Tag: malesub

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Deep in the heart

Belle and I are apart again. This past Monday, she flew to Miami for work and she just got home yesterday. Today, I flew to Austin, Texas, for South by Southwest. It’s my first time for both Austin and SXSW.

In any event, Belle told me she wanted the penis locked up for the entire time I’m here. I double (and triple and quadruple) checked to make sure, but yes, that’s the state in which she prefers the meat. I got to the hotel about 15 minutes ago and have just secured her property.

I was surprised when she let me out last night. I didn’t expect that until this morning. I had a hard time going to sleep last night with the very apparently unlocked penis and her hand wrapped far too gently around it. Had she left it secured, I would have fallen asleep easily. But once it got out, it was all I could think about. I liked that she was touching it, of course, but as I said, her hand was just barely grasping it and even if I moved my hips I couldn’t get any good sensation out of the situation. I’m pretty sure it was still hard when I fell asleep.

Getting the device back on in the hotel was tricky. I have been very good and didn’t do anything with it since last night (even in the shower this morning) that I didn’t have permission to do. Being by myself in a hotel and getting stared down by its one good eye made putting the cold steel back on very difficult. I can tell how long it’s been since I last came by how hard it was getting the testicles through the A-ring (especially the right one). After they popped through with a couple of winces, the penis was starting to stir and was chubbed out to about 60% when the tube went over the end of it. I pushed and shoved until the two posts found their home in the ring and kept squeezing the two parts together until the lock was able to slide in and close. As I write this, the shaft is burning as it adjusts to its confinement and shifts back to its natural position.

The key is secured in its little holder, numbered lock in place. I’ve posted a picture of both the penis and the key after the jump (with regard to the shoving and pushing, you can actually see the skin kind of bulging out around the tube opening in the picture). I will add another picture of the key each day to this post to prove that I’m being good. I don’t leave until Tuesday morning, but I’ll have to post another then to show that I was as faithful to Belle’s wishes as I could be.

Continue reading “Deep in the heart”

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Stoned

As if three colds weren’t enough. Last week, my daughter came down with some kind of nasty stomach flu which she passed to me 24 hours later. It was bad. I didn’t like it one bit. But, it wasn’t as bad as what came right on it’s heels.

I didn’t go to a doctor, but I’m fairly certain I had a kidney stone. I woke up Friday at about 3:30 AM with a sharp and intense pain in my side just under my ribcage. It got progressively worse until we called a nurse and she said to take some Tylenol and rest comfortably. If you’ve ever had one of these evil little things, you know “resting comfortably” is outside the realm of possibility, though I was able to minimize the pain by laying still and using a hot pad. By daylight, the pain was coming and going and changing positions (moving from my side towards the front of my abdomen). I was able to get up and help get the previously sick girl off to school only to be struck by the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my whole life as soon as she left. I broke out in a cold sweat and felt like I was going to throw up. Absolutely horrid.

Then it went away. Poof. Gone. Only minor and infrequent twinges remain (some of which I was still getting yesterday). The new symptom is occasional and overwhelming urges to pee. Even when I know there’s nothing there, I have the feeling of needing to go. It’s not unlike how the prostrate will sometimes feel when I’ve been denied a long time and I know it’s all plump and ready to go, but way stronger. This, along with the pain, are classic kidney stone symptoms.

The part I haven’t had yet is the actual passing of the stone. I don’t know if it always involves pain during urination, but I’ve had nothing like that. Yet. Time will tell if I get to have the full meal deal. I suppose at some point I should go to a doctor, but from everything I’ve read, they don’t do anything about them most of the time and let them work themselves out naturally. I can do that at home and save the co-pay.

On the non-medical front, Belle and I both felt good enough on Saturday morning for some real sex. I busted out my emergency key at the hight of the barfing because the device was really, really not making me feel any better being on there (and I was about three light years from wanting to do anything with the penis anyway), but life had returned to all corners of my totally free body by Saturday. She not only let me fuck her, she let me come. It wasn’t a great orgasm (as is common after a longish denial) and I came really fast (one minute, tops) and she made me put the device back on as soon as it was over. It wasn’t unit this morning that I didn’t resent the damned thing. That magical cloaking device I was talking about last time was stone cold dead and has only started to flicker into life since I woke up this morning. Starting to get horny again. Apparently, the cloak operates on pure hormones (not antimatter like on Star Trek).

So there you are. Up to speed. Hopefully, the infirmary-like atmosphere around the house is gone for a long time.

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Three colds and a period

It’s been more than two weeks since Belle and I had any kind of sex. First, she had a nasty cold. Then she got her period and, a few days later, I got a cold. Not the same cold since at about the time I started to feel OK again, she got my cold. It’s all conspired against us.

So, this is one of those periods of time when a guy like me starts to question his predicament. I was fortunate in that there were few times in which I actually felt the “otherness” that sometimes attaches to the device. When the facade slips and my brain recognizes it for what it really is: A foreign object locked to my body. It’s the worst when it feels unnatural. That just acerbates my stewing and foul mood. For the most part, though, it’s cloaking device has worked and I’ve accepted it as part of me. Even with how it flips and flops and is constantly pulling in the opposite direction of the rest of me. Even in the morning when the nocturnal plumbing it at its maximum. It hasn’t woken me up more than just a little in days and, to the extent that it does, I simply roll over and go back to sleep feeling comforted by my constricted state.

When things are like this, when there’s no sex and it’s been more than a month since I came and my brain continues to buy into the fantasy that the penis is made of metal, I slip into this weird void space. I start to feel like this other kind of thing. A being that’s simultaneously sexless yet instantaneously aroused. Not a man. Something we don’t have a word for.

There may be some of you out there reading this with your free-range dicks getting all hard and turned on by that kind of talk, but it’s simply the most difficult thing about long term enforced chastity. Not being able to have a proper hard-on, not being able to wrap your hand around it, reaching down to find only an unfeeling mass of hot metal and a sack of fat testes as your only genitalia. Having nothing at all to do with your need for any kind of sexual release (even if its hers). When it’s bad, it’s really bad. It turns you into something you have no experience being.

And I have been feeling that lately. It’s not Belle’s fault and I don’t feel any anger at all toward her for it. It’s just how things are. Last night, though, as we watched TV in bed, things changed somehow. I actually do have experience being this way now. With a little inadvertent help from Belle, I found my way out.

It started with her hand on my ass. Sometimes, we lay in bed and I put my head on her midsection and stretch out in the opposite direction. Last night, in that position, she slipped her hand into my pajama pants and lightly stroked my ass. This kind of simple affectionate touching is like catnip to a guy in my position. It simultaneously excites and soothes my hormone addled mind. Sometimes, when we’re in bed with the Sunday paper, she strokes the hair under my arm. Same thing. I could let her do that for days. I literally can’t get enough of it.

Anyway, hand stroking ass cheek. Two hours later, it was bed time and I was really worked up. Lights out, Belle asleep, and I’m feeling sorry for myself. Not mad. Not annoyed. Just sorry. After several near misses with sleep, I realized that I wasn’t in the void space anymore. The hand on the ass had been enough to stir me and I was coasting on the sleepless wave of chastity, constantly almost asleep only to be made more alert by a momentarily filled tube reacting to a new sexual vision or the turning of my body to a new position and feeling how that made the device press into me in a different way. I was fucking horny.

On the one hand, I really wanted to sleep. I was tired, still recovering, and have an appointment with the trainer this afternoon. I need my rest. On the other, I was excited and even happy to be back in frustrated horndog mode. As annoying as it was, it’s why I do this, after all. It’s the feeling I’ve come to associate with good things. It’s my natural state.

Somehow, I eventually did fall asleep. Sometime between midnight and one o’clock. Then, awake with Belle’s alarm at quarter to six. Not much, but enough. Just happy to be out of the fog.

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Mailbag

From this week’s mailbag:

My Goddess and I have been keeping up with your blog for a while now.   We have a female lead relationship and have been talking of chastity (orgasm control) for some time and have looked at many device options.  It would seem that there are many views on how to correctly measure for a device and as noted many customer and non-customer makers are different in how they view there sizing.   Would you mind sharing your insight on how to measure for the most optimal sizing for extended use/wear.  🙂 Thank you for any insight you would be able to and or willing to share.

As I’ve said in the past, Mature Metal’s guide to measurement is, in my opinion, the way to go. I’ve had commenters here on the blog take exception with it and specifically how tight to make the A-ring, but at the end of the day, personal preference and your own physical tolerance is a big part of the puzzle. I like it when my device doesn’t feel like it’s always slipping off or that the penis could back right out any time I wanted it to (PA fixing not withstanding), so I go for a more snug fit in the ring. I do pay a price for that at night and when the penis is aroused, though. It’s not intolerable and it’s a sensation I can even become accustomed to and sleep through, but the ring, she does bite. The thing about me is, I like bondage and I like the feeling of extreme constriction and I even like the throbbing of an erection stuck in a tube less than half its size. Smaller tubes are better than big ones.

Regardless, I think MM’s tube length advice is spot-on and the right place to start.

Hey, it is me again, mike. i was having the problem with the penis head hurting but did as you suggested and removed the stealheart for a couple of days then put it back one, Have had it back on for over a week and no problems at all. So, i took the big step and yesterday gave the key to my partner and signed a six month contract. So, i will be locked up for the next six months and know He will not let me out due to He is in the Navy and heads out to sea Tuesday and will not be back till July and He took both keys and put them in His safty deposit box that i dont have access too. Wish me luck, i will need it. i’m the guy that likes to jack off a couple of times each day and it is already driving me nuts and He leaves sin two days and i’m horny as hell !

I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say this is totally genuine and your typos aren’t due to one-handed typing.

I’m happy you have a guy who’s willing to lock you up, but I’m not entirely sure this is a good situation for you. It’s really, really hard to be separated from your dick and not getting any attention from one’s partner (and, at the same time, not have one’s partner to pay attention to) during long-term denial. I don’t recall if this new Steelheart is the first device you’ve had or if you are an old hand at chastity, but there’s still the possibility that you’ll have fit issues you’ll need to deal with. I wouldn’t ever want to be locked into a steel device without relatively easy access to an emergency key. Can you get into his safe depot box?

That’s just me sounding like a worried mother. I get how hot the situation is now for you. I hope you still find it so in six weeks.

I love your blog.  Have you posted a copy of the Covenant you signed with Belle?

It was posted on the blog for some time, but she decided it was too much, so we simplified. Now it’s pretty much “whatever Belle says” and we leave it at that. Truth is, I got a lot more out of it than she did.

Finally, I forgot to post this last bit a while back. As usually, Tom was the more responsible of the two of us and did it when he was supposed to while I procrastinated. In any event, it seems as though my pal Dishevelled Domina is asking women who are dominant (or perhaps even those upon who the title has been foisted) to agree to be interviewed.

If you are a woman who likes to decide the how and when of sex, I have some questions for you. You needn’t consider yourself a dominatrix or even claim the title dominant woman. If you enjoy taking the lead in bed or setting the pace sexually, I’d like to know a little more about you. Female sexuality is incredibly diverse and if you are a woman who prefers to be more in control than your partner then you are the kind of gal I want! Please email me at dishevelleddomina@gmail.com

That’s all I got for now. If you have a question or comment or other morsel of communicative goodness you want to pass my way, don’t forget about the feedback page.

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Yeah, but what about the sex?

“You might get into the voting booth, but you won’t be casting a ballot.”

That’s what my Belle Fille said to me this morning as I suckled her breast and fingered her snatch. She had let me out Friday night so the penis was perky and expectational.

But I jump ahead. It occurs to me that I haven’t posted much about our sex life recently, so I’m going to play catch up now.

About midway through January, Belle let me come. I had just been let out for “cleaning and maintenance” and she was going to tease me with a hand job. The hand job started and I was rapidly taken to the edge and she just never stopped. It wasn’t an accident. She wanted me to come. Then she wanted me to put the Steelheart back on. I wasn’t even out for half the day, but I did get cleaned out.

The next weekend, she treated me to two of her orgasms, one brought about with my fingers and the other with my mouth. Both left me hot and bothered since the one orgasm didn’t lessen my desire too much. If anything, it left it somewhat sharper.

Then she got sick. Stomach thing. Not fun. But I whined on Friday and she, in her weakened condition, let me out. Two uninterrupted nights of sleeping followed by a lazy Sunday morning adventure in bed.

So, as I was saying, I was fingering her and sucking her tits and generally enjoying her body and the penis was very pert and attentive beside her. After she came, she invited me in for the first time this year and I leapt at the opportunity. I had the heavy barbell in the PA and could feel it move  and turn in the piercing as the end of the penis came almost all the way out and then as deep as it could back in. I fucked her not like the frustrated lizard I used to be, but like the tamed bunny I am. Gently and gratefully. Enjoying the exquisite sensations of the folds of her pussy caressing the penis shaft, but not forgetting that this was a gift from her to me. It’s different when I know I can come. Then the lizard takes over. But this was not that. So I kissed her mouth and cradled her head and fucked her like I could break her if I got too carried away.

“That’s it, Thumper. Time to come out.” How long had that been? No idea. God, I wanted to come. Fuck, I wanted to stay inside her.

I thanked her and embraced her and flexed the denied penis one more time while it was still surrounded by her. Then I withdrew and fell back beside her. The penis, still thick with desire and slick from her juices, slapped wetly agains my leg. I gripped it. Squeezed it. Pushed my baser instincts back into their cave.

“I want you back in by the end of the day.”

And so I am.

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Liv and let Liv

I got Belle a new vibrator. Buying new sex toys for her has not been without risk in the past. So far, this is the list of things I’ve brought into the bedroom that have stuck:

  • Pink – Her traditional go-to vibe (so good, we bought another when we thought we lost the first)
  • The Steelheart
  • Various pinchy nipple things

That’s it. All the other stuff I’ve bought, like the rabbit vibrator or any of the various hitting implements or bondage accessories, basically sit in the toy box (which itself is inside a hamper and buried by a bunch of other crap). But I thought this new vibrator, the Liv by Lelo, looked promising, so I took a chance. It was “pretty” (Belle likes her sex toys to be pretty) and was longer than Pink but not too fat. Turns out Belle doesn’t like to play with things that are too big (which may explain her fondness for the penis). It showed up yesterday (I found it on Amazon for only sixty bucks — in a lot of other places it was $100 or over). I plugged it in to charge its battery and waited for Belle to get home.

Later, once we were settled in for the night, Belle told me to give her the new vibe. She held it in her hand, felt the silky smooth surface, and generally fondled it while I watched (and my tube tightened). She told me to turn off the light and get naked (since I can’t sleep that way without permission from her) and I got kind of excited. I really wanted to get her off.

My excitement was premature. She didn’t want me to participate. Belle intended to christen the Liv all by herself so all I got to do was lay there and hear the thrum of the vibe’s motor do its business over her clit. Eventually, she told me to suck on her nipples, so it wasn’t a total loss. After she came, she passed the still-warm-from-her-pussy vibrator to me to deal with as she rolled over.

“It has potential,” she said.

Whimper.

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My mantra

Yep, it’s definitely back on. I didn’t fall asleep until about 5:00 AM, so I got about an hour of rest. It gave me lots of time to think.

I really want into Belle’s pants right now. Pants? Fuck that. I want into everything she’s got. She knows it, but she’s not in any hurry. So, as she went to sleep last night, I was feeling a bit of pique. As usual, I wasn’t tired so I ventured out onto the interwebs to console myself and got sufficiently worked up to keep sleep perpetually just out of reach. It would flit by like a firefly only to blink out of existence as I reached for it. Then some scenario or image would intrude into my thoughts and the penis would strain against the tube. Then I’d wait for it to go down.1 Then the little firefly would flutter timidly back. Rinse, repeat.

At some point in this process, I started to feel bad about getting miffed at Belle. I was thinking about my previous post and the spirit in which it was written and couldn’t quite reconcile it with what I had been feeling. Funny thing is, DD accentuated the very thing with a comment she made at about the same time I was thinking it:

I am so glad you appreciate the fact that if she owns it she gets to decide what to do with it, including having it out to play when she sees fit.

Good bunny.

In truth, I really like the feeling of being powerless with regard to sex. I prefer to see it as something she totally controls regardless of how it makes me feel at any given moment (and, in last night’s moment — once I had my head back on straight — the idea that she had left me high and dry was just one more thought that filled the tube and kept me awake). I have always struggled with losing site of this fundamental principle of our dynamic (and makes me question how truly submissive I am).

In my copious free time, I came upon the idea of a mantra. Something I could repeat as a way of centering myself (aka, pulling my head out of my ass). I worked on several versions, but this is the one I settled on:

You own the penis. I gave it to you.
You control our sex. I asked you to.
Your pleasure is my pleasure.
This is how I wished things to be.
Thank you, Belle Fille, for making it possible.
I love you.

The first couple of tries sounded too me-centric. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? So I worked more of us and her in there. Also, recognition that it’s only through her cooperation and ability to put up with me that this works at all. The critical component is the reminder to myself that I was the one who brought us down this path in the first place. And that even though it was my idea, by embarking on this adventure, I relinquished sole ownership over how it developed. No, I’m not her slave. We’re still partners. But I am clearly the minority stakeholder and need to remember that she has the controlling vote. And, after all, I really don’t want it any other way.

We’ve had mantras before. Simpler ones that she’s ask me to repeat occasionally. But this one seems to tie together all the salient attributes in an unambiguous way that my brain can’t wiggle out of. I hope she likes it and I hope she decides to make me say it to her every single day.

—

1 Funny thing is, whilst locked up, erections are more fleeting. It takes a lot of concerted effort and/or some really intense stimulus to keep a boner boned. They spring into action quickly and deflate just as fast. The physiological equivalent of a fruit fly. ↩

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Forever

I happened upon yesterday’s post by Sarah on the topic of permanent orgasm denial. In it, she said (among other things) the following:

We are def­i­nitely lean­ing towards per­ma­nent orgasm denial, but we do have some con­cerns, none of which are to do with John miss­ing out on them (it’s really more about what I’ll per­haps miss out on, but that’s another story).

I think that neatly summarizes the issue for us, too. A lot of men assume that when they orgasm it is an experience all their own when in reality most women also seem to get a lot of enjoyment from the event. The ones that don’t are typically fictional (though I’m sure there are some real ones out there, too).

Honestly, this is something I didn’t really understand until I stopped having orgasms, but Belle likes it when I’m inside her and also, I’m pretty sure, likes it when I come there. My assumption had always been that women weren’t especially into the mess since it’s practically entirely up to them to clean it up afterward. Personally, back in the days when the occasional man would fuck my ass, I didn’t especially enjoy the aftereffects. I mean, there’s no place for it to go (and it didn’t really have much of a reason to be there) so it had to come out eventually and I just found the entire thing kinda gross. For the record, only three men got to do that without protection and only one of them was iffy, but that was like twenty-some years ago.

But anyway, as undeniably hot as the idea of never being allowed to come again is for me, I’m not sure I’d ever want it unless I was confident it was what Belle really wanted, too. Our recently concluded month of relative freedom was, I think, more about Belle pining for some old fashioned bunny loving more than anything else. I have no reason to expect her appreciation for that kind of sex will ever change, so I have no reason to expect she’ll ever really and truly end my orgasms.

Yesterday evening, as we laid in bed, I was curled up into her and craving her pussy. I pressed my hand to it through her pajamas and, with my face near her breasts, it was all I could do not rip her clothes off. She wasn’t having any of it, though, and told me she quite liked to see me miserably desperate. She also said I should expect the kind of sharp contrasts like I’m going through now in the future. Hard denial followed by relatively lavish releases. Nine times in one month. That probably doubled my entire output for the year.

So I went to sleep pretty horny. Interestingly, when the morning wood woke me up, it didn’t feel at all like someone had kicked me in the nuts. There was intense pressure from the tube, but I liked it. Instead of trying to get rid of it, I flexed the penis so it would be more intense and even rolled over on my stomach so blood would rush to the area. I didn’t expect to adjust so quickly. Next step will be sleeping through the wood. Once that happens, I’ll know things are back to normal. But I digress.

I guess what I’m getting at is that male chastity and orgasm denial might, on its surface, appear to be mostly about male orgasms. But it’s not. And as badly as I want to hear her say someday that I will never come again (and I do, really), there’s no way I could live with that situation unless something big and drastic changed with Belle and I knew for a fact that she would still be able to get whatever it is she wants from sex (even if that thing happens infrequently). There are many trade-offs in a relationship where the man doesn’t get to come, but in the end, asking her to ultimately sacrifice something so important to her is unacceptable to me.

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Familiar ground

Saturday, Belle told me to take a bath and jack off. I was allowed to come. Knowing that it was probably my last time for a while, I drew it out and spewed copiously. Would have been better has she been with me, though. I have clearly been conditioned to feel that a solo shot is inferior to an accompanied one.

Yesterday, I was told to stay out of the device until today since she might want to have use of the penis one more time. That didn’t happen as it turns out, so I went to bed feeling a little hornier than usual (but not too horny considering I had just come the day before).

This morning, the day had arrived. I woke up with a boner pressing into Belle’s ass, cognizant that it would likely be the last for several months. She told me I was going to stay locked up until our Spring vacation at the end of March. We got to drowsily laze in bed since she has the day off. The boner didn’t subside, partly because I was naked and next to her warm body, partly because I knew the luxury of waking with a fully realized erection was about to end.

In the bathroom, I took the Steelheart Short out of its fuzzy sack for the first time in weeks. I had neglected to give it a proper cleaning before storing it away, so while I showered, it soaked in vinegar (which eliminates the scale that develops with weeks of wear, either from my urine or our relatively hard water or some combination thereof). After soaping myself up, I indulged in some final stroking. I took the big PA ring out since it’s not the one I use inside the device so I was jacking like the old days, all the way over the head and back. I felt the thin, pliable skin of the shaft stretch and flex over the firm meat, the thrill of electricity as my fingers grazed the coronal rim, the sympathetic sway of the scrotum keeping time with my pumping fist. Sensations at once so familiar but also so out of place.

Now, the penis is back in its home, swelling against the confinement even as I write this. In our bedroom, Belle turned the key through my parted bathrobe. Then we kissed. I do love her so much.

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Four after ninety-nine

I’ve started this post like three times. When it comes to writing for my blog, my muse is my frustration.

So, yeah, she let me come. Two times in each of the last two weekends. I know I reported here before that she was going to let me do essentially whatever I wanted to do with the penis, but the rubber’s hit the road and she’s told me I can’t come without her being present.

And, honestly, I’m perfectly happy with that. In fact, the other night I was begging her never to let me come without her again. She cautioned me to think about what I was asking for, but I was all rapturous and liked how her hand felt around the very stiff meat and maybe wasn’t thinking too terribly deeply about what I was saying. Regardless, I meant it (and still do).

Therefore, I am not, at the moment, Thumper denied. I am at best Thumper restricted. I can pleasure myself and fiddle around with the penis but orgasm can only happen when I’m with Belle. So far, that’s meant in Belle, though I don’t know for sure if that’s part of the rules I’m working under. I’d like to feel an orgasm of my own doing, but she hasn’t let me.

The orgasms she’s let me have were interesting in that they were all different. The first, after ninety-nine days of denial, really wasn’t all that good. How could it have been? It was more like sneezing after feeling one coming on for a long time but being unable to make it happen. Not so much pleasurable as it was just a release. The next day was number two and it was a little better, but still just OK. Then everything cratered. Belle went to NYC and I lost any and all interest in sex or sexual thoughts. Even this blog curdled for me. I couldn’t think about it. It embarrassed me. So I ignored it. I also sank into a shallow depression that probably wasn’t entirely driven by the sudden change in my brain chemicals but couldn’t have been helped by it. I was pretty miserable.

Then the next weekend came around and my libido stirred like a sleepy cat in a sunbeam. I came twice more and cratered again, but only briefly. At least these two orgasms were pleasurable. By Wednesday, I was feeling horny again (which was quite the rebound). It’s amazing how low I go now after I come. My sex drive doesn’t just drop to zero, it goes into negative numbers. It creates a vacuum.

Yeah, so anyway, this shift in the rules isn’t at all what I thought it’d be. I’m very happy to find I’m not entirely free to do as I please because I don’t ever want to live like that again. I’m also pleased that Belle seems to be getting whatever she wanted out this little experiment. I’m sure she’s missed getting fucked by an apparently normal male and I’m also sure a girl likes her guy to squirt inside her every once in a while. But, if I’m honest, I’m also looking forward to the day we can go back to “normal”. After two weeks, I still can’t get used to this squishy floppy bit of meat between my legs. It’s just not right. (The DCR, BTW, hasn’t been on that much. Belle hasn’t wanted me to wear it.) And while I like the idea of coming, the aftermath turns me off (literally and figuratively). I’m actually kind of afraid of it.

I don’t know. I’ve been so far away from normal for so long now that even this not normal approximation of normal leaves me feeling off kilter. I’m still controlled and there are still rules and I like that, but it’s not the same. I’m not complete without that steel tube. I miss its company and crave its confinement. I want to see my reflection looking up from my crotch, not a pink prick. I’ve thought of locking myself up during the day just to feel it again, but have resisted. I will remain as I am without complaint for as long as Belle wants me to, or course, though I look forward to the day she puts things back they way they should be.