Cut me, Mick.

Belle gave me a signal on Friday that she was going to let me out on Sunday. To be honest, when I know my release is imminent, I start to lose patience with wearing the device. As long as the release date is nebulous and uncertain, I’m able to maintain an attitude that allows her to keep me locked-up indefinitely. I knew (or, at least, was fairly certain) she was going to let me out by Thursday before I left on my trip, but once I knew the actual date, I really started counting minutes.

In any event, the package was nice and tight Sunday morning when I got up to help relieve some pressure. Belle stopped me before I left the room and removed her lock from where it had hung for all but 15 minutes over the previous two weeks. In the bathroom, I slid my still-swollen member from the tube. The feeling of slithering out of the thing after a long period (and especially when more than a little erect) is hard to describe, but the sudden onrush of sensation on sensorially-deprived flesh with so many tightly-packed nerve endings is dramatic. The cock looked more than a little like Rocky Balboa in that scene when he asks Mickey to cut him. Red, shiny, puffy in odd spots (where the shaft is exposed between the ring and the tube, where it protrudes through the vents, and where the head balloons through the slot in the end), and generally somewhat disfigured from the angle of the tube and the presence of the KSD-G3. He looked a mess, but little trooper that he is, was ready for action (not unlike the Italian Stallion). After I wiped a week of tubal grime off of it, I went back into her bedroom.

“It looks so weird to me like that now,” she said after instructing me to remove my pajama bottoms. “I’m used to it being all locked up in plastic.”

“Yeah, me too,” was all I could muster in response.

Moments later, I was lapping at her nipples and fingering her and wondering when she was going to make use of her recently available toy. She rolled me over and mounted the battered yet unbeaten (literally) meat. The warmth of her took my breath away. I focused on her breasts and thought about anything other than how wonderful it felt to have her moving over her cock. Apparently, it felt good to her, too.

“This is what I wanted,” she whispered in my ear, “to feel my cock…”

It’s the talking that always does it to me. I can stay in my little zone, but once she starts talking, I lose my concentration.

She started to chant, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” as she approached orgasm.

That did it. I was so close, too.

“Oh no. Oh no, I’m going to come!” I warned, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to…”

“Come with me,” she said, finishing my sentence, “Come (thrust)…with (thrust)…me…”

And I did. And it was glorious. My first really enjoyable orgasm in two months. I didn’t even try to stop it. I just let the feeling wash over and out of me and into her. I emptied myself in a half dozen fat, juicy squirts.