That moment

That moment where my finger’s sliding over her wet, hot clit and our bodies are pressed together with the contents of the Steelheart swollen and tight and wanting between us and our mouths are close enough for kissing but we aren’t and we simultaneously moan into each other.

That moment.

Is perfection.

The reason for the season

Belle and I found ourselves alone in the house Saturday night which, as the parents of two, is not the usual situation. We watched some random TV for a while then it occurred to her that she could make noise. Which means, she could scream her head off while coming which is her favorite way to come.

So the TV went off and to the bedroom we went. We started with some light making out then heavy petting then she told me to strip. She took my balls in her hands and roughly massaged them before moving to straight up squeezing and abuse. Of course, she knows I’m a masochist, but she also seemed to be enjoying this. I don’t think it was just for me.

“How can I make you come?” There are many options, even with no available penis between us. I could use my fingers. I could use a vibrator. She could use a vibrator. There’s her glass dildo. But what I really wanted, what I hoped she wanted, was for me to eat her out.

This whole interaction between us is, I think, indicative of what Locktober is all about. We’re about halfway through at this point and what I see a lot on Twitter from guys in similar predicaments is stuff about how long we’ve been locked up and how horny we all are and pictures to prove both (and, of course, I am totally guilty of all these things), but really, that’s not what we should be focusing on. Our denial is not what denial is about.

I think the purpose of enforced chastity and orgasm denial is to teach us that…

  1. The point of sex is pleasure and satisfaction for our partners, not us.
  2. The pent up energy of denial frustration should be redirected to maximizing their pleasure and satisfaction.
  3. We need to recognize and accept that the frustration and craving is our version of pleasure. Their orgasm is our satisfaction.

Every cell in my body tells me these things are true. But every cell in my body has been trained by a decade of being locked up and I am 100% submissive. There are probably a lot of guys (and their keyholders) out there who are just starting out who may not yet get that chastity and denial aren’t about being as horny as possible prior to eventual release and explosive orgasm. Of course, everyone gets to do this their own way and ultimately our keyholders are the ones who decide, but penis-centric thinking is the antithesis of what chastity and denial represent.

As the Ancient One told Doctor Strange, “It’s not about you.” It’s about them, our keyholders. If you think of chastity and denial as a thing you endure until they let you come again, you’re still thinking with your penis. If you talk to your keyholder about how long you will be locked up — either asking for that time to be extended or reduced — you’re thinking with your penis. Worse, you’re making them think about your penis.

Guess what? Once you hand over the key, it’s not your penis anymore. It’s theirs. And what happens or doesn’t happen to it is up to them, not you. Which is why your best bet is to only think about their pleasure. Their orgasm. Their satisfaction.

Locktober isn’t about you being locked. It’s about why they lock you.

Belle did want me to go down on her. I could barely contain myself as I moved down her body, kissing her nipples and her stomach and her pelvis before placing my face before the heat of her sex. Humid and potent, I pushed my tongue into her wetness and lapped at her clit. Hands on her hips, I could feel her gyrate against my mouth. Pressing her pussy into my face to make sure I hit all the right spots.

The Evotion 8 locked on my body became painfully tight and I was unable to lay flat on my stomach. I had to angle my hip up to relieve the pressure on the throbbing, desperate contents of the device.

The volume of her ecstasy grew as her hands moved from her breasts to the hair on my head. As she got closer to orgasm, she grabbed fistfuls of it, almost using it to steer my attention. Her pussy juice was flowing freely down my chin and coated my nose and face. The discomfort between my legs distracted from focusing all my senses on the tip of my tongue and how it was flicking over her and the reactions that elicited in her movements and exclamations.

Her orgasm exploded in a great, deep bellowing of pleasure. She was screaming her satisfaction and her pussy was spasming under my mouth. Her whole body tensed then released, one thing after another. First her hips, then her fistfuls of hair, then her back, then her legs.

I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to stop tasting her. To leave the center of the power she has over me. I was in the throne room and couldn’t bring myself to back out. So while she basked I lingered, breathing deeply her pheromones. Letting her pussy saturate my senses. The black plastic locked on my body refused to relent in its grasp.

I stayed as long as I dared. She’d be wanting me to snuggle and embrace her. She’d want the covers back up over her body. I wanted…what I wanted wasn’t the point. Of course, I wanted out. To fuck her. To slip into her fantastically wet pussy and pound it until I came. But that was fantasy.

And thinking too hard on that was unproductive. So I moved up and covered her and held her and kissed her and thanked her for everything she does for me. Including keeping me locked for all of Locktober and every other month.

Random thoughts about sex

One of the biggest impediments to people picking up the practice of chastity and orgasm denial mid-life as a way to build intimacy and/or strengthen a relationship is that a lot of people have very specific ideas of what sex is and is not. Who does what and when and how and with what. Of course, it’s that kind of thinking that generally leads to sexual malaise in closed, monogomous relationships, but it also makes the idea of chastity and orgasm denial weird and kinky in that the kind of sex it allows is not like “normal” sex. This was an issue early on with Belle who didn’t consider sex in which I was locked up the whole time to be us having sex.

Thing is, sex comes in all kinds of flavors, shapes, and sizes. I’m not going to spend too much time trying to define what is and is not sex, but generally speaking, if you’re erotically stimulated and doing things to specifically enhance that stimulation (up to and including orgasm), it’s sex. And you can even have sex just with yourself, though we call that masturbation.

So I wanted to put down some general observations that may come in handy for those thinking about doing this chastity/orgasm denial thing (they’re not the same thing, remember?). Things that now, to Belle and me, seem second nature but weren’t always that way. Things that probably everyone should know, whether or not one of them has their junk locked in a contraption.

De rigueur disclaimer that this post is very specifically written from the point of view of a man with a penis in a relationship with a woman with a pussy, though if that’s not your configuration I’m sure a lot of the concepts still apply.

1. The penis is not the point

I remember the first time Belle and I had sex during which the penis played no part whatsoever (mostly because I wrote about it). Fairly early on, it took us about five months or so to let go of the idea that if the penis wasn’t starring in the production, it wasn’t really a play worth seeing. This concept is not one that just men bring to the party. Women are socially conditioned to assume a supporting role. As if the pussy exists to create a place into which one puts a penis (remember, Belle didn’t used to think it was sex unless she got fucked). This is just complete bullshit.

Penises are not magical. There’s nothing special about them. Sure, I’m a big fan and think they’re really great, but a woman can be deeply sexually satisfied without involving one. Now, we have penis-less sex all the time. Sex in which I remain locked up and she never even touches me anywhere near the device is not that big a deal.

Even if you’re not in a D/s thing or chastity or whatever, the point is sex does not begin and end when the penis gets wet. As the post I linked to above demonstrates, sometimes it starts hours before. Sometimes it’s about things that are all in your head (or hitting your ass). It is actually possible to have really great, satisfying, and breathtaking sex without using the penis for anything in particular.

2. Your whole body is a sex organ

Related to the first point, there’s all kinds of things on your body that can either get your partner off or get you off. If there’s one thing not having access to a functioning penis can teach you, it’s that “erogenous zone” is a misnomer. Mine starts at the top of my head and ends at the tip of my toes. It’s only when the big obvious one is struggling against a hard object that the rest of the board lights up for some guys.

Alternatively, you can use all sorts of things to get your partner off. Sure, fingers and tongues are obvious, but I can also get Belle going by pressing my forearm against her pussy. Pressing my whole body into hers. Wrapping her legs in mine. Touch is what we crave. Sensual (as we define it — a hard slap on the ass can count for some) contact. A demonstration of seeking their pleasure. Of trying to find a vector into their ecstasy. I don’t have issues with porn as a general rule, but if you only watch the kind where the guy bangs the fuck out of the chick with big tits, you’re not only missing out, you’re probably going to end up with a lot of unhappy sex partners (unless you find one who wants to be that banged up chick).

3. Toys count

If you listen to Dan Savage long enough, you’re bound to hear a call from someone whose male sex partner finds her use of vibrators to get off threatening. It’s like clockwork. His poor male ego can’t handle the fact that she needs something more than his Wonder Cock to achieve orgasm. This fact makes several points for me. First, a very large percentage of women require clitoral stimulation to come some or all of the time. Like, maybe only half can come through vaginal intercourse all by itself. Two, what that means is the pussy is its own thing that needs what it needs and, a lot of the time, that’s something more than a penis (and sometimes, not even a penis). It is not simply the vessel of the cock. It’s not there solely to make a wet hole for one. Three, guys in general invest too much of their own personal self-worth in their dicks. Like, duh.

It is, OF COURSE, still sex if a vibrator is involved. Even if she’s the one using it and all you, the guy, are doing is attending to other points of focus (nipples, etc.). Think I don’t count it as sex when Belle pulls the vibrator out and finishes herself off? Oh yeah, I do.

The objective of a successful sexual encounter is mutual satisfaction. “Satisfaction” has a surprising number of definitions, it turns out, but it can’t be defined as only being archived via a specific method. There are a multitude of paths to satisfaction. If, at the end, everyone feels good about how it went, bingo.

4. Something something orgasms

This last bit has proven hard to put into words. There are some things I want to say that might be controversial. But, I think I can really get behind this:

She should always come first. Always.

This is simple human physiology. Men, after orgasm, are fighting millennia of evolutionary programming just staying awake whereas woman are often (but not always) just getting started. It’s an interesting question as to why that is. For the answer, I’d direct you to the exceptional Sex at Dawn. But I digress.

Men are designed to lose interest in sex after they come. So if you haven’t already been a good sex partner and made her happy beforehand, doing so after will feel like you’re doing it in molasses wearing 30 pound backpack (i.e., a lot harder).

Of course, I don’t think men need to come. They feel like coming, sure. It can become the most important thing in the world to them. And woman are programmed by our culture to invest a lot in his orgasm. They’re conditioned to feel guilt if they impede it (while also being taught that even to be in that position is not what good girls do). But there’s lots of good reasons they shouldn’t. But I guess this whole blog is about that, so we’ll leave that there.

The bottom line is there is no one way to do sex. We get too hung up on the standards. On the way it’s portrayed in popular culture. We lose sight of the fact that it’s about happiness and pleasure and therefore anything that leads to those things among consenting adults is fair game. This is all written from my point of view as the kind of man I am in the relationship I’m in. Your mileage, as they say, may vary.

Hard is good

It was the odd Saturday night in that both kids were out doing their own thing and Belle and I had the house to ourselves. We had been out and about doing domesticy things before deciding to have dinner at our favorite Mexican place. When we got home, she decided we’d fool around. 

I was being kind of cluless about the whole thing and was in my comfy clothes and had Game of Thrones all queued up (Belle has decided to finallly start watching so we’re still early in season one) when I looked over and saw her getting into bed naked. Ok, then. I got naked and slid in next to her. 

Of course, it all starts with the kissing. But I was unlocked and the candle was lit and my skin was on hers so things escalated quickly. I reached around her leg and slipped my fingers into her snatch from behind. I love feeling her clit from underneath and the different sensation and my mouth on her opposite nipple had her breathing heavily in no time. The position we were in gave her easier access to the penis which was hard and needy. She was fingering it in return, occasionally rubbing her thumb in circles over the flare in its head. Almost enough to make me shoot right there. Made my breathing fast and short. 

Having already come once that day about 14 hours earlier, Belle was going to need something more than the kind of stimulation I can give with my body. She grabbed her trusty purple vibe from the drawer and used it on herself while I fucked her with my ring and middle fingers. Up and in and curling around trying to hit her G-spot, eventually finding the right rythym to her own vibratory gyrations. Since we were alone, she could be as loud as she likes to be (which is LOUD). It took her longer than usual but it was all good. She was clearly enjoying the feeling of my fingers in her, the vibe on her, and my mouth sucking her tits. She said, Oh fuuuuuck! in that way that makes me all melty inside. Then she exploded vocally (hi neighbors!) and her pussy throbbed and clamped under my hand.

I’ve had an interesting relationship with erections in recent months. There’s a trope online about chastity making it more difficult to have an erection and I think that’s true, but it’s not a physiological thing. It’s all mental. The other day, we were trying to use the Boyfriend extender and it wasn’t working because I couldn’t keep it up (that whole morning was a disaster). Earlier in the morning yesterday, I had no problem keeping an erection until I got too close to coming and then it went away all by itself. So yes, chastity does affect your erections, but it does so by rewriting how your brain and penis work together. Or complicating their relationship. I know this because when Belle told me I could fuck her, the penis was ready and willing. All systems go this time.

As soon as I entered her, I could feel that my fingers had already been there. But it felt different in another way. I could also be more vocal and used the energy of it to be more primal and physical. This was not fucking encumbered by D/s dynamic overheard. This was fucking. No obfuscation between penis and brain. Not long after I started, I realized I wanted to come. Really wanted to hear her say I could. Then, the magic words. Ah, bliss.

But even this was different. Usually when she says I can, I either do it almost immediate or freak out. But not this time. She said it at exactly the right time. It wasn’t so far away I had too much time to think about it, but not so close that I couldn’t control myself. I let it build. Felt it accumulate energy in my balls and move through me, physically and mentally. My thrusting into her was different than usual when I know I can’t come or don’t know if she’ll let me. This time, each one had a purpose. For once, the rabbit and the lizard were working in tandem. No internal conflict. No regret. Just wanting to feel myself coating her snatch in my release. Feel the hard penis fuck through pools of its own making. Each thrust put me a centimeter closer and each thrust was punctuated by my grunts in her neck. When it finally happened, there were multiple explosions of light and sensation all over my body. As each surge of fluid left me and flew into her, brain chemicals I rarely feel in their full force flooded my bloodstream. It was a Top 5 orgasm. So good and so pure and so wonderful. The kind of orgasm you can’t have if you’re having them all the time. 

Then I went comatose. I’m no match for the post-orgasmic hormones and I was immediate high as a kite. Can’t hold my prolactin. But I came around. Eventually. Then we watched GoT. Poor Bran. And oh how young they all look. 

Sleepytown trolly

“I’m going to help you sleep tonight.”

I’ve been struggling with sleep for the past few days. A bought of denial-induced insomnia.


“By letting you give me an orgasm.”

Unf. “I don’t think that’ll help me sleep.”

“What would?”

“You letting me come.”

Snort. “That’s not going to happen.”


“You don’t want to come anyway.”


“Say it. ‘Belle Fille, I don’t want you to let me come.'”

Whimper again. Squirm.


Quietly, “I don’t want to you to let me come, Belle Fille.” It was truth, but being forced to say it was like a high heel grinding my inner sub into a tight, hard corner. The kind of space where it’s most content.

“Of course you don’t. You want to get me off and then, because my orgasm is your orgasm, you’ll get sleepy after and fall asleep.”

I had my doubts. Especially when she started talking about her “boyfriend” and how he’d never say anything like that to her. That he and his big cock always came. All I could do was whimper into her nipple as she said these things and I fingered her clit and thought about this mythical alpha male who’d likely laugh at the locked penis and the way she kept me.

“I’m going to make you work for this one, Thumpie. I’m going to enjoy myself.”


It did take a while. She got wetter and I kept sucking and fingering but I never felt her start to get close. Eventually, she took over her own tits and was tweaking and twisting her nipples while I watched and kept my finger on her snatch, rubbing and flicking and penetrating in all the ways I know, through hours and hours of practice like a musician knows his instrument, she liked best. Even that wasn’t enough for her and she got her vibrator and gave it to me but quickly took it back leaving me nothing more than a spectator to her self-pleasuring.

She came, slowly and deeply, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel her pussy clench against my fingers or her back arch or any of the waves of ecstasy that go with her orgasm. I didn’t share it. I heard it and saw it, but I didn’t know it like I usually do. It didn’t go through me. I was just the fluffler that got her into position.

Of course, I don’t begrudge her anything. We have sex so she can come, always, and however she wants. We never have sex so I can come. Whatever we do, if it’s what she wanted, is what we should have done and I don’t have a right to take issue with any of it. She’s right that even though I may crave my own orgasm I never want her to give it to me. I don’t need any orgasms. I only get them when she wants to feel me come in her. Even that can feel more about her than me.

She was left drained by her effort and its successful culmination and I was left pretty much as I was before. Tired but not sleepy and now that much more wired and trying to push images of her and another man out of my mind. She fell asleep quickly and I tried but couldn’t connect with it. I kept thinking and tossing and feeling separation angst (I have some trips coming up) all the while trying to keep sexual images and thoughts as far away as possible.

At about 11:30, I got up and took the last Tylenol PM in the house. I don’t like taking it but I could feel the kind of panic in me that usually unspools into zero hours of sleep. Then I went in the living room and read more of the book I’m getting through. By 12:30, the pill was taking over and I was yawning. I sent back to the bedroom, stripped, crawled in next to her, and tried to get on the road to Sleepytown.

Eventually, I did.

A couple of weird ones

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irrational rabbit

Belle let me fuck her twice this past weekend. The first time was pretty normal stuff for us. I got her off, she let me fuck her. I only got close to coming once and that’s when she told me to stop so I did. Like I said, normal Thumper/Belle sex.

Sunday, though. First thing we did was break out Belle’s new vibrator. Her previous favorite, Pink, of which we had two identical models (one for her nightstand, one for mine), is no longer available. The one in my drawer (which may have been the one that was running for an unknown amount of time in our luggage as we were coming home from Spring Break last year) started going off randomly and all by itself at all hours of the day. It had lost its little vibralicious brain. So we were left with just the one Pink until the other day when Belle used it in the bath tub. I suspect its waterproofness had failed since it was totally dead not long after. So I visited Smitten Kitten and tried to find her a replacement.

Pink is, as I said, no longer made so I had to find a new pink. This is tricky business since Belle likes a very specific kind of vibrator. Not too big, not too soft, with a firm little motor. I found one I thought was close (and would show it to you except that it doesn’t appear to be on the Smitten Kitten website) and gave it to her last week. Sunday was its debut.

Thing about vibrators, though (that I’ve learned in the past few years), is they’re not all the same. I tried using it on her first as I would have Pink, but she needed to keep giving me directions (which, all by themselves, I found hot — especially “put it in me”) until she took it into her own hands to experiment with while I focused my attention on her tits. Eventually, New Pink (which is really purple) did its thing and she, after a moment of basking, told me I could do mine.

For whatever reason, I was sure she was going to let me come. No idea why. Sometimes, it’s just a hunch I get and I’m usually right. So I started fucking with the idea I would climax at the end. But, as I got closer and closer, she didn’t give me the magic words. So I slowed down and stopped to give the orgasm a chance to back off. Then I started at it again. Even though there was no outward reason to believe so, I figured this time would be the time. I let myself get really close again but didn’t hear the magic words.

Here’s the thing about fucking. It’s all the penis gets anymore. Nothing happens with it that she doesn’t allow and she doesn’t allow me to play with it or use it in any pleasurable way except when I’m allowed to fuck her. I am totally focused on her pussy in a way I’ve never been about anything sexually. It and it’s pleasure has even elevated above the penis on my list of sexual priorities. It seems to be the only way I’ll ever come again. From her pussy and inside her. And then only rarely. Fucking her pussy has always felt amazing, but now because of the insidious nature of how I’ve been trained to focus on being in her exclusively and specifically, it feels FUCKING AMAZING.

So yeah, I slowed down again to let the orgasm creep back up inside me and I looked directly into her eyes. She just looked back. No flicker of understanding passed between us. I started fucking again. This time, while continuing to look into her eyes, I thought very insistently about being allowed to come. She just smiled at me. I got really close yet again (quicker with each cycle, unsurprisingly). I had a quizzical look on my face and she just kept smiling.

Eventually, she had had enough and told me I was done. I whined/whimpered/moaned in defeat. It was election night and I was certain of victory even though all the polls indicated I was going to lose yet I remained confident and here we were at the moment CNN had called the race against me and I had to go down to the ballroom and concede.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought you were going to let me come. I really want to come.”

She laughed at me. Laughed.

Not being in the laughing mood myself, I buried my face in her neck and whimpered some more.

“What’s up with you lately?” she wanted to know. Why was I suddenly seemingly more interested in coming? In the past, I’d beg and plead to be denied. Was I looking to change up the paradigm?

No, I wasn’t looking to do that, but I did want to come. Badly. But I’ve totally released any pretense of influence on her regarding that at just about the same time she’s taken full control over my release. Used to be, I could influence. Cajole. Nudge. Not anymore. She just doesn’t let me. I totally acknowledge that and have stopped worrying about it. Would I like to be denied more and longer? Sure. Would I like to come? Yes. Both these things are true. Luckily, it doesn’t matter a whit what I think about either possibility. She decides and for her own reasons.

This is the truest form of orgasm denial. No control or desire to control from me whatsoever and a total command by her with only her own needs and concerns in the equation. I did badly want to come Sunday morning but I also wanted to be controlled badly. Both outcomes were what I wanted, even if one was more desirable in the moment. None of that mattered to her, though, as I asked for it to be and as it should be.

In a perfect demonstration of her total say in this matter, she indicated my next orgasm might happen on February 15. It’s a Sunday. And it’s International Male Chastity Day. Her attitude seems to say, “A whole day for male chastity and orgasm denial? How cute. That’s the day he comes, then.”

We’ll see.

Moist mishap

This past holiday week was not unlike having two and a half weekends all mushed together. And, as such, we had a fair bit of sex. Belle wouldn’t let me out of the Steelheart on any of the occasions I was allowed to get her off, though, and even though I’m still kinda getting over the two orgasms she let me have a week ago, that cranked me up pretty good.

I had that “orgasms aren’t that bad, maybe we should let me have more of them” thing going on but that’s since receded. What didn’t is the crazy intense urge to be inside her, especially after being given the chance to play with her pussy as much as I did. Serious teeth-grating kind of intensity. But she wasn’t having any of it.

Sunday morning it was unclear anything would happen since so much already had. Turns out, she was willing to let me have a fuck. And only a fuck. She didn’t even take her top off. It was very transactional. Like she was rolling her eyes and enduring what I wanted as a treat for good behavior. There was a time when that might have bothered me, but I was so horny and needing to get the penis wet, I dove right in anyway.

And it was pretty fucking great, to be honest. She didn’t let me do anything to get her juiced up so it was a tight, dry fit at first and normally I’d be worried about her but, you know, she told me to so I let myself get off on the feeling. I was doing really well and enjoying the lack of impending orgasm that sometimes happens when I know we’re not trying to make her come. I can just fuck and fuck and never get very close and that’s what it was like…until it very suddenly wasn’t.

I don’t know what happened. I think I got so into it and the feeling of it and how wonderful it was and how I wasn’t thinking about coming at all that when I realized it was all of a sudden and quite freakishly right fucking there that I froze. And just in the nick of time, too, because while I spewed forth all the seed that had been frustratingly collected over the past week and through all the sex, etc., I didn’t have any of the other orgasmic symptoms. I didn’t feel like I had come. Except in one particular way: The penis immediately and completely went limp.

“The worst thing in the world for you,” Belle said immediately after, “Something you can’t categorize.”

Funny. But it was kinda true. Such a weird thing. In retrospect, I’ve labelled it a ruined orgasm. The rapid depressurization of the penis tissue was, I think, caused by being freaked out by getting so close to coming and not having been able to feel it approach until the very last moment. But I was still pretty damned horny. Horny enough to drool over the Tumblr and feel more of that molar-grinding kind of frustration later in the day while the free penis meat moved around distractingly inside my pants.

And I’m still out. Belle said she was feeling lazy and left me free until we arrive in NYC tomorrow. Don’t know which she wants me in, but I’d vote Trainer 2.0 only because the plastic will make the various metal detectors tourists sometimes find in New York less annoying. And, since I’m basically on my own for the first several days we’re there as she does work stuff, I don’t know why she’d care. But it’s her choice, not mine. I can work around the steel if that’s what she prefers.

Finally, I want to wrap this by clarifying something that I think a significant number of you (though not a majority) appear to think is the case regarding Belle and me and the openness in our marriage she’s allowed. Namely, some of you are apparently of the opinion she’s being victimized or taken advantage of by me, her sex-crazed maybe-homosexual and apparently insensitive lout of a husband. Or something like that. Trust me, nothing could be further from the truth. I have been very careful to check in with her and get a sense of her well-being through this entire experiment. I continue to do it even now. She doesn’t post here so you have to accept I’m telling the truth and haven’t left her tied and gagged in the closet (which is my thing anyway), but it’s true. She’s perfectly OK with what’s happening as long as it happens within the bounds she’s set up. Really. And having those boundaries is a very normal part of open relationships. Look it up.

Second finally, it’s honestly shocking to me the comments I continue to receive here (let alone those on Drew’s blog) from those who have a problem with men having sex with other men. Or, even more unsettling, men falling in love with and marrying other men (as is the case with Drew and Axel). Please, if you feel that homosexuals should not marry or, if they have already done so, are not really married because they’re gay, get the fuck out of here and never return. I honestly hate you and it pains me to think you would gather any value from my blog. People like you are part of why this world sucks for people like me who are not part of the standard of normal, let alone for the millions of loving gay people who are just trying to have a fucking life. You are the worst.

And with that, I shall bid you adieu. If you’re a cool cat who lives or works in NYC and wants to hang out, eat something, or imbibe a beer or two, let me know. I’m pretty much a lone spirit until Thursday afternoon. I have some stuff I want to do, but my schedule is pretty open. Also, know that as an avowed introvert, placing myself out there like that makes me really freaked out. But I’ll try and be normal anyway. As long as you are. And aren’t planning on trying to kill me or something.

Love her two times

Saturday morning was our usual sexy funtime I usually start looking forward to at about 3:26 on Wednesday afternoons. ‘Cept this time, unlike many of the recent occurrences, Belle let me out of the Steelheart beforehand.

It’s like firing a starting pistol at a dog race. As soon as the steel comes off, a nagging buzzing feeling starts whirring someplace right behind the penis. It knows. This feeling is totally different when I’m still locked up. How much of it is in my head and how much is in my crotch I can’t say, but that’s where I feel it.

Regardless, I know what getting unlocked under those circumstances means. It’s not for me that I get out. This is not Thumper time. She wants to be fucked. I, then, assume the role she desires. Sure, I want to fuck her, too, but there’s a particular kind of manly fucking she craves and when I get out on a Saturday for no apparent reason, that’s my job. No doubt I’m going to like it, but I need to keep myself from liking it so much that I can’t perform long enough.

On this particular Saturday morning, I gave her just enough foreplay to get the juices going (they already were, turns out) before mounting her like I own the joint. I think she really liked this based on the aforementioned juices, a compliment attitude, and the moaning. Oh man, the moaning. It’s what gets me every time. She wants to be vocal during sex and I absolutely love hearing her be that way, but it’s raw meat to the subby bunny’s alter ego. Once the moaning and groaning start, that nagging buzzing I talked about flares up into a breeding imperative I struggle to keep in check. Even the baseball distractions didn’t help (mostly because there’s no such thing as baseball right now).

I started to slow down and she said, “Why are you stopping?” as if it wasn’t perfectly clear why I was stopping so soldiered on. “BASEBALL,” is what I was trying to think but the lizard in my head was all, “I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOANING SHIT!” I tried so hard, but couldn’t keep it back. I came while I fucked and kept on fucking even through the intensity of the post-orgamsic nerve olympics. Her pussy went from nicely worked up and wet to ridiculously slippery and messy in about three squirts. I think because of that change in viscosity, she only came a little (which is kind of a female thing, right? Coming just a little?) while I was left panting and gasping and dealing with the fiery penile tissue. She finished herself off with Pink right after. So, I came, but didn’t really enjoy it. A few hours later, I was feeling really horny as if it never happened.

She didn’t have me relock myself after so I was free as a penis-shaped bird when, the next morning, things started to get going again. This time she told me straight up that I was going to get to come and enjoy it. Of course, first I had to get her off so I did.

There was zero angst about having another orgasm whatsoever. It is her choice when I come and she chose to let me. Period. I was able to enjoy it, the fucking that led up to it, all of it.

She told me before that I had to promise to stay in the right frame of mind and be a good bunny and all that so I did. I promised. I even meant it. Though later that day, when she told me it was time to go in, I waffled. And not a little. With whip cream and peach preserves and a side of bacon. She said fine, but Monday morning I had to be in with the key in her hand before she left for work. I pancaked, but she had none of it. So, as soon as the offspring were both off on their daily endeavors, I was handing her the key.

“You know this is what you want,” She said to me. No, I didn’t know that right in the moment, but yes, I do know that in the big picture I want it. Just…you know…not exactly then.

So that’s three orgasms in about six weeks. Far too many, she thinks. Says the next will be a while. “A long time,” is all I can get out of her. No idea what that means since she probably doesn’t either, but I’m thinking that’s it for 2014. As it should be, of course.