Two words: Not plastics

I was not wrong when I said the CB-6000 was “airport friendly (at least until the backscatter scanners arrive at MSP),” but my information was out of date. Apparently, back in August, MSP took delivery of the devices and expected to have them up and running “in a few weeks.”

I was still willing to wear the plastic through and take my chances, but Belle decided to go with plan 1 from the other day. I packed the Steelheart in a big woolen sock and put it on after I arrived. I decided not to bring the PA fixing and mess with all that since the idea of “total security” seems kinda silly when the key’s in my pocket.

Over on Chastity Forums, Dev said:

Thumper, are you truly so undisciplined that you can’t be unlocked for the duration of a plane ride and then when you get to your destination and lock yourself back up, you can’t be trusted, knowing that the key is in your possession?

I don’t think it’s so much a question of what I’m of capable of or whether or not Belle can trust me to do what she asks, it’s more a question of control. Belle seemed to prefer the option that maintained at much control over me as possible. And I preferred that option, too.

In fact, I actually prefer wearing it rather than not as long as I’m not allowed to play with myself. This morning, I woke up with a fat tube and knew, had the device not been there, I’d have found my hand around the cock before I even knew what was happening. Sure, I could have just rolled over and grabbed the key, but I’m just as invested in Belle’s control over me as she is. So, instead of “cheating”, I did the usual pathetic tube groping, simultaneously wishing I could get to the contents and really happy I can’t.

So anyway, the whole kerfuffle is moot since, as I went though security, not only were there no operating backscatter scanners, there were no backscatter scanners visible. Like, they weren’t there. Typical. Also, I found once I got here that I left the silicone lube at home. I’m left using that little tube of hotel lotion to keep the sack slippery. It doesn’t work as well, but it’s passible. Belle told me that if things got to be too uncomfortable, I could take the device off.

She’s so thoughtful, isn’t she?

The hard part

Friday morning, Belle wanted some. I was still in my funky mood and not entirely interested in giving it up, but damn if my hormones didn’t betray me. All she had to do was put her hands in the right places and show me her tits and I was all over her.

She came with my face planted firmly against her snatch, my tongue pressed hard against her clit. I rolled over next to her, hand grasping the hard steel tube between my legs, seething.

“How do you feel?” she asked, knowing I had not been myself lately.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” was all I could say. It was true. The cock was throbbing in its prison. It had been nearly six weeks with only a brief trip out when I was sick. I wanted to feel her hot pussy envelope her hard cock. Really. Bad.

“Well, you’re still going to have to wait,” she said. I’m only half way to my next orgasm, sometime around the end of December. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll let you in for a little bit so you can remember what it felt like, but not right now.”

The thought of being let out and allowed to fuck her, even without coming, has been with me ever since. Countless times each day, hand on my crotch, thinking of being free and balls deep, hot and wet. I really can’t stop thinking about it.

Tonight, as we went to bed, she knew I wanted it and I had a pretty good idea something was going to happen. Once the kids were asleep, she told me to get naked and I plastered myself against her, slowly grinding the steel into her leg, my lips against her chin and throat.

“Do you deserve it?” she asked, knowing clearly what was on my mind.

“What?” I stumbled. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know if I deserve it. But I want it. I want to fuck you so bad.”

“That’s not the same.”

I continued to nuzzle her and kiss her and wait out her judgment. I wanted the steel off. I wanted to be inside her.

“You don’t deserve it,” she finally said. I whimpered and the cock surged. She told me I hadn’t been keeping up with my duties lately, which is true, and that I needed to shape up before she let me fuck her, even without coming. I lobbied back, reminding her of all the things I had done in the previous 48 hours, desperate for credit. Desperate to salvage the opportunity.

“Don’t whine,” she said firmly. “You told me to make it hard. This is the hard part. Do a good job and maybe I’ll let you out. In the mean time, I’ll let you give me an orgasm.”

It’s true, I had told her it had to be hard or it wouldn’t feel real. But fucking hell, all I wanted was a few minutes out. Just a little fuck with nothing to show for it afterward but a hard, wet dick. But no. I could feel the desire within me that had been building and feeding itself for days buckle and snap under the finality of her position. The door had closed. I would have to try harder to make her happy.

A few minutes later, I had Mr. Darcy out, but not in the harness. I was fucking her alright, but with the life-like, Thumper-sized dildo in my right hand. I pushed it home, all the way to the base and flicked my index finger over her clit. She started to writhe and squirm and I could imagine how hard she was clamping on the dildo deep inside her while the real cock, her other cock, pouted in its tube. She came with her ass off the bed, head back, hand clutching mine hard, silent scream contorting her face.

After a little glow time, I pulled Darcy out, sucked him off, and placed him back in the nightstand. She fell asleep, sated. I wrote this, still hot, still horny as all fuck.

Good night.

One word: plastics

I’ll be away from Belle from Thursday to Sunday this week. We originally got the PA-5000 for this exact eventuality, but as I’ve posted before, it’s proven to be a difficult device for me to wear.

I reminded Belle and said, as far as I could tell, she had three options:

  1. Send me away with the Steelheart in my suitcase and the key in my pocket. I could put it on once I arrived and send her a photo as proof. Additionally, I could promise to send her another photo within ten minutes of her asking to prove that I was keeping it on. Plusses: I could keep using her favorite device. Minuses: I would have the key. Duh.
  2. Put me our original CB-6000 before I left. I’ve travelled with it before, so it’s a known quantity. Plusses: I’m still (relatively) secure and wouldn’t be able to take the device off without the key/breaking the plastic lock. Also, it’s airport friendly (at least until the backscatter scanners arrive at MSP). Minuses: She hates the CB6K.
  3. Leave me on my own recognizance. Send me on my trip the way I came into the world, free meat swinging in the wind. Plusses: None (for her). Minuses: Do I really need to spell it out?

She didn’t like the first option since I’d have the key. If I’m locked up, I’m locked up. She doesn’t think it makes sense to let me be locked up with the key handy. Option 3 is right out because she does not want me to have unfettered access to myself. Like, ever. And especially not in a hotel room all by my lonesome. As far as she’s concerned, I should be locked up by default except for specific periods of time that she, not my travel schedule, decides.

So the CB6K it is. The chrome version is not an option because it not only does bad things to the cock, but I’m not entirely sure it’d pass through a metal detector. I assume there’s actual metal in the paint, but is there enough to trigger the sensor? Dunno. Rather not find out.

I admit to being a little nervous about the CB6K. The Steelheart is a relatively luxurious chastity device. I can achieve more than 50% of an erection in there and, while the pressure is still sufficient to wake me up most of the time, it’s nothing like I remember the CB6K being. Plus, I haven’t worn plastic for exactly a year now. I’ve found the steel to be a far less stressful material to wear full-time and I’m not sure how I’ll come out of the plastic after four days. Plus plus, the CB6K is less easy to hide and less natural looking under clothes than the Steelheart.

But whatever. The decision has been made. I’ll be packing plastic Thursday through Sunday, likely craving the friendly confines of the trusty Steelheart the moment I walk back in the door.


Maymay has this blog post that’s been sticking with me recently called “How not to fuck up a D/s relationship.” In it, he correctly points out that successful relationships are not a monolithic mass but are actually made up of multiple layers (like onions or, perhaps, parfaits), each building upon the last.

Expounds brother Maymay:

There’s this concept of layers, or more technically a stack, that is fundamental to the construction of many things in our world today. The basic idea is that one layer builds upon the things it receives from the layer beneath it and provides things to build upon to the layer above it. In this way, a robust and reliable system can be developed—and maintained—by segmenting different pieces of the system.

I think that a D/s relationship could benefit from a construction similar to this. It’s the way I think about my relationship with Eileen. I am at once her friend, her lover, her boyfriend, and her slave. Indeed, I am her slave because I am her boyfriend, and I am her boyfriend because I am her lover, and I am her lover because I am her friend.

I was reminded of this because, for the past two weeks or so, there’s been a kind of dissonance between Belle and I that’s taken the wind out of the sail for the sexual part of our relationship. The cause of the issue stems from a commitment Belle made to me a few years ago totally disconnected from anything this blog usually covers so the specifics are not important, but I’ve been noticing that she hasn’t been living up to it. For whatever reason, I find it hard to discuss this particular issue with her so I let it stew until it became a real impediment to everything else.

I finally asked her what the deal was. Why had she not done what she said she would? Her answer was, “I guess I just got lazy,” which is funny because the first thing I said in response was, “I don’t get the option of being lazy in my commitment” meaning, of course, that the device doesn’t allow it.

This is where it gets kind of squishy. I do think of her commitment as being more important (i.e., a lower stack, in Maymay’s parlance) than my commitment to chastity, but I think in Belle’s mind my chastity has stopped being just a game we play. It’s been elevated over time to be a fairly significant commitment I’ve made to her. A sign of my devotion. A permanent part of our relationship. And for some reason, I played right into that by equating my chastity to her commitment. So, I guess, what this boiled down to was a conversation about our commitments to each other and how we need to keep them. And a tacit implication that I will probably be chastised for the rest of my life.

So anyway, after Belle said she’d change her behavior back to match my expectations, I felt like a valve had been opened inside me. Within hours, I found my entire perspective about the device and our exchange of power had flipped. Before, I had developed a kind of begrudged resignation toward the device and had more or less lost my interest in being sexual with or even touching Belle. Last night, though, I was all over her and fell asleep clutching her body, my hands up under bedclothes. Her hand was down around the device and she stroked my balls as she fell asleep and I just about melted. On the way into work this morning, I sensed the tube on my body and the stirring of the cock inside and a warm, excited fluttering was in my chest. Once the issue with the lower stack was resolved, the issue with the higher one was, too.

All this is a long way of demonstrating that every time Tom says $200 worth if plastic locked on your junk won’t fix your relationship is totally and obviously correct. Also, chastity has stopped being a kink for us. I don’t think of it that way anymore at all. It’s how we are, not what we do.

Quinta dispositivo

Yesterday morning, I guess Belle woke up with a bee in her bonnet since I opened my eyes to find her wide awake and staring at me. She told me to close the door and get naked. Morning has always been the best time to fuck Belle, but what with kids and all, it’s a rarity nowadays.

In any event, I got naked as requested and got into bed and, sleepy or no, quickly found myself all worked up. My hands were everywhere and I fought a strong urge to chew on her and soon my fingers were deep in her soaking snatch. She came nice and hard and complimented my technique and I laid there and throbbed in my tube. Fucking hell, I wanted a piece of that. But, you know, it’s just been five weeks. I have at least seven to go.

Later, I was taking the device off for a good clean and shave (and also to put the PA fixing back in I took out Friday morning), and I found the tube full of clear, viscous precum. It was everywhere and all over the cock. I think it hadn’t dribbled out the tube because, with the PA fixing out, I tend to fill it entirely and therefore block the hole. As Belle was working her Kegels on my fingers, I was leaking what seemed like a tablespoon of useless natural lube.

By the time I took the tube off, though, I found the cock to be as flaccid as it seems to get so I took the opportunity to measure again for our new device, the Mature Metal Jail Bird. It seems to be the trendy device all the cool kids are getting these days, so what that heck. Belle said we could get one.

It’s not that I’m unhappy with the Steelheart. Far from it, though I have been thinking lately that I might be needing to get a smaller tube for it. No, it’s not that chastity’s making the cock smaller (contrary to a fairly common misconception), but over time I’ve found my body’s changed and the fit of the device now seems kinda big and clunky. I will probably still order a smaller tube from the Fatherland and, of course, having another device in the mix will make living without our main axe easier.

The proprietor of Mature Metal recommends as close a fit as possible to your penis’ flaccid size. I measured once on Friday and got a length of 2.25″. On Saturday, it was 2.5″. Over on Chastity Forums, a lot of guys seem to get 2″ or so, and as I said, MM advises smaller over longer for comfort (though, of course, that’s entirely nonintuitive). I ordered 2.25″ and then sent an email asking him to make it 2″.

A big reason why the length of the tube is so important is I’m asking MM to add an extra steel bar just under where the head of the cock will be in order to lock it on with my 4ga PA ring. That ring’s impossible to take off without tools, so it should provide really good security. Maybe not quite as good as the Steelheart’s (since that’s all internal and unreachable without the key), but way better than nothing. In any event, since the Jail Bird fits so closely to the size of the flaccid cock, I’m hoping there won’t be any movement relative to the piercing and I won’t end up with pulling on the ring.

Belle and I had a date last night and I asked what the longest period was she’d leave me locked. After a moment’s pause, she said six months.

“But that depends on how the new one works,” she added. “I’m not sure leaving him in the current device for months on end is a good idea. It’s like he’s a little Chilean miner in there. I want him to get out once in a while and breath. I imagine he needs sunglasses every time he sees sunlight.”

I reminded her that the Jail Bird is an open cage design.

“I know,” she said, “and if I like that one, I might just leave you in it indefinitely.”

So. According to Mature Metal, we’ll find out what Belle thinks of it in 2-3 weeks. Then…who knows?

Wrong way ring

For the past few days I’ve been feeling a weird twinge in the neighborhood of my PA. Nothing horrible and nothing I couldn’t deal with, but every once in a while it would just feel..odd. This morning, after my shower, I asked Belle Fille for the key so I could check on things.

What I found surprised me. In my write-up on the Steelheart from not too long after I got it, I showed it being used with a 4 ga ring, but I’ve since moved to a different ring that’s about 8 or 10 gauge since it’s easier to get on and off, takes up less room in the tube, and doesn’t clank around as much (and is actually just as secure). But, of course, the hole is still at 4 ga (and maybe even a little bigger). So anyway, what I found was the thinner ring had rotated so that the ball had gone up my urethra and was trying to get back out the other side through the piercing. Four gauge is a lot bigger than 8, but not nearly as big as the ball in the 8 ga ring. Regardless, it had gone so far I couldn’t at first tell which direction it had taken to get there (through the end of the cock or through the piercing). Basically, it was stuck. And that feels weird.

No big deal. I pushed it back down through the end of the cock and removed both the ring and the PA fixing to let things settle down a bit. The cool part of this little adventure is how possessive Belle was of the key. When I asked for it, she had a slightly suspicious and maybe even skeptical look on her face and, as soon as I came out of the bathroom (maybe 5 minutes later, if that), her hand was out immediately and the key was back in it’s little blue satin bag and safely ensconced somewhere in the inner reaches of her purse. There was a time when she left the key sitting in the same place every time and I always knew where it was. Now, it’s very much her key. Not mine, hers.

Along with that, she’s been dropping little comments here and there that go a long way towards making me feel all warm and squirmy inside (not unlike some of WendyWicke’s tips). So when I said yesterday that things are going pretty OK, it’s this kind of behavior from Belle that goes a long way toward making that the case. I know she’s thinking about me in the device, I know she likes things the way they are, and I know she’s appreciative of what I’ve given to her. And I’m so appreciative that she’s accepted it and even embraced it to such an extent.

I know it doesn’t make for very entertaining reading, but the lack of drama and angst is appreciated on all sides.

Talk to the hand

So, here we are two years in and here I am a blogger with not a lot to blog about because things are going pretty OK. I could talk about how I’m a month in on my three month orgasmless cycle and how Belle’s not letting on as to when I’ll get to come (Before Christmas? This year, even?) or I could write about the night alone in a downtown hotel we’ve scheduled and how it’s way hotter for me knowing that she’s not going to let me come there, but I don’t know…it’s all the kind of stuff we’ve been over before. At the moment, I can’t seem to find a reason to talk about it. Maybe later.

Over on Chastity Forums, however, a new member calling himself Bez introduced himself to us recently. Here’s a snippet of what he said:

About 18 months ago I read about male chastity which I interested me. I discussed the subject with my wife, to my surprise she took some interest agreeing that I did ‘play with myself’ more than I should and she would try being my keyholder.

And that reminded me of something I did want to blog about. And I’ll say right up front that I’m in no way picking on Bez who seems like a very nice, very sincere guy.

If you read Bez’ entire intro and the stories of many, many other men, not only on CF but also on other forums or blogs or miscellaneous online groups, you come to realize that an awful lot of us have similar stories. First, we’re at, around, or over 40. Second, the spark had gone out of our marriages. Third, we turned to chastity to help bring that spark back. Yup, check, check, check. But, overlaying that, and present is Bez’ intro, is the “I jacked off too much” theme. That is almost universal in these stories.

My issue with this is that it’s the man’s masturbatory habits that seem to be implicated as the cause of the marital issues the couples are having. If only he’d stop punching the monkey, it seems, their sex life would still be healthy and they never would have misplaced the spark. Frankly, I find that perspective to be anti-male and anti-sex. I contend that masturbation is not the malady but merely a symptom of a larger issue.

I do speak from experience here. My marriage to Belle had turned sexless after 10 years and I not only turned to porn and masturbation for relief, but eventually a living person. The porn, masturbation, and even the other woman were not the cause of our problems. We were the cause of our problems. Jobs, kids, stress (see jobs and kids), and the unsexy reality of sleeping with the same person for a decade all contributed to us losing focus on that which allowed our relationship to remain strong: our sex life. We stopped trying. Both of us. Yes, I cheated and that was wrong and I’m not trying to lessen what I did, but it was a symptom of a different issue. We stopped trying.

Men, by the way, are different then women. I’m not a woman so I can’t say how it is for them with any kind of certainty, but guys are constantly producing the byproduct of our reproductive systems and are constantly being prodded by millions of years of evolution to get rid of it. We cannot help but find ourselves with the urge to have sex at fairly regular intervals. If sex is nowhere to be found, we know what to do. Luckily, it’s not a chore. Most of us like jacking off. I view it as “sex for one” – clearly inferior to multiple person sex, but still pretty damned good (if you’re doing it right). I abhor any suggestion that masturbation is dirty or wrong or in any way negative because it’s not. It’s natural and it’s fun and, yeah, I miss it.

I also dismiss the idea men turn to masturbation because they’re lazy or can’t control their urges. Like I said, jacking off is pretty good, but sex with another person (especially if that person is someone you love) is almost always better. The prevailing sentiment seems to be that men abandon sex in favor or masturbation all by themselves, as if their partner in the relationship is blameless. This simply isn’t true. It’s a complicated set of events that leads us to that state, but lack of trying or lack of wanting on the guy’s part is not to blame.

So when I hear things like “we agreed I played with myseld more than I should” it makes my teeth grate. Men are not the reason marriages drift apart and their sexuality is not the problem. I am not saying that some men haven’t developed destructive masturbation habits. People can do all kinds of things to excess (from sex to drugs to video games to eating), but most men are not like that. Most men are horny and healthy and addiction has nothing to do with it. Let’s not play the victim card here. Men who masturbate instead of having sex with their wives are not sick or addicted or at fault. They’re just men.

That being said, there are obvious positive attributes from strictly managing a man’s orgasm. Doing so seems to trick the guy’s brain into a tight and (sometimes) intense courtship cycle. It can be a great benefit to some. But, as a wiser man than me has already pointed out, locking a couple hundred dollars worth of plastic on a guy’s dick does not a healthy marriage make. As far as I can tell, the hormonal brain acrobatics are only responsible for a portion of chastity’s benefits. Locking a guy up and then resuming things as they had been is a recipe for disaster.

The single most important reason it works (when it works) is that both of them are focusing on each other again. She “controls” him while his only outlet is her pleasure. In biology, beneficial symbiosis is called mutualism and it’s what happens in a successful chastity arrangement. It’s also the supreme irony: His denial of orgasm leads to a much more fulfilling sex life for both of them. But, even here, the orgasm or his lack of them isn’t the primary driver. It’s the attention he’s getting from her and vice versa. That’s why chastity makes marriages better. Interaction, intimacy, and attention.

At least, that’s my experience. YMMV.


I said there wasn’t cake, but then I found this.

Two years since Belle and I brought chastity and denial into our relationship. Two years of success and failure (the former outnumbering the latter). Two years, four devices (so far), a handful of orgasms for me, a much larger number for her. Two years and no signs of stopping or ever going back. It’s like we have a whole new marriage.

Thank you, Belle Fille.

Monkey bites

Tomorrow is Denying Thumper’s second anniversary. I don’t have a cake or anything, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

At the beginning of this past weekend, I told Belle that I thought she needed a minimum of two orgasms to make up for the two week long menstruation/travel/illness-induced dry spell we’ve had with regard to sex. She seemed receptive to the idea so, as we settled into bed Saturday night, I was highly expectational that something was going to happen.

It all started kinda slowly, but picked up speed rapidly. I was kissing her and licking her nipples and pressing against her sex when she latched onto my neck and started to bite and suck. Shortly thereafter, I was had three big, dark monkey bites on my shoulder/neck and a painfully tight tube. The erection her cock was trying to achieve was not the run of the mill kind that manifests whenever she allows me to pleasure her. It was seriously trying to bust out of the steel. And it hurt.

“I want you to eat me out,” she said breathlessly into my ear. Fuck yes.

I got up to close the door and the entire package of cock and device stood straight out and bobbed up and down with each step. By the time I turned around, she was totally naked with legs spread wide. I crawled up between with my head lowered, thankful for what I was about to receive, and dove in. I found, though, that the cock was so hard inside its prison that I couldn’t lay on my stomach as I usually do. The shaft refused to bend down and out of the way so I had to go down on Belle with my ass raised off the bed. That changed my angle of attack and made it so that I could only reach up and finger one nipple at a time.

She was quite enjoying the attention I was able to give her pussy and after a short while said, “Fuck me with your fingers.” I inserted first my middle and then my index finger and fucked them in and out, curving them upward to maximize G-spot stimulation, all the while continuing to flick my tongue over and around her clit. Her juices were everywhere.

When her orgasm came, I could feel it everywhere. The energy of it ran out of her pussy, through my fingers, and across my whole body. The encased meat throbbed in sympathy. I kept my tongue planted even though she was pushing it away. By the time the orgasm crested, she was limp and glowing and I was ringing like a struck bell, face still in her pussy, fingers still up her snatch.

Sleep came late for me that night.

Sunday, we were supposed to break out Mr. Darcy, but we had a bunch of family over that night and she was too tired to play. Her decision was somewhat disappointing, I admit, but even though I was really interested in more Belle-time, my disappointment didn’t curdle into anything worse. It’s at times like these, lately, that I’m able to somehow redirect the negative energy in a way that actually makes me feel good. It’s all for her, after all. She holds all the cards and deals them how she wants.

She snuggled up into me and fell asleep while I watched the Phillies dismantle the Reds, hand on my steel tube between my legs. I was and am horny, but two years in, I feel like we’re doing it right. Right for us, anyway.

Hand versus brain

Got home late last night, as expected, following yet another post-season loss by the Twins to the Yankees (don’t even get me started) and pretty much went right to bed. I wasn’t at all horny and had little interest in trying to make myself that way. I fell asleep.

After a bit, I turned over and partially woke up. My hand absentmindedly found it’s way under my pajama bottom’s waistband to the flaccid and free cock.

“Oh yeah,” my hand said, “that’s still here.”

“Um…what are you doing?” my sleepy brain asked.

“Nothing,” said my hand, “Go back to sleep.”

“OK.” *yawn*


Whoa,” said my brain, “That’s not nothing.”

“Well, it’s not much.”

“Just leave it alone. It’s not yours to play with, and besides, it’s sleeping. You should be, too.”

“Right,” said my hand, “Just a sec.”


“Stop squeezing that,” said my brain, unamused.

“Leave me alone. I’m not hurting anything. Look, it’s not even hard. I’m just…squeezing.”

“Why? Why are you squeezing?”

“Because, that’s what I do. I grip things. I squeeze them. Mind your own business.”

The cock started to plump up a bit.

Jesus!” my brain hissed, “You woke it up! You really need to stop this.”

“Really? I really do? You realize, of course, that I can’t do anything by myself. This is only happening because you want it to.”

Squeeze, stroke. Plump.

“I…I…,” stammered my brain, “I do not. No, I don’t. I don’t want you to do that…not at all.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said my hand.

Squeeze, stroke, squeeze, stroke. Stroke, stroke, stroke. The cock was at 80% and filling fast.

“Look,” reasoned the hand, “We’ve hardly seen this thing move for, like, four days. We should keep going. Just to make sure. You know, just to make sure it still works and all.”

“That…sounds reasonable,” said the brain, “But as soon as we do that, it’s back to sleep and you leave it along.”

“Sure. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Ninety percent…stroke…stroke…98%…squeeze…stroke…100%.

“Um…*pant*…er…OK…that’s enough, don’t you think? It’s working and all…”


, said my brain.

“YEE-HAW!!” said my hand.


“Moan,” said my brain, “groan.”


“FUCK!” exclaimed the brain, “Too close! Too fucking close! Stop NOW.”


“Fucking hell, look what you almost made happen!”

“…” said my hand.

“HEY! I’m talking here!”

“What, sorry? Oh, hi. Yeah, I was just smearing all this nice slippery precum stuff all over the head of the cock. Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Er…well, yes, now that you mention it, yes it does…feel…nice…”


“That’s not the damned point! You nearly got us in a lot of trouble. And now I’m totally awake. More than, in fact. You need to knock this shit off right now or I’m going to have to get us out of bed and put that damned steel thing back on. Is that what you want?”


“Then will you stop?”



Pause. “No.”

“That’s what I thought,” said my brain. Then, for good measure, it added, “Asshole.”

Five minutes later I was locked up tight. Very tight. And my hand was grasping the steel tube, pulling on it, squeezing my balls.

“Fuck,” said my hand.

“Go to sleep,” said my brain. And I did.