Tent me

While away from Belle during a week in the deep woods camping at the end of July, I jacked off twice to completion in my tent.

Why? I can claim the first time was due to me not being able to relax and sleep, but that doesn’t explain the second time. There’s really no excuse. I wore the locking cock ring as a reminder of things but had to take it off due to it rubbing me badly and I didn’t have any lube with me to fix it. I masturbated once it was off. So I don’t know. I’m weak. I’m stupid. I was away from Belle and and far outside my day-to-day rhythms. And I was unlocked.

I am not the same person when I’m locked up. I would never think of taking Belle’s key or opening mine and using it to let the penis out for a quick one. I totally could do that, but I would never. Even if I wasn’t locked up, the chances of me jacking off while at home are pretty distant. I will sometimes fiddle with the penis and get it hard, give it a squeeze and a pull. But to furiously wank on it? So much so that I shoot? No.

But in the tent. Far away from Belle and the sphere of normal life. Without the impediment of a physical device. I changed. That’s all there is to say.

I’m not happy about it. I wish I hadn’t done it. I almost feel like that person was a different version of me. I guess, in a way, it was. It’s also a reminder of how deeply the need to find sexual release is built into us. All of us. How quickly we can regress to the mean. The first time, maybe I had a reason. The second time, I did it because I felt like it.

Belle, of course, knew. Before I had a chance to tell her (and I was going to tell her) she told me. I can’t say what it was exactly that tipped her off, but she could tell. Then, while fucking her the weekend I got home, I accidentally came again.

Maybe because of all the coming, my predilection towards being locked up was at a low ebb and my mom came to town and Belle forgot to tell me to go back in. So on top of everything else, I wasn’t secured for a week while Belle assumed I was. But since she never actually told me to go back in, I rationalized.

So yeah, I’ve been a bad rabbit.

I share all this not because it’s especially hot or makes good reading but to highlight how hard I think being a denied man is. In that tent in those woods, I failed. I did what I wanted and disregarded my previous pledges to the contrary.

It affected my mood. Besides the chemical hits that accompany orgasm, there was the reality of not living as I was supposed to. Not living up to her expectations and even my own. Plus there’s other things compounding that that aren’t for this blog. But I haven’t felt myself, really, since then.

Belle’s recent clarifications regarding her expectations of when I’ll be locked in a device (as in, all the time unless she says otherwise) has helped. I’ve been in the Steelheart nearly continuously expect for a day or so she let me out because I was sick and the two 30-minute periods this weekend when she wanted to fuck. She’d get up and leave the room when she was finished with me and I had to put the device back over the still-turgid and wet penis, shoving and pushing until the lock turned. She didn’t tell me to, she expected it. Living like this has made me feel more myself. Less like tent me and more like locked me. I like that me. Belle does, too.

In reality, it’s a relief to know I am expected to always be in a device. That absent specific direction on the matter, I should always every time be locked. I resent not being in one, anyway. I don’t think of myself as complete anymore if I can see and feel the penis. I would rather step out of the shower and see shiny steel than a fleshy tube. I’d rather feel the comforting discomfort of a constrained erection in the morning than not. I want to feel the heft of the thing swing when I turn over in bed. I want to feel it pressing up against me as I lay on my stomach. I want to feel the hardness of the tube pushing into my balls when driving and wearing my jeans. I want to be able to put my hands down my pants and feel the lock. That’s who I aspire to be. Because it makes me feel more like the me she prefers. Because that me can’t fuck up and come because he feels like it.