Archives

Posted on

No deposit, no return

I ran about four miles on Sunday and then another four on Monday. Tuesday, I started to feel a little twinge in the end of the tube. Like a pinch, but not. Wednesday, it was pretty much constant and had me readjusting the device frequently in an attempt to get whatever little piece of skin was trapped between whatever metal surfaces, but it wasn’t really working. I assumed the tender bits had rubbed against the tube too much, because of the running, and were sore. Or something. Yesterday morning, I finally asked Belle to let me out and check it.

What I found wasn’t a pinch at all. The 10 gauge PA ring I wear had a build-up of mineral deposits not unlike what you’d find if you had hard water. We do have hard water, but there’s also a fair amount of urine passing by that metal regularly, so it could also have been a result of the other kind of hard water. In either event, the white scaly build-up was accumulated near the ball in the ring and went around it about a quarter of the way (remember, I hadn’t seen it for a month). It was on the part of the ring that goes inside the end of the penis, between the natural opening and the piercing. It wasn’t pinching I was feeling, but irritation from the rubbing of this deposit against the inside of the penis’ head. Owie.

I left the device off all day yesterday as I went about my business. It was really fucking weird. The wobbly bits were moving all over and squishing and squashing and rubbing against the inside of my underwear and in general being very distracting. The couple of times I pulled it out to pee, I was like, “Oh! Yeah. That. Right.” Due to an irregularity in our morning schedule, I didn’t have much of a chance to take advantage of the penis freedom. It did allow me to wear a pair of pants I generally don’t wear while in, though. That was a nice treat as I think they make my ass look good.

I got home later than usual and the family was there. Again, no opportunity to abuse the penis. I put on my regular cut-off sweats (worn commando) and t-shirt only to find the penis being even more of a distraction. It’s freedom allowed it to rub against the inside of the sweats and that, combine with its wibbling and wobbling in general, caused it to chub out in an inappropriately noticeable way. So I locked myself back up.

I’m telling you, it’s just easier that way. It’s easier to pee (what with the PA and all) and it’s less of a distraction and it maintains a somewhat large yet totally static and manageable bulge. So that’s me now. The guy who had freedom due to injury yet gave it up because wearing a steel tube is who I am. I could totally see Belle leaving me out because she tends to completely defer to me when I say I feel discomfort (perhaps to a fault) and that would lead to a very difficult night which would have led to a very difficult workout this morning. All things being what they were, I opted for lock-down.

Not totally, though. I left the PA and fixing out in order to give it some time to recoup. That’s left the tube feeling a little more cavernous since the fixing isn’t there to take up any space or hold the penis into place. It’s been bouncing around off the sides as I walk. Also, it’s harder to clean since the water from the shower nozzle pushes the meat up the tube, blocking its escape. Were it hard enough, the water pressure would probably push the penis out entirely. The final weird thing is how a tiny circular piece of the penis pokes out the end of the tube (the PA fixing normally keeps the end of the penis secured just inside, even when under steam). I usually feel nothing on the penis when it’s trying to get hard except pressure but now there’s this little spot that’s intensely sensitive. It causes sharp jolts of electric sensation up and down my body when it brushes against something. For those interested, I’ve included a picture after the jump. Nothing too dramatic. Just one little eye winking though a porthole.

So anyway, I soaked the PA ring and fixing in vinegar for a while this morning and the deposit (whatever it was) dissolved away. Tomorrow I’ll tell Belle I’m good to go with the full meal deal if she wants it in there. Meanwhile, I’ll just keep jiggling (and peeking).

Continue reading “No deposit, no return”

Posted on

In response

Reader BT left the following monster comment on my last post. So monster, in fact, I decided the reply should get a post of its own.

I have followed your blog since it was fairly new and I have enjoyed it a great deal. Mostly because it isn’t focused on wank-fantasy stuff, but rather is much more about the day-to-day reality of embracing this alternative form of relationship for your marriage. This has made your blog a shining star for bringing this alternative life style out of the musty dark shadows of pornography and into the light of day, and hopefully a little closer to acceptance by non-participants.

I am a shining star, aren’t I? And adorably fluffy.

I was surprised at how quickly you and Belle took to the proposed arragement in the beginning, but until recently it seemed to me that there was still something incomplete about it. Something not quite fully formed. And that thing was that Thumper was still pretty much looking at the whole arragement (or at least writng about it) from the point of view of “What is this doing to Thumper?”

I’ve heard this criticism before. My response is that this blog is, among other things, a journal of what I feel and experience. I honestly don’t know what I’d write about half the time if “What is this doing to Thumper?” was off the table. If I knew what this was doing to Belle, I’d write about that, but I can only guess what’s happening in her head and heart. Also, remember that this blog is one of the ways I communicate with Belle. She expects me to say what I’m feeling.

With regard to how quickly we embraced our current lifestyle, it didn’t feel all that quick to me. We were at a place in our relationship when we were very open to new things and chastity was something I was very interested in (suddenly and unexpectedly), but how that morphed into the D/s dynamic we have today seemed to take a while. Even now, I’m not sure it’s done evolving.

But your most recent posts demonstrate that you have passed a kind of milestone at some point. I was very pleased and happy for you and Belle when you wrote the following:

“I’ll make sure her favorite vibrator makes its way into her suitcase. If she’s going to be so relaxed anyway, it’s better for me to know she’s able to take advantage of the opportunity. Even if I don’t get to participate.”

Although you rarely refer to yourself as such I hope you wouldn’t consider it an insult if I catagorized you as a “submissive male” while acknowledging that the ways and means of practicing male submission are as varied as there are couples. However there is one essential element common to all of them in my opinion: The focus of the submissive on bringing his Top pleasure and support even if this means not getting to do exactly what the submissive would like to do

I have no problem being called a submissive male. And I agree, what that means is quite varied. I know that now. I didn’t understand it three years ago. Back then, I thought all this BDSM stuff was quite orderly and logical. It’s not. It’s infinitely more organic than I expected.

So sure, I’m submissive. But I’m not a robot. Call me submissive-ish if you want, but I can’t always and forever only think of Belle’s pleasure over mine. Well, “pleasure” is the wrong word. “Satisfaction” might be better. I get satisfaction though her pleasure. I get satisfaction by being actively denied sexual release by her. I get satisfaction knowing that she’s enjoying (in whatever way she wants) my submission to her and how that affects me. Where our dynamic breaks down is when I get no feedback from her. When my submission turns into background clutter of daily life. It’s hard living how I do, though it’s enjoyably hard when she’s an active participant in the dynamic. When she’s not, it’s just hard. And then it’s depressing. And that’s not good.

This quote above shows that your focus has movied beyond yourself and you are begining to prioritize Belle’s comfort and pleasure above your own. And this no doubt because you derive your pleasure from knowing that she is pleased, which is the essence of a submissive’s focus in a relationship.

I do prioritize her pleasure and comfort, but I can only do that when I feel she’s prioritized me and our relationship in her life. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but I reject the concept that a sub should totally subjugate their feelings. This is a relationship. There must be emotional exchange underneath the D/s layer.

And once that bar has been crossed the following statement doesn’t come to me as much of a surprise at all:

Penises, it turns out, can be trained.”

Which is absolutely true. Somewhere in the makeup of a sub male’s brain some little bit that used to cause the penis to get erect at the mere whisper of a ghost of a chance of getting some action finally learns that THIS male isn’t in control of THAT outcome. And if the current situation is one in which there isn’t likely to be any need of an erection, it doesn’t bother with creating one. This is a remarkable phenomnina when you consider it: Essentially the sub male’s brain acknowledges his submissive condition at a very visceral and subconsious level. When that occurs it seems fair to say that the man in question isn’t posing as a submissive, or play acting as a submissive, or taking the submissive role in a scene… he simply IS a submissive (at least in the particular situation.) It has become part of his makup. Part of what and who he is.

I agree. And when it happens, it’s amazing hot and satisfying. When she makes me give her an orgasm and then teases me about how I will receive nothing in return I actually thank her for it. Feeling that way fills me with warmth and comfort and love. It’s fantastic.

Soon after that point the following to also becomes very true:

“I don’t need to be strung up and whipped or tied to the bed all night or facesat until I turn blue to know she cares. Sometimes, all it takes is a few words and a gentle touch.”

I think that the insatiable desire for the kinky stuff is the manifestation of the need to demonstrate to oneself or one’s partner the dominant and submissive nature of the relationship. At some point that is no longer as necessary as it once seemed. In its place is a special sort of intimacy between the sub and his top and a peaceful and contented acceptance of the dynamic by both parties.

Hmm. Perhaps. But for me, I really enjoy being tied up and hurt. I enjoy it a lot. Sometimes the pain she inflicts on me is a demonstration of my submission. When she decides to clamp my nipples out of the blue or smack my nuts around or apply Icy Hot to them. In those cases, whether I want it to happen or not, I accept it because it trips my submissive triggers. However, I really really like pain. I like being flogged and otherwise whipped and beaten and that’s really not about submission. That’s about feeling the wonderful buzz of masochism. The bondage is the same. I like feeling the powerlessness of being bound and abused. I like struggling against it. It turns me on.

I can’t say how these things would feel if I wasn’t a sub because I am, but I know there are dominant types out there who also like pain and bondage. It can’t always be about submission. In any event, while I don’t need her to engage in that kind of activity to make me know she cares, I still crave them. Deeply. That need is a part of me, not us.

I suppose that you may have already figured a lot of this out. But then again maybe you haven’t considered that the three quotations above are interrelated toward a common point. That point being the DS nature of your marriage transforming from a sort of overlay of your relationship with Belle to being an essential part of it.

Our relationship has to work on several levels. It’s not just D/s. But I do agree that we’ve both invested so much psychic energy into our dynamic that its removal would be traumatic for both of us. I’d say it’s integral at this point, though perhaps not essential.

I’d love to hear what your take is on all this. That is how do you see yourself and your marriage as a DS relationship, if you see yourself that way at all? As I mentioned you rarely refer to yourself as a submissive, nor do you refer to your marriage as a DS relationship. And you certainly have never referred to Belle as a Domme or anything like that. And why would you? Who really needs labels? Especially these labels that always seem to conjure up so many negative stereotypes. But at this stage I don’t have any better language to describe it.

The label thing is perhaps the biggest reason I don’t use them that much anymore. Belle doesn’t like being called a Domme and while I don’t have a problem identifying as submissive, I’ve learned there’s a lot of baggage that comes with the term (mostly in the form of what “real” submission is, etc.). I’m not embarrassed by how I am but I am aware that what it means for Belle and I isn’t what it necessarily means for others.

I guess the way I’d summarize this post is by saying I want and need to feel Belle’s satisfaction and pleasure, even if it comes at the expense of my own because, ironically and paradoxically, that gives me satisfaction. But I can’t be expected to live in a way in which neither of us is satisfied. I don’t want to live without sexual stimulation, I just want to live without ever having sexual release. It’s the old “chastity is not celibacy” thing. In the end, no relationship works without an exchange of what the other partner needs, even D/s relationships.

Thanks for your thoughtful comment.

Posted on

Random penis news

Penises, it turns out, can be trained. Well, at least the brain circuitry that controls it can, but I like to refer to the penis as if it’s an independent being, so just work with me.

For example. The night before she left on her girlfriend’s weekend, Belle let me get her off. I liked it. A lot. It was fantastic feeling her pleasure knowing I was giving it to her. I pressed the steel into her leg while she came and felt the cool cruel cutting of denial as the wave of sensation crested inside her and knowing my experience was ending, too. But, the penis didn’t get hard. Maybe a little plump, but not a boner. Had it not been locked up, it certainly would have been as stiff as possible.

Another example. I tend the porn farm every day. Sometimes several times a day. If I’m out of the device, the penis will react and I’ll play with it and coax its fluids out without orgasm. Those sessions go on a bit longer than the locked variety for obvious reasons. However, when locked (as I am now) looking at images I find to be just as hot and invoking in me the same longing feelings as when unlocked, the penis barely twitches. Occasionally it’ll try to rise to the occasion, but the vast majority of the time, zilch. Same penis, same stimuli, different reactions.

A penis that is locked up all the time is not like one that isn’t. This doesn’t happen overnight. It didn’t used to be this way. But it is now. Also, this isn’t any kind of erectile disfunction because, as I said, when it’s unlocked it works just fine. Also, every fucking morning the erectile plumbing is going full blast. But a good, satisfying erection (let alone the ability to play with it) is one more thing a chronically locked guy is denied.

This morning, as I was waking up, I was laying there with the remnants of penile nocturnal tumescence filling the tube. Not full-on morning wood which is often uncomfortable in its ferocity, but a nicely constricted erection. I was on my stomach and grinding it into the mattress just reveling in the feeling of having a hard-on. Not a normal one, of course, but what I get now. Even if it’s not available, I like having erections now as much as I ever did.

In other penis news, I recently found a website called The Visualizer. The rest of this post contains NSFW images, so I’m placing it behind a jump.

Continue reading “Random penis news”

Posted on

Clinically punching the little fucker

I’m home from my trip, but still technically on vacation so, in combination with needing to wait around for a guy to fix our washer (hoping, of course, he’d be hot, though I was sorely disappointed) I decided to stay home yesterday. After the non-hot appliance repairman had gone, my thoughts turned to my predicament. Of course, the desire to get off was strong but my ability to do so was nonexistent, so I made due. Perusing my options, my eyes landed on the njoy Pure wand. I love both my njoy toys, the Pure Plug 2.0 and this wand.

It’s been a little while since I got the Pure wand wet so I had forgotten how gobsmackingly good it is at tickling a prostrate. And by “tickling” I mean “punching the little fucker out”. I got warned up with this nifty little inflatable butt plug I got a while back. Not sure I’ve ever mentioned it here, but it’s exactly the thing you want for that filled up feeling. Totally deflated, its circumference is 4.6″. At three pumps of its bulb, that stretches to 6.25″. Six pumps is 7.75″. I only measured it to eight pumps (8.75″) so I can’t tell you how big it was after 12 pumps, but that’s how many times I pumped it. I pumped it up, thought, “Oh my fucking god,” then let all the air up only to pump it up once or twice more the next time around. Unsurprisingly, that pressure against my prostrate squeezed out a fair slug of goo.

Once I had my fill of that (literally), I got the wand. I decided to well and truly try to milk myself. For the uninformed, “milking” is what it’s called when one massages one’s prostrate sufficiently to cause seminal fluid to express without ejaculation. Some people (like Belle) worry about that fluid staying in the body for too long (though the science on this is sketchy) so prostate massage is a good way to get it out absent the spasms of orgasm. I’ve been somewhat successful with it in the past, but I’ve read accounts of the stuff just pouring out and I want to experience that myself. After riding the wand for a bit, I decided to get clinical (what I won’t do for my readers). I grabbed a small bowl for catching goo and set a timer on my iPhone for 10 minutes. I decided I’d use the wand to stimulate my prostrate constantly until the timer went off and see how productive that was.

For the first five minutes or so, it was just precum. Quite a bit, to be fair, but it was just the clear salty stuff. After that, though, I felt the most amazing sensation. Almost like needing to pee, but not exactly like that. I had to close my eyes and my breath came quickly and caught in my throat at the intensity of it all. The feeling built and then crested causing me to push down as if I was trying to urinate an then flexed the penis. A long, thick slug of creamy semen leaked out of the end of the tube. That’s milking.

These intense waves of sensation came and went, always depositing a new slug of seed into the bowl. After the timer went off, I decided I wasn’t half done and reset it back to ten minutes. The productive period of milking started about five minutes in and lasted for about ten minutes. After that, it felt good (if too good can still be called good), but there didn’t seem to be much left in me. All told, I’d guess there was about two tablespoons of fluid in the bowl, about half creamy and half clear (of course, it didn’t go to waste). I read somewhere once that in some men, the milked fluid expresses internally into the urinary tract and not down the urethra. I peed when finished and noticed that it ran thickly at first, so some of it did apparently go the other direction.

After that, I put the Pure Plug 2.0 in and left it as I showered and left to run some errands. It’s a fantastically comfortable plug with its only downside being the oval handle with has some severe edges. Even so, it can be in there for a long time, if you want it to be. Feeling its incredible heft shift and push against my abused prostrate as I walked and moved at first was amazing but eventually started to be too much for me to take. I got home a few hours later and removed it with a pop. No extra leakage, of course, since I was already well drained.

Today, I can feel the prostate sitting in there brooding over its abuse. Regardless, I am temped to see if I can coax any more juice out of it.

Posted on

Locked plugged pinched

As I mentioned, I’ve locked myself up in anticipation of Belle’s return next week from her international business trip which will also mark the return of our D/s dynamic. As I also mentioned, I’m pretty fucking worked up. It’s been something like a week and a half since my last orgasm and while normally this would be a highly frothy period anyway, the fact that my body got used to not carrying any excess hormones for a while can’t be helping.

Last night, after all the offspring where sequestered for the evening, I had every intention of going to bed as I was tired. The intentions evaporated, though, when I spent a few minutes curating The Portfolio (and it’s little brother). Tumblr led to Literotica and it’s wonderfully implemented story tags where you can mix and match perversions to your heart’s content. Many words were read. That led me to bring out the njoy Pure Plug 2.o and my six pinchy things.

Of the pinchy things, I chose the two most vicious: the alligator clips and the pervertable Old Navy clips. It was one of those nights where there was no such thing as too much pain and suffering. Starting with the alligators affixed to the very end of my nips, I graduated to the badass Old Navy clips and then to both. At the same time. In fact, the gators and two different sets of the Old Navy clips. That’s three clips simultaneously chewing on my nipples. Nipples are funny old things in that they’re so incredibly sensitive yet can stand up to a withering amount of abuse. In general, my nipples are a little larger and bit chubbier than average so there’s plenty of surface upon which to affix nasty biting things. The pain was intense and today they’re puffier than usual and hurt even when I walk (but still pink and cheerful looking). Even so, I’m constantly reaching unto my hoody when people aren’t looking and pinching them through my t-shirt. I’m quite positive I’ll be ruining them again tonight.

As for the plug, I don’t recall ever mentioning the Pure Plug 2.0 here before. It’s a wonderfully dense slug of steel with a circumference of almost 14 cm (which sounds a lot worse than it is). I adore this thing. I used it last night because I wanted to feel stuffed with the 1 1/3 pounds of metal and didn’t have the energy for anything more strenuous. Getting the thing in is harder than even Stryker’s Beast since its 2″ diameter, while shaped for insertion, is totally unforgiving. A dildo has some give. Steel does not. There’s always a half-second of feeling like I’m about to rip open as it goes in, but once it settles into place I quite often drip from the pressure on my prostate.

So there I was, dick locked, ass plugged and nipples fiercely pinched while I read all sorts of perverted things on the internet. I was out of my mind on the hormones but eventually found myself unable to keep my eyes open and I had to stop. I wistfully unclamped the throbbing pink circles of tender flesh and put their tormentors back in a black velveteen bag but decided to leave the Pure Plug where it was.

As even a casual reader of this blog knows, I really like it up the ass. I love the sensation of being penetrated and stuffed and especially like how the heavy steel of the Pure Plug shifts around inside me as I move. If I could, I’d want to be plugged all the time (sometimes) so I indulged my fantasy a bit last night. I did fall asleep even with the distraction. I woke up a few times and was reminded of the invader immediately. Reaching around and feeling where the hot steel disappeared into me brought me out of my sleep quickly, but I managed to leave it in place all night. The only downside of the Pure Plug is it’s base which has an oval ring (presumably to make handling easier) with somewhat sharp edges. After a few hours, those edges start to bite into the cheeks pressing against them.

Belle doesn’t get home for another week yet. I really want her. I want to press my face into her snatch and feel her come against my mouth. I want to smell her and suck on her tits and feel her bite my neck and squeeze my nuts. While I wait for that, though, I’ll get by with the self-abuse.

Posted on

Damnedable meat

I took the device off this morning. After all, I was going to fly and I couldn’t very well take it through security with me. My plan had been to take it off just before I was about to leave. After my shower and after I was dressed and packed and essentially ready to walk out the door. You know, because I didn’t need the temptation of being left alone with the naked weenie.

Good plan, but somehow the steel was off about three minutes after my last image proving the penis was secured the entire time I was gone had been posted. My concern over temptation was well founded. I ended up jacking it in the shower, after I dried off, while getting dressed, and even in the airplane bathroom at 35,000 feet. I never came, but my underwear was well crusted by the time I got home. Copious leakage.

As soon as I got in the door at home, I retrieved the Steelheart Short from my checked bag, disassembled it, pulled down my semen-stained underwear, and locked the damnedable meat back into its prison. It’s not that I wanted to be bad (relatively, of course – it wasn’t as bad as that other time I was in a hotel by myself), it’s more like I had no choice. I don’t recall making the conscious decision to do any of it. It just happened. The device was off and my hand was wrapped around the stiffy and pulling like crazy. I was able to back off before orgasm because actually coming now it a hard line for me and enough to make me stop, but each time I’d tell myself to stop and focus on the task at hand only to find that task was in my hand and getting worked over. In any event, it’s secure once again. And while I can feel the flickering remnants of the desire to hold its hardness deep inside me, the stainless steel is helping to push that urge further and further away.

As I was snapping the new numbered lock into the keysafe (1871222, in case you’re keeping score at home), I realized I had a whole baggie full of the things and Belle never pays attention to the number currently in use. Theoretically, I could pop the lock and use the key for nefarious purposes and lock everything back up again without anyone being the wiser. Really, I should only ever have the one plastic lock at a time. The rest shouldn’t be in my possession. I’m giving her the baggie as soon as she comes home.

The other thing that dawned on my today is that I have no idea how long it’s been since I came. None at all. I could go back and figure it out with the blog, but I’m not going to. It hasn’t been a really long time, but it’s been long enough that I’m super fucking horny (Did I mention I took a few nipple clamps with me on my trip? My nips still ache.). Belle’s always said she doesn’t like to count the days like I do so I’m doing my best not to think too hard on it and count them. I shall be blissfully unaware and focus on things that matter. My orgasms are pretty far down that list.

Posted on

Deep in the heart

Belle and I are apart again. This past Monday, she flew to Miami for work and she just got home yesterday. Today, I flew to Austin, Texas, for South by Southwest. It’s my first time for both Austin and SXSW.

In any event, Belle told me she wanted the penis locked up for the entire time I’m here. I double (and triple and quadruple) checked to make sure, but yes, that’s the state in which she prefers the meat. I got to the hotel about 15 minutes ago and have just secured her property.

I was surprised when she let me out last night. I didn’t expect that until this morning. I had a hard time going to sleep last night with the very apparently unlocked penis and her hand wrapped far too gently around it. Had she left it secured, I would have fallen asleep easily. But once it got out, it was all I could think about. I liked that she was touching it, of course, but as I said, her hand was just barely grasping it and even if I moved my hips I couldn’t get any good sensation out of the situation. I’m pretty sure it was still hard when I fell asleep.

Getting the device back on in the hotel was tricky. I have been very good and didn’t do anything with it since last night (even in the shower this morning) that I didn’t have permission to do. Being by myself in a hotel and getting stared down by its one good eye made putting the cold steel back on very difficult. I can tell how long it’s been since I last came by how hard it was getting the testicles through the A-ring (especially the right one). After they popped through with a couple of winces, the penis was starting to stir and was chubbed out to about 60% when the tube went over the end of it. I pushed and shoved until the two posts found their home in the ring and kept squeezing the two parts together until the lock was able to slide in and close. As I write this, the shaft is burning as it adjusts to its confinement and shifts back to its natural position.

The key is secured in its little holder, numbered lock in place. I’ve posted a picture of both the penis and the key after the jump (with regard to the shoving and pushing, you can actually see the skin kind of bulging out around the tube opening in the picture). I will add another picture of the key each day to this post to prove that I’m being good. I don’t leave until Tuesday morning, but I’ll have to post another then to show that I was as faithful to Belle’s wishes as I could be.

Continue reading “Deep in the heart”

Posted on

Liv and let Liv

I got Belle a new vibrator. Buying new sex toys for her has not been without risk in the past. So far, this is the list of things I’ve brought into the bedroom that have stuck:

  • Pink – Her traditional go-to vibe (so good, we bought another when we thought we lost the first)
  • The Steelheart
  • Various pinchy nipple things

That’s it. All the other stuff I’ve bought, like the rabbit vibrator or any of the various hitting implements or bondage accessories, basically sit in the toy box (which itself is inside a hamper and buried by a bunch of other crap). But I thought this new vibrator, the Liv by Lelo, looked promising, so I took a chance. It was “pretty” (Belle likes her sex toys to be pretty) and was longer than Pink but not too fat. Turns out Belle doesn’t like to play with things that are too big (which may explain her fondness for the penis). It showed up yesterday (I found it on Amazon for only sixty bucks — in a lot of other places it was $100 or over). I plugged it in to charge its battery and waited for Belle to get home.

Later, once we were settled in for the night, Belle told me to give her the new vibe. She held it in her hand, felt the silky smooth surface, and generally fondled it while I watched (and my tube tightened). She told me to turn off the light and get naked (since I can’t sleep that way without permission from her) and I got kind of excited. I really wanted to get her off.

My excitement was premature. She didn’t want me to participate. Belle intended to christen the Liv all by herself so all I got to do was lay there and hear the thrum of the vibe’s motor do its business over her clit. Eventually, she told me to suck on her nipples, so it wasn’t a total loss. After she came, she passed the still-warm-from-her-pussy vibrator to me to deal with as she rolled over.

“It has potential,” she said.

Whimper.

Posted on

Wanting to want to

Strongandsubmissive said in response to the idea of permanent denial:

I don’t quite get permanent denial. I’m not saying it’s fiction only, just that it’s not for me. Perhaps it’s just my inexperience with chastity talking, but part of the fun of the whole process and not knowing when you’ll be allowed out or allowed to orgasm. The perpetual drive to be better and the emotional changes seem to be linked to the idea that “maybe if I’m a good boy, she’ll reward me with an orgasm”.

If you are permanently denied, that mystery or trump card is gone, because you’ll always know what the answer is.

That may work for some, but I’m not sure it’s up my alley.

Of course, everyone’s different. And it’s possible with the knowledge that there would never be another orgasm ever again that a certain edge would be removed from the practice, but for me anyway, it takes so long to get to a point where I actually crave an orgasm over the feeling of being denied one.

Take this morning, for instance. I knew when I put my hand on Belle’s hot, wet pussy that I wasn’t going to get in there, let alone make it a gooey mess. It is an established fact that I’m months away from coming again. What I find is it’s only that knowledge that really allows me to get into it. See, I do not want to come. Not one bit. I want to want to come, but I don’t want to come. If that makes sense. And this is in the face of absolute knowledge that it will not happen. With the possibility of orgasm removed, I’m more free to enjoy having sex with her.

Not every guy is like that. Most men are entirely driven by their desire to squirt. That’s OK. It’s “normal” and culturally acceptable. Other men (a smaller number in practice, but I suspect there’s a much larger unrealized number out there) like to have their orgasms controlled and even limited. An hour, a day, a week. Whatever. Take it as far as you want, at the end they want to come, even if they don’t know when it’s going to happen. I can get to this place, but it literally took me three months last time. Then there’s a third type. The type I think I may be and the type Sarah’s John may be. The type in which it is all about the chase, never the capture. Unending, unquenched desire. The absolute end of orgasm.

But I’m not really in that position and am unlikely to be as Belle shows no interest in it, so it’s impossible for me to know exactly how living with the understanding that I have come for the last time in my life would work with me. I do know, since I just finished a month where she let me come nine times, that I like the denied me more than the sated me.1 Sure, I liked (most of) them. We’re wired to enjoy the feeling of orgasm. But I did not enjoy the wasteland of sensation that followed the afterglow. The near-constant state of being sexually charged and frustrated has apparently changed my basic psychology and/or brain chemistry. At least, I think it has. I can’t really know, right?

In any event, the juxtaposition of this comparatively ejaculate sodden month to the newfound near-certainty that I’d like to stop coming forever is not entirely lost on me. I don’t think this is the hormones talking. I think this is as rational an insight as I can achive.

It’s obvious to anyone who does it that this whole orgasm control, denial, chastity thing comes in many flavors and styles. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t need all these damned blogs, would we? As with so many other things in life, the right way is the way that works for you for as long as it works for you. Maybe that’s the root of the issue people have with permanent denial. Forever is a really long time.

—

1 Pretty sure Belle like the denied me better, too, but not, ultimately, better than she likes the feeling of me coming inside her. ↩