I’m going to get a massage today. This is a Good Thing™ but, as usual, I’m carrying some steel between my legs and my masseuse is not privy to that info. As a result, I have to bust open my emergency key since Belle’s in Hong Kong until next week.
This is a perennial struggle for me. Right now, today, the last thing I want is to see the penis. I’m so grooving on being locked up I’d be more likely to break the key in the lock than use it to escape, but that’s what I have to do because I’m not an asshole. I woke up this morning gripping the hard, hot steel around the remnants of my morning wood and felt that electric craving for its contents buzzing in my chest wrapped in an insulation of submissive contentment. I know I have to get out for an hour this afternoon. I know it. But the spoiled little rabbit inside me does not want to! NO! DON’T WANNA!!
[insert adorable little fuzzy foot stomp]
Bah. Whatever. To keep the chain of custody in order, here’s a picture of the key safe with its current numbered tag along with the tag Belle left me to resecure the key before I leave the massage room when I’m done being rubbed by the adorable hipster I pay to do it. I will not unlock myself until I’m getting undressed for the rubbing and I’ll immediately relock myself before getting dressed and leaving the room. Later, I’ll post a picture of the key with it’s new number.
And yeah, I know it’s not Thursday, but if you can stand yet another fucking picture of me in the Steelheart, I have one waiting for you after the jump…