Stupid penis-having person

I posted a picture of me in the Looker 02 this morning and said there was a story behind it. It’s not a good story. It’s a story of me being a stupid penis-having person.

It starts last week. I was in the Steelheart and Belle was out of town over the weekend so I was locked up for a total of two straight weeks. Not that I got a lot of time out since I was locked up the previous two weeks, too, and she only let me out Sunday morning to fuck and told me I had to be back in by noon (which I was — made it with five minutes to spare). So, something like a month with about four hours of freedom, AKA the usual. By the time Belle got home I had been dealing with some burning inside the tube after I peed. It started out being mild and occasional and got worse and more frequent. Had she not been on the verge of coming home, I would have popped the emergency key and dealt with the issue, but since she was about to get home, I simply muscled though and amped up my hygiene by rinsing the tube each time I peed (it didn’t hurt at all in between). Turns out, there were two spots of red irritation that more or less lined up with the PA fixing bar. 

That’s the second time in about six weeks that I was driven out of the tube for similar reasons, though this time was worse. Not sure exactly why this is suddenly an issue, but I suspect it’s because I’ve been very active lately and running a lot. It could be that it was just too much bouncing around. The area where this latest issue developed was in the excess skin under the penis’ head that is the remnants of my foreskin. I find I have a bit more there than the other guys I’ve been with, so it could be that it got caught between the ring and tube wall a little too often until it was rubbed raw. Or perhaps the increased activity should have been combined with an increased focus on hygiene. Don’t really know.

So she let me out. Luckily, that skin heals amazingly quickly and two days later things were in vastly better condition, though probably not healed enough to go back in. By Wednesday, it was in good enough shape that it wasn’t even sore to the touch anymore. Which is where the problem starts. 

I was at home in the afternoon with only the dog as my company. I let him out the back door to do his business and, while waiting for him to find the perfect spot, found my hand in my pants. This is a thing a lot of guys do, of course, though I probably do it more than most when I’m unlocked if only for the novelty of feeling a squishy meat tube and not a locked hot metal one. 

As god as my witness (and no, I don’t believe in him, but I’m trying to accentuate my conviction on this point), I did not decide to do what came next. But, as I looked out the back door at the dog, my hand started squishing and kneading the penis. The penis, being a penis (and a needy desperate one at that) started to do what penises do. My hand, being a guy’s hand (and being equally desperate and needy and apparently conspiring with the penis) did what hands do when they find hard penises in them. Next thing I knew, my pants where open and sagged down around my butt, my underwear was pushed down under my balls, my left arm was propping me up against the door to help me stay standing while the waves of pleasure coming from my jacking right hand washed over me. I was rushing headlong into an orgasm before my frontal cortex snapped out of its trance and noticed the dog standing outside the door watching me and wanting to know why I was making him stand around in the cold.

I felt terrible. Like I said, I never decided to jack off. I never decided not to, either. It just happened. As the kind of chaste man whose condition is enforced by steel, whatever muscles one uses to resist that kind of incident are flabby and atrophied. It’s not that I showed no will power. I showed nothing but animal instinct.

So I went upstairs and tried to do some work. That didn’t last long. I opened the Tumblr app and flipped through and the penis, which never really went all the way soft anyway, was back in force. I rubbed it though my jeans and felt the ejaculate my previous stroking pulled up had leaked all over inside my underwear and was starting to soak through the denim in a large dark patch. I flipped over to Literotica and found a hot enough story when my hand started pulling the buttons of my fly open and I finally found a way to stop the madness. It was incredibly hard (pun intended). My head was swimming in the hormonal cloud of intense frustration. My face felt flushed and I was even a little light-headed, but I knew I was heading into very dangerous waters. Yes, I had broken Belle’s rule about playing with it, but that’s perhaps a veinal sin compared to actually making myself come. This whole incident lasted maybe ten minutes, but I went from a simple, unsuspecting rabbit released on his own recognizance minding his own business to rabid drunken scofflaw Gila monster shooting up the town from the window of his ’73 Pontiac GTO.

I had to go back in. I had to. But I still wasn’t in the right condition to be in the Steelheart, so I rooted around until I found the Looker 02. I shoved it up the penis, turned the key in the lock, and put the key in the usual spot for Belle to find. She didn’t find it though and, when she noticed I was in it, she didn’t ask why. I never had the courage to bring it up. Good thing she doesn’t know about this blog…oh, wait.

Anyway, that’s how I ended up the Looker 02.

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