fact, the conversation led her to ask me just how badly I wanted to touch her. Was I feeling deprived? I said yes, I was, and then let tumble out how much I wanted to put my hands on her and exactly what I wanted to do with my hands…along with other parts of my body. She gently reprimanded me and said that’s not what she asked. I revised and simplified my answer. Yes, I felt deprived. That’s good, she said, because that was how it needed to be. And that made it all OK.

Finally, last night, the stars aligned. We were in bed, she was in the mood, and the atmosphere (candles, iPod, etc.) was all set. But, she still wouldn’t let me touch her. I had to lay there for 15 minutes just talking. When she decided it was time, I felt like a trained Doberman being told to attack. She likes it gentle, though, and I did my best to restrain myself. Nothing for me, of course. She barely touched me. Her orgasm, though, was remarkable.

I was taken aback at how it felt to finally touch her breasts, to have my hand between her legs, her nipple in my mouth. The wave of relief that went through me was palpable. So you can add this extra dimension of denial to my collection. No orgasms, no stimulation of the cock, no sexual contact at all with my wife’s body. She controls all those things now. All I have left is what happens in my imagination. And that, absent any path to physical sensation or relief, increases the density of her control over me and sends my frustration into the clouds. I’m very happy to be wearing the CB6K as not having it would severely test my will.

Speaking of the device, I had to take the KSD-G3 off the other day. I use the one wil the shallowest rib more to keep the cock positioned well than for security, but the other morning I woke up with the acute sensation of it biting into the top of the shaft. Sure enough, there was an angry red line where it had made contact with the skin. This is not unusual, but the intensity of the bite that morning was atypical. No idea why.

The past few days have had me in grown-up clothes (dress pants) which have necessitated me wearing my most stealthy underwear. I have several pairs of tight, low-cut briefs that push the plastic down between my legs and back into my pelvis. This is very effective at hiding the package, but when combined with lots of sitting (four hour meeting yesterday, for example), it can leave me feeling pretty raw and sore. The ring, only on the right side for some reason, cuts into my flesh and that problematic spot behind the right post gets red and irritated. Luckily, today, I’m in some very forgiving boxer-briefs and am wearing my most baggy, chastity-friendly pants. Everything gets to swing a little more freely.

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Kink on Tap

I’m currently relistening to Maymay and Sara’s Kink on Tap podcast, espisode 6 – Teasing and Denial. I first heard it when I was just starting to explore T&D and found it to be incredibly helpful. Now, several months later, I’m finding myself nodding along and better understanding many of the themes they discuss. I’m actually getting more out of it now that I’m a bit more experienced. I can’t recommend it enough.

The next episode in the series was a continuation of the T&D conversation, but this time with Tom Allen. I look forward to hearing it again and capturing any nuggets of info I may have missed the first time around.

Sadly, Tom’s was their last KoT. Maymay and Sara have moved on to other projects, but I still hope that one day they’ll find the time and interest necessary to revive the podcast. It was terrific.

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Things that are hard

You know what’s hard? Well, besides that. What’s hard is not being Mr. Gropesalot in the morning with Belle. Based on the most current version of our still-evolving Covenant, I’m not allowed to make sexual advances, including random grabs at her tasty bits. The past two mornings I’ve had to grapple with myself and not do what I’ve always been able to do in the past. I could almost see the little angle and devil on my shoulders. “Go ahead, squeeze her tit,” says the little red me with the horns and sexy tail. “No, no! You really shouldn’t!” says Jiminy Cricket on the other shoulder.

Most other married men (assuming they have decent relations with their spouses) can take for granted the open access to their wife’s body they enjoy. He can roll over in the morning, slide his hand under her shirt, play with her nipple. No, she may not let him get much farther (and she may not be thrilled with the advance), but he can do that. Not me. She’s drawn a line. I cannot make any assumptions as to her availability to me. I cannot initiate sex through my actions. There are places I cannot put my hands. I have to ask. And I only get to ask once.

From what I can tell, she loves this arrangement. Yesterday, because I listened to Jiminy, I left her alone and she was able to sleep in until 9:00. For a woman with two young kids, that’s close to an act of god. This morning, I told her I wanted her to know that just because I wasn’t coming after her didn’t mean I wasn’t interested. That’s my sly way of saying, if you want a little something, I am so ready to give it to you (pretty cleaver, huh?). She said she was totally aware of what I was interested in, but that I wasn’t going to get it. She just came last night and didn’t want another one yet. So, we cuddled. I wanted to nibble her nipple through her shirt and shove my hand down her pants, but instead we hugged. It was all very…sweet. Totally non-sexual, but sweet. The entire time, the plastic tub between my legs was filled to capacity.

So yeah, I guess that was hard, too.

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The big pathetic mess of a post

I cleared my schedule so I could pick Belle up at the airport Thursday afternoon. It’d been three days since I had seen her and wanted some one-on-one time with her before the kids came home, etc. I was hoping for a little action but wasn’t positive I’d get any (nor did I expect to).

We unpacked from the trip and she was off doing something in the back of the house while I started writing the post of going gay. Eventually, I realized all the busy noises had ceased and that she was probably back there answering email, so I went back and nuzzled into leg while she clickity-clacked on the computer.

Even though I had been without orgasm for 19 days, I wasn’t feeling especially submissive. Hot and bothered, yes, but submissive no. It seemed as though the trip had drained all those feelings from me since we had basically zero personal time. Whatever it is that triggers that frame of mind within me, time from last emission isn’t the only factor.

In any event, I asked her if she wanted to mess up the bed a little. All the planets had aligned: I was unlocked and free, she was awake, and the kids were at school. She decided it was a good time and told me to get naked. After a little kissing, groping, etc., she said she wanted me to fuck her to orgasm. It may have been a shadow of insecurity that passed over my face, but I definitely wasn’t exude confidence. I’ve only been able to get her off that way without coming myself once this year. She had previously told me I wasn’t coming again in February (a goal I was completely committed to achieving), but I felt the odds of me being able to successfully restrain myself were low. Then, she dropped the bomb.

In fact, she did want me to come. She didn’t want me all worked up over not coming and she really wanted to get her orgasm from penetrative penile pounding. In retrospect, I should have stopped and talked this through. I was confused and a more than a little let-down that the previously stated goal of one month had been swept away so suddenly. Also, I should have pointed out that it wasn’t my concern that I couldn’t get her off with the cock, but that I couldn’t keep myself from erupting before she got her O. Seeing all this behind my eyes, she told me to suck it up and get going. This is what she wanted and she decides when I get to come, not me.

So I got to work. Again, in retrospect, I should have spent more time warming her up with my fingers before jumping right in (though in my defense, I was a little off balance with this surprise orgasm being sprung on me). With a minimum of foreplay, I climbed up and started to fuck her. It was my intention to resist my orgasm, even though she had given me permission. If by some small miracle, I got her off without coming, I was going to stop and see what she wanted me to do next. However, as expected, I lost control and came in a huge torrent. I fought it every step of the way until it happened. I maybe enjoyed three or four strokes, but kept right on going even as the head of my dick felt like it was going to implode from over stimulation. After a bit, she figured out what I was doing and told me to stop.

In short, I had failed. Again. I came (with permission) but had failed to give her the orgasm she wanted in the way she wanted it. Worse, once I stopped, my erection started to deflate rapidly so my ability to perform was basically nil. I felt terrible. Again, she told me to snap out of it and accept the fact that I did exactly what she wanted me to do, but all I could do was hide how I felt, not change it.

It’s pretty clear to me now that I’ve lost my ability to enjoy having a spontaneous orgasm. It seems I’m only able to enjoy those I know are coming and can prepare for. I’m not sure if she felt like she was doing me a favor by letting me come or if she really thought it would allow her to get what she wanted more easily, but in any event, I was left feeling stressed, unsatisfied, and ultimately a little depressed that I hadn’t achieved the one month goal. After scolding me to snap out of it, she told me to get Pink so I could finish her off. She had a pretty good ride at the end of the little vibe (at least, a really loud one).

Following this event and the last, I no longer think her goal for me of 12 orgasms in 2009 is achievable. She likes it best when I make her come with the cock. I can’t do that reliably. Desensitizing gel might help, but since it would require using a condom, I’ve never been able to find out since she hates them. And, she has thus far refused to let me experiment with a strap-on stand-in. She seems to have zero interest in that.

I feel as though our journey down this road of orgasm control has progressed so far that I really don’t ever want to go back. I can’t imagine coming every time we have sex. The weird and somewhat scary truth is, I’m not sure I even want to come. Or, more accurately, I don’t want to stop not coming. Does that make sense?

—

I wrote the above yesterday but didn’t get a chance to finish it before I talked to Belle last night. I told her what I told you – that I was unhappy with what happened on Thursday and that by saying so I wasn’t complaining or trying to assign blame or anything. It’s just what it was. She didn’t accept any blame and didn’t apologize for how it all went down (which is good – I wouldn’t have wanted her to). I told her I was worried about the 12 in ’09 goal and wasn’t sure it was achievable (at least not in a way that would allow her to experience pleasure in the way she preferred). She told me we’d figure it out. In the mean time, she’s not going to let me come until April. That’ll be a nice round 40 days from the last time I came to my next earliest opportunity.

While the prospect of not achieving orgasm for more than a month excites me, I’m still going to obsess over the fact that while she’s denying me orgasm, she’s also denying herself the pleasure of being fucked. I will continue to try as often as she’ll let me, though. I’m assuming that, with practice, I’ll get better at putting off my own climax. At least, I hope so.

Now to finish the post I started yesterday. She told me on the way home from the airport that she was going to lock me up that day. The usual mix of being excited and somewhat dissapointed that my freedom was about to end passed through me. If I had a choice, I would not have gone in, but it wasn’t my decision to make. Later that evening, I showered and trimmed and put on the device with the lock in place, but not closed since she likes to be the one to make it click. However, as I got out of the bathroom, I found her dead asleep. The long days had caught up with her. I closed the lock for her. Funny thing is, she didn’t even know I was in the thing for the first 24 hours. It wasn’t until last night that she found out I had put it on. I could have bought myself a whole extra day of freedom.

After our talk last night and her decision to keep me denied through March, I found the warm and fuzzy submissive veil fall over me. This active expression of her control combined with the physical restraint of the CB6K seemed to be enough to send me over the edge, even though I had just had an orgasm. In fact, it now seems as though orgasmic release isn’t a huge factor in how I feel with regard to being horny or submissive. There just aren’t enough of them and they’re not of high enough quality to absorb all the desire I carry around with me.

In rereading this, I realize this post has been all over the place and is probably too long. Why anyone would want to read me kvetch about all this is beyond me, but it’s nice to have a place where I can do it.

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Rambling

I feel the need to write, but I don’t really have much to say. I’ve spent the better part of the day on a plane with two kids (Belle doesn’t get home until tomorrow), so I’m tired. Nevertheless, writing nearly every day for three and a half months has left me craving the act. I suppose that’s a good thing.

So, with nothing better to say, let’s talk stats and body functions!

We’re getting dangerously close to three weeks now. No emission whatsoever except for some minor leakage back on the seventh (when Belle made me use her cock to make her come). Not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but there are times when I think I can almost feel my swollen prostate sitting down there like a little lead slug. I always thought it was hyperbole when others said it, but I can also report that my balls do feel plumper and more swollen than usual.

What I’d like to do right now is edge myself. My hormones are pushing for release while my brain is holding on to her control. Based on the most recent version of our Covenant, I’m not even allowed to play with myself without permission (basically, I can only derive pleasure from the cock when I’m using it on her). I don’t have permission, so I’m trying to ignore the swelling flesh and lonely urges that always arise when she’s not here. God, I want to jack off. Not orgasm, but bring myself to the precipice again and again. But…it ain’t gonna happen.

Minor confession. I have never in my life had a nocturnal emission. All that talk in sex ed about wet dreams only left me wondering if I was normal as I never, ever had one. I wonder how long it will take to have one if she never lets me release a little pressure. In the recent past, I’ve leaked precum (or something) pretty easily over the course of the day. Maybe that’s how it works for me. No big event in the middle of the night, just a bunch of little ones all day long. In any event, nothing’s happened so far during this cycle.

All right, enough of that. I’ll be back when I have something interesting to say…

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Copping a feel

belle_thumper
Belle likes not only Thumper's position in this arrangement but also his size relative to hers.

I don’t think I mentioned where we were going on our little family vacation. I’m still waiting for my anonymous sex blogger handbook to show up in the mail (even though the check’s been cashed for weeks), but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to avoid dropping any facts that could be used to trace back to my real identity. Facts like, Belle and I took our children to a well-known theme park in Southern California infested with overgrown rodents. And other facts like Belle left us midway through our stay at the well-known amusement park to start her separate business-related trip. I won’t be seeing her again for four days.

One might think carting a couple of kids across country on a plane and traipsing around a theme park, etc., would take one’s mind off the fact that one hasn’t ejaculated in two weeks. One would be right. That is, until one was waiting in line with the woman who decides when one gets to come and, upon slipping one’s hand down the back of her pants, finds she’s not wearing any underwear. That’ll snap one’s mind back to one’s orgasmless existence pretty fucking quick, let me tell you.

Speaking of which, she tells me she’s locking me back up as soon as we get home. Since I don’t get to come again in February, I assume that means I’ll be in at least another week. Other than that little tidbit (and the cheap feels I copped while waiting in the numerous lines), I’ve got nothing sex-related to say. Pretty sucky sex blogging, I know, but the place I’m at has a way of sucking the sex out of just about everything.

OK, back to the merry-making. The kids and I are heading back into the Happiest Place on Earth™ and hoping it can stop with the f’ing rain, already. Ciao.

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We’re off

We’re about to jet off on our little family vacation. Not sure if I’ll be able to write much while we’re gone, but I’d like to. Once you get in the “write every day” groove, it’s hard to break it.

In other news, Belle told me I wasn’t going to have another orgasm in February. Happy Valentine’s day! xoxo

I will now start counting the days (and maybe even hours) to Sunday, March 1.

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Three days and out

My Belle told me last night that she was letting me out of the device on Wednesday. That’ll be around eleven days in, give or take depending on how you count the night I bled, which is about the longest I’ve been locked-up, but I can’t recall the record at the moment. Isn’t keeping score like that such a guy thing to to, BTW? I want to break records here, people! Hopefully, she’ll keep me in for a month next time. No, wait. Really?

We were very chatty since she’s fighting off a bug and didn’t feel much like doing anything else. I got out of her that she really likes where we are now. She likes that we’re so much closer. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever been more intimate with each other. She can see and likes how the denial and chastity are affecting me. I have to admit, the idea that her control is actually modifying my behavior to such an extent that she’s noticing it and that she likes it and wants it to continue sends a thrill through me. I mean, that’s the whole point of it, right? Mutual exchange of pleasure. I get off on being controlled – in fact, mentally and physically transformed through her control – and she likes the resulting changes. They should feed on each other over time. Last night was the first time I can think of that she spontaneously volunteered a positive opinion about what we were doing. Or, at least, one so obviously positive.

She also commented on how differently I act each time she has me locked up. Last time, she thought my mood was fairly flat versus my increased arousal and submissiveness this time around. I was flat last time, but I was also heading into some treacherous emotional waters brought on by her trip, etc. Also, I went into chastity that time all on my own. This time, she decided that I’d be locked up. There’s a vast psychological difference between the two.

In fact, upon further consideration, I think my new-found interest in serving her (that is, relieving her of stress, making her happy, and otherwise doing whatever I can for her) is a rechanneling of sexual energy that before I didn’t know what to do with. Doing things for her gives me a focus and a way to burn up some frustration in a positive way. That’s my theory of the moment, anyway.

So, while I get out on Wednesday for who knows how long, I will not be coming any time soon. She still doesn’t know when that’ll happen. If it doesn’t occur by this Thursday (and I have no reason to think it will), there’s no way it can possibly happen before next Friday, what with the family all sharing one hotel room on our trip. That will be about three weeks and will break my old record of 19 days. I think I’m excited about that. I mean, breaking records is good, right?