Thumper’s top ten rules for locked men

We’re in Mexico for Christmas. Ten days away from cold and snow and sunsets that seem to begin right after lunch in exchange for warmth and walks on the beach and sunsets that happen at reasonable times and look like this:

Now that’s a fucking sunset.

It’s not all sombreros and sunshine, though. I came down here with a nasty cold and it got worse on the way. Kept me from diving one day and is threatening to do it again (you can’t scuba dive if your head is so congested that you can’t equalize the pressure outside your head with the pressure inside your head). I’m feeling better, though now my mother-in-law and daughter have the cold (which seems to have infiltrated the family through Belle).

Anyway, once I was starting to feel better, Belle allowed me to get her off two days in a row. The first day, I stayed in the Steelheart and the second she wanted the penis so I was out. She got carried away and decided to get on top and ride it which lasted about 48 seconds but she paused long enough for me to avoid orgasm (though it was a messy near miss). This morning, I was awake well before she was and the Steelheart was heavy and full along with my balls which felt huge and seemed to hang down far lower than usual between my legs. She started to wake up and I spooned into her, nuzzling the crowded steel tube into her ass.

“Not today,” she told me while wiggling her butt a little.

A complicated cocktail of emotions followed. Sure, I was horny. But I was also content. Because there are rules that dictate our dynamic and specifically sex. And I’ll share them with you now.

These aren’t the same as Belle’s rules for me. I think of these rules as how men locked in chastity should behave, in general. Of course, there’s no One True Way™ and everyone gets to figure this out as they go, but these are the rules I’ve made in my head and applied to my relationship and they work for me (and us, I suppose). If I taught a class on male chastity as a lifestyle, this is how I’d tell the men they should approach their new lives. As a man who’s given up control over the thing that defines his manhood. You give that up, you give up a lot of other things, too.

Thumper’s top 10 rules for the well-behaved and happy locked man

  1. Sex is a service for your keyholder.
  2. You don’t decide when and how or how often sex happens.
  3. You are not entitled to sex.
  4. You are not to have any expectation of sex.
  5. You are not to initiate sex other then to reinforce your availability to your keyholder to satisfy their needs and desires.
  6. You are not to demonstrate any emotions that indicate dissatisfaction with their decisions regarding sex.
    • It is acceptable to show sexual frustration, within reason, assuming your keyholder is OK with that.
  7. Pleasure you experience while servicing your keyholder is secondary to theirs always.
  8. When your keyholder allows you to service them sexually, it is a gift.
  9. Always do your best, but don’t expect perfection from yourself.
  10. Your keyholder can situationally alter these or any rules based on their needs and desires. In other words, don’t be pedantic.

Most of these go against everything culture tells men they’re entitled to. Accepting and embracing these realities are among the hardest things I’ve ever done. But now they’re so deeply embedded in my core code, I don’t think I’d ever be capable of acting like a “normal” man again.

So, when Belle told me not today, I felt frustration and regret…but also acceptance. And contentment because I know what I am.

Whatever she wants. Always.

Holiday confinement

This Christmas, we’re going on vacation. This is something we did for the first time a few years ago. Everyone (Belle, the kids, her parents, her sister’s family — everyone) went to Hawaii. Which was, of course, super fun since it was friggin’ Hawaii. Big island. Good times. 

This year, we’re going to Mexico for ten days. Specifically, Cabo San Lucas. Just our family of four and Belle’s parents. Even though I grew up in SoCal, I’ve only been to Mexico once before. Long-time readers might remember since I wrote a post about it (so long ago, the penis was still being called a cock lol). That trip was to Puerto Vallarta which reminded me a lot of the Caribbean islands we’ve been to. Cabo is way dryer and deserty. There will be lounging poolside, sun, scuba, Christmas palm trees. You know, the usual. 

It has been not uncommon when we’ve been on vacations for Belle to leave the penis out of its confinement. Presumably, this is because we’re on vacation so maybe she was thinking the penis could be on supervised release, too. A little vacation for the little guy. 

And that’s been on my mind for the past few days now that we’re officially in same month as our trip because the prospect of being out for any period of time kind of makes me angsty (see previous post). So while we were on the couch tonight kissing and waiting for the Flynn sentencing memo to drop (like most romantics), I asked her to leave me in even when we’re away, regardless of activities, unless (of course) she wanted to use the contents. 

Belle assured me that that would indeed be the case. She may have once felt she was being nice by letting me out on trips and vacations, but we’re past that now. Contained and secure is what I am and should be. So, Holy Trainer on the plane and Steelheart once we’re there. 

There is no holiday from confinement.

Something to show

When we marry or commit our lives to one another, we can wear a ring on our finger to show that. But when we submit to another, there are few socially acceptable ways to demonstrate it publicly. Which is interesting since submission often has a physical component to it, whether it be a collar or a chastity device or what have you. But those components typically don’t leave the private realm. Regardless, I know I have often wanted to have some kind of way to show my status that could pass through Muggle life without creating too much of a ruffle.

Of course, there’s little way I can publicly communicate my chastity, though I feel about it much like someone feels about marriage. The device has a potent emotional weight for me. And sure, sometimes someone might see it through my clothes and I don’t go to extreme lengths to hide it, but that’s not like wearing a wedding ring. I got a triskal tattoo on my wrist which is kind of an inside nod to those who recognize what it means but I think of that as communicating what I am, not my status. The best way I’ve been able to make that statement in a way that feels authentic to me is a stainless steel locking cuff.

More steel!

I got the first one about seven years ago from a site called House of Collars. It locks with a little headless screw that requires a hex key to get on and off and is hinged and cost $67 shipped. I so appreciate its rough and naked utilitarianism. I think it looks almost like jewelry but really, if you look hard enough, not since it’s got hinges and no visible means of closure. It’s heavy and, after all these years, had a nicely beaten up patina. It’s only drawback, really, is that the little screw has become loose and can work its way out after a few days (which is nothing some Loctite from the hardware store couldn’t fix). Its other issue is the hinges. They can tear at my skin and leave it open and raw. On the one hand, that kind of thing can be kind of hot, but on the other more practical hand, it’s also a pain. I wore it for over a week recently when we were away for the 4th and it left me with a nice little wound.

That got me thinking about a more civilized lockable cuff someone pointed me to in the post I wrote about the first one seven years ago. It’s from Träume aus Edelstahl in Germany (of course) and cost $185 shipped. It’s the first cuff’s spiritual opposite. It doesn’t have a sharp or uncivilized edge on it and is machined with exquisite skill. It locks with a hidden, internal screw mechanism and a special little tool with an oddly-shaped head. It came with just one special little tool with an oddly-shaped head, by the way. So best not to lose it. An extra one is $30.

They’re about the same thickness and weight. The older cuff is slightly taller than the new one, but they don’t feel that different on the wrist except for the missing sharp bits. The new cuff gleams while the older one is dulled by wear. While that dull patina kind of works for the tougher, more serious and less caring demeanor of it, I can’t imagine I’ll want the new cuff to end up that way. I’ll probably want to keep it polished and beautiful.

I thought I’d like the new one hands-down over the old, but in reality I can’t tell. Sure, I like not having a wound on my wrist, but I do appreciate the different vibe of the older cuff. It doesn’t fuck around or play hide and seek with its purpose. It looks like an implement of bondage. The new cuff is more demure. Deceptive. It wants to be be able to pass as something more than it is, and it does that beautifully. It’s very comfortable, very sleek, and very locked.

The difference between a wedding ring and one of these cuffs is that the wedding ring can come off. It’s a thing that represents a willing and equal partnership. But a thing that locks onto your body doesn’t. There is an inherent unequalness that resonates in the soul of a sub. Being able to put that condition on display is very satisfying, even if to the untrained Muggle eye it’s just another shiny bauble.

Wandering the vacant rooms

I was out of chastity for thirty-nine days. By far and quite easily the longest time I’ve gone without that restriction since Belle first locked me up over nine years ago. I came ten times during that period, each by my own hand. That’s twice as many orgasms in just over a month than I had all year in 2017.

Whilst I was away from home (Americans need to start saying “whilst” more, don’t you think? And maybe “betwixt,” too.), Belle sent me a text saying I needed to go back in the minute I got home. Hearing her express a preference and give me the direction was a step in the right direction for me and us. We still have things to work on, but that’s a start.

I wanted out of chastity because I was sad and feeling like an afterthought. I felt like our relationship had been given a spot at the back of the bus. And that left me feeling empty and lonely. But once I was out, I felt…more empty. More alone. But I also lost the sense of who I was.

I’ve been denied normal orgasmic release for coming up on ten years. The penis has been locked away, off and on, for the same amount of time (more on than off lately, recent issues notwithstanding). I think I’ve always told myself that I could go back to “normal” if I wasn’t locked up and was coming on a regular basis. Not letting the denial energy build up. Just squeezing one out whenever I had the barest urge. I told myself that, but had I really been listening, I would have known that wasn’t the case. That when I went back to “normal” I was just as miserable as I was before. Because I’m not normal. I’m not supposed to come whenever I want. I’m not supposed to be able to reach in my pants at any given moment and feel the penis, squishy or otherwise.

Whatever I was before chastity and denial and submission and bottoming is gone. Jacking off in the shower was like wandering my boyhood home after the last family had moved out. Vacant rooms, bare walls. Cold. “Normal” me — which was never really me, just the facade I put up for forty-some years to satisfy cultural expectations — is dead and irretrievable. I never want to live like that again. I can’t.

I had already decided to stop jacking off before I left on my trip. I needed to restart my pilot light and feel those denied urges again. Not that I would have been able to resist forever using nothing but will power. I was even toying with the idea of putting myself back in lock-up, but felt the only way I would in reality was if Belle told me to. And she did.

What’s been absolutely confirmed to me by this experience is how little I think of my own orgasm. Three to five seconds of bliss in exchange for all the energy and dynamism and emotion that comes from not experiencing it? To never feel the drop after coming. To maintain myself in a stable, denied, horny and headspacey state of being. It’s so much better for me. It’s so perfectly clear that it’s exactly who I am supposed to be and how I’m supposed to be.

IMG_0307So I was going on about ten days without orgasm when I was in the woods and got Belle’s text. I was already feeling a bit horny, but seeing her wishes spelled out and knowing I was going to go back in kicked it up a notch. That led to a night of less than two hours sleep as my imagination kept playing bespoke dirty movies inside my head. The penis was hard most of the time but I was sharing a little one-room cabin with another guy (and a mouse). I realized at some point in the night my underwear had a large patch of precum soaked through.

The next day, I spent time trying to nap in my hammock. Just me and my tented underwear. Again, the imagination and the penis conspired. Everything was firing now and I felt much more in my element. Horny and desirous. Only lacking the friendly confines.

I will admit to losing my will in my hammock. Inside the bug netting and under the rain tarp, it was the only place I could get some privacy and I did edge myself for some time. I didn’t come, but I did leak quite a bit into my hand and, having nowhere else to put it, I had to eat it. The fact that I could was the, eh…”proof in the pudding” as it were that I didn’t orgasm. The drive home was long but I didn’t whip it out on the highway. I did rub it quite a bit though my pants.

Literally within ten minutes of being home, I was putting the Steelheart back. And it all just clicked into place. It was a bit odd feeling the heft and the bulk of the tube again, but I got used to it quickly. It is, after all, more me than what it contains.

Of course, Belle left the next morning. She’s gone until Thursday. But the whole week after that we’re up at the northern compound enjoying Independence Day. We have some stuff to figure out, but the corner has been turned. Sanity is returning.

Rabbit v. Lizard

Yesterday I said…

I’m not allowed to ask for or refuse orgasm. But it’s how I’m feeling. I wish they didn’t need to happen. I feel like enough “plumbing” issues are taken care of with the occasional expression of fluid when I’m allowed to penetrate Belle. I just really, really, really don’t want to come.

…and based on a few comments, I think that was misconstrued. Totally understandable since it deals with the most difficult to understand and explain paradoxes of enforced chastity and orgasm denial.

There are two aspects to what drives us to orgasm (and I’m talking about men since while I’m very familiar with how to make a woman orgasm, I’m not an expert in how they work internally, and this is entirely my take since I’m also not a doctor, sex expert, Holiday Inn Express patron, etc). The first is biological. Hormones and brain wiring and stuff that’s buried very deeply into our evolutionary source code. It’s an animal force and in my previous writing I characterize it as the Lizard. It’s less something we consider and more something we feel. It’s the thing that in most people works together with the second aspect that leads to orgasm. The higher brain is where imagination and emotion and logic and fantasy and all that stuff live. I’ve called that part of me the Rabbit. It’s the part that has allowed me to enter into this dynamic with Belle, to consider what it means to be a sub, a bottom, and to act upon those things. And while I think of this lower brain Lizard and higher brain Rabbit separately, actually they’re fused into what constitutes my sexuality. Within me, they wrestle and the Rabbit stays in control (most of the time), but they’re like two halves of a single thing.

An attempt at an example: sometimes guys jerk off in the morning right after they wake up. Their cock is hard and they’re groggy and they feel a tickle in their balls and the next thing they know they’re squirting on their stomach. It’s almost mechanical. That’s the Lizard. Other times a guy will be in a situation that’s hot and get hard. He’ll think about that later when he’s jacking off. Thinking about the person or the situation and fantasizing and playing with his cock until he explosively shoots his load. That’s the Rabbit. He stokes the flames the Lizard provides. Except in me, the thing that makes the Rabbit super hot is to not let the Lizard get what it wants. The concept of not coming is hotter than coming. Of wanting to feel like I want to come, but not doing it. In me, the Lizard and Rabbit are not friends. They’re in constant tension.

So when I say I “really, really don’t want to come,” that’s the Rabbit talking. Because it’s the Rabbit where all the emotional, psychological stuff resides. I think being in long-term “lifestyle” denial invariably creates a lot of conflict between the Rabbit and the Lizard. The Lizard wants to stick the penis into things and squirt seed all over and fulfill evolutionary destiny. My Rabbit couldn’t care less about that stuff and wants to be the best Rabbit it can be. But they need each other. The Lizard rages against its imprisonment and the Rabbit is constantly trying to do the right thing. To not let the Lizard influence it too much. To be a fucking rabbit.

As an aside, it’s kind of funny since my Thumper nickname was given to me by Belle when we started our relationship because she thought I wanted sex as much as a rabbit supposedly wants to fuck. And that morphed into Thumper because I also have this weird tic where my feet tap and wiggle when I’m really turned on. And it’s true rabbits have a promiscuous reputation and I truly do want to have sex quite a bit, but rabbits are also the bottom of the food chain. So even though they’re apparently ravenously sexual, they’re also constantly the prey and they need to balance that out. Without really knowing it, the nickname works for me on many levels. 

Anyway. The biggest thing that’s changed in the past couple of years and that’s perhaps accelerated in the last several months is that the Rabbit/Lizard power ratio has shifted dramatically towards the Rabbit. The Lizard has gotten quite lazy and doesn’t fight as much as he once did. The Rabbit has him pretty well locked down. He still stirs and pulls on the chains like the old days, but not as often. When I’m feeling Belle squirm and moan under my fingers, he’s there. Then the penis gets as hard as it can and the craving of feeling it slip into her is the greatest. And yes, at those times, I want to come. At least, the Lizard does. In the past, the Rabbit might be swayed by the power of the Lizard’s insistence, but not anymore. He knows orgasms are like cupcakes on the counter. They look good and will be fun to eat in the moment, but after won’t feel that great. After, there will be regret.

Long way to get around to saying “really, really don’t want to come” means the Rabbit doesn’t want me to come. I actually do have the craving to come that ebbs and flows and is impacted by life like everything else. And that’s the paradox of denial. The chemical Lizard craving for orgasm lives on while the Rabbit higher brain’s desire not to keeps it all under control.

Then I said…

I reject the old trope that being locked up and denied for longer and longer periods makes one hornier and hornier forever. That’s simply not how it works.

…which was not to mean being denied doesn’t massively increase one’s level of horniness. Of course it does. But there’s an element to some hawt chastity porn that it’s an ever-increasing line that stretches off into eternity. In reality, it builds up well past normal in the course of a week or so and continues to grow more slowly over a two to three week period but then it kind of plateaus. I find it can actually drop after that and slowly go up and down like long, rolling waves (while still remaining well above normal for a guy who comes whenever he wants). It can even drop way, way down. That’s the funk I was in last week and before. Where the desire to come and have sex is actually really low to zero. That’s the worst part of denial. It’s not common, but it happens.

The thing that’s not usually mentioned is how carrying a load of unreleased hormones around can cause super quick swings in desire. I can go from zero to packed tube in seconds in the right conditions. And then it can go back down again just as quickly. I also have pretty extreme swings in emotion, though I’ve gotten better at controlling those. I can be quick to anger or on the verge of tears very suddenly. I don’t think men are accustomed to or designed to have so many hormones in their system.

But like anything else, the body adjusts. The hormone load becomes the new normal and their absence the oddity. Not coming for three or four months at a time for years dramatically changes how your body works.

Right now, I am super horny. Which is my preferred state, though it can be massively distracting. I bet it’ll stay this way for a week or so more before leveling out and moderating some. What I do not want to feel is something below what’s normal for most people. For the Lizard to go to sleep entirely. Because for me, that’s death warmed over. When that happens, it’s like a light goes out somewhere. But right now today, the light is a roaring flame and the lizard is back to plotting his escape.

Cratered

It’s been a very strange month for me. It’s not quite time for my monthly numbers update, but here we are. I’m writing anyway.

For the first time in a really long time, I didn’t want anything at all to do with being locked up. I was already feeling this way while getting ready for Spring Break and asked Belle if she wanted me to be locked up while we were away. “Of course,” was the reply, though I had hoped she’d say, “Nah.” But she didn’t. And even though I didn’t want to wear it and was feeling pretty anti as opposed to just meh, I wasn’t so far gone that I forgot the rules: I have to wear a chastity device unless she says otherwise. But being in it left me feeling resentful and I should have said something, but I didn’t. That’s my bad.

Anyway, it’s been bugging me for days. It annoyed me on the plane, in the car driving around, everywhere. Had it been the Steelheart, I would have especially resented it in the mornings, but I’m in the Holy Trainer V3 nano and it leaves me feeling quite nicely compressed in the wee hours. Barely wakes me up.

But then something really unexpected happened. We were at Dodger Stadium and I had to pee. In the old days of the stadium, when I was a kid, the men’s room urinals were just long metal troughs. Quite intimidating to a locked pee-er. I hadn’t been in one since then, that I recall, and I’ve read they’ve been updated. They have, except now the individual urinals are all situated in neat rows on long walls, rather close, and with no separators between then. They’re the low bowl kind and offer zero privacy. But I had to go, so out came the HT and, luckily enough, everything was lined up well enough that I could pee in a straight line. The HTv3 nano is a pretty low profile device, but it was still out there definitely not a penis and could have been seen. Maybe it was, I dunno. But I realized afterward that I wasn’t feeling bad about it anymore. Like, being in that uncomfortable situation over which I had no control acted as a hard reboot to my attitude. It’s weird.

Early this morning, I woke up a bit and felt the tube pressing in on me and…I really liked it. I flexed into it and made it squeeze as hard as it could. I rolled over and pushed it into the mattress. I was really digging the feeling. And now, it’s just different. It’s not locked on me anymore. It’s me again. I have no way of explaining it. It has to be a hormonal thing, I guess. I haven’t even opened Tumblr for days, but did today. I’m actually feeling a tad bit horny and I was very not feeling that 36 hours ago.

So…anyway. That’s that. Everything passes, apparently, and I think it’s a good thing now that I didn’t say anything to Belle. I’d probably be feeling worse now if I had. Hopefully, I’ll stay on this trajectory for a while.

Sick makes six

Belle left this morning for Mexico where she’ll be with a friend until late next week. No, not that kind of friend. A female friend.

We had one whole weekend together between the three weeks we didn’t see each other and this trip and she’s still getting over the lingering remnants of her bout with the flu while I was more or less in the midst of mine. Regardless, she let me get her off twice but made no move towards nor comment on the key or my locked state. Especially the second time, that led to incredibly tight and painful erections.

At some point during the previous few weeks or so, I pointed out that in the past she’d let me out of chasity when I was feeling really sick. She just sort of laughed and commented on how that was true but also how much stronger I was now than then. It’s a fact that she just doesn’t think about me being locked all the time and there’s really nothing in her mind that should keep me from being that way, short of the TSA or a doctor visit (and even then, only one that might involve the penis).

Those who think it’s a form of cheating when Belle lets me out to fuck and subsequently leak ejaculate into her (without orgasm) should be pleased to hear I’ve been locked up without any kind of relief for five weeks. Based on schedules, the next opportunity to get out will make it six weeks. I have been in and out of different devices during that time since I have been and will be traveling, but it’s been the Steelheart for the bulk of that period and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the penis in weeks.

She was gone pretty early for her flight so I woke up alone clutching at and stroking a very full tube. I rarely suffer from blue balls anymore, even when I haven’t been out for a while, but six weeks is going to be some kind of record. I can’t recall being locked up without access to her pussy for that long since I started tracking such things. In any event, I’m really starting to feel it. There’s the regular old enforced chastity and orgasm denial she practices and then there’s this. My balls feel especially swollen and I can tell there’s a built up load inside me craving to get out. A short trip on a big dildo would undoubtedly work a lot of that out.

It’s at times like this that knowing where the key is starts to gnaw at me.

As hard as this is, there’s a part of me that appreciates it. The part that knows this is exactly what I need and want. That this is what’s best for the kind of man I am. That part does get into debates with the part of me that feels guilt about her not getting fucked when I know she likes to feel that, but the trump card the first part plays in those situations is she decides what we do and I go along with it so shut up.

So…I’m going along. Either she didn’t think I was well enough to fuck (not true) or didn’t want to fuck me when I was sick or simply didn’t want to be fucked or not as much as she wanted me to stay locked up while she got off, I can’t say. And it’s not my job to figure it out. I’ll stay locked up for exactly as long as she wants me to be and will be grateful for both being locked up and being let out.