Dumb Kid

My first experience with chastity came shortly after I first came (and I’m going to tell you about that in the next post). At 12 years of age, I had my first, of many, orgasms. After the discovery of that new part of life, the adolescent me began spending a lot of time exploring that new frontier. But 12 year old me had another worry. It seemed like all the boys in my class were getting bigger, getting body hair, deeper voices, and I wasn’t. Bear in mind, my birthday is at the end of the year, just before the school cutoff, so I was one of the youngest boys in my class. That was a fact lost on 12 year old me. What wasn’t lost was the obvious fact of one particular classmate who left school at the end of the year as a boy soprano and returned the next fall as James Fucking Earl Jones. Yeah, I could produce cum now, and make it squirt out of me happily, but where was the pube hair, the armpit hair, the man voice?

These were the days well before the internet, google, even home computers or any of the technology we can’t live without now. The one reference source anyone had was Encyclopedia Britannica, and there just wasn’t any entry under “why doesn’t my pube hair grow in?” It was also at least a year before any sex education class (which was always taught by a gym teacher, I don’t know why). So, 12 year old me, who did get some knowledge from Britannica, and knew that testosterone was involved, decided that all the whacking off he was doing was somehow “depleting” his reserve and that was why he wasn’t becoming a full on man. Armed with that firm conclusion, 12 year old me did what he thought best, and stopped masturbating. Yep, having just found the joy of manhood, I decided it was preventing the rest of it, so I forced myself to stop.

What about nocturnal emission, you may ask? I never had them. Nope, never. Never had a wet dream (although I have had some killer sex dreams in my time, they have never made me actually cum). What I did notice was some cum in my urine after I peed, and some pre-cum on the tip of my cock from time to time, but mostly not too much. For 6 solid months, 12 year old me kept himself in chastity, which was not easy since 12 year old me had spent the previous few months most definitely avoiding chastity. Miraculously, the pube hair eventually did start to come in (ironic that I now get it waxed off every month), the voice got deeper, chin hair sprouted, and like the clouds parting after the storm, puberty hit me in full force. I started jerking off again, tentatively, since I didn’t want to back slide into boyhood.

It all seems so silly and stupid now, but perhaps that is partly why I enjoy chastity and orgasm denial now. I don’t do it for the reasons I did as a child. I have way better reasons now. But I did it at a time in life where most boys can’t keep their hands off their penises. I believe my older brother spent the majority of his time between 12 and 16 with his hand firmly in his pants. I’m a bit embarrassed about the reason then, but I still admire the self control of 12 year old me. Thank goodness young, soon to be men nowadays can find all the information they need in the palm of their hands (just make sure you wipe them first, boys).

Oh What a Night, Part 2

December 31, 2019/January 1, 2020

I heard the dungeon door open and Sir began to talk to Tripp. “Anywhere within the heart is fine”, He said. “You can also hit the ass and the thighs, but don’t go outside the heart or you can damage the kidneys. Hold the flogger like this, put your right foot forward and put your weight on it, raise your arm, and let the weight of the flogger fall. Try and hit the same spot every time to start.” Tripp practiced on my back for quite some time. Towards the end, he was actually getting pretty good. Sir and Tripp took turns flogging me, with Sir demonstrating technique and coaching Tripp.

When they were finished, I was taken off the cross, still blindfolded, and led to the sling. Sir guided me into the sling and reattached the wrist and ankle restraints. I could feel Sir running his hands over my cage and balls and my ass. My cock was pressing tightly against the walls of its prison. “Tripp?” I asked. “I’m right here” he answered and kissed me. “You’re doing so well” he said as he lightly brushed and played with my nips.

Sir is very verbal during a scene. I really like that. Tripp is usually very quiet during sex, which is funny because he otherwise talks all the time. I absolutely get off on humiliation and dirty talk during sex. Call me a whore, a bitch, a fag on the street and thems fighting words. Say it in a scene and I get so fucking turned on. I’ve been locked for almost 500 days by this point and I hadn’t been allowed an orgasm for 235 days. As Sir started fingering my hole and yanking on my balls, I was extremely hard, the head of my cock pooching out of the vent holes in my cage. Sir started talking to me. “Do you like that? You like my fingers in your pussy, slave?”. “Yes Sir, I love that”, I answered. “Are you my pig?” He asked. “I’m your fucking pig, Sir” I responded. “Whose my bitch?” He demanded as he slid 4 fingers into me. “I’m your bitch, Master”, I cried out. I could feel the pressure in my cock, the pre-come flowing, and the beginning tingle of an orgasm, but I generally can’t come without some form of direct penile stimulation which is why my cage is so effective. Then Tripp put his mouth to my ear and whispered “You’re my bitch too” and I came. I came hard. I screamed and convulsed and I shot my 235 day load. My cage points downward and the hollow PA allows piss and cum to exit in an almost normal fashion. So it was like a cannon pointed directly at Sir. A cannon with 235 days of ammunition. “Well”, Sir said, “you came all over my dick, slave. What are we going to do with this?” and then he proceeded to fuck me using my own come as lube. He plowed me until he shot his seed into me. When he finished, he replaced my plug and walked around the sling so I could lick his cock clean. The taste of His come mingled with mine was intoxicating.

They removed my blindfold, released the restraints, and put me in Sir’s cage with a bottle of water and my phone, so I could entertain myself while they went to the house to have Champagne and watch the ball drop for New Years. As they left me, Sir remarked that I was his last fuck in 2019, and in a little while, I would be his first in 2020.

They returned about an hour later with the Champagne bottle. I was released from the cage. Sir took a swig from the bottle, pressed his mouth against mine, and spit the Champagne into my mouth. “We didn’t want you to feel left out”, he said. I gulped it down. It made me hiccup as it was quite a lot. The plug was removed and I was put back in the sling as it was time for Sir to ring in 2020 and get his first fuck. Before He fucked me, He asked Tripp if he would like a go. Tripp doesn’t really get hard because of the chemo, but Sir had left out several large dildos and Tripp has a strap on harness. He selected a rather large one and impaled me with it. Tripp pegged my already stretched ass, pulling my hole closer and closer to him. I was so hard, I thought I might shoot again. When he was finished, Sir moved behind me and rammed His cock into me. He fucked me hard. His balls were slapping against my ass. He pounded me mercilessly until I felt a second load fill my ass. I was absolutely spent as Sir replaced my plug. I was going to stay plugged until I got home so that Sir’s DNA would remain in me for as long as possible. They took me out of the sling and both kissed and hugged me. I curled up on the floor at Sir’s boots and licked them. He didn’t order me to, I just did it. I needed to do it. I was deep in sub-space. Tripp placed his hand on my bruised back and rubbed it gently. We stayed that way for some time. “It’s time to go home, honey”, Tripp eventually said. I gathered myself as best I could and we headed to the car.

I think that was the best New Year’s eve I have ever had, and I think, at least for a little while, I had two Masters owning me.

Hugs and happy New Year to you all.


Tripping out

I refer to myself as occasional property . Three years ago, my relationship with Sir evolved into a Master/slave dynamic. I’m married and Sir has His own solid relationship, so W/we never intended this to be 24/7/365. Sir does text me orders and W/we see each other fairly regularly, however. The change was more psychological than anything else, although Sir did want to exert more control over some aspects of my time away from Him.

Sir has always said that my marriage comes first, then my career, and then Him. We each bring something to the table and we each get out of it what we need, and it works for U/s. Sir was adamant that I get Tripp’s permission before we moved forward and I always try to keep Tripp in the loop. He offered to talk to Tripp himself, but I wanted to tell him first.

This was at a time before Tripp and I had begun to change our relationship, before I was locked full time, before Tripp started to become more dominant, and when our sex life was essentially on life support. Sir was my only outlet for bdsm (well, to be honest, for anything besides jerking off and an occasional blow job from my husband).

Sir wanted me collared, plugged, and locked more often, even when I wasn’t with him. He would text me with tasks to do, such as putting on tit clamps or wearing a ball stretcher. Because these changes were going to invade some of my time with my husband, I knew this was going to require a discussion with Tripp.

Tripp was out of town that week and we talked every day by phone. I told him what had happened with Sir and I (naively) assumed that would be the end of the matter. “We will discuss this when I get home”, Tripp replied somewhat angrily.

To be fair, Tripp was probably at his lowest point in quite a while. His medical conditions were progressing and he had just started on an insulin pump.

When Tripp got home, he was not happy. “I know you need this, but I’m pissed” he said. I was honestly surprised. In my mind, this wasn’t that big of a change. I think in Tripp’s head, he thought I was drifting away from him. “Why do you want to do this?” he asked. I thought about that for a bit. I have a very demanding life. I have a business with demanding clients, a husband with chronic medical issues, employees who need to be paid, little time to myself most days, and stress from multiple places. When I am a slave (for the few hours a week I am), I can take a vacation from my life, tune out all the worries and burdens I carry, and focus on a single thing: pleasing Sir. All the other times, my brain is spinning at 1000 rpm, but for a brief moment, its quiet and that keeps me sane, and that’s exactly what I told Tripp. Plus, I really missed kink.

“Okay”, he said, “I get that. I know you need that, but I do not want you bringing any of that home with you afterwards and if I see you wearing any jewelry or symbols or see pictures of you in a collar at some leather event, I’m going to have a big problem”. (Note: there are lots of pictures of me and a collared Tripp at leather events)

I agreed to that. Sir agreed to that. Tripp would always know when I had “play dates”, but otherwise I kept all the details quiet.

All was well for many months. Tripp got comfortable with the situation. He even started joking about my being plugged so often (“You whore” he said in his best Southern patrician/Blanche Deveraux voice). And then he started getting curious.

“You’re always so quiet when you get home from Him”, Tripp said. “You’re somewhere else for a while”. “Yes, it’s intense”, I said.

“Well, it seems to be doing you a world of good”, he said. “I’m happy you’re doing this”. Then he started asking more specific questions about my scenes, how I felt, what we did, etc. Trip started checking out what I was wearing for Sir, styling me as it were (nope, wear the other jock and these boots are better…he has a better eye for that than I do). He started asking about the bruises and marks, and seemed very interested in how they were made. Shortly after that, I asked Tripp to lock me and we had our heart to heart about changing our relationship.

At some point early this year, I mentioned to Tripp that Sir had long wanted to talk to him. Sir wanted to check in with him to make sure he was okay and wanted, potentially, to coordinate my use more closely with him. They set up a coffee date. Then another. Then they had dinner together. As Tripp became slowly more Dominant over me, they started to work together keeping me locked, denying my orgasms, dressing me, and plugging me. Tripp even bought me a beautiful collar that I wear for him.

So, when the texts started flying back and forth last week, I wasn’t concerned, but I knew something was up. Neither would tell me what was going on. Finally, on December 30th, Tripp told me I had plans for New Years Eve with him and Sir and orders that I would find out about later. That got my caged dick very hard, I will admit. I was excited but very, very nervous. Tripp has never seen me with Sir. He’s never seen me serve another as a slave, and soon he will.


Oh What a Night

Part One

December 31, 2019

Two days ago, I was told I had plans with Sir and Tripp for New Year’s eve. I was told I would be given orders the following day. Yesterday, I woke up to a note left by Tripp which stated that I was to be cleaned out, dressed in what would be laid out for me, and be in the car at 7 pm.  

This morning, I got my pubes, cock and balls, and ass freshly waxed. I do this monthly because Sir prefers His slave shaved and the hairs get caught in my cage anyway. I went to the gym in the early afternoon. When I got home, I found my black leather body harness, a full leather hood, chaps, a leather jock, my 20 inch Wesco Jobmaster boots, a 3 inch ball stretcher, and the XXL WMCBP plug laid out for me. Around 4 pm I started getting cleaned out. We have a shower shot in the playroom bathroom (it was a playroom for many years, now its kind of like the Room of Requirement from Harry Potter where everything goes to be forever lost). It wasn’t specified if I should be “fuck” clean or “fist” clean, so I erred on the side of caution. I spent about 50 minutes making sure everything was good down there and then gave it an hour to double check. “Fist” clean is a long process. I showered and gave my cage a good clean. I inserted the plug and then got dressed as required. I made sure I was in the car at 7. Wrist and ankle shackles were placed on me and we set out for my Master’s dungeon. I was nervous and my cock was far from hard.

When we arrived, Tripp and I approached the dungeon door (it’s set up in a garage space). Tripp’s collar was still on me. I reminded Tripp that Sir does not like me to wear any collar but His in His presence. Tripp nodded and told me not to worry. I very hesitantly told Tripp that Sir requires me to “present” at the door and I was feeling uncomfortable doing it with Tripp there. “Do what you normally do”, Tripp told me. He hugged me and told me he loved me. I kneeled on the concrete, my hands already shackled behind my back, stuck my chest out and bowed my head. “Ready”, I told Tripp and he knocked on the door.

When the door opened, my Master was standing there resplendent in His boots, chaps, leather jock, His upper torso harness, arm bands and Muir cap. Tripp was dressed in his usual Brookes Brothers preppy casual look. Sir and Tripp greeted each other and chatted for a few moments until he was invited in and I was ordered in. My protocol with Sir is very strict. I entered, immediately kneeled down again, and kissed His boots. I was shaking. I was so nervous to be doing this in front of my husband, I’m always somewhat embarrassed about displaying my kink in front of people (I’m working on it). I was very, very worried about Tripp seeing his husband being a slave. It concerned me that I would not be able to get into the right headspace if I was constantly worrying about Tripp. As I rose from Sir’s boots and nuzzled his jock, Sir and Tripp were just casually chatting. I was almost an afterthought, and that significantly reduced my anxiety. Sir then added His collar to my neck. I was wearing both collars! “Now you belong to both of us”, Sir said. My cock swelled within its cage for the first time that evening.

Sir left me in presentation position and took Tripp into the house for a while. When He returned, he told me that W/we were going to spend some time alone, and that He would bring Tripp back later. My plug was removed and I was placed on “the stool”. Sir has a step stool with a trailer hitch plug attached in the middle, and tie down points at each corner. After I was seated, Sir attached the shackles to the tie downs, removed the hood, and placed a penis gag in my mouth and a blindfold on me. The thing about the gag is that it is just big enough that swallowing becomes difficult and I get very slobbery.

After a while, when Sir felt my mouth was wet enough, he removed the gag and put his cock in my mouth. It was soft. I love sucking Sir’s soft cock and feeling it grow inside my mouth. I sucked him until he was hard and moaning. I get so lost in His cock when I’m sucking it. I wanted his load in my throat and I swallowed his cock deep trying to get it, but that was not to be. He removed his cock, undid my shackles, removed my harness, and led me to the cross. Leather wrist and ankle restraints were placed and I was tied to the four ends of the cross. I felt Sir draw a “heart” shape on my back with a Sharpie. “Your husband wants to learn how to flog you”, Sir said and then left to get Tripp. I was left alone with my thoughts, bound tightly to the cross, my cock pressing hard against the metal of my cage, the base ring tight against my body, waiting…

End of Part 1


Coming Out Again and Again

“Two men kissing is disgusting”, said my mother one day.  

“Only if they’re doing it right” or something clever like that is what I would like to have said, but I didn’t.  I just shut down inside.

It was 1980, I was 16 years old and struggling with coming to terms with my homosexuality. I felt very, very alone.  We were watching a local news story about a mysterious ailment that was afflicting gay men in New York.  There was no name for the strange illness that would become HIV/AIDs.  They were interviewing two lovers who were sick, and at the end of the interview, the men kissed each other.  Just a light, loving peck.  Then my mother made her comment, and I could feel my stomach twist itself in knots and my heart sink to my feet.  I would not be having a conversation about liking boys with my mother, at least not anytime soon.

I tried liking girls.  At that age, I could easily develop a crush on anyone, boy or girl.  There were several girls I developed crushes on.  That was easy.  I could start a relationship, and we could get to the making out phase, but then I would find some way to sabotage it.  Back then (and I did not do this consciously), I pretty much found a way to make whatever girl I was dating break up with me.  I didn’t want to be the bad guy.  I hated conflict.  I still do.  I get actual panic attacks in such situations.  I can’t breathe or talk or think.  So the easiest thing was getting them to call it off.  I don’t think there is anyone on this planet who was happier being dumped by his girlfriend than me!  

I went off to college 2 years later, where, as does happen when exposed to a large number of new people, discoveries start to be made, discussions about sex happen between people, you meet other people who are homosexual or who are also struggling, and you begin to grow up and begin to understand your feelings and desires a little better.  As I left school to go home for spring break that freshman year, I felt that it was time to tell my parents.  I arrived home to find my mother in tears, my father having left her for her best friend, which was a complete and total surprise to me.  So, probably not a good time for the “hey Mom, I’m gay” conversation.  As it turns out, my Mother was fully aware of the 10 year affair my father and her (former) bff had been having.  Mom had found airline tickets in her name for trips she was not taking (this was back before you needed ID, Blood samples, DNA, and an anal probe to board a plane) and all sorts of things that belonged to her bff’s kids in my father’s car and briefcase, etc…   She just chose to ignore it.  For 10 years.  And now she can’t deny it, because he has left, and she is a mess, and I am stuck in the middle of it, and that is so another story for another day, but the point is my mother had a very unusual way of dealing with things she didn’t like; she ignored them.  She had an Olympic gold medal in denial.  A bit of foreshadowing, but this ability becomes important as we move along.

My mother was on the phone when I came home for the summer after Sophomore year.  She was talking to a friend that was moving to Marin County.  She was very excited for her friend.  My mother told her friend how much she LOVED San Francisco, except for all the gays .  Well, shit.  So I asked her what she would think if I or my brother were gay.  “Oh honey, neither of you are” was the response.

That summer, I took my mother to see Torch Song Trilogy starring the fabulous Harvey Firestein on Broadway.  She laughed until she was in tears.  I think it was the first time Mom had seen an actual openly gay man, and she didn’t recoil, she didn’t vomit, she laughed, and at the end, she cried.  I asked my Mom if she identified with Arnold’s mother in the play.  She thought the character was a little over the top, but I told her I thought they had more in common than she realized.   Thus began my quest to expose my mother to gays and gay culture as a means of coming out.  There wasn’t a lot, but I took her to see La Cage Aux Folles (original French version), Victor/Victoria, rented The Boys in the Band, whatever I could find.  She finally admitted to me that gay people were okay, and she seemed to have broadened her horizons.  She was never a bigot, don’t misunderstand me, she just had never met anyone homosexual before and it was never part of her world.  At least I had changed that a little.  

After the umpteenth time she asked me why I didn’t have a girlfriend, and after the umpteenth time of rejecting the blind dates of nice Jewish girls she kept trying to set me up on, I told her that I didn’t want a girlfriend, that I wasn’t attracted to girls.    “Oh Honey”, she said, “you just haven’t met the right girl”.  I had actually brought boyfriends home by then (best friends, according to my mother).  My mother treated them like family, but she would simply not acknowledge what was going on.  I am pretty sure I could have fucked them in front of her and she would have thought “how nice, you are practicing for when you have a girlfriend”.  The art of denial was on full display.  

I had moved to Los Angeles following graduate school.  I had already come out to my brother. Looking for apartments, I told Mom I was looking in West Hollywood.  “Oh Honey” she said “my friend says that’s where all the gays live”.  “Yes, Mom…I fucking well know that”, I wanted to say.  “It’s a nice neighborhood and I can afford it” is what I actually said.  

Life moved on, I had several boyfriends, my first real love, and my first real heartbreak.  All of which I commiserated with my brother about, but not my mother.  During Thanksgiving one year while we all gathered at his house, I remember sitting on the stairs and overhearing my brother’s and my mother’s conversation in the kitchen.  

“He is homosexual”, said my brother.  

“He is not” said my mother.  

“He is”, shouted me from the stairs,

“You are not” answered my mother.

It became a running joke between my brother and I. Every time we talked, he would ask if I had come out again to Mom.

A few years later, Mom died suddenly.  I had given up on ever coming out to her, because she simply would not allow it.  It wouldn’t have mattered if I had stood in front of her covered head to toe in rainbow while kissing a man.  I WAS NOT GAY, and that was that.  Because she dealt with things that didn’t fall into her world view by simply denying they exist, while she loved me, I don’t think she ever really knew me, and that makes me sad.  


Becoming property

Note: I wrote this several years ago, and things have certainly changed in both of my relationships (more in future posts), but the story of how I became a slave and where I was at that point in my life is interesting to me, and, I hope, to you. My life evolves and since I wrote this, I’ve embraced my submissive side far more and, as you know, Tripp has become far more Dominant.It’s funny, because as I’ve gotten older, I exude total Daddy mojo, until they see the collar around my neck and find out my dick is in a cage.

I have generally considered myself a switch, but I only have two settings: sadistic, demanding Top or total object/pig/property. The headspace is so different that these two sides have different names; Mr., SIR, or Boss for the first, and slave cage for the second (the name it’s Master chose for it, because it’s locked).  I’ve always been a switch, but I have also always been a lousy boy.  When I first entered the bdsm scene in my early twenties as a young, fit, very cute man, I was chased around a lot (and I mean a lot).  I have always been attracted to older guys, so I thought the boy role was natural for me.  But I was lousy. I was a really pushy bottom.   I didn’t really like sucking cock so much. I have a really powerful gag reflex.   I liked getting off a lot. I liked being fucked, but not for a long session.   I could role play for a while but would grow tired of it, and once I came, the party was pretty much over.

I eventually realized what a lousy boy/bottom I was (and that no one was really having fun) and embraced the Top in me. In those days, young guys were just always perceived as a bottom. As a Top, I am creative, caring, firm, love stretching holes and fucking them (and I can fuck for a long time), love to inflict pain, and generally find that both myself and my bottom enjoy themselves immensely.  Also, gear-wise, Topmen leather gear is way sexier than bottom boys (IMHO).  I eventually fell in love with and married an amazing bottom man whose ass can swallow a small SUV.  He is an adorable, kind, Southern gentleman who is extremely outgoing and is the total opposite of me.  Somehow it works.  But, the sub side of me has always been an itch needing to be explored, which brings us to Sir.

Sir and I met almost 20 years ago.  The leather community was relatively small here where we live, and they used to have monthly group meetings (no apps in those days, barely any cellphones in fact).  He would use me as a demo model from time to time, and I really liked that.  We started playing on occasion in His dungeon.  I tried my best to be a good bottom boy, and I think we had fun, since we kept up the play sessions over the years.  One session changed my world completely.  Let me start off by saying that I can take pain.  In the beginning I put up with it, rarely enjoying it, but believing I had to do it to be a good sub. I saw pain as something to endure rather than enjoy.  During one flogging session, the pain suddenly stopped even though the flogging was getting heavier.  All I could feel was pleasure.  I left my body.  My throat was making guttural sounds I had never heard before.  I was flying and I only wanted Sir to hit me harder and faster.  I never knew that could happen.  I never heard myself beg to be hit before, and I fucking loved it.  It was a transcendent experience and a whole new world opened for me, and Sir was more than happy to continue to take me on the journey.

A couple of years ago, during a whipping session, instead of saying “Thank You Sir”, I said “Thank You Master”.  It wasn’t intentional.  It just came out, and I realized it only after I said it.  Sir didn’t stop, and the scene continued to its natural conclusion.  I thought perhaps He hadn’t heard it and I wasn’t going to say anything.  Afterwards, while coming down from the high, Sir and I talked.  He noted I had called Him Master and asked me if I wanted to be a slave.  I thought very hard about that.  After a bit, I replied that “no, I didn’t want to be a slave.  I needed to be slave”.  It was such a moment of clarity for me.  I’m not a boy or a sub.  It’s a piece of meat that needs to be owned and used as its Master sees fit. It is property. Slave cage was born that day.  But I was also a married Top, which complicated things a wee little bit.

Luckily, my sweet southern gentleman husband and I have always had an open arrangement.  I told him long ago that I could be monogamous with my heart, but not with my dick.  There are things he doesn’t want to do that I do want, and he is totally fine with me finding that elsewhere.  I am also fine with him doing that, but he has never wanted to, as far as I know.  The deal is we just have to let each other know.  If I bring a sub into the picture, he generally gets to meet them and can join us if he wishes, but with Sir, while I tell him what is going on, its only me.  My husband knows I have a sub side, but there is not a dominant bone in his body, and when we tried to role play that, it ended in giggles.  If you want to torture him, give him a menu and a time limit to make a decision.  He can’t choose what he wants to eat, let alone bark out orders to a sub.  So, he knows he can’t scratch that itch. Yet the discussion about my becoming a slave was not easy for either of us (that’s another post).

Switching from my normal headspace to the slave didn’t start out easily. As things progress, the headspace can come out more easily.  A text or message from Sir can do it now, but that wasn’t always the case. There were some things that Sir did that helped tremendously.   First of all, you should know that I ABSOLULTELY HATE being naked.  I won’t even disrobe in front of the cat.  The first thing I usually have to do (well, slave cage has to do) when it comes into His presence is strip completely naked.  The thing is, when I do this, I also strip myself away.  He gets bundled up neatly in the pile of clothes in the corner and slave cage emerges.  Sir’s collar is locked on next.  Again, this really helps with the headspace, and that is very important because slave cage can and wants to do many things that I cannot.  Slave cage has learned to deep throat a cock.  Slave cage worships its Master’s cock.  It can get lost in that cock and kiss, lick, and suck it endlessly.  I get tired of sucking cock after a while.  Slave cage craves licking its Master’s nuts, ass, nips, pits, and boots.  Slave cage can take bigger things into his slave pussy than I can in my ass.  Slave cage loves to be His Master’s urinal, grunt, dungeon toy, and chore boy, things that I would not normally do. Slave cage craves its Master’s cum.  Slave cage can take more pain for much longer than I ever could, and enjoy it for what it is as it is a gift from His Master.  Slave cage is owned property, and I couldn’t be happier for him/it.

What’s it all about?

I’m not 100% sure what this blog is going to be. I’ll tell you that it is primarily going to focus on my adventures, my sexuality (and my discomfort with it), my kink journey from adolescent to now, and the twists and turns my life has taken. I will be as honest as possible, although names will be changed and some details might be slightly obfuscated for privacy concerns.

Primarily, I’m viewing this as a form of psychotherapy. A place to tell all the stories I have wanted to share but have been too embarrassed or repressed to say out loud. I have always been able to write about my deepest, darkest fears and desires, but have tremendous difficulty talking about them. I’ll save those details for a future post as it is going to be a bit of a theme here.

As I said, I’m going to be brutally honest. If I ever delve into the realm of fantasy, I’ll be sure and let you know ahead of time (although I doubt that will happen particularly often). As a middle aged gay kinkster who came of age during the height of the AIDs crisis, I think I have a story to tell. I hope you think so as well.

This won’t be linear. I’m going to jump around and mix stories from my past with stories from the present, because there are things from my past I need to tell and I think those past events illuminate the present.

So, new year, new blog. Hopefully you will find it interesting. You may even see something of yourself in some of the posts. I hope so, because I feel the best writing touches people when they can relate to it.

I wish you the happiest 2020, and hope you enjoy this work in progress (oh hell, I’m still trying to figure out the editor on this site)


About the Doc

This originally appeared as a guest post for Dual Drew several months ago.  I’ve been ruminating about starting my own blog, and the events of this evening have convinced me to give it a try.  Below is that original post for Drew, as an introduction of myself to you all:

When Drew asked me to guest blog for him, I was surprised, to say the least.  I’ve been such a fan boy of his for some time now.  But (as those of you over 40 will remember), when Carson asked you to guest host, you just said yes.  So here we are.  Drew and I have a lot in common.  We are both men of a certain age, although I got my AARP card a few years ago (don’t worry Drew, you get a 5% discount on BA).  Both of us have our dicks locked in cages, both of us have spouses who are not naturally dominant, and both of us are trying to get our partners to be more controlling of us.  However, Drew is more naturally submissive, although he has a wild Dominant streak.  I am more naturally Dominant, but admit to really enjoying my submissive side.   How I ended up with my cock in a cageand a collar around my neck for the past 1+ years is an interesting (I hope) story and one I will try to tell here.

First, you need to know a bit about me and a bit about my husband, Trip. I describe myself as a chaste kinkster, a switch, a husband, and as occasional property (to a Sir I have known for many years).  I was born kinky.  For as long as I can remember, I have had fetishes about boots, leather, bondage, and what I now know to be s/m.   I am not naturally a sub, as I don’t fall into that headspace easily.  I need to be taken.  I need to forced (with consent, of course, although the idea of a biker gang in leather kidnapping and using me is a HUGE fantasy).  I need to feel the power being taken from me to feel my submission, and having my cock in a cage is a powerful trigger for that submission.  

Trip is also kinky.  I met him on Recon about 12 years ago, and we have been together ever since.  He is very much a bottom.  He loves having very large things in his ass.  His orgasms are anal.   On our third date (the sex date), when I went to his place, he had set up a sling, some gloves, lube, and a variety of enormous toys.  Okay, I thought, I’m in!  In the beginning, we fucked like bunnies.  I could tie him up, I could paddle him, I could use him, and he loved it.  And I fell in love with him, hard.  

Trip is an extremely sexy, bald man.  I am very attracted to bald men.  However, Trip is not genetically bald.  He is chemotherapeutically bald.  You see, Trip was diagnosed with cancer when he was a teenager. His hair fell out from the chemotherapy and never grew back.  When I met him, Trip couldn’t get a hard on (chemo dick), but since he liked having my dick (and other large things) in him, and I liked putting them there, and since we both came from that, it worked out well.

Over the years, my sex life with Trip had slowed to almost non-existent. It’s not a lack of desire, but a progression of problems related to the chemo.  Trip’s pancreas stopped working, his thyroid crapped out, and his gut became unpredictable (which is a problem when you are a fisting bottom). His heart doesn’t function well.  But what really killed it was going on an insulin pump, because now he has wires and tubes and a remote control and the type of sex we like (rough and spontaneous) is impossible.  On top of that, all my extracurricular activities stopped because, without my connection to Trip, they seemed like cheating (we have an open relationship and he knows about all my extracurricular activities).  I stopped going to Folsum and IML and Dore Alley.  I stopped wearing my leathers.  I stopped playing with boys.  I lost my kink.

Trip doesn’t feel sexy.  Trip does not want me to fuck him because he doesn’t trust his gut.  Trip doesn’t want to be fisted because he might bleed.  I can’t hurt him because he bruises easily. Trip doesn’t want me to grab him because his sensor might break.    So, instead of having intimacy with the man I love, I found my self increasingly self-isolating and jerking off and surfing for porn.

I have been fascinated with chastity for years.  I bought a cb2000 when they first came out.  I have been locked and I have locked boys over the years, but never more than for a few days at a time.  Sir prefers me locked.   About 2 years ago, I found a blog (male chastity journal) that grabbed my attention.  From that, I found Denying Thumper.  That bunny is very, very good at describing his chastity experience, his submission and denial in exquisite (and erotic) detail that really resonated with me (even if I didsometimes change Belle to Bill in my head, sorry Thumper).  I found myself jerking off constantly to Thumper’s tales of denial and submission (the irony here is not lost on me), and somewhere in the middle of that blog, a man named Drew popped up, whose life and loves and struggles closely mirror mine.  

I knew I wanted to be locked for more than just a few days at a time and I knew I wanted it with Trip.  I needed to have the connection with him again.  I just wanted him back, and I needed to find some way to reconnect sexually with him and with my kink.  I found myself going into my closet in the morning and secretly putting on a cage (I was literally back in the fucking closet) for the day and taking it off at night.  I knew I had to talk to Trip about this. Drew and Thumper gave me the courage to accept what I was feeling.   So I screwed up my courage and I told Trip about it… by text.  I typed 8 words and stared at them with my thumb hovering over the send button:  “I want you to lock my dick up”.  I hesitated for what seemed like hours before I hit send.  His response was almost immediate. “I can do that”, he said.  I melted.  I think I may have cried.   He knew I’ve been fascinated with chastity for some time, he knows I like metal things on and in my body (piercings, plugs, cockrings) and it turns out he too was worried that our relationship was stagnant.  “I want you to be happy”, he said (well, texted).  That night, for the first time, I prepared to wear my cage for Trip and to reclaim my kink.  I dug out my chaps, which were a bit tight as I was approaching peak “dad bod” by that time, had a bourbon or three, and waited on the couch for him with my cage on display.

I kissed him that night, hard.  I kissed him like we haven’t kissed in years.  “Do you want to touch it?” I asked.  He did, and then we talked.  We talked like we hadn’t in years.  I confessed my wants, my fears, my need to be sexual with him, and my desire that if we couldn’t have the relationship that we had before, I wanted to create a relationship that could work, and if that involved me being the submissive partner, I wanted it.  He had many questions.  Neither of us knew exactly how it would work.  I showed him Thumper’s blog and we agreed to try this for 1 month.  At the end of the month, I asked him if he liked me locked.  He said he liked it because I liked it.  We continued another few months.  I asked the same question.  He said he liked what it did to me.  Months after that, he said that he liked it, in fact, he preferred me locked.  

I have already mentioned that Trip is, by nature, a bottom.  He is really rather submissive.  Getting Trip to take control has not been easy.  In fact, I have had to put my dominant skills to work to cajole, goad, and push him.  He does things, at first, to please me (as he always has), but with positive feedback, I think he comes to enjoy it.  At least, that how it seems.  I still have to initiate most things, though.  One evening, I stood before him in full gear and he had my hands restrained behind my back.  I had set out several items he might want to use, one of them being a collar (he has never collared me or seen me collared to that point).  I suggested that the collar might be appropriate.  ‘Hmmm”, he said, and reached over, grabbed the thick leather collar I had left out, and put it on me.  That got me going, and he noticed. I made sure he knew how turned on I was by it.   The next time, the collar was already out for me.  And the next time, he grabbed me by the collar and pulled my lips to his.  Same with the paddle, the plugs, the tit clamps, etc.  I have to initiate it, I have to let him see how much it turns me on, and that seems to turn him on and it builds from there.   It’s a cycle of me pushing, and then responding to his actions in a way that he knows how happy it makes me until he initiates it without me.  I’m okay with that, as Trip will never be a demanding Top on his own, and I am willing to work with what I’ve got, because I love him.

To me, that shiny metal between my legs is more than a cage.  It’s a symbol of my kink that is there everyday to remind me of who I am.  I love the look and feel of my metal encased dick.  It turns me on.  Also, it’s my re-connection to Trip.  I cannot have an orgasm without him.  When I do have an orgasm, it is special.  I used to jerk off alone 3 times a day just to feel better.  Now, my orgasms are gifts from Trip, when he lets me have one (and they are getting fewer and farther between because he knows I am turned on by denial).  He owns my cock, and he is becoming more and more comfortable with that.  Trip is now the center of my sexual world again and my right hand has gone into retirement.  And when Trip surprises me, like when he bought me a heavy steel collar, I literally fall in love with him even more.  Chastity is like my marriage:  usually wonderful, occasionally annoying, and something I don’t want to be without.

As I sit here at the computer writing this, my dick is in a cage, there is a heavy steel collar around my neck, a very large plug in my ass, I’m wearing leather, and my husband is sitting on the couch watching TV as if all this is completely normal, because, well, I guess it is.

I’m hoping this will serve as an introduction to new readers and that some might follow my new blog