Tag: femdom

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The exchange

For those keeping score at home, after this year’s orgasms were over, Belle put me in the Steelheart. I was in there about a week maybe before getting some kind of sore on the head of the penis that was really pretty painful and caused me to have to come out for a few days. It was either some kind of nasty pinch between the meat and the PA fixing or some kind of irritation caused by urine or both. A rare occurrence. I had just about gotten used to the Steelheart’s relatively small A-ring, too.

In any event, she let me out for a few days which gave us the chance to have the sex I talk about about back on the 14th. Since then, I’ve been back in the Looker 02. For the active boys in the audience, I can report than I’ve run about 17 miles since then with little to no discomfort or issues. I’ve found that if I wear my normal compression underwear while running and apply a dab of silicone lube to the L02’s plug prior to starting, everything’s cool. Nice and supported, but not too much.

The other morning, I was still in the L02 when Belle reached over and started to touch me in a way that indicated we’d be having some action.

After she got the meat nice and compressed, I said, “I bet you wish I wasn’t locked up.”

“You mean you wish you weren’t locked up. I’m just fine with you in there.”

Yeah, she was right. I was trying reverse psychology on her. Didn’t work.

Still, she gave me and the constrained meant lots of attention. I was on all fours, half over her on her back, kissing her mouth and her neck while she gently caressed my tight balls and perineum, letting her fingers trail down my inner thighs. The penis was quite tight in its confinement, both within the cage and clamping down on the invading plug. She had me get the sack o’ nipple clamps from my nightstand and attached a moderately grippy pair of rubber coated aligator clips. Pulling on the chain, she’d force me into position so that slapping my nuts was easier for her. Nipples searing, cock raging, balls stinging and aching, on all fours like the moaning horny pain slut I am.

Then I reached down to finger her pussy and…

There’s that moment when you realize your historically vanilla wife is obviously getting off pretty hard on locking your meat into a steel vice, clamping and twisting your nipples, and knocking your nuts around like a little punching bag. That she’s obviously doing all that for your benefit, but also for hers. And that, since it’s not all for you, that means you have less control over how and for how long it happens. She’s actually getting off on your discomfort. There is more than just a little bit of a sadistic streak in there somewhere. 

All of a sudden, it went from a series of perfunctory actions to an exchange. She was hurting me because I liked to be hurt, but also because she was enjoying hurting me. And that, in turn, made me want to show her how much hurt I could take. It made me want to give her my discomfort and suffering. As much as she wanted.

Eventually, the clamps came off (with the sudden rush of blood and searing pain that always goes along with that) and slapping stopped and she let me sorta bask for a little while. The cage, however, did not come off.

By the time I started in on her, her snatch was hot and dripping wet. My fingers slid and slipped freely over her clit as my mouth hungrily devoured her nipples. My fingers, though, were not enough. She had me get Pink and the little vibe thrummed to life (with its new batteries) as I rubbed it over and into her wetness. She came weirdly and intensely. It wasn’t like normal, but still apparently good. I still wanted out of the Looker. I still wanted to feel that hot pussy from the inside. But that wasn’t up to me and it was not to be.

As I sat up to leave the bed, the sticky and sweet clear nectar of my desire shot from the hollow titanium shaft in the penis.

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One week down, 50-100 to go

“Can I come?” I asked, feeling the desire to do so build with each thrust of my hips.

“No, of course not,” she said with a laugh.

That was yesterday, just a week into the period of indeterminate length (at least a year but possibly two) in which I won’t have any orgasms. It’s as close as one can get, I guess, to living without them at all and that’s fine by me. I did want to come and would have if she had said I could, but she’s not going to let me. Not one more time this year. Not on purpose.

The last time I came prior to the weekend of January 5th was way back around July 4th. The date she had picked out for me to come again was January 6, but it actually happened accidentally the day before. She let me out that Friday from the Looker 02 I had been in nearly continuously for about six weeks. She may have been more turned on by the idea of fucking me than the other way around and on that Saturday, she climbed up on me, all naked, hot, and wet. It had been so long and we were so close to D-day that six of the seven seals I try and keep up in those situations were hanging loosely on their hinges. It was, for both of us, a very fine fuck. I was in OK shape until I felt her start to come and I found myself completely unable to hold back. Belle just felt so fucking good bouncing up and down on the penis. Turns out, I was a dead man from the moment she got up there.

The orgasm I had was unlike any I can recall having before. The typical male orgasm, if you graph it, has a period of build-up followed by a relatively short “oh my Jesus, here I come” segment followed by the back-of-the-head-eye-rolling spurting bit and finishing with the crash and sleepy-time moment of zen. This one, though, had all the grace and elegance of a tactical nuclear device. One second, I wasn’t coming, the next I was. And it was so intense and overwhelming that it pegged every sensor in my body. I tesned up solid and couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t as much distinct spurts of ejaculate as what felt like a jet of goo painting the walls of her snatch. Then, as soon as that was over, I could feel – distinctly – each and every one of the nerve endings on the penis head firing little individual needles into my cerebral cortex over and over again. I had to ask Belle to stop moving as it was all too much for me to bear.

So yeah, I came. Explosively. If I only get a handful more in my entire life like that, I’ll count myself a lucky man. But, it wasn’t the day, so she made me do it all over again the next morning. This time would be different. I’d be on top and, according to a previously negotiated agreement, if she hadn’t come before me, I would have to make her come by eating her out. Honestly, she wasn’t even trying to come before me. I was up there doing my best and all she was doing was letting me. As I got closer, a little voice in my head reminded me that no matter how hot I thought it was at that moment, I really wasn’t going to like the clean-up and that was sufficient to hold me back a bit, but the inevitable inevitably happened and I shot a healthy load deep inside her.

She gave me a few moments to bask in which I started to feel the revulsion of what was about to happen. I rolled to her side and started to finger her, hoping to get her into that and avoid my end of the bargain, but no dice. Actually, that made things a bit worse since I could feel how slimy and loose I had made her. Accepting my fate, I got to work, though I couldn’t allow myself to open my eyes and concentrated all my attention on her clit. Sensing this, she brought her hips up making me slip down and allowing my tongue to slurp in a gob of my revolting seed. God, the smell of it. Finally, she came and I was out of there in a flash. My own ejaculate was all over my nose, cheeks, and lips and ran down my chin.

And that was that. Last one of the year. I’m still not sure how she’s going to pick the date in 2014 on which I’ll be made to come again, but obviously, there’s no rush. We have all of 2013 to get through yet.

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01-06-13

Oh gosh, look at the time. Quarter to two and I’m up and doing this instead of sleeping. This is, I think, the evil denial insomnia rearing its head again. They say one tactic in helping to defeat sleeplessness is to get out of bed, so here I am. Maybe when I’m done writing to you, I’ll get at least a few hours before it’s time to hit the gym in the morning.

So Belle told me on Christmas Day, after a small amount of prodding on my part, that she’s going to have me orgasm on January 6. That will be almost exactly six months from the last time it happened. As I’ve said in the past, I was hoping she’d make me hold out for longer (perhaps indefinitely) but no. Sunday, January 6, 2013. That’s my day.

I spent the next day thinking on that. A bit of apprehension settled over me. Not so much because of the orgasm itself. I know from experience that just one isn’t quite enough to knock me totally out of the zone. I’ll likely experience a day or so of absence from want before I’ll really want a second. That’s what the apprehension was about. If I come twice in short succession, I’ll well and truly be all the way back to zero on the craving scale. I really, really don’t want to feel that way. Since July, I’ve had nothing to worry about except an accidental orgasm. I knew Belle wasn’t going to let it happen, period, so my entire mental approach to the possibility was different. Unless one slipped though under the wire (as it almost did the other day), I didn’t have to dwell on the possibility.

And before July, I would dwell. There was never any knowing when she’d tell me to go so it felt like I was always living under the constant threat of it happening. Yes, that’s me. The guy who doesn’t want to come. The six month schedule was a comfort to me. But now that is coming to an end. I’ll shoot one on the morning of January 6 and then…what? Back to every few weeks or months? I know, I know, I know. It’s not my call. But still, I personally much prefer the long and certain wait. I also think the absence of my orgasm has helped level out some of the hills and valleys we experienced in our D/s overlay before.

Tonight, just before she went to sleep, Belle stroked my balls and fingered the A-ring on the L02. She got me pretty worked up (hence, perhaps, this early morning missive). Just this simple touching was fantastic. When she was done, I even dribbled a little precum on her hand as I snuggled up next to her. She thought it was funny, I thought it was a little embarrassing.

Anyway, before she was done, we talked a bit more about January 6. She told me that after that one, that perhaps my orgasms would become more of an annual affair. In fact, the idea she toyed with (and seemed to like) was placing some “random 2014 dates” in a hat picking one to be the date of my next release. Which, means, of course, after the six month experiment she’ll be denying me for at least a year. Possibly much longer.

Of course, hearing that made the struggling penis struggle all that much harder. I love this idea. And I love my Belle Fille. She makes me very happy. I only hope I make her just as happy in return.

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Knife’s edge

Last weekend, Belle let me out of the Looker 02 for 24 hours. This wasn’t because she thought I needed a break or, I presume, particularly cared if I did. It was because she wanted a fuck. I would come out Sunday morning and go back in Monday morning.

The lock slid out of the L02 and the fat end of its plug slithered down the inside of the penis where it had been lodged for two weeks. That led immediately to an erection so insistant that it was almost painfully hard. Sometimes, even if I’m out, if it looks like she wants me to finger her to an orgasm and not want the available erectile tissue, the penis will actually go soft. It’s been trained over the past several years that it and sex aren’t necessarily connected anymore. But this time, it and I knew where it was going and we were both pretty happy about it.

Perhaps too happy. During the warm up period where I was sucking Belle’s tits and rubbing her snatch and generally letting her juices get flowing, she reached down and gave the stiff penis a few strokes (as if it needed the encouragement). I felt immediately how just that contact got the internal ejaculation gears moving, but put it out of my mind. I was confident. I had already been fucked by her at least a half dozen times in a row and didn’t come once. I could do it again.

She mounted me and slid her hot wetness down over the needy hard meat. The feeling made me groan with equal parts relief and unsated desire. I wanted to fucker her senseless, but she was on top and needed to get her orgasm before I could even consider my own needs. Again, I felt the familiar tickling of oncoming coming but clamped down and soldiered on.

Part of the trick is to just present the hard penis to her by clamping my ass cheeks together and thrusting them off the bed slightly so she has maximum ability to use its entire average length. No reciprocal thrusting. If I fuck back, the game is over. She doesn’t seem to want that, anyway. Just be the tool, Thumper. Another part of the trick is for me to put my mind as far away from the actual sex taking place on my body as possible. In the summer, I use baseball for that. This past fall, I used the elections (and thought of bad outcomes specifically). Now, though, I got nothing. It has to be a series of thoughts. A logical progression of considerations that keeps my attention focused elsewhere while she impales her hot went snatch over and over again, letting its juices run down over my balls and down my ass crack, and her breathing becomes sharper and shorter and the fucking gets harder and quicker and…STATISTICS. I need some fucking statistics. Electoral College math or fucking on-base percentages or league standings or something. Desperate, I thought of a video game I had been playing through lately. Lego Lord of the Rings, to be precise. A very pale substitute.

Finally, she came in a shuddering orgasmic crash. Holding herself still over me, I withdrew the penis and let its tip rest just inside her. I could feel it pumping semen. Surging its weeks-long buildup of payload past her quivering lips, filling her up. But it wasn’t really an orgasm. I didn’t feel like I was coming. I could feel the fluid leaving me but none of the mental fireworks associated with the event. Somehow, my orgasm had been ruined.

I know that now. Then, I wasn’t sure what was happening. I could smell my ejaculate and I didn’t like it. I could feel the slippery sliminess all over her pussy and GAH! It wasn’t supposed to be there. I was too distracted. I could still feel the horniness inside me, but the negative connotation I now associate with my own ejaculate was too much to take. The penis went limp and stayed there. I was supremely frustrated while Belle was bemused. She kept telling me how my window of opportunity was closing while I tried to stroke and pet the reluctant member back to life. Eventually, she told me that was it. I couldn’t get hard so I didn’t get to fuck her.

“At least it’ll give you something to blog about,” she said as she left me cold and sticky on the bed.

My period of freedom was extended by another day. Even though I had two showers and several hours alone with the penis, I couldn’t bring myself to take advantage of the situation. I wanted…something. But jacking off alone didn’t feel like it. Monday night, I got what I wanted.

This time, she wanted Pink to get her off. My fingers weren’t enough and either she wanted Pink more or didn’t want a replay of the previous morning’s misadventure. Either way, when she was done, I was allowed to fuck her. And, again, almost immediately I felt the orgasmic mechanism engage. From the very second I slipped into her. I can’t even say how many times I had to stop fucking her to keep the orgasm back. I never really felt like I got into a rhythm. Not like the last several times where the orgasm felt miles off. This time, it was always hovering just behind me. Eventually, I found myself skating down the knife’s edge, right on the cusp of it. Every fiber of my physical body cried out, desperately trying to draw it forward, while every bit of my higher brain pulled just as hard in the opposite direction. No, you CAN’T come. You CAN NOT.*

Emotions run high at these times. I felt almost as though I wanted to dry. Instead of the more typical animalistic feelings toward her where I’d want to fuck her into a pulp and then fuck whatever was left, I held her tenderly as if she was fragile and might break from my thrusting. I caressed her and breathed her scent deeply and she was all that was perfect and beautiful and my love for her nearly overwhelmed me. I thanked her. For everything. For letting me fuck her, for giving me the second chance at it, for not letting me come, for just being. Powerful shit, that.

Finally, she told me it was over. And I reluctantly pulled out. And I fell asleep clutching her tightly.

* Feel free to imagine a small Lego Gandalf confronting the Balrog on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, if you like.

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Metaphorical brussel sprouts

I wouldn’t call the conversations Belle and I are having regarding when I’ll next have an orgasm “negotiations.” If they are, they’re not unlike how a child negotiates their bedtime or how many brussel sprouts they need to eat before they’re allowed to leave the table. Belle is, after all, totally in control of when I come. That hasn’t stopped me from sharing what I think. Like that kid who wants to stay up fifteen more minutes or only eat two, not three, of the vile little green globs, I am at best lobbying.

I point out to her that we have been in a long and sustained Good Place® lately with regard to our D/s overlay. Perhaps the longest we’ve been doing so well since we started. Yeah, we have had a lot of practice by now, but the one thing that’s been different is my orgasm has been totally off the table. I know it’s not going to happen and she knows it’s not going to happen. So, besides avoiding the hormonal roller coaster that comes even with infrequent (say, every month or so) orgasm, I’ve been free to really wallow in my occasional desire to come and she’s free to totally shut me down since there’s a hard date out there (not before January). The further away I get from my last orgasm (which was around July 3rd), the more I’m able (in these moments of calm reflection) to realize I do not need them physically or want them in any other way than in a primal and situational sense. And, as we get closer to that magical “sometime after January starts” period, I’m starting to feel that happily denied male anxiety. Some guys, I know, never get there. They’re denied three days and they’re crawling out of themselves to come and never get to the point that they’d rather not. But that’s not me.

Belle’s not committing to anything other than reminding me who’s decision it is. Based on the few cryptic things she’s said (and acknowledging that she’s still ruminating over it), it kinda sounds like she’s leaning towards nothing so dramatic as some kind of “THOU SHALL NEVER COME AGAIN” decree and will instead go with a more reasonable approach where I don’t come indefinitely. At least for as long as it makes sense. That could be an additional week or…however long it is. Then, of course, I will have some skin in the game. I’ll do whatever I can to keep it from happening, though I know that when she lets me fuck her there’s a 50-50 chance I’m going to really and truly want that orgasm. For me, it’s a bit more unsettling. I’d rather know. But she, it seems, isn’t prepared to go that far with me. Yet.

So, we’ll see. I get at least another month. I’ll keep squirming in my seat and pushing my metaphorical vegetables around as she decides my fate. However it ends up, it’s her call and I know it.

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Big ginger

I went out for drinks after work last night with a client and a coworker. I don’t normally drink, but I’ve discovered I like whiskey and ginger ale. It’s caller a Big Whiskey in these parts, though I’ve found not all bartenders have heard of it. Also, I’ve found I like it with Johnny Walker Black. Nice and smooth. Buttery, even. Mmmm.

Yeah, so I don’t normally drink, but I managed to get one down before anyone else showed up and was well on my way to number three before the entire group arrived. The appetizers helped me get my wits back together so I stopped at three. I was in good shape by the time we broke up, but feeling very sleepy. Since, you know, I’m a lightweight.

When I got home, Belle was working on a presentation for work in bed so I zoned watching stupid TV until she was done. Once the lights were out, I pretty much was too, but she decided to have a little conversation. I can’t remember what prompted it, but she mentioned something about maybe leaving me in a device all the time. I pointed out that I’m pretty much in a device all the time now, but she said she was talking about forever. Like, I wouldn’t get out again. She reminded me of my last post and I, sleepily, reminded her that not coming ever again and not ever getting out of chastity ever again are really different things. I admit that I would rather be locked up than not and don’t feel right if some kind of steel isn’t between my legs, but I still like getting out once every week or so. I mean, it’d be such a waste now that I’ve become so good at not coming when she fucks me. Anyway, it didn’t get much further than that. I fell asleep.

Speaking of fucking, I got some of that over the weekend. She let me out Sunday morning but didn’t use the penis for her pleasure opting instead to come from my fingers. After, though, she let me fuck her. I was able to go for quite a while and, at least this time around, never got close to coming. I did want to. I told Belle I felt like I wanted to come.

“No you don’t,” she said.

No, I didn’t. But did at the same time. She mentioned that I should be entered in some kind of chastity Olympic stamina event, I was fucking her so long. Eventually, she told me it was time to end. I wanted to keep going forever, but no. She left me out the rest of the day and all that night. The next day, she put me in the Jail Bird.

I wanted to go in the Looker again and told her that if she would rather, I’d be happy to put that one on instead. There was a time that she didn’t like the JB as much. She reminded me that I didn’t get to decide which device I was in and said she like the JB just fine. So that’s what I’m in.

This morning, as I was getting back from the gym, she was just pulling out of the garage. I gave her a kiss through her car’s window and had one of those bolt from the blue moments I just never had when I was coming whenever I wanted. With her soft lips on mine, I was aware of her whole body and craved every bit of it. In just a few lingering seconds, I felt a jolt of electricity jump from my crotch, through our kiss, down to her snatch, and all the way back. I wanted to jack off badly but had to be content with tending the porn farm. Funnily enough, I found myself selecting a large number of images involving pussies. They were all so fascinating. Afterward, as I was getting into the shower to not jack off, I found my nuts slick with clear leakage from the penis. Even after the shower and after I dried off, it was still coming out.

So, you know, everything’s great here.

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Thirty minutes of freedom

Last Sunday was a bit more than advertised. Belle did let me out and she did, in fact, fuck me. Also, I once again kept it together and resisted coming. Relatively speaking, I wasn’t even close. This brings my streak to five for the number of times Belle’s been able to get off on the penis without me ruining everything with an orgasm. Again, I thought about politics, but with baseball over and the election about to mercifully come to an end, I’m going to have to find another unsexy thing to keep my mind distracted from the feeling of her pussy sliding back and forth over the aching, neglected shaft.

She also let me have a go at her once she was through glowing and stuff. Her pussy felt incredibly hot and sensuous and I was once again sweating out my desire to come in her. Cold, damp sweat. I ended up leaking copiously, but no orgasm. Belle told me the ride was coming to an end and I withdrew about 80% and just moved the head back and forth feeling her labia playing over the overly sensitive glans. Holy fuck, you know? I’m almost shuddering now just typing these words…

In any event, the Looker 02 came off immediately prior to the fucking and the Steelheart Short went over the still-sticky meat immediately after. I never left the bed unlocked. Couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes of freedom, but they were action-packed.

Later that day, after her parents had been over for dinner, she told me in the kitchen that she wanted to go at it again. I pointed out the kids were still up and she rejoined that our bedroom had a door with a lock. With memories of coronal ridges bumping past labial folds dancing in my mind, we retired to the bedroom and locked said door.

I quickly discovered that the coronal ridge was out of luck. The device wasn’t coming off again. We both got naked (except for the steel) and I took up my position next to her, sucking and pinching her nipples and playing with her pussy. Outside the door, the dog was going to town on a squeaky toy.

“He’s excited for us,” Belle said.

“Errhurmph,” I said, mouth full of tit.

“Well, he’s excited for me, anyway.”

“Ermph,” I replied.

I have a remarkably well-tuned sense of how her orgasms develop now and I could tell things weren’t coming along as they should. She brought out Pink, her favorite vibrator, and I used that instead of my fingers. Still, no dice. She took it out of my hand and benched me from below-the-belt action so I redoubled my attention to her nipples. Eventually, she came, but it was a different kind of orgasm. Longer and broader as opposed to a sharp crescendo  Belle’s just one of those girls who has a hard time with the multiple orgasm thing. More like a guy that way, actually.

Anyway, since then I’ve been back in the Steelheart after quite a lot of time in the Looker. It’s taken me all week to readjust at night. The nocturnal erections are a lot more intense in the SH-S with its smaller ring and tighter gap. Given a few more days, I’ll probably be sleeping through most of it, but it’s a very different experience from both the Looker and the Jail Bird (both with slightly larger rings).

It’s now been just over four months since my last orgasm. That’s clearly record territory. Belle mentioned last night that I’m just two months away from my next chance to have one and I suppose I should be looking forward to that, but I’m ambivalent. If I can go six months, I can go for the rest of my life, right?

Right?

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Changing outfits

The other day, I was stripping out of my day clothes and into something more comfortable whilst in front of Belle. She looked over and saw the Looker dangling between my legs and said that this weekend she’d “change my outfit” (meaning I’d be locked in a different device from her collection). Also, she indicated that she’d likely want to use the penis while it was available.

Last night, I was snuggled up against her, pressing as much of my body against as much of hers as possible, and asked when I was coming out. Based on how these things have gone down in the past, I assumed I’d have a day or so of freedom. She told me I misinterpreted what she said and then let me know how it was going to go down this time.

“So you’re just going to fuck me and then lock me back up?”

“Pretty much.”

Whimper.

For those wondering, it’ll be the Steelheart Short this time around.

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Happiest penis on earth

We’re back from our journey deep into the heart of the Happiest Place on Earth.

For those who were wondering from my previous post on the subject, the West coast version of the HPOE does not use metal detecting wands on park guests. That meant, after the first day, I was in the L02 until we departed. It’s hard to be around so many people and wonder how many other men are locked up. Or how many would like to be if only they could build up the courage to bring it up with their partner.

Anyway, it was good that the device was off for at least one reason on that first day since it was our wedding anniversary. To celebrate, we booked massages at the spa in the resort. In the past, my experience with massages has been that they leave a towel or other cloth for you to climb under during the rubbing, but in this case, the sheet was whisper thin. When on my back, I’m quite sure the masseuse (a guy who had a definite gay vibe about him) could see if I was circumcised (and that, of course, made me very much aware of the massage-induced tumescence that can spring to life from time to time). Any device would have plainly been on display. In general, I wouldn’t advise anyone wear one to a massage unless it’s your thing to share your sex life with strangers. Personally, I wish we lived in a culture where it would be acceptable, but really, it’s not. In any event, I had a 90-minute deep-tissue rub-down that left me rubbery, fragrant, and slick with oil. Really great. I need these more often.

Belle mentioned during our fantastic dinner afterward that the resort’s security allowed for me to be in my usual state and that I would be the next morning. Beforehand, though, she took advantage of our private bedroom and the penis’ availability to bring herself to orgasm while fucking me from on top. This is about four times now that she’s been able to do that without me coming which is a feat I’m pretty happy about. She prefers penetrative orgasms and I’m very pleased to be able to help her get them. At least for the past several times, I’ve been able to put myself in a place that keeps me far enough away from coming as necessary. This means I don’t actually get a lot of pleasure from the sex, but that’s not the point anyway. And usually, she let’s me go for a ride after her post-orgasmic glow recedes. Then, I can fuck like I mean it, but without the natural pay-off.

I went right back into the Looker as soon as we got home and remain there now, though Belle’s mentioned she might want to get off on the penis again this weekend. Not sure exactly, but I’ve been wearing the new device for probably just over a month total now. Interestingly, the urethral plug has become less and less noticeable during that time. I still feel it every once in a while, but it’s nothing at all like it was for the first week or so. Like wearing a device in general, the fact that I have this seven to eight centimeter titanium tube impaling the penis has become second nature. For those wondering, there’s been no internal pain or discomfort. After it comes out, it feels as though it was never in. Even the weird cavitating sensation I talked about when peeing, while still present, is no longer a discomfort.

The only issue I’m having with the L02 right now may or may not have anything to do with the plug. For some reason, since putting it back on when I got home, I’ve been getting the foreskin and edge of the glans pinched against the edge of the cap on the end of the cage when laying on my stomach in bed or after shifting my seated positon, etc. Not all the time, but enough times that it’s noticeable and not a fluke thing. I don’t know what’s changed, but I wonder if the penis isn’t moving as freely along the plug as it once was. When wearing a steel device for a long time, there will eventually form deposits like hard water scale. In the Steelheart, this happens near the inside end of the tube where the little bit of urine that doesn’t drain can sit. It’s possible something similar is happening on the plug shaft and that’s keeping the penis from settling in as far as it used to which, in turn, is leaving things in a pinch-able position. The way to deal with these deposits is to soak the device for a few minutes in vinegar. Afterward, they rub right off. Kinda like getting the scale out of your coffee maker. If Belle lets me out this weekend, I’ll do that and see how things change (assuming she puts me back into the L02 and not one of her other options).

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Scruffy and smelling of wood smoke

Back from my weekend away from Belle. It was the last hurrah hang out in the woods with the squirrels and other furry critters (and friends) weekend of the year. Not in tents this time but all huddled together in a rude, uninsulated “cabin” in the sticks. Belle at first said I’d be going in the Steelheart but I’m not ashamed (OK, maybe a little) to say I begged to be let out beforehand and she gave me the key.

The night I got back (and after I showered off four days of campfire stink and shaved off a week of stubble), she didn’t make me go back in so I was treated to the pleasure of falling asleep next to her truly naked with the penis nestled up against her pointedly disinterested hand. It got kind of hard but sensed it was being ignored and let me sleep. Being jammed into the cabin left little privacy outside the inside of my sleeping bag, but I was able to whip it out and jack off on the highway a few times. Of course, not to completion.

Yesterday morning, she left out the Looker 02 for me to put on after I got back from the trainer. When she told me what the timing would be (after I worked out and she went to work), I was planning on getting some nice edging in before going back under the lock and key, but was surprised to find I forgot all about that and was back in the device before I had a chance to do anything. I wanted to play with the penis but apparently wanted back in a device more (or perhaps I’m just that well trained at this point). In any event, I put the L02 on after lubing the tube with nothing more than my own spit. The bulbous end got hung up at the opening before popping in and getting swallowed up by the penis. It’s been maybe ten days or so since I last had the tube shoved up there and it didn’t feel quite the same this time. Still very invasive and never far from mind, but every little motion wasn’t telegraphed through the sensitive walls of the urethra. I guess it’s been broken in like a shoe. Regardless, it’s surprising how quickly this kind of invasion has become just another standard part of my chastity.

In other news, I was able to sneak a try at the Fleshlight Flight masturbator before I left. Suffice it to say, if I had had this thing and the internet when I was 19, I never would have left the fucking house. I fear for the future of our species. I’m pretty sure young men’s biological motivations to hooking up with young females will be totally short-circuited by this wonder of space age materials. No, I didn’t come, but holyjesusfuckingchrist, did I get close. Lots of leakage which I let dribble into the squishy sleeve. After regaining my composure, I’d fuck it again all sloppy and lubed up with my own warm semen and that shit just about made my head explode (both of them). I’m not saying it’s better than Belle, but if I didn’t know, it’d be good enough that I’m not sure I’d be all that motivated to find out what a real girl was like. Which leads me to worrying about our reproductive future. In any event, if you’re the kind of boy who get’s to masturbate and come and all that, you should check this shit out.

In a week, the whole famn damliy head off for a theme park vacation. I can’t be locked up for travel, of course, but it’ll be really weird if she lets me stay out for five full days. The Happiest Place on Earth would be just a little happier if at least one penis in it was trapped in a steel cage.