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.

Orgasm extinction

One of the things that I think surprises people who read this blog is that while Belle denies me orgasm, she does like it when I ejaculate inside her. There is a difference and I wrote a post about it early last year. My recent badminton-esque exchange with Schnoff led me to re-read that post and tap out this addendum.

First off, though, it’s interesting to me that Bear and Schnoff define “orgasm” as any expression of seminal fluid. I think of orgasm as the surging explosive release of that fluid and the concomitant flooding of one’s brain with all the loopy orgasm hormones and chemistry (serotonin, oxytocin, prolactin, etc.). It’s a feeling more than a physical action. I can tell when I’ve come because of what happens in my head, not what comes out of the penis. And that was the point of my post (and why it’s called “You know it when you feel it”).

To be clear, Bear and Schnoff (well, mostly Bear) are free to define orgasm however they like. It’s just interesting to me to see how others do their thing. Back during Locktober, I was given some grief for not being locked in the exact same device continuously all month long (I was in a couple devices, though never out longer than the 36 seconds it takes to remove one and replace it with another). Others think Belle allowing me to ejaculate isn’t real denial. My position is, I don’t make the rules she does and if she wants me to put a load in her but also doesn’t want me to come, then I need to figure out how to do it. Luckily, I have. Repeat after me: There is no One True Way™ to do orgasm denial.

Anywho, what I find is that the actual mechanical and hormonal process of orgasm in me has totally changed over the years. And for the past year to year and a half, I might even describe it as totally broken.

Note, I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

When we first started the denial dynamic, Belle would allow me to jack off when I wasn’t locked up. I think that experience helped me map out exactly how my orgasm worked. Finding the very moment I started to fall off the plateau of arousal into an unstoppable orgasm. I could get myself to shoot several loads a night without any release of orgasmic chemistry.

And for a long time, I found that if I stopped fucking her at that moment, I’d shoot a little load, and then I’d be able to keep fucking her. Sometimes, for a really long time. Almost indefinitely. As if going up to the point of release and pulling back made the release itself impossible. Some kind of hot-wiring of the refractory period. Those were the days. But then something changed.

First, I became (and remain) a premature ejaculator. If I fuck for three minutes without having to stop, it’s an achievement. Usually, it’s not even that long. Second, even if I “leak” inside her without coming, the penis starts to deflate as if I’ve come. That was the first sign that my natural process has evolved. I couldn’t keep fucking even if I wanted to (and I always wanted to). I’d lose the erection. Immediately.

Last year, Belle let me come five times. Not one of those was how I used to describe orgasm after a period of denial. No explosion, no kick in the back of the head, no intensity. The orgasms I have now are not too dissimilar from the non-orgasmic ejaculations. Some weak spurting along with a shot of the hormones, but no jolt. No BANG. More like an ocean swell than a crashing wave. I feel a less pronounced post-orgasmic experience (sleepiness, etc.). Even the sub-drop that used to be a hallmark of orgasm has diminished substantially. They’ve become non-events that don’t drain me (literally or figuratively). As I recall, this wasn’t just the five from last year. I was also feeling a version of this the year before that.

Basically, the orgasm I literally grew up with is gone. A pale shadow of the real thing.

There was a time when the prospect of losing my ability to have a truly enjoyable, fireworks-filled orgasm would’ve scared the shit out of me. That was both before I was denied orgasms at all and also for several years after we started this dynamic. But once I was being denied, even when I could still come normally, I knew I didn’t really want to. All I wanted was to always feel like I wanted to come. Craving the thing, not having the thing. So now that my ability to come seems to be waning, I don’t feel any particular loss.

I don’t know if this is something all men who are denied for a long time feel or if it’s unique to me. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I remember very early on someone said to me online that if I got to the point where orgasms weren’t enjoyable that I had done it wrong. The point was to always enjoy and want them. Obviously, I don’t think that’s true. I think denial has made me more of what I already was and am. I feel like living like this is my natural and correct state. In general, I believe men especially put way, way too much emphasis on having orgasms. But, you know. What else do you expect me to say?

I doubt this condition is permanent. If I were able to freely masturbate to completion or even come every time I fucked, I expect things would go back to “normal.” But I don’t really care if they do. How much can I miss something that, on average, only happens every three months anyway? Why should I miss a thing that knocked me out of the headspace in which I so much enjoy living?

Saying my orgasm is “broken” is the wrong adjective. Makes it sound like it was an accident. This wasn’t accidental at all. It was intentional. Maybe even inevitable.

Theatrics

I got home Thursday to the only night in three and a half weeks Belle and I would be together. She got back from Asia on Tuesday several hours after I left for Southern California and she left Friday for Europe until mid-next week.

As soon as I got home, I swapped the Holy Trainer v3 nano out for the Steelheart and expect to be wearing it for the indefinite future. As I was doing so, and as soon as the penis felt air, it started to swell. I wasn’t even thinking dirty thoughts, but it knew it was out of confinement and Belle was in the house and any chance it had at all to feel warm wetness (or, really, any pleasurable sensation at all) was right then.

Except Belle came home from Asia with a nasty cold and I’m not horny enough to dive into that and get it myself (though, after later consideration, I am left wondering if one can catch cold from performing cunnilingus). In any event, I pushed and prodded and shoved the chubbed out meat into the steel tube and turned the lock.

It was tight (and stayed that way for a while — the penis was pissed), but I felt the usual sense of…I dunno. Comfort. Safety? Security in the emotional sense (as well as the restrictive, physical sense). Bottom line, the Steelheart, even with it’s too-tight A-ring and occasional pinching between the PA jewelry and fixing, is home. Everything else feels like sleeping on the road.

The few comments on my previous post about locks and security and trust has me thinking. In response to me calling hiding the key “theater,” Tom said…

I’d say that some people really do want more believability in their theater. That is, playing the game, or as I like to say, running the script in your head with fewer willing suspensions of disbelief makes it better.

Suspension of disbelief is a critical element of chastity (and, to a larger extent, most of BDSM). I get that. The less suspension, the better. But I’ve been wondering how much is enough for me? How much “theater” do I need to make this dynamic work? Or, to put it the other way, what’s the minimum amount of theater I need?

Device-less chastity would be the least amount of theater for someone like me. Schnoff mentioned how he’s not kept in a device. His chastity is based on willpower, though he admits it’s imperfect (as are we all). He takes exception with the idea I need a device to maintain my chastity, but ours has been defined differently. Bear allows him to masturbate while Belle does not want me doing that. As well-intentioned and invested as I am in our dynamic, I have never demonstrated an ability to keep my hands off the erection when it’s available and needy. Before Belle moved me to an essentially continuous state of lock-up, I used to edge myself all the time (usually in the shower, though there was a time she let me do it right there in bed next to her while she slept), up to and beyond the point of ejaculation, though not orgasm. If Belle ever let me be unlocked for long periods but still expected me not to jack off, I feel like I’d go crazy. I mean, literally, the temptation and distraction would make me nuts. So no, for me anyway, “no device” is not nearly enough theater. I would suck at that.

Another thing Schnoff said about chastity devices is…

Toys are that, toys. No matter how hot.

I simply don’t think of chastity devices as toys at all. I mean, yes, I do acknowledge they fall into the broad category of sex toys, but they’re so much more. The Steelheart is me. It completes me, is an extension of me, and makes me feel more whole than when it’s absent. Sort of how one feels weird without their wedding ring on, but at deeper level. A ring represents commitment and love and a chastity device does, too, but it’s commitment at an entirely different scale. Not only a sign that I’ve joined my life with someone else, but that I’ve given to them my heart and my body. It’s a physical manifestation of my submission. A constant physical reminder of Belle’s wishes and requirements. Plus, the metaphor of the lock and key represents the hole a submissive feels within that can only be filled by loving domination.

In these ways, the Steelheart is me and her and our dynamic all in one. Profoundly significant and in no way a simple toy. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Moving up the scale from nothing is a silicone chastity device. These are worthless because their stretchy, flexible nature make stimulation of the penis ridiculously possible. They simply don’t do the job for which they’re intended. Also, I just don’t care for how they look. Appearance is a critical element for me because chastity devices are not just functional tools.

Moving up from silicone is plastic. The only reasonably acceptable plastic device I’ve worn is the Holy Trainer. The others are all too complicated and/or ugly and/or downright excruciating to wear. The HTv3 nano is barely acceptable in that, as I said in my review, it leaves critical parts of the penis accessible to stimulation. It does prove to be just enough of a deterrent that I can resist partaking in that stimulation, but I don’t like it being possible. In that way, the HTv3 nano is the minimum amount of theater I require.

Of course, the Holy Trainers have no PA fixing option so I could pull out the back. Being able to pull out is not a deal breaker, but I vastly prefer not being able to. That’s a level of theater I truly crave. I don’t pull out when I can and suspend disbelief regarding my ability to do so, but a device with a PA fixing is way, way hotter for me than one without. Removing the disbelief about being able to escape amps up the experience, for sure. Also, it adds a calming element in that I don’t need to expend any energy pretending to myself that it’s inescapable.

Steel is my preferred material for devices. I have borderline fetish for stainless at this point. Not just the look of it, but how it feels. Its heft and how it goes on cold but then warms like an extension of my body. I’ve considered other metals like titanium but wonder if I’d like them as much since they’re so much lighter. Feeling the device flop and pull as I turn in bed is a definite plus.

Beyond that, preferred devices are simple and hide the penis. The Half Shell is very comfortable and quite shiny, but busy looking and complicated and doesn’t protect the entire shaft from viewing or touching. The Looker 02 is simple, but the penis is mostly visible (though the head is hidden). The Jail Bird is also quite simple, but shows far too much meat. The Steelheart is the best of all in that it’s sleek and steel and totally encases the penis. It’s not perfect in that the PA fixing does have some fiddly bits, though they’re all hidden inside. Its ring is too tight and it can occasionally pinch between the PA jewelry and fixing. The bottom of the penis shaft can also pinch where it joins my balls and meets the bottom of the tube.

Sometimes, the lack of any discomfort from a device is in itself a form of theater I miss. I don’t think enforced chastity should be excruciating, but I also don’t think it should be a walk in the park. I like that the Steelheart is tight and can bite from time to time. That discomfort is part of the symbolism of submitting to being denied in this way. Being denied orgasm is not easy. It’s hard and the cravings to come or even touch myself are often powerful. I like the device fighting back a bit and reminding me I chose the more difficult path. In fact, that I require the more difficult path.

Bottom line, this form of submission is very complicated. It’s not a straight line and everyone is going to practice it in their own way. The way that feels the best and make the most sense to them. The fact that it’s a two-person dynamic only makes the number of variations that much more numerous. All you can do is work on it and find the level of theater you both need…while never forgetting the keyholder is the star of the production. The keyheld is just the one holding the spotlight.

Of trust and locks

Tom wrote a thing about keys. Go ahead and read it if you haven’t already, but long story short, Mrs Edge took all the keys, even the “emergency” one, and has left poor Tom without any.

But not having a key at my disposal at all? To go all day, every day, for weeks, maybe months with not even an opportunity for access to a key? The idea of turning that absolute control over to her was surprisingly hot for both of us. Remember, on these devices, there’s no padlock, no locking pins, and certainly nothing to be broken or cut. That cage is not coming off without actual power tools.

And it made me think about a conversation that was happening on Twitter a few days ago about keys and locks and I said something about the real lock being the trust a keyholder has in he who they lock. This is more or less what I was talking about when I said, “The very best chastity device is the one between your ears.”

Locks and keys and access to keys and where the key is and if she’s wearing it around her neck or giving it to her friend (boy?) for safe keeping (you wish) or leaving it in her desk drawer at work or what have you really gets a locked guy’s crank cranked. I get it, believe me. The key becomes…the key. Where is it? What’s she doing with it? Did she bring it? What if she looses it? Ooo, there it is! Etc.

First of all, what Tom says in his post is true. The emergency key idea is kind of bunk. I can remember the number of times needing an “emergency” key in the approaching ten years I’ve been locked up on one hand. And most of those times, I didn’t have it and I survived each time (look, here I am writing this thing). In a real emergency, neither Tom or I or you would have time to get to the key anyway. In reality, emergency keys are convenience keys. And most of the time, access to the key is planned for planned things like air travel or medical procedures.

Except when all that is on its head.

Belle doesn’t hide the key. She’s been gone for two weeks and she left it behind. I know exactly where it is. I have my own key all nicely secured in a locked thing (and I sometimes even remember where it is), but it doesn’t matter. If I need the key for whatever reason, I know how to get to it. She knows I know all this, too. Belle just doesn’t seem to care about the key as an object of power. She could, but choses not to. It’s not the significant thing in our dynamic. She trusts me to do the right thing and follow the rules.

This flies in the face of the One True Way to do enforced male chastity, I know. It probably seems a bit of a let down for some. But what I’ve grown to understand is that key obsession goes against the spirit of submission. I submit to Belle, not her key. My involved fantasies about how the key should be handled are my fantasies. If she wants to play a game with it and where it is and keep it hidden, etc., that’s her choice. For me to require her to do so because I can’t be trusted knowing where it is puts too high a burden on her to play this game my way.

I said on Twitter just this morning…

Man, that sounds like a guy who really should not know where his key is. But what the fuck would the point of all this be if I took the key and used it to give myself relief? And what’s the functional difference in knowing exactly where it is (a little box in her nightstand drawer) versus hunting all over for it on a desperate search?

I have no time at all for men who can’t be trusted to hold up their end of the deal when it comes to enforced chastity. Slipping out the back of an unsecured device for a quick wank is the same as using the key to take the whole thing off for the same reason. I do understand how security adds to the hotness of the situation (an inescapable device and a mysterious key), but just like at the airport, it’s all theater. The keyholder should set the terms of their keyheld’s containment and he should respect and honor their wishes. Maybe they do some things because the keyheld wants it or likes it, but that’s optional for them. What’s not optional for he whose junk is locked is following their rules.

Since Belle’s been gone, I’ve been in six different devices. Just because I could. She has no rules about what I’m locked into, just that I’m locked. And my travel during her trip has required me to be in the Holy Trainer which is fine for travel but I far prefer metal when I have the option. I’ll be using her key to put myself back in the Holy Trainer tomorrow since I have to fly again. I might even take it with me so I can swap into the Steelheart before flying back. Crazy, right? Madness. But not really.

For me, the thing is the device. When it’s on, it’s fucking well on. I don’t take it off for reasons other than health, national panic, alien invasion, etc. When it’s off, I’m a basket case and really can’t be trusted. The flesh is weak. The mind, too. A hard shaft in a hand is a potent thing to a guy who comes once every 12 weeks, on average. But that’s why the device is there. That’s why she requires I wear it. And I have accepted that submission willingly and wholeheartedly.

Truth is, to succeed at enforced male chastity over the long-term, you have to want to be locked up. You have to like it. You have to crave it. We are party to our own imprisonment. I fully admit to all those things. If I ever fucked up so bad she stopped locking me up, I’d be miserable. She knows that. It’s the ultimate leverage she has over me: My fear of her withdrawing her domination. My burning desire to submit and give her control over the penis is what keeps me honest. I always always want that. I’m not fooling anybody.