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A wee bit o’ nerdery

A couple of chastity nerdery items…

First, I’ve switched to a higher gauge PA ring. Not sure what gauge it is (maybe 8), but it’s way thinner than my 4ga ring. I’ve found that the lighter, thinner ring is significantly quieter in the tube than the heavier one. I primarily went to 4 ga for the looks, but I can’t see it in the tube anyway, right? The only slight downside to the higher gauge ring is that I can remove and replace the ball without tools, however that’s really a moot point since I can’t get the ring into a position where the ball is accessible anyway. I figure for those few and far between times I’m not locked up, I can always put the bigger ring back in.

Second, I have a new method for carrying around an emergency key. We’ve tried a couple of different methods in the past that usually involved the key being taped in a tamper-resistent way and carried around in my wallet, but I’ve worried about the key (a rather long and spindly thing) breaking. Also, whenever we’ve needed to use mine (since she’s lost hers a few times), it’s involved a bit of effort getting it back into tamper-resistant mode.

Yesterday, I picked up a little combination key safe. It’s light and made of plastic and uses a custom combination only Belle knows (the wire loop is for attaching it to a doorknob or something – totally useless for me so I might cut it off at some point). She wrote the combination on a piece of paper that was then wrapped in tape and stickers, etc., so that I couldn’t get into it without her knowing. The safe goes in my computer bag (which is nearly always with me) and the number goes in my wallet (and she gets to see it on demand). On the plus side, I can store the keys to both her locks in it so I know I always have the right one with me. On the minus side, in my bag isn’t quite so close as in my wallet, so there’s a better (though slight) chance I may need it one day and not have access.

In other news, we’re thinking of getting a second device. Well, fourth device actually since the Steelheart is the third after the two CB6Ks, but I don’t count the plastic anymore since Belle far prefers the look and feel of the steel and will likely never make use of the others again. In any event, this time we’re considering the Steelworxx Looker 01 (who came up with that name?). It’s an open cage style which will help with hygiene, but it’s most notable feature is an integrated hollow urethral tube. This would obviously make urinating way easier, and I presume is also a security feature since it extends past the A-ring, but I’m not sure of the practicality of wearing something like that over the long haul. It’s more expensive than the Steelheart, but I think I may be able to get it cheaper as I wouldn’t need an A-ring or lock since it uses the same types as the other Steelworxx devices. Also, with the euro trading so closely to the dollar now, there’s never been a better time.

The image from the Steelworxx site shows an incredibly short cage. They say the tube should measure the same size as the flaccid penis it’s meant to secure, but that would make it quite a bit smaller than the Steelheart tube I wear now. While the “flaccid length” of a given penis is highly variable, a reasonable measurement of mine is about 34 mm in diameter and 85 mm long. The Steelheart is 35 mm across and 105 mm long. Twenty extra millimeters in length seems like a huge difference. That’s about 6 mm narrower than the cock when erect and about 65 or so millimeters shorter. I’ve never worn any device that small with a hard-on. I’m not even sure it’s possible.

Another new thing I hope to be experimenting with soon is a solid penis plug. The idea being that one way to ruin an orgasm is to keep the ejaculate from escaping the body either by pressing a thumb down with force over the slit (which, by the way, is called the meatus – who knew?) or by pinching the shaft closed just under the head (apparently, the ejaculate gets redirected into the bladder). I’m wondering if this is a way for Belle to enjoy her cock while not having to worry if I come as a result. I’ve never tried to have an orgasm in this way so I don’t know what it’ll feel like nor have I ever used a penis plug so I’m not even sure I can get it in there. Either way, it wasn’t that expensive. As soon as we get a chance to use it, I’ll let you know.

I thought I’d mention those last two things to get the perspective of any readers who have experienced anything similar or just want to spout off with their point of view. So, you know, feel free.

UPDATE: In poking around the Steelworxx site, I noticed they now offer a Thumper-style PA fixing (though that’s not what it’s called). Cool!

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What they don’t tell you

For those of you keeping score at home, you’ll know I’ve been locked up for just over two weeks now. Sixteen days, to be exact. During that time, I think I’ve given Belle one orgasm. Maybe two. I can’t remember. Bottom line is, it hasn’t been all that eventful around here.

This is the stuff they don’t talk about in the hawt chastity porn. The week where she’s slammed at work and doesn’t touch you because she’s exhausted followed by the week she gets sick and isn’t in the mood followed by her period. Oh baby, do that to me one more time. And you know, as a normal guy, I’d take things into my own hand and deal, but I’m not a normal guy, am I? Not by any stretch of the imagination. She wants and expects I’ll be locked in the device all of the time, even when when she’s busy tired sick and menstruating. And so I wait. And I get kinda down. And I forget why I started doing this in the first place.

I suppose there are those of you out there who come here to fantasize over the sex stuff who might even think this is hot. A guy, totally unable to not only act on his sexual frustration but also beginning to lose it due to inactivity, locked in stainless steel…no end in sight…WHACK WHACK WHACK. Well, have a nice time. Don’t let me stop you.

I don’t blame Belle. How could I? Busy weeks happen. Sickness happens. Periods happen. Sometimes, they even happen all on top of each other. But that doesn’t make it any easier. All those “be careful what you wish for” bullshit stories out there talk about the exact opposite of my problem. Trust me, as a guy who’s been there, too, this is way harder.

I’m not saying I want to stop. I’m not saying I want out. All I’m saying is, I want this time to be over so I can go back to enjoying Belle and the condition in which she keeps me.

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HNThumper XVII

Today’s HNThumper offering comes in two helpings. Serving one, as you can see below, is what I call the “little peek”. Imagine I’m just getting my pajama pants back on in the morning and – pop! – the silver shell of my manhood sneaks a little peek through the flannel.

Oops! Let’s button that back up, shall we?

Click the jump to see the NSFW first-person view “big peek”.

Continue reading “HNThumper XVII”

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Prisoner again

It turns out, she did fuck me. She hadn’t had her cock in such a long time and as she slid down onto it, she moaned and purred in appreciation. It felt hot on the skin of the cock – hotter than I remember. And yeah, I came. I held back as long as I could, but there wasn’t any stopping it. She felt me come and that just made her all the more enthusiastic, but she was still a ways off from her own. The head of the cock felt like it was on fire in its post-orgasmic hypersensitivity, but she fucked it anyway. Fucked it until she came and I was a panting, sweaty pile of meat beneath her.

Beforehand, she had told me she didn’t care if I came. I really hate that. “I don’t care if you come” is, like, the exact opposite position I want her to have. I can think of several things I’d have rather she said. Such as, “you can come, but not until after me,” or “you can’t come and if you do I’m locking you right now,” or “if you come I get to punch you in the nuts three times/burn your nuts with Icy Hot” – just about anything other than I don’t care if you come. That’s the worse.

Before this fucking, we had talked about “taking a break”, but couldn’t really define what exactly we’d be taking a break from. There are things she likes about our arrangement that she just doesn’t want to live without and will not easily agree to giving up, even temporarily. Personally, I wanted to come more. I wanted a period where I was allowed to come pretty much whenever I wanted. I found that, the more I came the more I wanted to come. Not withstanding anything I wrote in my last post, each orgasm seems to push away my desire to be in the device or denied in general. After nearly three months of nothing, I wanted a change of scenery. I still do think that most of the time I should live without and with as much desire for them as possible, but it’s also the case that we only appreciate the things we don’t have when we – you know – have them, at least for a little while.

But she wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t feel I was being sufficiently worshipful what with my two orgasms and being out and all. She wanted me back in. But, just like in London, for some reason she never pulled the trigger. Each day it was going to be tomorrow. I did not want to get locked up again. Even if I couldn’t come, I still liked having the option to jack off. But, even though she couldn’t bring herself to lock me up, it was very important to her. One morning last week, after she had already left for work, I locked myself back into the Steelheart.

All that day, all I could think about was what a pain in the ass it was. Heavy, bulging, pushing my nuts around (sometimes painfully). I’ve said before how it has felt like the device and its contents become one unit. How the shiny steel shell starts to feel like my natural state. Well, on that first day especially, it was very clearly two separate things. A prison and its prisoner. Unnatural and invasive. Even though I had done it willingly, I can’t say I was very happy about it.

That night, when she discovered I was in, she was very pleased. Her pleasure caused the tube to pressurize. And, from that moment on, I became more like she wanted me to be. I am a different person when I’m locked up and, as each day passed, that other person – Thumper – has come to the fore. It’s hasn’t been a complete conversion. Sometimes, I still feel myself rebelling against the steel. And my desire to have access to the cock has an edge to it that it didn’t before I came. But this is what Belle wanted, so this is how I am.

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2 months, 3 weeks, 5 days

That’s as far as I got. Two months, three weeks, and five days.

The end began with me getting Belle off. She was on her period and I was locked, so it was your regular nipple sucking, clit fingering affair, except when it was over, my motor got stuck revving at about 5,000 RPM. Belle had been slapping my nuts around a bit and, if I remember correctly, had placed little chrome clips on my nipples. I was rubbing and pulling and stroking the hard metal tube, grinding my butt into the sheets, and generally tripping out on my own desperation.

“Oh, god, I want to come,” I moaned, almost against my will.

She reminded me my time wasn’t up yet. I said it again. She repeated herself. I did, too.

Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but I don’t want to read your whining on the blog about it later and feeling all sorry for yourself.”

I pondered. On the one hand, I liked begging only to be refused. That’s how I had started, not actually expecting to be allowed out. I enjoy it when she makes me suffer. But, as I laid there, I found I really and truly wanted to come. I needed to.  Two months, three weeks, and five days was a really long time. I wanted to go to 100 days, and I was almost there, but the reptilian maleness had taken notice of the chance it was being presented with and pushed me onward. The rational side of my brain, also desperately horny and wanting very badly to come, said that the 100 day thing was never Belle’s idea in the first place. I had come up with it. If she was OK with me coming now, and I declined, then who, exactly, was denying who? I almost had to come in order to preserve the order of things. Yeah, that’s it.

So anyway, I took her up on it. She got the key and I removed the metal and immediately started stroking while she looked on. Right from the start, it didn’t feel at all like the last time she let me beat the meat. This time, I knew, was going to be productive. There would be gobs of sticky white stuff all over me when I was done, not a rapid release so I could retreat from the edge of bliss. I felt the cock swell and the internal gears lock into place. In maybe just a minute, I could feel the point of no return rushing towards me, then fly past me. I started to come.

It was very intense. So intense, I can’t remember how many slugs I shot, but it was many. I felt a prickly wave run from my scalp down the back of neck and into my shoulders. I wanted the surging hot goo to never stop coming out of me. Never. I just. Wanted. To come. And come and come and feel that crescendo of orgasm last forever.

But, of course, it didn’t. In fact, just as suddenly as it started, I felt myself slip off the peak. I was still milking the meat, squeezing every last drop out, but the shores of Climax Island pulled away from me at sonic speeds. And, while not remorseful at all, I was disappointed. I felt almost immediately a sense of loss. Like I had been swindled into a transaction that I realized was a con the second my money left my hands.

This is beyond kink now. I do like the tease, the torture, the bondage of the device, and all that very much. But now that I live without them, I find the actual orgasm to be rather empty. The anticipation, the craving, the heightened sexual existence that comes from their nearly total absence is more rewarding, many times more, than the squirt it all revolves around. I feel so much when I’ve been denied – so much more alive – that the post orgasmic period feels nearly vacant of any feeling. The edge is all gone. The texture of my everyday horned up, locked up life is obliterated by the explosion of ejaculation. There’s no way the actual event of orgasm could ever live up to it.

In fact, I felt very little for several days afterward. Belle would ask how I was doing and I gave her noncommittal kind of grunts because, in fact, I felt very noncommittal. Neither good nor bad, hot nor cold, up nor down. I just was. Again, I wasn’t at all remorseful. Just kinda empty.

My feeling about it now is that infrequent ejaculation is necessary. Like an oil change or something. I need the occasional squirt to reset the levels and the vague emptiness it leaves me with is just a part of the cycle. I do know that, as I am once again starting to regain my sexual desire, I no longer like the feeling of what I once called sexual satisfaction. Living in a state of always wanting more is far better.

—

The other night, I was in bed with Belle, naked as she told me I could be and feeling the first inkling of sexual desire return. In the distant past, this feeling would have sent me into the bathroom to quickly and quietly rub one out over the sink, but that not being an option anymore, I was grabbing Belle. She had left me unlocked since the end of the two months, three weeks, and five days, so anything was possible. I made my move and was typically guy-like in my bluntness.

“I like you better when you’re locked up,” she said in exasperation. Just like that. I like you better when you’re locked up.

Almost immediately, she started to back away from the comment, hemming and hawing as if she had said too much. As if it would bother me to hear it. Finally, she corrected herself and said, “I like us better when you’re locked up.”

That might be true, but my actions would not have caused her to express that particular sentiment. She meant what she said originally: She likes it better when I’m sexually compliant. When the device she locks onto my body leaves me far less aggressive. When my frustration has no where to go and, in desperation, I seek only her climax as a surrogate for my own release.

And, of course, I was immediately very hard and way more turned on than I had been before her true feelings slipped out. I wish she’d own these feelings more and not be worried about my reaction to them. Hell, that’s exactly how I hope she feels. Hearing her say it – that she liked me better when I was under her control and unable to express myself sexually in any way other than in service to her – filled me with excitement, and not all of it sexual. I know that I occasionally push her up to her position of dominance (like so many other men in my situation) and that it hasn’t always come naturally to her or been something she’s comfortable with. But here she was, really feeling it. She hadn’t thought at all about what she was saying before she said it. It was awesomely honest and in no way contrived to elicit a certain response from me.

—

As I’ve been writing this, Belle asked me what I was doing. I told her and then I read to her the first 800 words or so. I’ve never read out loud to her what I write here and doing so was equal parts embarrassing, exhilarating, and revealing. I hope she asks me to do it again sometime.

In any event, I’m hoping to get the dick wet tonight. It’s been a really long time since she fucked me and I’m thinking a lot about how it’ll feel. She’s told me I’m going back into the device tomorrow, though she hasn’t said for how long. Nor has she said how long it’ll be before I come again. Perhaps she’ll let me tonight. I wouldn’t fight her on it. Even though I want to live without them, I feel the need for one. I want to feel it again. Just as much as I want to keep on feeling the need. She could start me on another period of extended denial and I’d like that, too.

Either way, I’m good.

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Whack job

So I’m back out and for pretty much the same reason as last time, though the symptoms aren’t as bad. I woke up Monday morning with an odd twinge on one side where the PA fixing is and a mildly irritated sensation down on the corona. I asked to have the fixing taken out and figured I could deal with the other part, but by nighttime it was approaching the super annoying stage. She let me out (after a brief time of not being able to find the key) and I again saw the same kind of redness around the corona and on the glans as before. I don’t know if this is a new issue or if it’s the same as last time that didn’t properly heal, but whatever, it’s back.

Monday I felt kind of crappy otherwise and fell asleep early (even forgetting to make Belle’s coffee). Last night, though, I was feeling a lot better. The free meat was urging me to make the moves on Belle. These urges don’t feel the same as when I’m locked and know I’m not coming out. First of all, in those cases, I find I don’t usually get really hard until either my face is buried in her pussy or she’s moaning and writhing around. I respond to her and my impetus is to feel her reflected pleasure. But when I’m free, the cock gets hard way earlier in the festivities and my driving motivation shifts subtly. I still want to feel her come, but the cock (an eternal optimist) starts sending up suggestions and dropping little hints. I find myself grinding into Belle and acting much more like a regular guy as opposed to what I really am.

Belle even called me on that last night saying my actions didn’t suggest her pleasure was at the heart of my actions. I guess it’s true. I had a hard, free cock for the first time in a month and really wanted to feel something with it. Call it a moment of weakness, but the cock’s imperative loomed large.

Turns out, Belle didn’t act on the opportunity. She said she was actually turned on by denying herself the chance to fuck me. I have no idea what to do with that or even how it makes me feel. Her denial is, of course, mine and I’m wired to want her to have everything she wants, but if what she wants is to deny herself…it’s an unexpected loop. She did place her hand over the hard meat and I gyrated into her palm, just happy to have that stimulation. I was really hard and really turned on, but shortly, she was pretty much asleep.

As she turned over to go to bed, she said, “Since you did a good job today, Thumper, you can play with yourself.”

I immediately wrapped my hand around the erection and said, “Oh, thank you Belle Fille. Thank you.”

“Of course, you can’t come.”

“No, of course not. Thank you, Belle Fille.”

“Try not to stay up all night,” she added, “and you’re going back in tomorrow.”

I was amazed at how quickly I found myself at the edge of orgasm. I couldn’t stroke the full shaft more than maybe a dozen times before my prostate’s payload was locked and ready to fire. I was able to make rapid short strokes just under the head of the cock for more extended periods, but even then I was on the edge relatively quickly. I didn’t pick up any porn and instead just laid there luxuriating in the sensation of jacking off. It was a chance for all my senses to absorb the moment: my whole body felt the bed gently vibrate at my motion and I could hear the wet smacking sound of the precum-lubed slit. As little beads of semen were squeezed out, I picked them up on the tips of my fingers and placed them on my tongue where I swirled their unique viscosity over the roof of my mouth. When I’m that hot and milking myself so freely, I absolutely adore spunk. My hunger for it knows no bounds. In fact, that’s how I judge whether or not I’ve had an orgasm. I think, “Would I eat that?” If I don’t recoil at the thought, then it wasn’t an actual orgasm.

Anyway, I soon found that I was getting way, way too close to coming to keep going. Even after pausing to let everything ooze back down, I’d be right back at the edge after two or three strokes. Also, the skin on the cock’s shaft just wasn’t used to that kind of abuse. One of the ironies of prolonged device chastity I’ve discovered is that the longer you go inside, the less you’re meat is able to withstand the amount of jacking you want when it’s free. The skin loses the toughness it has when it’s constantly rubbing against the inside of my underwear or my clenched fist.

I eventually wound myself down and discovered I was exhausted. I laid on the very edge of sleep for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually did have a fairly restful night. This morning, I can still see little angry spots on the corona which I’m sure weren’t helped by all the whacking the night before. They don’t bother me, but I’ll leave it up to Belle to decide if I’ll go back in. Honestly, even though I had a nice time with it, I don’t really trust myself to be alone with the cock for an extended period of time. Not in the state I’m in now. I’d rather she put it back where it belongs until my time’s up. It’s just simpler that way. I only hope it decides to go quietly.

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Needing it

Belle and I hadn’t had sex before last night since a week ago up at the cabin. She had been enjoying the warm waters of the hot tub while I was with the kids when she came in and told me she needed me to do something for her in the bedroom. I left the boy playing video games and the girl with her art while I walked to the back of the cabin to see what Belle wanted. As I entered the room, she closed and locked the door and dropped her towel.

“You’re going to make me come,” she said.

Holy crap! It’s daylight! The kids are awake in the other room! I’m…all dressed and stuff. Regardless, she laid back on the bed and told me to get my face between her legs.

Her pussy, fresh from the hot bubbly water, was so clean and wet that it almost didn’t feel like itself under my tongue. It was flavorless and smelled of chlorinated water and it took a few minutes before I started to taste her juices start to flow. She told me to get pink and shove it all the way inside her while I licked her clit. I could still hear the little vibe thrumming away, muffled by her soft flesh, while I sucked on her outer lips, reaching up and fingering her nipples, and trying not to grind my stiffly sore tube into the mattress too much.

Eventually, she came with my mouth on her tits and pink sliding all over and into her snatch. Then she told me to leave so she could take a nap. It was all so sudden, hot, and over. I went back out into the living room and pretended like nothing happened, tube thumping in my pants.

Then there was a week where nothing really did happen.

Then there was last night. There wasn’t anything especially interesting about the sex. Functionally, it was like most of what we have: She came while I fingered her and sucked her tits. It was a nice orgasm for her, but like I said, not unlike most of what we do. The difference was how hot I was for it beforehand. I told her, as she informed me she was going to share an orgasm with me, that I wanted to fuck her. I didn’t think for a second that I would, but I wanted to fuck her so bad.

There’s a little rhyme she’s been saying ever since I met her. “Hooray hooray, it’s the first of May! Outdoor fucking starts today!” But upon hearing me whine about how badly I wanted inside her, she changed it up to “Hooray hooray, it’s the first of May! Too bad about your cock today.” Needless to say, I wasn’t going to fuck her.

So then I started with the tit sucking and clit fingering and she came. It was a good one for her, but as soon as it was over I was absolutely out of my mind obsessed about feeling her pussy wrapped around what used to be my cock. I could feel it, warm and wet. Seriously, I’m running out of ways to say just exactly how profoundly fucking horny I was. It almost hurt, I was so horny. Come to think of it, it did hurt as the steel ring bit into the stifled erection’s root.

She got out of bed to pee and I was left there alone, like so many times before I stopped having reciprocal orgasmic rights. In those days, I’d feel the cock, semi-flaccid, laying heavily against my upper thigh, cold and sticky wet with the combined juices of her passion and my climax. The dank smell of semen would be hanging in the air as the ropes of wakefulness fell away and I drifted groggily into a restful sleep. I could feel it all as if it was just yesterday, but really, I can’t even remember when it was anymore. So long ago. Months and months, at least. Maybe longer.

It was another night of restlessness, tossing and turning and semi-wakefulness, always with a full tube. Sometimes, painfully so. I wanted to always be touching her body, either spooning fully into her or, if she was facing me, then at least touching her foor with mine. I craved her contact. I craved her attention. Even in sleep, I wanted all of her.

And I still do this morning. I woke up just as horny and just as desirous of her attention. I’ve been locked up (with the exception of that one day) for a month and have more than another month ahead of me before there’s any hope she’ll let me come, let alone get out of the device. That will be well over the hundred days I offered her back in March. Far, far longer than I’ve gone before between releases. She’s hinted that, when my time finally arrives, that she might let me come more than once. She’s even suggested “a lot.”

It’s all I can think about. Yes, I want to be denied, and yes, I asked for and even offered her this, but I want to come. I want to fuck and come and feel my hand and her pussy wrapped around a fully realized erection. Even if she only gives me one, I need it. Bad.

Just five and a half more weeks.

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Brought to you by the letter Q

I decided recently to change the word I use to identify my sexuality. Up until now, I called myself bisexual. I’ve never been happy with that term and using it has always felt like wearing an ill-fitting cardigan. I guess it’s all the negative connotation that goes along with it. Lots of gays stop in bisexualville on their way to their final destination and lots of wannabes who play around with people of the same gender in college do the same. It sounds flighty, shallow, and insincere. At least to me. If you call yourself bisexual, more power to you.

Gay doesn’t work either since it suggests exclusivity to (or, at least, priority for) the same gender. I don’t have that either. I can honestly say that I average out to a Kinsey 3. Some days, I find myself more drawn sexually to women, some days to men, but never even close to anything like a preference for one over the other. As I’ve mentioned before, I find emotional comfort with women, but I’ll fuck (or be fucked by) anything. Which, of course, is why straight doesn’t work either. I may be in a heterosexual relationship, but that doesn’t make me straight. I feel just as far from being straight as I do the opposite of that.

And so I’ve settled on queer. Of course, I’ve been aware of the word for a long time, but it’s always turned me off because I associate it (right or wrong) with a certain militant sociopolitical stance which I’m not comfortable with. Now, though, I don’t see it that way. This change in perception started by listing to Dan Savage talk about it in a recent podcast. He wasn’t talking to me, of course, but the way he described it resonated in a way bisexual never has. I like that it suggests difference from the norm rather than anything specific. I like that is sounds permanent. I like that it encompasses the kink side of my sexuality, too – this entire other axis I’ve only recently embraced. I am not like the other kids, obviously. Not straight, not gay, not vanilla (whatever that is). I am queer.

Of course, none of this is either here or there. I’m not going to have to change my census answers nor will this be reflected on my tax forms. I’m still exactly the same, except now the cardigan fits better.

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HNThumper XVI

According to the reader survey, HNThumper is the least popular content on DT. It is true that 48% said they either love or like my HNT, but a full third answered “I can take ’em” – the only category in which that answer was the most popular – and 10 percent (double digits!) said “Feh. They’re OK”. Twelve perecent (way more than any other category) had no opinion. At least nobody said yuk.

Two words: oh well.

After the jump, you’ll find yet another artsy fartsy image of me in the Steelheart. For those uninterested, move along. For everyone else, clicky click!

Continue reading “HNThumper XVI”

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In-N-Out

I was out of the cage yesterday. I woke up feeling a stingy itchiness inside the tube that was intolerable (and very unsexy). I’ve felt something kinda like this before after being let out after an extended lock-up, but I’ve never felt anything like it while locked up (and never half as bad as this). As soon as Belle let me out, we saw that the corona of the glans was red and irritated, and afterward, I noticed a red line running up and down the sides of the shaft that traced where the PA fixing would press against it. Belle decided I needed some time out of the steel to recuperate, so there I was: Unlocked due to health and safety and feeling very strange (but ultimately OK since it was obviously necessary).

So why the red itchy unsexy stinging? My theory is that it was due to the cabin’s hot tub. We were up there over the weekend and sat in it a couple times and I, assuming the hot water soak was keeping me clean, didn’t follow my regular hygiene routine. However, the water in the tub was highly chlorinated (more so than usual) and I think by not cleaning the tube out, the chemicals eventually started to bug me. The thing about a stainless steel chastity tube with only a little round hole at its end is that, most of the time, it’s warm and moist in there. I bet it never fully dries out. So, that being the case, I basically left my little friend to stew in a chlorinated chemical bath for 48 hours. Not smart.

Last night, after only about 12 hours or so of being free, we checked it again and all the redness and irritation had gone away. I asked Belle how long she planned on leaving me out and she replied that since it was apparently all back to normal, I could go back in right then. As I said, it had only been about 12 hours (probably ten of which everything felt weird and not right). I had thought about what a nice change it was going to be feeling a real erection in the morning after spending three weeks in the tube – three weeks of stifled, stunted wannabe erections. But no dice. She was putting me back in immediately. I never once got a hard-on outside of the tube before it was back on me.

As I was reassembling it, and even though I was doing so under Belle’s observation, the cock was very small and meek looking. Almost withdrawn. The tube was enormous in comparison and seemed cavernous as I placed the flaccid little specimen back inside. It was pretty obvious neither of us was all too excited about reentering the steel so quickly.

Which, of course, leads to another little slice of Chastity Paradox. Five minutes after the little sailor was locked in the brig, I felt it pressing against the sides of the tube, plumped with blood. I really did want to stay out and feel God’s honest erection, but I also wanted what I got. Maybe this time, I should keep everything clean.