Bad touch

I was going to the trainer on Saturday and decided, since I’m locked up on my own recognizance, that I’d let myself out beforehand. I don’t need to be unlocked when training, but I had gotten used to not being in the steel and when I’m being stretched the device makes an unusual bulge (plus, on a couple of occasions, there have been inexplicable clicking noises coming from my crotch when doing jumping exercises).

So yeah, I decided I’d get out but that I’d put the locking cock ring on instead. I had the key in a pants pocket though I couldn’t remember exactly which pants it was. I went to the pair hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Nope. No key. Hmm. I was pretty sure that’s where it was. Then I went to the pair of jeans I had on a few days earlier. Not there. I dug into the hamper and checked yet another pair of jeans. No dice.

I admit I experienced a brief flash of panic. We have several locks and I used the first one that plopped out of the little silky bag Belle keeps them in. It had just the one key which meant the spare was likely the emergency key in the little steel key safe she lets me carry just in case, but until I popped the seal I couldn’t be sure. In the time it took me to get to the drawer where the spare lived, I wondered if this particular lock only had one key now. I know we thought we lost a key at one point. That’s why we have more than one lock.

Crisis averted. The spare was to the lock in the device. Then, today, I found Belle’s key deep in the pocket of the first pair of pants I checked in the first place. We have a full set of keys again.

A little while back, I bought a bunch of little numbered blue plastic key safe seals. I had been thinking for a while that since Belle doesn’t ever check the numbers being used and that I had the all the extras I could, conceivably, cheat by popping the spare whenever I wanted to and locking it back up again afterward. I thought giving the seals to Belle was a better idea, but she hides everything within a two square foot space (except for the key which she usually has with her all the time) so they weren’t exactly out of reach to me. I think I have a better idea, anyway.

Off to the right of this post in the blog’s sidebar I have placed a log of the seals used (including the current one). As they get broken, I’ll record the date and reason plus add the new one’s number to the top of the list. I’ve went back a few since it was pretty easy to do so, but obviously we’ve gone through more than the three currently listed. It seems to me this is the most secure way to deal with the spare since the number of the current seal is essentially public knowledge.

In any event, in the few hours I was out prior to going to the trainer I was as weak as ever and took full advantage of the situation. The cock ring, of course, does nothing to keep my hands off the penis so there it was. Minutes before I had to leave for the gym, I ended up giving myself a very productive ruined orgasm. I know it was ruined because even as the creamy goo was shooting into my hand I was thinking how fine it would feel sitting in my mouth being swished around by my tongue. There was a ton of the stuff and it covered my palm and got in between my fingers and I licked every bit of it clean. Even the few extra drops I milked out afterward. I savored it in all its slimy glory and swallowed it in a thick gulp.

I have mentioned before that my main trainer is a massive West African dude. He’s nearly a foot taller than my six feet. I can appreciate the fact that he’s a fine specimen of the human species, but I have to admit I don’t find him all that sexually interesting. He’s simply not my type. The only thing about him that kind of transfixes me is that I can sometimes totally see his dick when he’s wearing the right stretchy pants. Not surprisingly, since everything else about him is large, his cock looks pretty big. In its flaccid state (obviously), it appears to be at least four or five inches long as it gracefully arches downward. Some days, I can even tell he’s circumcised. I know that flaccid length is not necessarily relevant to erect length, but still. Chances are good he’s near the top of the bell curve.

Anyway, the reason I tell you all this is because yesterday he had me laying on a bench on my back doing chest presses. It was my third set and he’d kicked up the weight pretty high (for me, anyway). He was standing close to me in order to spot the weight in case it turned out to be too much for me and as I started to lift it, my right hand – I am certain – brushed against his cock. It’s bad enough that he’s walking around showing everyone his dick, it’s worse when one of his clients is as fucking horned up as I am and actually gets to touch the damned thing. I know the contact was purely accidental. He stepped back a bit and I kept lifting, though I was replaying the brief sensory input over and over as I completed the set.

Once I got home I went into the bathroom and put the device back on as quickly as possible. I didn’t think, I didn’t touch, I just locked it all back up. Belle gets home on Thursday. I wish there was some way for me to get rid of the key until then. Things are just so much simpler when I have zero control over penis access.

2 thoughts on “Bad touch

  1. I wish I was getting accidental cock brushes at the gym, instead with my trainer its sweaty sideboob against my forearms.

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