Monks and nuns are supposed to live according to the dictates of poverty, chastity and obedience, and as a submissive I’ve acquired direct experience with two of those things. My Lady has never tried to keep me in poverty or otherwise control my finances, but obedience has been the cornerstone of our relationship from the day I surrendered to her authority. Chastity, on the other hand, came much later.
I was far from disappointed with My Lady’s initial lack of interest in limiting my masturbatory activities, but I was a little surprised. Orgasm restrictions are a recurring theme in stories and online discussions about male submission, to the point where they’re a major focus of entire blogs like Steeled Snake and Denying Thumper, and my one serious BDSM relationship before I began submitting to My Lady was with a woman who actually did include a ban on ejaculating without permission in the list of rules she laid down at the very beginning. So when My Lady took charge of me back in 2012, I assumed my onanistic freedom would be coming to an end in pretty short order. What I didn’t fully appreciate, however, was the impact of her background on her approach to handling submissive men. Because she spent many vanilla years as a lesbian and many kinky years as a pansexual submissive, she had never developed much enthusiasm for controlling male genitals or learned a great deal about that form of dominance. As a result, she wasn’t particularly interested in the contents of my briefs, especially given the long-distance nature of our relationship.
For the first few months, then, the topic of masturbatory restrictions barely came up in our correspondence. As My Lady slowly became more familiar with my submissive side and my sexuality, however, she began to take more of an interest in my private parts and what I did with them. There was a period of over a year when I had to keep a record of my sexual activity for her occasional perusal, but could still indulge freely while she observed, learned, and mulled over possibilities. Then, near the end of March 2014, she finally lowered the boom with a characteristically understated instruction at the end of one of her emails:
While tidying the bathroom today, I found a note to myself about limiting your masturbation… Unless otherwise directed… you may not come or do more than your casual stroking until April, my time.
“Casual stroking” was a term we’d been using to describe any kind of masturbatory activity that stopped short of ejaculation, so I could still play with myself. Nevertheless, I was glad the end of the month was only a few days away, and I wrote back that I was “looking forward to April”. My Lady’s reply was ominous:
Don’t be too sure of that.
In April I was indeed allowed to ejaculate as often as I wanted – but I had to ingest my own semen each time. In May, the price of an orgasm was pain, to be inflicted on myself before each masturbation session. It turned out that the last few days of March weren’t just a short-lived experiment in chastity, but the introduction of a new state of affairs in which my orgasms were going to be as strictly and meticulously rationed as they were in my previous BDSM relationship. My Lady imposed the change suddenly, firmly and without fanfare, but after collecting plenty of pertinent information in the form of the sexual diary, which is typical of the way she wields her authority over me. She’s not a theatrical or flashy dominant, but she’s a scarily thorough and deliberate one, and when she gives instructions she expects immediate and total compliance as a matter of course.
Since then, the exact rules limiting my access to sexual pleasure have continued to change occasionally at My Lady’s whim. Most of the time, I simply have to ask permission for each orgasm in advance. Once in a while she’ll just say yes, but more often there’s a condition attached – ingestion, clamps on my nipples while I masturbate, or something equally painful and/or degrading. She’s never given me a flat “no” and left me to stew in my own frustrated arousal, but I’m nervously aware of the possibility whenever I ask “My Lady, may I ejaculate soon?” Therefore, I try not to tempt fate (or rather, tempt her) by asking too often.
Of all the ways My Lady constrains and torments me, the tight control she exerts over my orgasms is probably the facet of her dominance that goes the furthest in making me feel helpless and subservient. From what I’ve seen, this kind of reaction to being kept in either a physical or a metaphorical chastity belt is common among submissive men, which is why male chastity is such a widespread theme in both erotic fiction and real kinky relationships. Taking away a man’s freedom to masturbate not only deprives him of one of life’s great pleasures and asserts control over the most intimate parts of his body, but also makes him dependent on the dominant for periodic release of his semen, which may be necessary in order to avoid physical discomfort. I won’t try to speak for submissive women (though I’d be interested to hear from readers who have experience with female chastity, on either side of the equation), but we boys tend to be putty in the hands of anyone who’s in a position to tell us when we’re allowed to get our rocks off – and when we’re not. Of course, being controlled in that way is also exciting, and for me at least the fact that the keys to my invisible chastity belt are in the hands of a woman rather than a man adds an element of intrigue. My Lady has never personally experienced the surging pleasure of male orgasm or the aching frustration of male chastity, but she sure knows how to indulge me with the first of those things and torment me with the second.
The fact that I’ve already slowed down a fair bit, sexually speaking, definitely makes it easier to endure this aspect of my submission to My Lady. Even in my mid-twenties I was still masturbating almost every day, but that stopped abruptly when I fell into the hands of my previous dominant. More than a decade later, I’d probably ejaculate every few days if I had the freedom to do so, but a week or so of deprivation – which is par for the course now that I’m in My Lady’s invisible chastity belt – is bearable if not exactly comfortable. Drinking alcohol seems to take the edge off a bit, as do my bouts of casual stroking. It also helps that I get occasional breaks from My Lady’s control when I’m with my vanilla partner, who is also long-distance. On the other hand, pornography, erotic writing, or anything else that gets me thinking about sex, dominance and submission revs up the engines and makes chastity harder to endure.
My Lady and I have occasionally discussed chastity devices, with an eye on the extensive and slightly unnerving (from my viewpoint) range of male ones on the market. I think she’d enjoy the security of knowing my genitals were actually locked up, and being physically unable to play with myself would undoubtedly make me feel more submissive than ever. However, the practical problems surrounding things like hygiene, airport scanners and the logistics of ultra-long-distance keyholding will almost certainly keep my invisible chastity belt from turning into a tangible one, for the foreseeable future. Luckily, My Lady knows I’ll obey her rules and faithfully report any lapses, so the invisible belt works as well as anything for keeping her boy on the straight and narrow. On my side, I wake up every morning knowing that my cock and balls are under a woman’s firm control, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.