Tag: FLR

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Objects are larger than they appear

Yes, we’re still alive over here.

Belle did let me out. I wanted it but at the same time didn’t. In any event, I took the key and removed the device and was free. That was as we went to bed, so I slept and woke several times due to the weird feeling of having a cock that could feel the sheets rub against it.

The next day, my pants felt empty. You get used to sporting a certain kind of package and when it’s gone, you notice. I was free all that day and again the next night. Even so, I didn’t feel the need to take advantage of the situation. There was no urge to. I was still out of touch with my own sex drive.

The next morning, Belle told me she had her period. She didn’t say it, but I knew that meant I should be locked up again. Back when I wasn’t essentially permanently locked, it was a rule that I had to be protected while she was having her period. That morning, before I put the device back on, I finally felt the desire to play with myself. It wasn’t that big of a deal. No toys or anything, but there was a moderate amount of stroking leading me up very, very close to the edge of orgasm. So close, that I found myself with at least a tablespoon of thick ejaculate in my hand. And how did I know that wasn’t an orgasm? Because I swallowed every bit of it. I ran it around in my mouth, so slick over my tongue, and felt it thick in my throat for an hour afterward. And I wanted more. A lot more. So no, I didn’t come. Then the device went back on and there it’s stayed. Belle has the key again and shows no interest in letting me have it back any time soon.

An interesting observation from my morning self-abuse, though. One of the things you’ll read on the web is that chastity devices make your dick smaller. I’ve always felt it was crap. And I still do, but I may know where the idea comes from. While I was stroking myself and feeling the cock get as long and as hard as it could get, it felt smaller to me than I remember it being. Now, I don’t have a big dick to begin with. It’s perfectly average in length and girth, but I could have sworn it had shrunk. I even got the tape measure out to make sure, but it was still exactly the same size as before (about 5.75″ long).

The thing is, as I said above, you get used to swinging a big steel tube between your legs. So much so that, when it’s gone, the contents feel much less imposing by comparison. It may not get longer when I’m excited, but the tube is always fat and stout. It’s easily twice as big around as the engorged cock and, while shorter, it carries a certain gravitas that mere meat cannot attain. Whatever memory I had of what my former cock felt like had been somewhat displaced by the steel tube.

And here’s the next bit of surprising info. When I was sure the cock had gotten smaller, I wasn’t all that concerned about it. As a guy, you’re conditioned to obsess over the size of your member. But, as the kind of guy I’ve become, it doesn’t really matter. The cock simply isn’t a regular player anymore. The only thing I worried about was that it may not be enough to satisfy Belle. But really, the idea that I was being made smaller and less…I don’t know…prominent seemed perfectly normal. To be expected. The cock isn’t that big of a deal anymore, so why shouldn’t it be minimized in every way? I’ve even started to like the idea that a lot of guys are bigger.

Of course, I’m glad it’s not getting smaller. I’m glad it’s exactly as it was before being encased almost all the time. But I’m clearly kinking on the idea of nullification. The idea that my penis should be made superfluous and of minimal importance, figuratively and literally. It’s an odd little cul-de-sac of my sexuality I didn’t expect to find myself in. And I wonder, all those guys who say they’ve lost size due to being in devices, if it’s not all in their heads. If it’s not a combination of wanting it to be that way and, because they’ve lost touch with themselves, thinking it actually is.

So, anyway, the turbulence I wrote about the other day hasn’t entirely left. I have lost touch with myself. With my independent sexuality. I know it must still be in there, but it’s way in the back somewhere. So, without that, I need Belle’s. I need to feel sexual through her. And when I don’t, it feels like something’s been amputated. Something really important. And its loss leaves me aching and depressed. I’m not entirely sure what will become of me. On the one hand, I’m committed to this existence. I’m quite convinced that I don’t need to ever have another orgasm. On the other hand, while I can live without the orgasms, I can’t live without being sexual. It’s more than the old saying that chastity isn’t abstinence. Of course it’s not. But I really feel that a transference is taking place. I have adopted her sexuality almost entirely in the place of mine. If this turns out to be the case and if it’s permanent, I don’t know what will happen. Right now, I can feel parts of me resisting it. But there are other parts of me that want to keep going.

The other night, I was dry humping her leg and, when I would usually say something like, “God, I want to fuck you,” I said, “God, I want to feel you come.” I guess that’s a perfectly natural thing for a guy with no cock and no ability to achieve independent arousal to say. What else is there now except her pleasure and, ultimately, her orgasm?

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Turbulence

It’s all cyclical.

This weekend, I was feeling very much not into chastity. Instead of it being fun and sexy and titillating, it’s been annoying, intrusive, and a bummer. The device that, at times, I’ve come to think of as my natural state has turned into a stupid hunk of steel I’m forced to drag around everywhere I go.

I’ve been hinting to Belle that I was moving in this direction and last night I pretty much came out and said I’d like it come off. That’s a potential minefield since it’s become more than just a sexy game. It’s now an integral part of our relationship. Maybe even unhealthily so. That’s why I was nervous and somewhat apprehensive about saying I wanted it off and that’s why she was disinclined to let me out.

Which, I suppose, on one level, could sound really hot. The ultimate wank fodder fantasy, right? Being locked up against one’s will is the Holy Grail of hawt chastity p0rn. Except when it happens in real life. That’s not to say she told me I had to stay locked up. She didn’t, exactly. But she did say she’d let me out in the morning. Then morning came and there was a bunch of running around (more than usual) and the key was never produced.

Why do I feel this way? No idea. One part of it may be that I’ve switched back to the Steelheart and, after wearing the Jail Bird for a while, it now feels really big and clunky. Another piece of it (a big piece) is that we had no sex this weekend. In fact, we haven’t since before she went to NYC last week. Yet another piece is I am finding it very difficult to achieve any kind of meaningful arousal by myself. It’s as though I have no sex drive separate from her. She gave me the token while she was gone (meaning I was free to abuse myself in any way I could while still in the device) but, just like last time this happened, I couldn’t muster the energy. All I want to do is feel her. Fuck her. Come though her. Again, that’s another element from the wank fodder. Being trained not to want any kind of sexual pleasure other than hers. Well, I’m here. In my current frame of mind, it’s left me feeling less hot and more depressed. It’s like there’s a hole in me. Something really important is missing. Oddly, though, any kind of drive or desire to serve her is absent. I’m not feeling a subby vibe. I’m not really feeling anything.

So anyway, she didn’t let me out last night when I asked. Made me wait. I don’t have a problem, in theory, with the idea that, by default, I need to wait 12 hours to be let out if I’m asking for any reason other than physical pain. A waiting period, if you will. Yes, she effectively said, you can get out after your waiting period. Just to make sure I’m serious. Because, as I said above, it’s a Big Deal for us if I’m not locked up.

But, she didn’t say that and we don’t have that agreement. She just said, “Later.” It kind of pissed me off. I was already grumpy all weekend and this didn’t help. Though now, after a bit of reflection, maybe I’m OK with it. I’m not really mad at her. I just wish there had been more conversation about what was happening. If she asks me again tonight if I still want out, I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to say. Yes, because I’m not feeling it. Yes, because it should be fun and sexy. But, also, no, not if she really wants me to stay in. No, not if she’s going to engage with the fact that I’m locked up and depressed. No, not if she can help me come out of my funk.

That’s the part they don’t talk about in the hawt chastity p0rn. The part maybe even you, my faithful reader, can’t really appreciate until you realize you may have lost your independent sexuality. That’s a freaky, scary feeling and it’s like losing a massive part of what makes you you.

I don’t have a tidy ending to this post. But, life is like that sometimes. We’ll see what happens later…

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Playing chicken

The other night, Belle and I were talking. I can’t remember how it came up, but she made some joke about leaving me in the device for a year. I shrugged and said I didn’t think she could live without her cock that long. That led to a series of “Oh yeah? Yeah!” kind of statements and now Belle’s saying I won’t be in the device for a year, but she is planning on leaving me locked up until our family vacation at the end of March. That’ll be something like five months locked up and orgasmless.

Five. Months.

To be honest, I’m still not convinced it’ll be that long. I told her she’d be craving her cock well before then and she said she’d be happy with Mr. Darcy. But, I retorted, she can’t come with Mr. Darcy. So there. Also, Pink remains MIA. She’s gonna get an itch only the biocock can scratch way, way before the end of March. At least, I’m pretty sure she will.

I brought up again that back in the hotel we talked about a break (though there was some disagreement as to what it’d be a break from – the device or the orgasm denial). At this point, Belle has no interest whatsoever in letting me have a break. She says I can have a break at the end of March. Spring break. Until then, no. It’ll stay on me 24/7. I actually would like it off at the moment, but not so much that I’m going to make a federal case out of it. It’s hard for me to discern at this point between the normal “god, I wish I could get to the cock” kind of feelings and something more profound (as in, “I really don’t want to be in the device at the moment”).

So, with the question of a break well and truly settled for the time being, I tried to make a move. I wanted some pussy pretty bad. Before she’d let me in, she asked me if I had done anything to deserve it. What had I done for her above and beyond my normal expectations? Well, not much, to be honest. She kept pushing the point and I started to back off. Either it was going to happen or it wasn’t. I obviously had no control over the decision.

I backed off, but I also withdrew. This whole “how have you serviced me” thing is a bit of a grey area for us at the moment. There was a time when I was trying to play the part of a service sub, but the truth is Belle is very hard to serve. She does pretty much whatever she needs by herself and doesn’t like to ask for any help. In a sense, there’s a fair bit of her that wants to serve and the part of me that gets into it is far from dominent. It’s easy for me not to do it or even try when she’s in a groove. Yeah, I’ll do whatever she wants me to and I do still make her coffee in the morning, but I thought we had sort of come to an unspoken agreement that the service sub experiment had ended.

She asked me what I was thinking and I said most of the previous paragraph. Also, the only way I could conceivably  handle five months without access to the cock would be through some kind of regular access to her. Since I don’t get any kind of extracurricular teasing, her sexual pleasure is my sole physical outlet.

She agreed the service thing was a little fuzzy. We didn’t seem to resolve its status, but she did open herself to me and let me make her come. She was quiet when it happened, but she assured me that it was good.

Ever since then, whenever my hand finds itself on the device or I’m especially hard inside its unyielding confines, I wonder if I’m really going to be in it for another four months. Just under three months is the longest I’ve made it in the past. Last time was “just” two months. Now she’s saying five.

Can she wait that long?

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Three ways to O

Belle’s home now. She arrived Thursday afternoon following a day of air travel and promptly got her period. One of the interesting side-effects of chastity is that it makes me strangely attuned to her monthly cycle. There have been times when I think I’m more aware of it than she is, but I was thrown off this time because she was gone a week. Surprise!

My oddly sexless feelings continued even after she was home, though I felt a lot of comfort being in bed with her again. But then, yesterday as the boy and I were heading out to see what trouble Harry Potter had gotten himself into this time, I kissed her goodbye and POW something snapped. The feeling of her lips on mine, the taste of her, my hands on her breasts. Tube was full, blood was pumping. I wanted to eat her right up there, standing at the end of the bed.

So last night, I was whimpering freely. All of a sudden, a fairly strong sense of sexual frustration had settled in and I wanted OUT and I wanted to FUCK. She was having none of that and made fun of me since I had only been locked up for a few weeks. Then, she started making comments about how my chastity was not unlike an experiment where the male of the species was being taught to fight millions of years of evolution and become more attuned to the needs of the female rather than his own. How long, she mused, would men need to be locked up before they started to evolve in that direction? Ten thousand years? Fifteen? Should I keep you locked up for 15,000 years, she asked. I whimpered.

Regardless of my whimpering state and the steel wrapped around my struggling erection and her period, she said she would allow me to pleasure her to orgasm. I expected this to be fairly perfunctory and not unlike the dozens of other just-before-bed type orgasms I’ve given her, but after a few minutes of nipple sucking and clit fingering, she rolled over on top of me and started to rub herself against the tube. I now sucked both her nipples as I started to feel her heat radiate through the thick steel. No sensation at all for me other than pressure and heat.

“God, I wish we knew where Pink was,” she said while angling the tube up so she could fuck it. We still don’t know where her favorite toy is.

“I don’t know where she is…but I’ve got a cock you could use,” I helpfully reminded her. It seemed obvious to me she hadn’t come at all on her trip. She was acting like a cat in heat trying to rub up against anything that would get her off (but, you know, in the best possible way you can describe someone like that).

“Where’s Mr. Darcy?” she asked. I thought for a moment that maybe she misunderstood my “I’ve got a cock you can use” statement. Of course, I meant the real cock. The one on me. But she knew that…right?

“He’s right here in my nightstand.”

“Get him.” She rolled off. I got him.

There wasn’t much I could do with him other than rug his head over her clit because, you know, she was on her period and the rest of her was occupied by a female hygiene product. Clearly, though, my Belle wanted to get fucked since she told me to go get her some kleenex from the bathroom. She removed the offending female hygiene product and I got to busy with Mr. Darcy.

As I was laying there, my legs wrapped around her leg, solid tube pressing against her thigh as I fucked her with a silicone dick, I was able to reflect where we are and how far we’ve come. I know I’ve said this before in a number of ways, but this is for realsy now. Letting me out of the device so she could get what she so clearly wanted was simply never an option. The cock on me was not on her radar and my status as the frustrated lesser half of her sexual pleasure was secure. A year ago, I would have gotten the real cock wet and probably would have been able to come with no real consequences. Now, I have no clue how long I’ll be locked up and even less as to when I’ll come again.

I fucked her with Darcy for a bit and then pushed him home and used my fingers on her clit while she bucked and ground her hips around him. Her orgasm, which we had worked so hard to achieve, built over a relatively long period of time and seemed to hit her very hard. I could feel her clamping down on Darcy, the luck bastard.

As her passion ebbed, I could feel the last vestigial chance that I’d get any Thumper-centric action evaporate. Sometimes, the realization that I’ll be left high and horny burns with anguished intensity as it wraps around my brain like a blanket. She got out of bed to attend to herself and I pulled on the hard tube, futily. My period of feeling nothing was apparently over.

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The hard part

Friday morning, Belle wanted some. I was still in my funky mood and not entirely interested in giving it up, but damn if my hormones didn’t betray me. All she had to do was put her hands in the right places and show me her tits and I was all over her.

She came with my face planted firmly against her snatch, my tongue pressed hard against her clit. I rolled over next to her, hand grasping the hard steel tube between my legs, seething.

“How do you feel?” she asked, knowing I had not been myself lately.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” was all I could say. It was true. The cock was throbbing in its prison. It had been nearly six weeks with only a brief trip out when I was sick. I wanted to feel her hot pussy envelope her hard cock. Really. Bad.

“Well, you’re still going to have to wait,” she said. I’m only half way to my next orgasm, sometime around the end of December. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll let you in for a little bit so you can remember what it felt like, but not right now.”

The thought of being let out and allowed to fuck her, even without coming, has been with me ever since. Countless times each day, hand on my crotch, thinking of being free and balls deep, hot and wet. I really can’t stop thinking about it.

Tonight, as we went to bed, she knew I wanted it and I had a pretty good idea something was going to happen. Once the kids were asleep, she told me to get naked and I plastered myself against her, slowly grinding the steel into her leg, my lips against her chin and throat.

“Do you deserve it?” she asked, knowing clearly what was on my mind.

“What?” I stumbled. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know if I deserve it. But I want it. I want to fuck you so bad.”

“That’s not the same.”

I continued to nuzzle her and kiss her and wait out her judgment. I wanted the steel off. I wanted to be inside her.

“You don’t deserve it,” she finally said. I whimpered and the cock surged. She told me I hadn’t been keeping up with my duties lately, which is true, and that I needed to shape up before she let me fuck her, even without coming. I lobbied back, reminding her of all the things I had done in the previous 48 hours, desperate for credit. Desperate to salvage the opportunity.

“Don’t whine,” she said firmly. “You told me to make it hard. This is the hard part. Do a good job and maybe I’ll let you out. In the mean time, I’ll let you give me an orgasm.”

It’s true, I had told her it had to be hard or it wouldn’t feel real. But fucking hell, all I wanted was a few minutes out. Just a little fuck with nothing to show for it afterward but a hard, wet dick. But no. I could feel the desire within me that had been building and feeding itself for days buckle and snap under the finality of her position. The door had closed. I would have to try harder to make her happy.

A few minutes later, I had Mr. Darcy out, but not in the harness. I was fucking her alright, but with the life-like, Thumper-sized dildo in my right hand. I pushed it home, all the way to the base and flicked my index finger over her clit. She started to writhe and squirm and I could imagine how hard she was clamping on the dildo deep inside her while the real cock, her other cock, pouted in its tube. She came with her ass off the bed, head back, hand clutching mine hard, silent scream contorting her face.

After a little glow time, I pulled Darcy out, sucked him off, and placed him back in the nightstand. She fell asleep, sated. I wrote this, still hot, still horny as all fuck.

Good night.

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Extend and revise

Even though I spent a lot of time writing yesterday’s post (well, relatively a lot of time – truth is I’m usually just kinda banging them out), I’m not sure I adequately captured the point I wanted to make.

Yes, I am much better recently at coping with the fact that Belle’s totally in control of sex. No, that does not mean I’m not still trying to get down her pants whenever she lets me get away with it. I said something about giving up my right to sex and that’s not entirely right. I still expect we’ll have sex, but that’s because she’ll want it, not me. What I’ve given up is any right to being a party to deciding if and when it’ll happen. I might come on to her and try to get her interested, but it’s entirely her decision. She has the right to shut me down whenever she wants and I have the right to deal with it.

The thing I especially want her to try to get over is worrying about disappointing me. It kills me to think she’ll feel guilty. Even if she says we’ll have sex at some point and she decides she’s really not in the mood when the time comes, that’s OK. My disappointment is an unavoidable side effect of the dynamic. This will be hard for her, I know, but I’m being really and truly genuine.

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A sub is a sub is a sub

Mykey said, in regard to Sarah Jameson’s new book and my little review of it:

What’s more I find her somewhat lacking in self knowledge. Her claim not to be a domme? She likes being in charge of many aspects of their life including their sex life. She is in most peoples vernacular a domme, albeit not a full blown control everything one. Her husband is submissive. Maybe not in all areas or even most but handing over power to your cock and sex life is an inherently submissive act. Regardless of how macho he is elsewhere in his life in that respect he is in most peoples definition submissive. Her dislike of the image of sub and Dom in her mind blinds her badly and that comes across in her writing.

And I agree with him, to a point. I also think that Sarah and John are in a D/s relationship and her steadfast refusal to acknowledge that is based on her particular definition of “male submissive” which is, in turn, based on her apparently limited exposure to all the various types out there. Mind you, I also have limited experience. I’ve just been into this stuff for about the past two years and have only met, in person, a few people like myself. My entire worldview on the subject is based on the internet and personal communication via email and the like.

That said, I think Sarah and I have a similar point of view with regard to what’s “good” male submission versus what’s “bad” (all the usual disclaimers about not judging others and only wanting consenting adults to find happiness apply – if what your’e doing floats your boat, screw what I think). To me, there is no value in submission if it’s being given by someone who feels they’re inferior to their partner. It’s only because I am not inferior to Belle that subjugating my sexual expression to her is sexy. The same thing could be said, I’m sure, for Sarah and John. She describes him as “strong, assertive, confident” etc., and she has no attraction to the he-slime-not-worthy type. Me either. How different, really, is what I’ve given to Belle when compared to what John’s given Sarah?

In her newsletter from today, Sarah said this in response to what I said yesterday:

I’d also say we might have different definitions or models of what we see submission as actually being. My control of John is strictly confined to the bedroom.

Does that make him submissive, sexually submissive, or sexually surrendering?

I’d say the last of these, especially as when we make love he’s as aggressive and lead-taking as ever, unless I’ve taken it into my head to be. The only difference is he doesn’t orgasm – EVER – unless and until I say he can. He’s not forever asking me if he can do “this” or “that”. He’s just like he always was, but sans orgasm.

That sounds a lot like what Belle and I have. Yes, we’ve played around with taking it to a higher level, but we seem to have settle not much further along than Sarah and John. Belle gets to boss me around a bit more than Sarah does with John and she controls when I’m sexually agressive, but not that I am. Otherwise I’d say we’re 87% the same.

I find it interesting that she makes a distinction between “sexually submissive” and “sexually surrendering”. To me, that sounds like semantics. They’re the same. Later on, she says, “It’s just that I don’t find submissive men attractive sexually. And that’s about all we can say about it, really.” I think she doesn’t find the idea of a sexually submissive man attractive. In fact, she finds John plenty hot. If a thing runs like a horse, sounds like a horse, and in all other ways resembles a horse, it’s probably not a zebra.

She finishes up by saying:

I suppose it all comes down to labels and they’re never very useful when you try to examine a continuum. We can see the extremes easily enough, but at which point does one become the other?

I agree! My only wish would be for her to stop using one big label – “submissive men” – to describe one subset of that group.

Lastly, I want to say this disagreement I have with Sarah doesn’t mean I still don’t wholeheartedly recommend her book (and blog and newsletter). I have lots of friends with whom I share significant disagreements (mostly political) but I’m still able to appreciate the rest of them. We may never see eye-to-eye on what constitutes submission, but the fact remains that she’s produced one of the best resources available on the subject of male chastity.

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Bottom topper

The other day, I asked for suggestions as to how Belle could approach her freaky-deaky husband as a woman who did not share or otherwise “get” where he was coming from with regard to his freaky and/or deaky proclivities. I did this for Belle and with her understanding because I prefer to think of this blog as a two-way street where I can dump info but also pick it back up from others.

As I said in that post, the deal was she had tried to do a little sumthin’ for me even though she was tired and probably should have just gone to sleep. I didn’t enjoy it and she figured that out and then we were left with the stale smoke of confusion and hurt feelings hanging over the bed all night.

The prevailing thought of those who left comments seems to be that I, as the submissive side of the couple, was topping from below by 1) saying that I wasn’t enjoying what she was doing, and 2) suggesting that she needed to enhance her repertoire of Thumper-centric activities. I honestly don’t understand that POV.

Let’s assume that I, not really being in the mood for nipple clipping and ball smacking, hadn’t made my discomfort known. Then, let’s assume she escalated the activity to include even more intense play, all the while I was suffering and really not enjoying myself. Then let’s say I was forced to use my safeword. Is that topping from below? Can calling an end to a scene that’s not going well for me seriously be considered the most egregious thing a sub can do?

This kind of thing has happened before.

I understand the position I’m in as the submissive. I get that I’ve ceded control over what happens to her. I like that. But surely I haven’t abdicated all responsibility for giving my partner feedback as to what things I like and what things I don’t. I do intuitively understand the difference between those things that are uncomfortable, painful, and push my boundaries but are still on the right side of a healthy dynamic versus those that aren’t. Is anyone suggesting I should just take it all, no matter how it feels to me?

The other night was just a bad idea. She wasn’t all that much invested in the scene. To me, it felt like she was just going though the motions because she was obliged to do so. That turned me off and made it impossible for me to enjoy it. I know it’s complicated and I know that to Belle this could be perceived as mixed signals. I don’t know what to do about that. I can only say how I feel and trust that we’ll figure it out (as we have in the past).

I’m not writing this post to drop the smack-down on my readers who left their opinions. I want those opinions, even if I don’t agree with them or understand where they’re coming from, because it’s only through this kind of dialog that I can form my own.

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Little words

I stand next to her bed and pause a moment before getting in. I shouldn’t ask. I really shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t expect. It’s a privilege.

In the light of candles, I can see her look up and nod. I have permission to undress. I remove my bedclothes and lay them over the footboard neatly.

As I ease my almost naked body into her bed, she says, “You look good locked up.”

I gently grind the steel tube attached onto my body into her thigh. I can barely help myself. I’m so glad she likes how I look. I’m so glad she likes how I look wearing the chastity device.

—

I wake as I do every morning at about 5:15 AM, steel ring biting into my straining morning wood. I spoon into her as she sleeps next to me. This morning, the extra steel rod inside the tube that goes through the ring that’s been pierced through the head of her cock that keeps it permanently and securely trapped is pinching me more severally than usual. It happens sometimes. A fold of skin ends up where it usually doesn’t. I’ll have to check that later. Maybe even ask that we remove the extra security for a few days.

In any event, I’m not going back to sleep and, while I want to touch her badly, I also don’t want to wake her this early. She’d be very unhappy about that.

I get up and take a long leak which deflates the hard meat pressed into the tube. Then I attend to a few things and make her coffee for when she wakes up. I can still feel an odd pinching in the tube.

Later, when she’s awake, I’m back in bed with her, arms and legs wrapped around her warm, still sleepy body. I want her so bad. I want to devour her. It’s been so long. A little whimper escapes me.

“It’s good for you to suffer, Thumper,” she volunteers.

Whimper. “It’s so hard,” I reply.

“I know,” she says, “I appreciate how hard it is.” Her hand plays idly with the hair on my forehead. I whimper again. Her little words cause me to burn inside. Cruel, beautiful words.

Pinch.

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Clean up

Belle’s home. Right off the bat, I’m told my permission to enjoy the njoy is over. Also, no self-inflicted nipple torture. Maybe, she says, if I do a good job on my to-do lists over the next several weeks she’ll let me go at it, but not before then.

This morning, day 31 in the tube, she let me out for about 15 minutes to clean up. Not so much me, but the device. After a couple three weeks there starts to be what looks like hard water build-up on the inside of the tube, the PA fixing, and on my PA ring. Not sure if it’s from the water (we do have hardish water) or if it’s minerals from my urine (ew), but if left unattended it can start to be abrasive. Soaking the parts for five or ten minutes in vinegar will loosen them up so they rub off easily.

This never seemed to happen in the CB6K, but that device had more and larger openings and was made of a totally different material. The Steelheart tube is entirely closed except for the hole in the end. I try my best to get extra liquid out, but I can see that the curve of the tube and the way it hangs allows anything still in there to create a small pool just above the hole. The inside of the tube is damp pretty much all the time. So far, that hasn’t been an issue, but it means hygiene in this device is of utmost importance.

The penis always looks so sad when it comes out after a long lock-up. Kind of defeated and definitely pale. I imagine it’s not unlike a prisoner coming out of a long stint in solitary confinement. This time, I noticed a few spots that looked somewhat abraded, but nothing hurt. I’ll be paying special attention to how things feel over the next few days and will probably ask Belle to let me check in again on Sunday.

While the steel was soaking, I washed up in the shower and shaved the little spots I can’t get to normally. I didn’t try to get an erection, but any kind of contact with it causes a reaction. I mean, seriously, I haven’t even seen the damned thing in a month. What do  you expect? It didn’t get totally erect, but it was past the pleasantly plump phase. I was a good boy, though, and ignored the opportunity. Not even one stroke. I put all the steel back on as soon as possible and left the key for Belle to turn.

That’s about all I have today since she was tired when she got home. I was able to sleep naked since she was there to give me permission to do so (I love to sleep that way but only do it when she says I can). I’m really only writing this because I’m trying to blog something every day this month. We’ll see how that goes…