Male Chastity and Life's Minutiae

by Sarah on August 19, 2010

So… I’m back. I often say how male chastity often gets swamped by the minutiae of everyday life, and this week it happened in spades for me and John.

We got back from our jaunt to Kerry to a whole shit‐load of work, not least editing the MP3s for Be Careful What YouWish For . They’re all done, on the server and ready for download (so if you’ve got the ebook but not had the link for the MP3s yet you need to email me and tell me, else you’ll miss out).

But through it all, the late nights, early mornings and endless hours at the computer… there he his… Himself, all locked up, aching and, I know without a shadow of a doubt, more desperate to come than ever before (you’ll read why in the newsletter tomorrow).

And always that question in my mind. Two, really: what does he get out of male chastity? And what do I get out of it?

You’d think the second would be easy to answer… but it’s not. I still don’t know, sometimes. I suspect that’s because it’s a profoundly emotional feeling… and they’re impossible to rationalise, probably by definition. Try to describe what “happiness” is to someone who’s never felt it. I guess it’s like trying to describe “blue” to someone blind since birth.

As I say in Be Careful What You Wish For, I think over time the practice of orgasm denial, that prolonged teasing and vague promise of eventual release (you should be so lucky) necessarily brings men and women together, because we women tend to get a much more physical experience of sex, and for men it becomes more emotional.

That alone is a good argument for male chastity in and of itself, in my book.

Another thing I’m getting to explore and experience more is my feminine power. I’ve written before how I’d make a wickedly superb Domme if I ever chose that path, and I’m surprised to find my wickedness with John gets more… wicked day by day.

Yet I’m also pleased to see my increasing orneriness still has no tendency or temptation to extend beyond the metaphorical bedroom.

The other day at the top of Torc, the weather suddenly closed in while we were close to some pretty severe terrain, and he was instantly 100% Mr In Charge And Capable while I meekly did as I was told. No, it’s not a huge mountain and not one you’re likely to get lost on, but to someone like me who is more at home on the sofa, it’s scary when all of a sudden you can’t see Jack shit and you don’t know where you are.

He kept me safe.

I wonder what a “superior female” and her frilly‐panty clad “sissy” would have done? I suppose you can see pink a ways off on a mountain, no?

Of course, there was no question of reward in terms of a break in male chastity. Oh no. On the contrary, tired as we were and have been, we cannot help but talk for hours circling around this idea of no‐entry.

Christmas is a given, I think.

Longer?

I don’t know.

But back to my original thinking. What do we get out of male chastity, over and above the increased intimacy and amazing sex?

Sometimes I catch myself, as if seeing myself in the third person and the absurdity and unreality of it all comes home to me.

And I think WTF?

I’ll look at John and he’ll smile back, knowingly, as if he can read my mind.

In truth I don’t know what he gets out of it. Only what he tells me. But I know him well enough to know if he didn’t like it, he’d change it. Even loving me as he does, he wouldn’t put up with male chastity for a second longer than he wanted to.

People often tell me what a lucky man John is. But really, I think I’m the lucky one here.

P.S. Newsletter day tomorrow, with a particularly filthy tale to tell. Oh, and it might be late afternoon, because we’re off to the Donkey Sanctuary to cuddle some cute donkeys.

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