There is a notion around denial that it is a devoid and empty space. That a penis in chastity is prevented from feeling. That the frustration of denial is a product of being restricted from sensation and stimulus.
Speaking frankly, this is bullshit. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Don’t get me wrong, denial does involve the intended absence of one very specific feeling. You aren’t supposed to have an orgasm. The moment of climax is theoretically ruled out of the question. Use of the penis for its imagined intended purpose, that of pursuing arousal to the point of eruption, is constrained and presumably prevented. (Yes, I recognize that all of those statements are highly qualified; in my opinion and experience having a caged penis doesn’t strictly prevent orgasm, it just requires more creativity and contortions to actually get there.)
Even if we accept the idea that an imprisoned penis won’t prematurely peak, that doesn’t mean that stimulation is off the table. Chastity in particular is all about sensation. Just not that one particular sensation that is the presumed outcome for many of sexual interaction.
To be caged is to experience a great deal of stimulation. There is the experience of being enclosed. The weight of the cage. The tug and tightness of the ring behind your balls. With arousal comes even more sensory exerience. The swell of pressure. The ache and throb and dull intensity building up in the testicles over time. The tightness and confinement as your penis tries and fails to swell.
These feelings aren’t just a by-product of the experience of being caged. For many they are, in fact, the whole point. The swell and ache and tightness are a constant reminder of being locked and controlled. The reason that so many men crave being locked isn’t so they won’t be able to feel at all, but so that they can savour and experience the long, slow, simmering build-up of frustration.
As Thumper, a senior dean of all things chastity out here on the interwebz, so succinctly puts it:
Adding the delicious texture of a partner or loved one holding the key, and another range of experiences presents itself. The shared knowledge of transgressive, secretive naughtiness. The intimacy of your most intimate parts locked and controlled by another. The delightful feeling of possessiveness and being owned. The tingling feelings of doubt and uncertainty about when you will next be allowed out.
Overall, the sensations of chastity go well beyond the physical. They are deeply emotional and powerfully psychological. Chastity is one of the truly great mind-fucks (which is all to the good, because the other kind of fucking is strictly off the table for the duration).
My experience this month is slightly different, but not profoundly so. Today is the eighth day since my Goddess and I embarked on our Locktober adventure. I am not locked, but I am denied. More particularly, with the exception of what is required for essential cleanliness, the penis has not been touched for more than a week. No rubbing, no fondling, no grinding, no humping and no handling. That is a very different sensation. But it is still sensation.
I can and do get erections. Sometimes they are full, aching and throbbing ones (with apologies to my Locktober brethren who are currently denied that particular experience). I feel the sensation of water in the shower. The frisson of panties being pulled up and cupping me. The vague throb against my pants when my Goddess gets me all hot and bothered at entirely inappropriate parts of my day.
More powerfully, I feel the tension of being completely free and entirely controlled. My feelings of submission—and of sheer, outright sluttiness—have been off the charts pretty much from the outset. I have slept plugged every night. I have practiced cocksucking on a very large dildo every morning. My nipples are still tingling from the last time they were clamped. I am surrounded by the powerful sensations of being a raw, sexual being; of being my Goddess’ slut and plaything and toy.
Those feelings manifest most strongly when my assigned morning task concludes. While I am required to practice deep-throating every morning and to sleep plugged every night, for the balance of the day I am fundamentally denied. Once the timer goes off, there is no more sexual stimulation of any kind until bedtime (unless She chooses otherwise). That is the point when I am at my horniest. Stimulated, frustrated, aching and wanting—and devoted and obedient and restrained.
It is a powerful source of tension to desperately want stimulation, to have it be within literal reach, and to not do anything about it. As the nipple clamps come off and the plug comes out, I have literally writhed in frustration and want. Humping and thrusting futilely into the air, waiting for the immediate crisis of horniness to subside. Feeling it slowly fade into the pulsing background ache that simmers in my subconscious.
I am unquestionably a denied bear. But by no means does that imply that I am denied sensation or suffering from a lack of stimulation. On the contrary. I am subsumed in a raging torrent of new and extraordinary feelings and experiences. I am learning whole new dimensions of my submission, and making surprising new discoveries about my kinks and turn-ons (including that I am an outrageous slut with an astonishing fondness for being lovingly degraded). I am feeling wonderfully connected and deeply cared for by my Goddess.
Denial isn’t about absence. It isn’t about removing sensation and preventing experience. Denial is about amplification. It is taking the core ingredients of submission and service and intensifying them, raising them to higher levels and sustaining those feelings on an extended basis.
Through the end of the month, I am an (un)locked and (very) kept and denied bear. That is all the sensational. It is also all the sensation. I won’t deny otherwise.