Coming Together: 2 – The morning after

(Mrs. Edge was on a business trip for about four weeks in July. This series details some of what transpired upon her return. Part 1 is here.)

A combination of jet lag, time zone differences, late nights, a long drive, and a good set of room-darkening window shades allowed me to get a few extra hours of sleep. You’d think that after the night before I’d have had a hard time sleeping, but orgasm denial doesn’t always work like that. I mean, no question that I was sexually aroused when I woke up, but I was also able to enjoy the feel of my wife’s body against mine in a purely sensual way. I carefully got up to pee and then snuggled back into bed, where I softly caressed and nuzzled her for a few minutes. She woke up a short while later, and made her way sleepily to the bathroom. She then crawled back into bed and we exchanged morning pleasantries.

“How did you sleep?” she asked me.

In the past, after a night of chastity sex, I’d often be awake for hours in a mixture of arousal, frustration, and some kind of perverse sense of satisfaction at having pleased her so well. But not last night.

“Oh, I was fine. I read for maybe ten minutes and then held you until I fell asleep,” I told her. “I think I held you most of the night.”

She nodded and kissed me. “Yes, it was very nice. I haven’t been held all month.”

Coming Together: 1 – Reunion

(Mrs. Edge was on a business trip for about four weeks in July. This series details some of what transpired upon her return.)

“I wasn’t planning to let you out,” she said. “I hope you weren’t expecting it.”

“I… I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that,” I replied. “I, umm… I’m not sure I’m ready to come out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. It’s like I’m settling into some kind of state of arousal, and it’s been good. Really good.” I stared down at her, feeling the warmth of her hips against mine. “I mean, it’s completely up to you, of course.”

She nodded.

“It’s just that I feel like I’m into some kind of good place right now, and I was sort of hoping that you wouldn’t let me out right away.”

She stared at me for a few moments and smiled. “When I said I wasn’t going to let you out,” she replied, “I was talking about this week, and probably next week, too.”

We both moaned softly as we kissed.

Long(ing) Distance

“You have to put your cage back on, you know.”

It wasn’t an order, just a statement of fact. I knew this was coming. It was a sunny Friday afternoon, and we had just gotten out of the shower after having spent a very pleasurable hour in bed.

“I don’t want to,” I replied. “Maybe I can wait a little bit?”

“Wait? My car is going to be here in an hour. Wait until when?”

“Umm… Sunday?” I said, hopefully.

“Sund… What?!”

“Yeah, I could put it on then, and, you know, take a picture and send it to you,” I said. “You can trust me.”

“No freaking way. Go put it on right now,” she demanded, “and then I’ll give you your keys.”

Despite the fact that I had had a very intense climax a half hour previously, my cock was twitching as I spread lotion on it and fitted the pieces of my chastity device together. My wife watched as I eased myself into the tube and fumbled with the stainless steel locking pin I had made. Damn, I couldn’t believe that I was getting hard again! This was certainly not the way I would have wanted to start off.

She handed me the lock, and I finagled it into the hole in the pin, elusive because my swelling in the tube was pushing things out of place. Finally I managed to position everything properly, without pinching.

“Do you want to lock it yourself?” I asked her.

A week in a CB-6000: My review

So, a little over a week ago, the technical support staff here at Edge of Vanilla Laboratories locked $200 worth of polycarbonate plastic around my genitals in order to test this new device under real-world conditions. By “real world” we mean that cruel, leather and vinyl clad dominatrixes in thigh boots did not tease and torture me daily and nightly, nor did an old girlfriend, ex-wife, or irate librarian steal the one and only key and/or glue the lock shut. That would be “fantasy world” testing, otherwise known as “wanking material.” No, real world testing at EoV Labs consists of Mrs. Edge locking $200 worth of plastic on me, and sending me off to work. After all day at work, sitting and walking around and adjusting myself and trying not to pee all over myself, I come home and cook dinner, clean some dishes, and relax by sitting in a different chair and reading various blogs and message boards. Real world conditions also included doing various chores and outside household maintenance, like taking down a small tree, moving junk from one side of the garage to the other, raking old leaves, picking up debris from the winter, lugging groceries up a flight of stairs, and attending a business conference.

Obviously, we spare no expense here at EoV Labs in order to provide you with knowledge for your own needs.

The differences between the CB-6000 and the slightly older model, the CB-3000 appear to be slight, but they can be significant for some people.

Dating Scene

“Of course I want dessert. What, are you in a hurry or something?”

Way back in the day, before she became Mrs. Edge, we were at one of those upscale Italian restaurants. You know the kind: they are usually named after an island in the Mediterranean, the waiters are named after one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Terrapins, and where you can’t get spaghetti; instead you order Salmonella a la piccatta served over a bed of risotto cosi fan tutti. We’d been there before, because it was the place where I took my dates when I wanted to impress them. I had just discovered that she was wearing thigh-high stockings with a garter belt, and suddenly I was in a hurry to get her back to my condo and show her exactly what I thought about such behavior.

We ordered coffee named after some kind of a monkey and a tiramisu - which seems to be Italian for “soggy bitter cheesecake” – for her, and some kind of dark chocolate torte for me. I admired her out of the corner of my eye: She had that rare combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and looked a bit like Kirstie Alley in her pre-Jenny Craig spokesmodeling days. That night, she was wearing a low-cut black dress with huge red florals, reminding me of a Spanish dona on the costa del sol. I was dressed in a dark jacket with a dark shirt and loud red power tie (this being the late 1980s, I went with the uniform of the era). I’m sure we looked quite the couple – that is, we would have if you could have actually seen us in the dark, shaded booth in the back of the restaurant.

“Are you sure that you don’t want these ‘to go’?” I asked when the waiter returned. She elbowed me in the ribs and toyed with her liquor-soaked cake. I should have known better than to get between a woman and her dessert, and as she and I had been dating for a while, I knew that as much as she enjoyed a nice meal out, she would still be in the mood for some fun when we got back to my place. I bided my time, imagining what we would be doing later on.

Harnessed

My wrists strained against the velcro “luv cuffs” and the thick, cotton terry on which I was lying was warm on my back as my wife knelt between my legs and pushed the well-lubed dildo against my ass. The pain was dull, but short-lived as the large bloopy tip eased past my sphincter muscle. I winced slightly as each of the bloopy bumps passed through as she worked it back and forth, pausing once in a while to dribble more lube onto it. Finally, the muscle relaxed enough for her to edge closer to me and I drew a throaty breath as the rounded, upturned end pressed against my prostate.

This was the result of my sending my wife several emails that I had received from other chastity enthusiasts who had practiced some kind of milking. One of them struck me as being fuel for a very hot fantasy, and said, in part:

“Why remove a male’s chastity device to milk him? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to deny &/or control a male’s orgasmic pleasure by keeping his cock locked in a chastity device, while milking him? [...] My KH currently enjoys giving me my release via extended erotic strap-on sessions, and I have grown to love them. [...] There is just something extremely erotic in being totally helpless as she is sliding into me. [...] no further direct stimulation to the penis is required, the feeling of being filled by the dildo is enough. The orgasm is intense, but not like the feeling you get with direct contact.”

Her own response to me had been overwhelmingly – and surprisingly – positive; she wrote back…

“Wow, Tom this method sounds like an interesting idea to me, in fact I am
feeling aroused over this. Would we have to buy another dildo or is the one
we have ok? We will need to talk about this a bit more. I would love for
you to be able to experience another type of orgasm.”

… and tonight we were attempting it for the first time. She figured that after being denied for the last three months not only an orgasm, but even the usual involuntary release, that I would be more receptive to the enjoyment. Apparently she was right.

Transformative Orgasm Denial

Maymay had an interesting insight as to why so many chastity and orgasm denial blogs don’t seem to last very long.

Things that are are more interesting than things that are not.

Which is nothing new to you, I’m sure, but might provide some kind of insight to some reader sometime in the future from when I’m writing this. That fact is evidenced by those blogs you’re talking about. At first they’re talking about what is going on (being locked up, feeling excitement, etc.) and then they’re talking about what isn’t going on.

And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s not happening on an orgasm denial blog!

Re-reading my post from the other day, I don’t want to appear to be disparaging toward those people who are – quite literally – counting the days and hours either since their last orgasm or until the next. Back in the fall of 2003, I was pretty much doing the same thing with Mrs. Edge. “How many days has it been, now?” she’d ask, and I’d usually know immediately “Today is forty nine days,” or “Friday will be one hundred days;” to which she would half-jokingly respond “You mean the first one hundred days.” And then it would be all hot for both of us and we’d rush off into the bedroom to grope each other.

See, when you first start out – like anything else – it’s new and exciting. For men, it’s very likely the first time in their lives that they’ve gone more than a few days without an orgasm from sex or masturbating, so it’s no wonder that some of us count the days. But at some point, at least for some of us, it’s no longer about the numbers. It’s about dealing with the frustration of our arousal, it’s about controlling our urges, it’s about learning how to derive pleasure from pleasing your partner, and it’s about overcoming our temptation to cut the damn lock and take matters into our own hands.

Yes, it’s easy (sort of) to go along with the constant arousal when you know that on the weekend your partner is going to unlock you and you’ll get to have sex. Even two weeks in the device isn’t horrible when you know that your reward is going to be a tremendous orgasm, especially when your partner is looking forward to it as much as you are. It’s much more difficult to learn to cope with longer-term denial, however, especially if you have no idea when your partner might next allow you that pleasure.

I don’t want to make this wound all “woo-woo,” but there is – or can be if you’re willing to go there – a transformative quality to orgasm denial. When Mrs. Edge and I first ventured into this, back in the fall of 2003:

We played with it for a day or two, and in the course of talking, I mentioned that there was a new model on the market (the CB3000 had just come out a few months earlier). She looked at the website and decided that we needed to order one. I got a little embarrassed and explained that I’d already bought one a couple of months earlier, just because it seemed like such a cool thing. It was back at my apartment, where I’d wear it at night or on weekends. “You’ve got to go get it,” she said, and the next day I picked it up after work and showed her how it worked. She seemed thrilled, and kept touching the device, even after it was on.

We talked about this for a bit, and decided that instead of trying it out for a couple of days, to give it at least a week, maybe two, before we’d make any kind of determination. Partway into the second week, we talked about making it three weeks. By the beginning of the third week, we agreed on going for a month. Thanksgiving came in there someplace, and family and friends who knew about our separation were surprised to see us pawing and touching each other like teenagers. It was new, fun, sexy, and frankly it was the first time in years that we spent time talking intimately.

For the first few months, Mrs. Edge would unlock me about once a week to have sex – not for my benefit, but because she prefers intercourse. This alone deserves some comment: Mrs. Edge is not one of those “The submissive male should not have intercourse with the Superior female” types; in fact, she has wondered what kind of man-hating neurotic women would bother to dress up in fetishy outfits and uncomfortable boots and top it off by not allowing themselves the reward of a good fucking. I’ll let Bitchy Jones answer that question while I go on to other topics.

While unlocked for sex, I was specifically instructed that I was not allowed to orgasm. Most guys realize that it’s difficult enough to hold back when you’re horned up; trying to hold back after several weeks of teasing was… not so much difficult as annoying, since I had to stop what I was doing every fifteen seconds and think about work, baseball, or – at several particularly intense moments – my ex. But after about a month, I somehow managed to find my “center” and could take my time making love to her and, given enough time and physical sensation, feel satisfied. While I did not get the feelings associated with orgasm, I would get aroused, plateau for a while (I think I just verbed a noun), and afterward feel almost as if I’d had the orgasm. It was fascinating for me to feel relaxed and comfortable and be able to drift off to sleep, although admittedly it did take a little while for my erection to subside. And at first, I had several completely involuntary emissions – they weren’t orgasms, but physical spasms that expelled semen, usually several minutes after we had finished and were just laying there relaxing.

Perversely, the longer I was denied, the more I enjoyed it. At about six or eight weeks into it, we bought a strap-on harness for me to use, and Mrs. Edge experimented with keeping me locked up for longer periods. She didn’t say she was experimenting, but I could tell; we had more sex with the strap-on (to which we began to refer as “my other cock“), and several times she kept me in for two or three weeks before unlocking me. Once, she went for several weeks. I didn’t say anything or protest, partly because I was enjoying it, but partly because I also wanted to see how it would play out. I counted, though. Four weeks. Five. Six. Oh my.

Later we talked about it, and she told me that she had no idea how long she was going to let it go on. She wondered how it would be to have me use just the dildo, and as it turned out, I managed to use it rather well, so she didn’t feel as if she was missing out on much, and she kept going with it. I told her that against all reason, I found the idea of her experimenting like that to be very hot, and that, in fact, I had made every effort to use the dildo as naturally as possible for her. We then decided to get an even more realistically shaped dildo, and found one that closely mimicked my own, uh, shape and dimensions.

By this point, I was already accustomed to not orgasming, but I was surprised that switching from the bloopy dildo to the realistic one would make me a tad insecure about our arrangement. Mrs. Edge asked if I was jealous of it, but I wasn’t. In fact, sex became even better for the both of us. I removed the leather padding from the harness so that the base of the dildo pressed directly against my pubic bone. Unlike the smooth, bloopy dildo, the ridges and bumps gave me some feedback; I learned to discern when she was about to orgasm because her muscles tightened on it and created just a bit more friction. I discovered how to position myself so the head would rub that spot just under her pubic bone and I could feel it (via the friction and positioning). Soon, she was referring to the new dildo as my “real cock”, and to the one in the device (i.e., me) as my “other cock,” the one that was never going to be let out again, the one that she didn’t need anymore because I used the new one, the real one, so well.

My insecurity was not due to jealousy, but because I half feared that she was serious, that by my learning how to use it so well she really could go for weeks, months, or even longer without unlocking me. I mean, the orgasm denial was pretty hot, but much of what made it hot was the tantalizing hope of being allowed to come, even if that was “tomorrow.” Like the White Queen’s promise of “Jam tomorrow, jam yesterday but never jam today,” at least there was a hope that today would sneak up on tomorrow. But for the first time I began to be concerned that this might turn into a long-term arrangement with no hope that she would allow me to come.

No hope of coming. Ever.

Goddamn, that’s so freakin’ hot.

No, no, no – it’s scary and frightening and making me very insecure. I want to come, of course. Orgasms are fun. They feel great. Gotta clean those pipes once in a while, blow off some steam, relieve the pressure. Right? Right?

Then why was the idea of it making me hornier than ever?

After what was now several months of denial, I again began to have involuntary emissions. At one time I was able to control them, but they began happening every other week, much to the fascination of Mrs. Edge who became interested in the idea of trying to induce them in me, often with a comment that in doing so, she was obviating the need to unlock me at all. From there, we began to discuss just how long the orgasm denial would go on. At the three month mark we opted to go for another three months. By the time five months had gone by, we decided to go until our vacation at the end of July, which would make it well over eight months. Having a “definite” goal in mind made some difference; I no longer felt that I would never get the opportunity to come, and in fact, we even kicked around the idea that I could come as much as I wanted and in any way that I wanted for the entire two weeks that I would be off from work. We called it a “mardi gras” because we also tossed around the idea that once the two weeks were up, I would not be allowed to orgasm until vacation the next year.

A whole freakin’ year.

Damndamndamndamn… that’s freakin’ hot!

No, no – it’s not, not at all. It’s crazy talk! A year without coming?! Why that’s… that’s…

Guh.

Those of you who are turned on by the idea of long-term denial are already aroused, I can just tell. Unfortunately, my wife and I had some relationship issues that were unrelated to the chastity play, but which kept us from pursuing the idea – or indeed, any chastity play – for quite some time. Ironically, by the time 8 1/2 months came around, I was so uninterested in intimacy with her that it wasn’t even arousing to have the device removed. Yet, despite the fact that we were barely speaking to each other, we never even discussed removing the device. I’m still not sure why.

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If you found this interesting, you might also be interested in some of my other real-life experiences which are listed in the True Tales page.

Back in the saddle again

Well, not exactly in the saddle. We’re not into pony play.

Yet.

I’m back into something else, though. Wanna see?

A little bit ago I wrote that the whole frenum piercing thing just didn’t work out well with regard to using it with the CB3000. The barbell often pinched my skin in the cage, especially when I got aroused, and the lack of room made it difficult to keep clean, resulting in several infections during the year. I could never wear it for more than a couple of days at a time, which didn’t sit well with the increasingly kinky Mrs. Edge, who over the last couple of years developed a fetish for longer (much longer) periods of orgasm denial.

For me, that is.

Anyway, a couple of months ago I removed the piercing and let the hole close up. That it did so with something approaching the speed of a nano-black hole was also annoying. However, there doesn’t seem to be any permanent scarring, and all’s well that ends well, right?

Knowing that Mrs. Edge was going on a short business trip this week, it was motivation for me to dig out theCB3K and fix some minor things so she could have something to think about while being away. These devices have ventilation holes at the top and bottom; unfortunately, the top holes allowed my skin to swell out rather painfully, so I had filled them in with epoxy. The epoxy yellowed and became loose, so I replace it with tiny bars of acrylic that I shaped and super-glued over the holes. It keeps the skin from swelling through, but allows some air flow and water for cleaning.

Yeah, it’s gear-head talk, but chastity is not an exact science.

I put it on on Friday morning, and ended up wearing it all through the weekend. Family, work, and other obligations kept us from enjoying any intimate time, although we did manage about 10 minutes to look at the new CB6000 model online. It looked that she was going to head off to the mid-west without our getting an opportunity for sex, but Monday night we both managed to get to bed at about the same time. While she was in the bathroom, I donned my strap-on harness and warmed up her favorite dildo (which she calls my “other cock”), and lay in bed waiting.

She crawled in, and after a few minutes started moving her hands around. She felt my other cock and said “But what if I didn’t want this one? What if I wanted your real one?”

“That’s fine with me,” I told her, “in fact, even better, since I haven’t come since last week. I was just warming the other one up so you could have the option.”

We began to make out a bit, and then a bit more, which was nice because for the last few months it seems like we’ve only had time for quickies. A short while later I was lying on top of her, my other cock pressing against her mound and my cage pressing against her ass cheeks. She indicated that she would like some lube, and I reached into the bedside drawer for the heavier stuff that I use for my other cock. My other cock is very lifelike, but the thinner lubes sometimes aren’t enough lubricity to last and will sometimes leave her a little bit chafed.

We settled into her favorite position: missionary, with my hips pressed tightly against hers, angled slightly upwards to allow the curve of my other cock to massage her sensitive spot inside. I have learned to enjoy this position myself, because when I’m not focused on the six inches of sensitive meat, the rest of my body needs some extra sensation. I continued to kiss her while maintaining long, slow stokes, and it wasn’t long before I felt her legs tighten around mine and felt her arch her back slightly. Obviously the idea of me back in the cage warmed her up pretty quickly.

She smiled mischievously. “That damn piercing,” she complained, “wasted a whole fucking year on that.”

I felt badly about this, and told her so. I mean, it was my idea, after all.

She indicated that I should shut up and to keep fucking her.

A few minutes later, she came again, a little harder than previously. She opened her eyes and told me “You know, I should really make you pay for that mistake. Do you realize I’d almost forgotten about this?” I smiled.

“Pay?” I asked, “Like, deny me for a while?”

“Yes,” she replied as I continued my slow thrusting, “like, a long while.” Her breathing grew deeper and faster.

“It was over a year that I tried to make it work,” I reminded her, “maybe you need to make up for lost time with me. Would you make me pay for a whole year?”

She closed her eyes tightly and nodded. A few short moment later her long nails were digging sharply into my ass and she was pressing her hips up to meet mine. A short moan, and suddenly the look of intense concentration on her face turned into a relaxed grin. She opened her eyes and smiled at me.

A quick, mini-fantasy had just played itself out in her head. I wouldn’t mind, but I’m convinced that she has stronger orgasms when she thinks about keeping me locked in for longer periods. I checked this morning, my ass still has scratch marks. “I really was going to unlock you, but now I think I’m going to make you wait until I get back.”

“But… but…”

“It’s really because you do such a good job with your other cock, you know.” She tweaked my nipple and laid back. “It’s late, and I think I’m done for the night.”

I asked her if she wouldn’t mind sitting astride me for a couple of minutes. I love this position because I enjoy seeing her body – even more now that all the exercising has given her a nicer shape. She complained a little, but pushed me over and slowly lowered herself onto me. My cage was pressing against her ass, and I could feel her warmth through the plastic.

We talked for a few moments, she asked me “If I took off the cage and told you that you had only two minutes to come, could you do it?” I nodded. “Two whole minutes? Sure thing.”

“Well, how about one minute?”

“Umm, yeah, I think so,” I replied, not liking where this was headed.

“What if I took it off and said ‘You’ve got twenty seconds to come, and then the cage is going back on’?”

“Oh, that’s totally unfair,” I protested, still aware of her weight on my hips, “I train myself so hard to not come quickly, and then you try to sabotage that by telling me it’s the only way I’d get to come?”

She laughed softly, and rocked her hips back and forth.

“You know,” I confessed, “I sometimes do have fantasies about you teasing me for a long time, stroking me, keeping me right on the edge…” “Yeah?” she asked, her eyes closed, concentrating.

“And then, right at the very end, just when I’m about to come really hard…”

She closed her eyes and leaned forward slightly as I moved my hands from her breasts to her shoulders, and down to her waist.

“… you suddenly stop touching me as I come, just letting it spill out, ruining it.”

She tensed briefly, frowning in concentration, and I pulled her hips down to meet my own. She let out a breath, sighing, and her body relaxed. She leaned forward to lay against my chest. No question that she was now really done for the night.

“You don’t mind waiting until I get back, do you?” she asked, sleepily.

“No, I’m good. I thought I’d be begging to come, but I’m actually feeling pretty satisfied right now,” I assured her. “Thank you for getting on top for that last bit, I really enjoy looking at you.” And truthfully, being able to spend some time close both physically and emotionally really did make me satisfied.

She whispered a goodnight and turned on her side. I got up to remove and clean my cock, and to apply some lube to help me sleep through the night. A few minutes later I was back under the warm covers, spooning against her back.

In the morning, just before she left she noticed me rummaging through the kitchen junk drawer, looking for some masking tape.

“What do you need that for?” she asked. In response, I handed her a pen. She watched as I removed the emergency key to the lock from my keyring and wrapped the tape around it. I gave it to her, and she signed the tape, knowing that if I tried to remove it in order to unlock myself I’d rip the tape and destroy the seal. She dated one side and, displaying some good humor, drew a couple of little hearts on the other side. She took her own key and put it in her purse.

You can see my jumble of keys with the picture of the taped key. Clicking the above picture will bring you to an album with pictures of me wearing it. NOT SAFE FOR WORK or in the same room with younger family members.The camera adds ten pounds, of course, but anyone who’s seen my pics from last year can see that I’ve toned up quite a bit since then.

And even though she said something about “waiting until next week,” I have no idea if she really means it. At this point, I don’t know when she’ll next let me out.

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If you found this interesting, you might also be interested in some of my other real-life experiences which are listed in the True Tales page.

Out with the old…

Okay, I give up.

Back in the beginning of August 2006, I bit the proverbial bullet and had a 3/32″ thick, 5/8″ long metal lightning rod implanted in the sensitive area of my. . .

Oh hell, you can’t have read this blog for a week without hearing about my piercing, right? So let’s just get on with it, shall we?

I removed it.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

I got it because we – Mrs. Edge and I – thought it would be a way to enhance the security of the CB3000 by figuring out some way to attach the device to the piercing. But along with that, we thought it might add some neat sensations for her (and for me) for those (all too rare) occasions when I was not wearing the cage.

Also, I have to admit, the entire idea of it was simply too cool to pass up. I mean, most of my friends don’t even have pierced ears.

Case in point: At a garden party last year, one of our friends was bemoaning the kinds of people who have tattoos and piercings in their eyebrows, lips, and places she “didn’t want to know about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied, “I never really think about that, as long as they seem to be decent people.”

She went on to talk about how crazy it was to pierce various body parts, after which she asked me “I mean, you don’t have a piercing, do you?”

“Sure I do,” I responded. She paused for a moment and backpedaled “Oh, an ear piercing isn’t so bad.”

I put my hand up to my ear and said, “Oh, I forgot about that. I guess I have two piercings!”

She waited about 3/4 of a second for the punch line, and then, hearing none, choked and dropped her drink on the walkway.

Plastic wine glass: $2. Glass of Cabernet: $4. Look on snobby guest’s face when they think about your penis: Priceless.

Yes, there are certain types of parties to which I get get invited, I suspect, only to give the other guests something to talk about.

Unfortunately, even for me the “coolness” factor can’t outweigh the “getting laid” factor, not for very long. After almost 15 months, the barbell still made certain positions uncomfortable for one or both of us, even after I switched to a smaller one. Worse, often trying something new or different would pull or pinch the piercing enough so that it would need some healing time, and unfortunately it’s just not in a spot where healing can be facilitated by, say, cool, dry air during the day. And no, wearing a kilt to work would not foster confidence among the troops.

But we would have been willing to put up with the little inconvenience if the piercing would have worked as an anchor for the chastity device. Unfortunately, even that didn’t work out very well, either – except in the sense that it kept me from having sex because of several infections caused by the inability to clean the piercing properly.

The problem seems to be this: we tend to think of a penis as being, more or less, a sausage. And for all practical purposes, it is; it’s a bunch of meat stuffed into some skin. However, there is a difference that I hadn’t taken into consideration; I am, in the local parlance, a “grower” instead of a “shower” (that’s pronounced with a long “o”. To rhyme with “grower, of course. I’m just saying). That is, when I’m soft and wearing the cage, I’ve got all sorts of bits that are squished into unnatural positions, and the loose bits of flesh get folded over and create nooks and niches and the like. The upshot is that it was difficult to reach the bits specifically around the piercing that needed to be cleaned thoroughly (the other bits were generally fine with a good spray from the shower).

I had hoped that by switching to the captive segment ring it would obviate the need to clean the area between the 1/4″ balls and the frenum, but unfortunately the ring developed other problems for me. The final straw came the other day when, after less than two days in the cage, I developed a sore spot from the ring at the edge of the pierced hole. After voicing my frustration to Mrs. Edge, we realized we needed to make a decision. She told me that since the piercing never really panned out in terms of enhancing her pleasure, and since it prevented me from wearing the device for any length of time, that she would be fine with me just removing it. We asked ourselves “Which thing gives more pleasure or enjoyment: the piercing or being able to use the chastity device?” Anyone who reads this know which way Mrs. Edge voted, and unfortunately, I had to agree with her.

Damn.

It took about 20 minutes to remove it, mainly because I was so afraid of slipping with the jeweler’s pliers and piercing myself in another area. So now my jewelry box contains several tie pins, some spare brass buttons, some cufflinks and shirt studs, and three reminders of the year that tested my mettle.

Oh, go ahead and groan – who wouldn’t have used a bad pun like that if they had the chance, I ask you?

Anyway, the hole took almost no time to close up, and it should be healed very soon. I was reminded that several people suggested that a Prince Albert style piercing might be better, but nobody could explain why. Hopefully this will help anyone who happens to do a Google search on, say “chastity piercings.” And who knows, perhaps next year I might be brave enough to try a PA of my own; maybe for my 50th birthday?

That would be just in time for the next round of garden parties, too.

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If you found this interesting, you might also be interested in some of my other real-life experiences which are listed in the True Tales page.

Captive Ring doesn’t mean what you think

Something like 3/4 of my blog hits have something to do with chastity, which continues to amaze me because it seems that it’s so little about what I actually write about. Not that I could really describe what the hell I do write about, since that seems to be all over the map. Anyway, I did want to mention that chastity play with Mrs. Edge has been rather infrequent in the last year since I got my frenum pierced, ironically enough in order to enhance the security of the CB3000 that we use.

I discovered that the original 5/8″ wide barbell was just a bit too wide for comfort, and the balls would pinch my sensitive skin during moments of arousal. This eventually led to the idea of getting a slightly smaller barbell, so I swapped over to a 1/2″ which was a little better, but still gave me problems with comfort. I’ve had to modify the device several times to accommodate the barbell, ending up with actually cutting out a section from the underside of the of the plastic cage, and rebuilding it with acrylic bars so as to allow the balls on the ends of the barbell to nestle in the spaces between the bars. This made for a much better fit, and not long afterward we decided to make another attempt at wearing the device for some time. After a little over a week we removed the cage to discover that I was developing an infection around the piercing.

Our guess was that lotion and/or sweat was getting trapped around the balls, and the snug fit of the cage didn’t allow me enough room to flush around the piercing properly. A few more minor adjustments and we tried it again. It seemed to work for almost a week, but once again I seemed to develop an irritation. After that we started to discuss whether it would be worth it to keep trying, or to just remove the barbell and let the hole close up.

Those of you who are not male chastity enthusiasts are probably thinking “Hell, just take the damn thing off every few days and wash. What’s the problem?” The problem is fitting the concept to the reality: chastity (for many of us) becomes hotter the closer the device gets to the “set it and forget it” ideal. Removing the device a few times a week is the pin-prick near the balloon of “You’re totally under my control” fantasy that both partners usually enjoy. It’s all the more frustrating to us because, pre-piercing, these issues never surfaced.

Yes, we’re frustrated in our frustration.

Anyway, I was thinking about this the other day and had a thought: if the balls trap lotion, sweat, germs, etc., then maybe I could try a piercing that was less prone to collecting such irritants. So, last night around 10:30 pm, I stopped at the local piercing and tattoo shop on my way home from a formal event. Owing to the lateness of the hour, or perhaps it being a school night, the shop didn’t have the gaggle of teenagers hanging around like at my previous visit. Of course, most tattoo parlors probably don’t get many drop-ins wearing a tuxedo, so I attracted a certain amount of attention as soon as I walked in the door.

The guy behind the window was not the person I’d met before. He was in the middle of tattooing an arm, so I waited for a few minutes for my turn. I’d gone in looking for a 10 gauge, 1/2″ diameter captive segment ring. My thought was that such a ring could easily spin through the hole, and be less likely to attract and hold irritants. He had one slightly smaller – 7/16″ (approx 11 mm) which I thought might be even better. We traded stories for a few minutes, and I promised to come back when I had a cool tattoo design worked out. Yes, that’s right – I’ve got an idea for a tatt, but I’m not sure on what part of my body I want it yet.

Mrs. Edge was going to bed by the time I got home, so I got some jeweler’s pliers from my toolbox and popped open the segment. The edges seemed a bit sharp, so I polished the edges down and cleaned it in peroxide and then alcohol. I took a hot shower, removed the barbell… and spent 20 minutes trying to get the friggin’ ring in the hole, with no success. I got out of the shower and replaced the barbell, then put a generous amount of Aquaphor – just enough to make the ring slip through my fingers. Upon comparing the ring to the barbell, I noticed that the ring was slightly larger in diameter, so I put the barbell back in (again!) and pushed the ring along behind the barbell, which kept the hole from closing. I managed to squeak it through, and used the pliers to pop the segment back in.

The feeling was a bit strange at first; I’ve had the barbell for over a year now, and no longer notice it. The ring moved around a bit, and I could feel it against my skin (even today I can feel it brushing against my underwear). I cleaned up and went to bed, where for some reason I slept badly. Mrs. Edge didn’t notice it during the early morning snuggles, and I didn’t call attention to it, simply because I can never resist the opportunity to have a little fun.

My next concern will be seeing how well the ring does under deep hydraulic testing conditions, aka: penetrative intercourse. I’m concerned that the ring will try to swing back and forth, door-knocker style, which might pull on my tender skin. Or hers. If that works out okay, then we’ll once again try the CB3k. But it’s possible that I might have to give up on the frenum if Mrs. Edge decides that she’d rather get back into serious playtime.

What’s that? Pictures? Umm… I can’t find my camera. But I’ll post some soon, I promise. After all, I just went through all that boot-camp weight-training cardio-vascular lean diet exercise thing, so I might as well show off a bit, right?

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If you found this interesting, you might also be interested in some of my other real-life experiences which are listed in the True Tales page.