You know what I’d like to be doing right now? Jacking off. I’d like to be jacking the hard penis, smothered in lube, feeling the heavy PA ring flopping around, nasty pinchy clamps on my nipples. I’d like to watch my fist ride up until it was snug around the penis’ head like a turtleneck sweater and all the crazy fucking nerve endings there firing on my brain like a pirate ship sacking a costal village. Then see the shaft rise up out of my hand, then let it all reverse again. Over and over. Then, when I found myself at the edge of orgasm, I’d let go of the poor thing and let it surge and struggle and flex and maybe leak a bit, but then I’d lap that up and just keep going. Salty sweet nectar. The prize inside.
But I can’t. The penis is locked up. And even if it weren’t, Belle has forbidden that I touch it in that way. In the past several weeks, I’ve jacked off for a grand total of ten minutes because Belle told me I could for five minutes twice. That’s it. So, even if I didn’t have steel restricting the erection that wants to be stroked, I wouldn’t touch it because that would be against the rules I have taken to heart very seriously and promised I’d follow.
So, instead, I look at porn. Which makes the penis even more constrained in its steel cage and makes the desire to stroke it even greater which causes me to want to look at more porn which makes me…well, you get the point.