I’m back from the woods and am happy to say I was able to keep the device on the entire time.
There was a moment, about half way through, where I forgot to lube up before bed and the nocturnal pressure caused a slightly sore spot under my left testicle. I worried it would escalate, as they sometimes do, into something that would drive me out. Every time I even considered breaking the lock’s seal, and then thought about what it would be like to come home with either the device or the opened keysafe in my hand…I just couldn’t. I wanted to show her I was committed to her challenge.
Practically, it was really only an issue in the morning, when I had to clean it, and every time I had to pee. I’d sidle off and find a slightly more remote tree or bush than most of the other guys (we don’t camp in campgrounds so even pit toilets were not an option). Cleaning was relatively easy since the shell on my truck, where I was sleeping, concealed both the vision of me in the act and the sound of the soapy water squishing around in the tube as I agitated its contents. Had I been in a tent, I would have had to have been pretty far away from everyone else since, as you’d know if you’ve spent time in one, it’s easy to hear whatever’s happening in a tent.
After swishing the tube clean, I’d lift up the flap door to the shell and dump the tray full of soapy water out the back. Nobody saw me do that, but there were at least two times I caught someone stealing a glance at the odd bulge in my pants as I sat down or got up from the camp chairs. Nothing was said.
This past camping trip, like last year’s, included The Other Woman.
For those not entirely up to speed, about two years ago I had a brief affair with TOW. I told Belle shortly afterward and that sent us along a path that eventually finds us here today. Go read the blog from the beginning for the entire story.
The irony of being in close proximity to her with me wearing such a mechanism made its original purpose as a chastity device stand out in sharp relief. Of course, I didn’t need to be wearing it for that purpose, but still.
Like last time, Belle knew she’d be there, but unlike last time, Belle had a hard time with it upon my return. We had a good talk about it and Belle cried a lot more than makes me comfortable (which, in case you’re wondering, is anything above no crying). The difference this time was someone posted pictures to Facebook of some of us there and she and I were in a few. The pictures were not damning or anything, but they removed the event and my proximity to TOW from the abstract to the actual. And it was hard for Belle. I understand.
Even more so than last time I was around TOW, I found myself very much attracted to her. I suppose the five or six weeks denied had something to do with it, but I also found that the more I was attracted to TOW the more I was enamored of Belle. It was like the one feeling fed the other. During our talk, I told Belle that. I have feelings for both of them, but they’re so different. Belle is the love of my life. I can’t imagine not being in our house, by her side, with our family. On the other hand, I have a certain affection for TOW. And I really want to fuck her. Just that. Affection and a desire for sex.
My analogy was this: Imagine a big redwood tree. Easy for me since I was just around them. Anyway, my feelings for TOW would allow that redwood’s roots to go down about three inches and then stop. With Belle, those roots go down. All the way down. I feel like I’m one with Belle. TOW notwithstanding, Belle is my mate. But, being a guy (and a fucking horny one at that), I’d be OK with three inch deep roots. For at least an afternoon or so.
We ended the talk in a good place. There was laughing and snuggling and, even though I was expressing to her my desire to have sex with someone else, I felt we moved closer emotionally. I found that, once the crying was over, each time I said I wanted to fuck TOW to Belle, it sent a signal directly to the tube’s contents plumping them out. Not with the thought of doing it, but because I was telling Belle. All that honesty was seriously turning me on.
“God,” I said at one point, getting up on all fours and enveloping her body, “I want to fuck you so bad right now.” I know, not the most romantic, but it was the hormones talking.
“There’s no way I’m letting you out of that,” she replied.
I sank back down, even harder than before.
She was emotionally spent and needed sleep. I was dog tired, too, but even as we laid there entwined, I could feel the grip of the device diligently embracing my nascent erection. I never would have thought, back in the day, that I’d be able to fall asleep with a hard on like that. But I did. And it was good.