I crashed hard overnight.
“What could this guy possibly be going on about?” you say with incredulous exasperation.
“He’s locked down hard, he’s cuckolded, he gets fucking corner time for cryin’ out loud. What’s the problem?!”
You know, it doesn’t really matter, what matters is how my amazing ‘S’ handled it, and me.
And this is what separates the wannabes from the masters of the art of the human dynamic.
She gave me space, then she knew, she knew when to move in. The physical touch, the mental caress of her voice, the surety of her love for me and all that is US.
When we were done, the things said and the tears shed, the intimacy rejoiced and the spent satisfaction afterwards, I was left breathless.
Not in exhaustion, though it had been physically demanding, no it was in wonder, pure friggin’ wonder at this woman who knows me more than I know myself, and who time and again shows me what true love is.
The lifestyle has much to offer, and I’ve never felt more alive, but it can never be ‘Set It And Forget It’.
You’re living on the edge is some ways, and it’s exhilarating beyond belief, and I’ve no regrets, but it’s intense at times. Only a skillful woman can successfully help her man be all that he can be for Her.
Those that know me as BR Saiph are aware that I live a life of a locked cuckold to my very controlling (and a little dominant) amazing and beautiful wife @MrsBr_Saiph.
Perhaps you’ve read one of my books, or my posts, or followed my journey on chastitymansion.com. Regardless, it may come as a surprise to you and even a disappointment if you’ve vicariously enjoyed my tales, that two months ago it all came to a hard (no pun) stop.
For the last two months I’ve been unlocked, non-dominated, uncontrolled, felt no submissive urges, been very alpha, and sexually independent with my own orgasms (with my hand and with my darling wife). So in other words, pretty much lived a vanilla life.
Why, you exclaim in horror, would you do this when you yourself sought this lifestyle for so long?
Truth is, being a cuckold is at times fraught with challenges, both personal and in the relationship dynamic. In my case, I went off the rails suddenly and with no warning and crashed into a wall of insecurity and resulting self-pity. My darling S. had done nothing wrong, we weren’t even actively engaging with a bull (thanks pandemic). Ask any cuckold, that’s just how it goes. One day you’re good, one day you crash hard.
Long story short, my cuckoldress stopped all kink and propelled us into vanilla. She picked me up, and made me whole again in both mind and spirit. A healthy cuckolding relationship means you always come first for each other. Did I mention how much I love this woman?
As that unfolded, I almost lost her in a head on collision with a drunk driving mother fucking ass wipe. Guess how I feel about shit heads who drink and drive? Anyway, back to sexy talk!
A long month of recovery for her and things were starting to look more normal in so many way and then we received an invitation from a bull she’d been chatting with, to something called a fuckfest. Maybe I’ll post about that someday with all the incredible details. Point being, my incredible cuckoldress wanted to gift me a full hall pass this one night. It was part of the ‘building me back up’ process. Did I mention how much I love this woman?
Long story short, it was the icing on the cake and I was indeed a new man the next day. It was unimaginably difficult for her to watch me with another. She is not a cuck remember? She is a cuckoldress. She never wanted to swing, never wanted to see me with another, and only entered the lifestyle because we agreed she would play with others, not me. However, her love and concern for my fragile male ego made her overcome her pain and give me this gift of sexual liberty for one incredible night of debauchery.
That is selfless love, and I will be forever grateful and forever aware of the sacrifice she made for me.
Of course, nothing is free my friends and when the party is over, the party is over. So it was with her usual cold calculating no-nonsense tone that she announced to me yesterday that my freedom was over. She had decided I needed to be locked up and put back down into my place because the shenanigans had gone on long enough.
“You’re all better. This is for the best. You’ll see.” she said. It wasn’t a question.
So last night the cage went back on, and the panic set it instantly. Isn’t it funny how the mind and body can forget so quickly what the soul knows intimately.
“The ring is too tight, I can’t get my balls into that!”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Baby, this cage is too small, my cock has re-grown too much!”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Can’t we wait until the weekend?”
“Don’t make me say it again.”
And so, my life as a red-blooded, orgy-fucking, do what I want with my own cock independent thinking man came to an end.
Today, the panic is even more intense. I think about how I can’t get an erection or grasp that erection tightly in my fist simply because I want to. I must now ask for Her permission. She will decide when or even if I am allowed any physical pleasure with Her cock. PIV will again be a treasured reward, and orgasms even rarer.
After 28 years of happy faithful monogamy, I was granted a taste of the sexual freedom that she so readily enjoys whenever she wants, and now I must accept that it was only that, a taste. Sexual freedom is not for me, I am Her submissive, I am Her cuck, and I must again submit to Her will and control over my body and in many ways my mind.
I no longer have the control over my own most prized possession that I had just a mere day ago and now have lost.
Again I will look at women and wonder what would they think of me if they knew I had allowed my cock to be locked in a cage.
Again I must sit to pee, every time.
Again I must look down at my crotch and wonder what it feels like to have an erection simply because I want to.
I sought this lifestyle desperately for years. I asked for this, even so much as begged for it in so many ways. I yearn for it when not locked and indeed despite my complaints, the cage felt like an old friend once it was back on.
My body rails against the steel injustice it must now submit to.
My mind struggles with panicked thoughts of loss of free will, for you cannot fight the might of the key in a skillful woman’s hand.
The fear is real, the panic is real, the desire to be free again, just for a day, is real.
Yet, my soul is content. My heart is bursting with love. I know this is but a regular part of the roller coaster of being locked up after a period of release. I’ve been through it countless times. I must hold my breath and hang on, for it will pass.
The serenity will wash over me as I slip peacefully down the rabbit hole of submission my beautiful and incredible darling S. will guide me into with her deliciously naughty and skillful mind, and all will be right in my world.
All will be as it should be as I kneel before my goddess, my key holder and cuckoldress, and walk beside my lover and my best friend, my wife.
The panic is real, but don’t fear it. Embrace it, cherish it for all the kinky wonder that it represents, and thank the stars you have been blessed with a woman that is willing to live this life with you in a way that fulfills and brings joy to you both.
I’m living the life I’ve always dreamed of, and that my soul has yearned for. I’m where I belong and am blessed to be.
The panic is a beautiful thing.
As an author, I take great pride in my work. Why wouldn’t I?
I spend countless hours thinking about my story, then many more writing it, and even more after that polishing it until it’s the very best I can offer.
Is her hair the color I want, or how about what she’s wearing in a particular scene? What sensual naughtiness do I fancy the characters doing as they excite, frustrate, seduce, and otherwise titillate the reader? Have I described the leather belt in her hand in such detail that the reader can intimately feel it’s unforgiving touch in their mind’s eye? Can they feel the panic as he does when she closes the lock on the shiny new cage she purchased just for him? Have I made their gut clench when she sleeps with the other man?
There are so many thoughts that go into a story I can’t begin to describe them, but if you’re an author, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
My point is, that most writers work hard to produce the best material they can because it’s a passion, and for the fortunate few, a full-time job.
After all we give of ourselves to create something, is it worth it? Only the reader can decide.
If we are lucky, we develop a fan base. If we are unlucky, we get the ‘superfan’.
They will at first compliment your work to lower your guard, then proceed to tell you how they would have written this scene or that one, or what the characters should have been wearing, or looked like, or done. They may tell you how you should write the sequel, because of course after all that feedback, you’re gonna want to do another, right?
Then, once you block them, they spew vile trash in a book review and drag your rating down.
If there is a bright side, at least in doing so they reveal to the world just how much of a nutter they are.
I work hard for a living. I have a family to care for, and a life to live. Somewhere in there, I find time to create something and then dare to share it.
What have you created and offered to the world dear superfan? May we see your work? May we comment on it as you have felt so entitled to do so with others?
Just kidding, I don’t care.
I don’t care what you have done with your life, I don’t care what you think about my work, and I certainly don’t care about you.
I’ll continue to write, to create, and in doing so I’ll contribute to the world around me because that’s who I am. I’m a writer.
What are you?
A word that once learned is forever etched into a chastity enthusiasts heart. From the moment of our introduction, I’d found the thought of being locked for 31 days to be as equally deliciously terrifying as it was intriguing.
To be clear, in it’s purest form it entails the complete and total denial of ones manhood and all of it’s magnificent pleasures.
In the beginning, on Oct 1rst those were only words.
Our chastity play has evolved over the last few years since we started. A few days here, graduating to a week or two there, interspersed with regular playtime and plenty of happy endings. 17 days was the record to beat and then we met our first bull.
Almost a year later locked 24/7 and I thought I knew what it meant to have lost control of my most prized possession. Sure, we still enjoyed playtime but there was no ‘free’ play time for me. I’d been put down hard (no pun intended) into my place.
For the first time in my life, I never had a say in when I could be erect, let alone have a big-O, and most certainly could not masturbate.
So when my darling wife told me, with a twinkle in her eye, that we were doing Loctober this year though my heart skipped in excited trepidation, I felt I was ready.
So what is Loctober then?
For me in the beginning it was just the knowledge that I was in for a long haul. So, feeling that initial fear, for real in your gut that visceral twinge of fear of the unknown. She was taking me into uncharted territory. So self assured about it, so matter of fact, and if I truly wanted to play in this lifestyle with her, then I was along for the ride. Assumed, just as it was assumed that it was perfectly natural for her to arrange a date or two keep her satisfied while I was kept under lock and key.
One would have thought being cuckolded on Day 13 would have put me over the edge but not quite. It was an amazing hot experience, casually dressed with cage on under my clothes and sipping on a cold beer while watching another man gave my wife what I was denied. If he only knew the whole story! At the time it put me well into my sub-space but I’d no idea what the month still had in store for me.
When she’d first mentioned her plans for the month, I could picture those mornings alone in the spare bedroom, darkened and trying to sleep after a night shift. The relentless want of simply having an erection, primal senses reacting to the knowledge She was close by. Warm, wet, Her.
I guess foreshadowing is a bitch ‘cuz see on day 20, I almost lost my mind. Waking that early morning knowing that the end was so far away that all I could do was endure, did nothing to ease my desperate need for release. The pent-up energy making me want to scream but I couldn’t breath. All the grinding and stifled moaning, curling into a ball and clenching my legs together so I could hump the cage between them in pathetic frustration, did nothing to bring relief.
I want to pause for a moment and draw focus to that last sad bit, as embarrassing as it all is. Before this month I had thought I knew what suffering was. That was until the moment I felt myself slipping away on the chaotic winds of agonizing sexual despair. It’s power overwhelming me and causing me to momentarily lose my grip as it dragged me away. Only in the last moment, pulling myself from it’s clutches to grasp hold of the hope for the end as distant as it seemed did I gain true understanding. Of myself, my limits, and my strengths.
I think that was the peak, and I can’t begin to tell you how thankful I am that it’s behind me!
The Mrs researching PA piercings, our super sexy conversations about how it was ‘OK to live our life the way that worked for us’, the super charged physical connection as we lay together in bed touching, loving, being. They have all been fantastically wonderful moments and I struggle to express the exuberant joy in their memory I’ll be forever left with when this is over.
I’d thought I knew what it was to ‘feel’ her as I held her, but as day turned to night and then to endless day it became so much more. The heat from her loins as I pressed my nub into her naked bottom as we lay spooning would ignite an uncontrollable animal hunger in me.
The smooth softness of her skin yielding willingly to my reverent touch, my fingers quivering with barely contained desperation, trying to be ‘cool’ and pretend the elephant was not in the room, was perhaps the most intense physical connection we’ve ever shared.
Quiet soft sounds, rustling sheets, warm skin against skin, muscles tensing, together.
The burning need in me quenched in the fires of her release. Her stiffening, the soft moan, the tremble and the gasp as she found inner Nirvana, the transference from our heads to our toes was encompassing and complete.
As this month comes to an end so does an epic journey that until I’d done it, I had no idea I was born to make. I’m still the same person and yet I’ve been forever changed. I’ve walked the walk as they say. That I’ve been blessed to have someone make this journey possible and then take my hand and join me, leaves me speechless. I was never alone, She was always there. In my darkest moments I had only to picture her and the key she so lovingly held.
The end draws nigh, and I know not what the future holds but the one thing I do know is I have no regrets. I’m not just proud of myself, I’m proud of what we have achieved together.
I am humbled by this beautiful and amazing woman I share my life with, and all her wisdom, her love, and her wild carefree mischievous spirit. That my being locked and denied brings us the pleasures in life we enjoy, well that’s for us. Who knows, maybe it is for you too. What are YOU doing next October?
At times the denial threatens to overwhelm me, sucking the air literally from my lungs. I wake wanting to scream in raging frustration. I instead lay still and try to ride out the waves of alternating angry want and crushing euphoric acceptance of my submission to Her.
Loctober isn’t over yet and though I’ve seen the better part of it tick by one relentlessly locked day after another, the last stretch seems like a marathon.
I want the end NOW.
My foolish male pride DEMANDS it.
My true self ACCEPTS it.
I think I need to stop looking at the calendar and instead TRUST in Her.
@MrsBr_Saiph has got me, I just need to relax and enjoy the ride.
Let’s not even talk about that working on my #wip has been impossible with my shoulder out of commission.
I f-cked it good last week burying my sweet pet. Not a good time.
Emotionally I’ve been drained and with being unlocked since Saturday, I’ve been a little head spun.
Am I crazy? Complete freedom and yet a little (or a lot) of muscle discomfort and a sad heart make for complete disinterest in being naughty with myself?
I feel passionately that first it’s a serious transgression to masturbate or enjoy any physical sexual pleasure without permission (not that I haven’t 😈),and second that if I can’t fully enjoy it, it’s damn near sacrilegious to devalue the opportunity.
That said, I’m feeling better both physically and emotionally and I’m coming around! I’m missing my characters and their journey.
I love living the story in my mind and feeling their emotions, and envisioning the people behind them. They are real, if I let go and let them be.
Letting the story out, in due time.
Resisting the urge to settle for what is essentially forced.
Allowing myself to self-indulge in the f’n amazing experience of being a writer.
Livin’ writing, livin’ ‘it’, well…Wow!