Belle gave me the key to the lock in the Steelheart this morning since I’m going to a ballgame with one of my kids tonight. We’re so free in the United States we need to go through metal detectors to enter places like sporting arenas. My god, smell the liberty.
In any event, I used the opportunity of switching between the Steelheart and the Cobra (yes, I will write a review of it eventually) to clean, shave, and trim. I’ve been locked up continuously for 59 days so it was time.
Note, I don’t count time out swapping between devices as “unlocked” nor do I count the 10-15 minutes it takes to do the cleaning and hair maintenance. Some purists who think permanent chastity means welded on might chafe at that, but it’s always been my rule.
The Steelheart came off and went into its vinegar bath (which is kind of like that scene in Star Wars when Luke dipped C3PO into a vat of oil) and that left me with…it. The contents. The thing I’m not supposed to touch except when doing just what I was about to do.
It felt so weird. Just how it moved and bobbed and the sensation of it as a free penis rather than the compressed object it usually is. It looked rather normal considering it lives a life not unlike some invertebrate under a rock, never seeing sunlight. But I found the way it shifted around and caught the light sort of mesmerizing. It made me feel kind of fuzzy and dopey.
I stayed focused on my tasks, but as I had to lift it to shave the shaft and the other places I usually can’t get to, I was left with the palpable impression that it was something other than me. Not of me. More something I was. A presence that was trying to tempt me to be that way again.
I got the shaving done and moved to the trimming and the temptation grew stronger. It chubbed out a bit. Not hard. Not a hard-on. Plump. Suckable. Heading towards strokable. So tempting. Like it was talking to me. Belle won’t mind. It’s OK. Just a squeeze. Just a few strokes.
I put the base ring around my balls and pulled the penis through and I felt it start to grow more from the touching and pulling and constriction of the ring. Before it could get very far, I shoved the cage down over it. Squishing it. Reducing it. Putting it away.
I felt simultaneously senses of relief and regret. I could have gone too far. But I didn’t. But I could have. But I didn’t want to. But I did want to. But I didn’t do it.
That’s the thing about being kept like I am. Getting out, even for 8 minutes or whatever it took to do the maintenance, even for someone like me totally committed to being permanently maintained except for those times she specifically wants to use me, is dangerous. I’m always on the edge. Cheating and bad behavior is always so close. Too close.
But at least now it’s tidy.