Stupid penis-having person

I posted a picture of me in the Looker 02 this morning and said there was a story behind it. It’s not a good story. It’s a story of me being a stupid penis-having person.

It starts last week. I was in the Steelheart and Belle was out of town over the weekend so I was locked up for a total of two straight weeks. Not that I got a lot of time out since I was locked up the previous two weeks, too, and she only let me out Sunday morning to fuck and told me I had to be back in by noon (which I was — made it with five minutes to spare). So, something like a month with about four hours of freedom, AKA the usual. By the time Belle got home I had been dealing with some burning inside the tube after I peed. It started out being mild and occasional and got worse and more frequent. Had she not been on the verge of coming home, I would have popped the emergency key and dealt with the issue, but since she was about to get home, I simply muscled though and amped up my hygiene by rinsing the tube each time I peed (it didn’t hurt at all in between). Turns out, there were two spots of red irritation that more or less lined up with the PA fixing bar. 

That’s the second time in about six weeks that I was driven out of the tube for similar reasons, though this time was worse. Not sure exactly why this is suddenly an issue, but I suspect it’s because I’ve been very active lately and running a lot. It could be that it was just too much bouncing around. The area where this latest issue developed was in the excess skin under the penis’ head that is the remnants of my foreskin. I find I have a bit more there than the other guys I’ve been with, so it could be that it got caught between the ring and tube wall a little too often until it was rubbed raw. Or perhaps the increased activity should have been combined with an increased focus on hygiene. Don’t really know.

So she let me out. Luckily, that skin heals amazingly quickly and two days later things were in vastly better condition, though probably not healed enough to go back in. By Wednesday, it was in good enough shape that it wasn’t even sore to the touch anymore. Which is where the problem starts. 

I was at home in the afternoon with only the dog as my company. I let him out the back door to do his business and, while waiting for him to find the perfect spot, found my hand in my pants. This is a thing a lot of guys do, of course, though I probably do it more than most when I’m unlocked if only for the novelty of feeling a squishy meat tube and not a locked hot metal one. 

As god as my witness (and no, I don’t believe in him, but I’m trying to accentuate my conviction on this point), I did not decide to do what came next. But, as I looked out the back door at the dog, my hand started squishing and kneading the penis. The penis, being a penis (and a needy desperate one at that) started to do what penises do. My hand, being a guy’s hand (and being equally desperate and needy and apparently conspiring with the penis) did what hands do when they find hard penises in them. Next thing I knew, my pants where open and sagged down around my butt, my underwear was pushed down under my balls, my left arm was propping me up against the door to help me stay standing while the waves of pleasure coming from my jacking right hand washed over me. I was rushing headlong into an orgasm before my frontal cortex snapped out of its trance and noticed the dog standing outside the door watching me and wanting to know why I was making him stand around in the cold.

I felt terrible. Like I said, I never decided to jack off. I never decided not to, either. It just happened. As the kind of chaste man whose condition is enforced by steel, whatever muscles one uses to resist that kind of incident are flabby and atrophied. It’s not that I showed no will power. I showed nothing but animal instinct.

So I went upstairs and tried to do some work. That didn’t last long. I opened the Tumblr app and flipped through and the penis, which never really went all the way soft anyway, was back in force. I rubbed it though my jeans and felt the ejaculate my previous stroking pulled up had leaked all over inside my underwear and was starting to soak through the denim in a large dark patch. I flipped over to Literotica and found a hot enough story when my hand started pulling the buttons of my fly open and I finally found a way to stop the madness. It was incredibly hard (pun intended). My head was swimming in the hormonal cloud of intense frustration. My face felt flushed and I was even a little light-headed, but I knew I was heading into very dangerous waters. Yes, I had broken Belle’s rule about playing with it, but that’s perhaps a veinal sin compared to actually making myself come. This whole incident lasted maybe ten minutes, but I went from a simple, unsuspecting rabbit released on his own recognizance minding his own business to rabid drunken scofflaw Gila monster shooting up the town from the window of his ’73 Pontiac GTO.

I had to go back in. I had to. But I still wasn’t in the right condition to be in the Steelheart, so I rooted around until I found the Looker 02. I shoved it up the penis, turned the key in the lock, and put the key in the usual spot for Belle to find. She didn’t find it though and, when she noticed I was in it, she didn’t ask why. I never had the courage to bring it up. Good thing she doesn’t know about this blog…oh, wait.

Anyway, that’s how I ended up the Looker 02.

Cheatin’ heart

I saw on the Twitter the other day someone post a link to their blog where they talked about whether masturbation could be considered cheating on one’s partner. I didn’t click the link so can’t give them credit or even see what they said because at the time the topic didn’t seem that interesting. But here I am still thinking about it.

First off, for me, yes, masturbation would be considered cheating. I’m not allowed to do it. I consider it something I used to do back when I had control over the penis. That’s gone and along with it went my right to jack it whenever I want and the resulting orgasms. So I do personally consider at least masturbating with the penis to be a form of cheating. But that’s just me.

But that’s not the only kind of masturbation one can do. This morning, I took advantage of the last school day (and concomitant child-free time we’ll see in our house for a while) to scratch an itch only a big fat dildo can get to for me. I had a grand time and would probably still be doing it even now if not for the demands of work, life, etc. Is that cheating? At one point, Belle told me I had to have permission to do even that but I don’t bother asking her anymore. She’s made it clear that she’s not interested in working with me on my need to be someone’s hole so, when the craving gets to be too much, I’m my own. I do not consider that cheating since the activity involves my deeply-seated need to seat something deeply inside my ass. It’s a thing she’s not interested in so I’m not withholding anything from her. And, since I don’t come at the end, I’m not depleting my reserves of sexual energy in the slightest. Quite the opposite.

But what about you, oh dear amorphous blob of the average sex blog viewing masses? Is masturbation cheating when you do it? That all depends. If you’re the lower-case consonant in a power exchange dynamic like I am, yep, without explicit permission, I’d say it probably is. If you’re the upper-case consonant, nope, you can do whatever you want since the rules are yours. (I generalize and assume, of course.) But if you’re not playing the D/s game, I would say that I’m inclined to think excessive masturbation is a form of cheating.

Back in the Bad Old Days of our relationship, when we never had sex (OK, not never, but like maybe once every couple of months at best), I would jack-off regularly. I’d leave the bed, go into the den and edge myself for as long as possible looking at and reading porn until I spewed all over. Masturbation wasn’t the thing that caused our problems but it exacerbated them. The more I jerked-off the less interested I was in Belle and working on our issues and the greater the gap between us grew. I became angry and resentful and that led to all kinds of nasty stuff which, in turn, led to where we are now which is glorious so I’m not bemoaning that it had to happen. But we were lucky.

So yeah, in the specific case I laid out above, I think masturbation is cheating the relationship. It may be the case that people with extraordinarily high sex drives or the young can pull one out in the morning and still have enough left at the end of the day to make their partner feel special. Obviously, there are no absolutes. But you know what kind of person you are and where your relationship is. So you tell me. Are you cheating yourself and your partner when you take care of yourself? Are you using easy access to your wiggly bits as a way to ignore other issues and/or obligations?

I guess, at the end of it all, I can’t say if it’s cheating for you. Context is everything. Personally, I think people in relationships would be better served by pleasuring themselves absent their partners as infrequently as possible. But I’ve said things like that before and gotten in trouble. Oh well. I still think it…

Born this way

After threeish weeks in the Looker 02, Belle decided she wanted the Steelheart back on. Also, unlike last year, when we leave for Spring Break, I’ll be left locked up as much as reasonably possible (excepting TSA checkpoints, scuba diving [easy to spot through a wetsuit], and if she wants the penis) since being free can sometimes lead to unacceptable emotional outbursts.

The Steelheart is, as I’ve said, the most unforgiving of all Belle’s devices. After giving her a nice, lengthy fingering last night (during which, I presumptuously started down to eat her pussy but was snapped back when she said, “Have I said I want that?”) I would have slept fairly well but was woken up four or five times by moderate erections I probably wouldn’t even have felt in the L02 or Jail Bird. The big one at 4:30 was ball-crushingly intense. Sooner or later, I’ll be able to mostly sleep through those, too, but right now there’s no way.

As I laid there waiting for the penis to back off (taking a leak barely took the erection down at all), I thought about how having the penis stuffed down a steel tube less than half its erect length was one of those intensely uncomfortable yet exhilarating and pleasurable dichotomies that seem to make up my entire sexuality. I also reminisced how penis compression is something I’ve kinked over for as long as I can remember.

My earliest sexual recollection was from when I was six or eight laying on my stomach on the living room floor watching Speed Racer. I discovered that rocking back and forth on my pelvis, squishing my little boy penis into the hard, nappy carpet, felt really nice. And, if I did it long enough, the most AMAZING sensation would happen. Fast, zinging jolts from the penis. Orgasm without ejacualtion. That’s what I felt, even back then.

Dry-humping the floor became the sole way I masturbated (I didn’t jack off until I was 16). I did it a lot, even before I could come, feeling that crazy intense dry orgasm each time. I discovered that I liked it even more if I could get into position before the erection developed and rolled the penis up into my body so it was up inside me as it got hard. Rocking back and forth on that flat spot that shouldn’t have been there with my little hard-on all stuffed and stifled within may have been my first truly kinky fetish. If I couldn’t do that, I would ride my full body weight on the erection, balancing on it so no other part of me touched the floor. Hard, tight compression.

The first time I ejaculated, it was with the young stiffy stuffed up inside me. I left a gooey little mess on the floor. Interestingly, I recall thinking at the time that the orgasms without ejacualtion were better than those with since they lasted longer. All that pulling and pumping at a dry well was more enjoyable than gushing success.

Junior's first pervertableAs I got older, I discovered my first of many pervertables: The small half of the plastic egg my mom’s pantyhose came in. I would cup it over the penis and my balls and get off on feeling the erection grow against the hard barrier. I would sometimes stuff it down my underwear and keep it there for as long as I could stand the sharp edge of the egg against my skin. I had to do this when I was alone, though, because it created a big bulge where one had no business being. Even that turned me on, though I recall wishing the eggs were smaller (and looking for suitable alternatives). I was well past the age of still using my mom’s panythose container for naughty purposes when I felt a distinct pang of regret discovering they started packaging them in boring cardboard boxes.

The panyhose egg play tranferrred to hard cup and jockstrap wear when I was a young adult. Having a hard bump under my jeans instead of a soft package was hot (though, in retrospect, probably a lot more noticeable to others than I let myself think at the time). Even though it had ventilation holes in it, I’d still get home at the end of the day with a hot, sweaty penis to jack off furiously.

At some point, I picked up a dog leash made of a light chain. No idea where that came from as I didn’t have a dog, but I discovered I could wrap it all around my balls and the shaft of the penis and cause my erections to bulge purple. I experimented with all kinds of ways to configure it and tried to keep my mind off the task enough to keep the penis from becoming fully hard before the chain was in place, wrapped up and down the shaft. I’d try to jack off like that which was equal parts painful and pleasurable. Often, with one hand pulling the chain hard making the erection throb and strain, I’d twist and pull on my nipples and ride a dildo. Just luxuriating in the intensity of it all.

Note that at no time did I even consider what this meant. I didn’t think of words like “masochist” or “kinky” and always left these desires and practices walled up away from any concept of a relationship with another person. All this was before I shacked up with Belle.

So, that fateful day I was pursuing a sex toy website and stumbled upon male chastity devices, even though I had never seen one before, never thought about them as a thing that might exist, never consciously considered the idea of someone controlling my erections and orgasms even once, it was like a bomb went off in my head. I knew instinctually that I wanted that. I wanted to be in one. Wanted to feel my erection held tight and controlled. I knew what it would feel like before ever wearing one.

I don’t know enough to know if penis constriction is just another aspect of a general bondage kink or if it could stand alone as it’s own sort of kink, but I was born craving it. I was literally made for chastity.

Transmuted pangs

Belle’s experiment with controlling my moodiness enters its third week. I’ve been out of the Steelheart for about an hour (since the day she let me out overnight earlier in the month) and that was for cleaning purposes only. I didn’t even get a boner. As I mentioned recently, I’ve found myself to be very irritable after being allowed to fuck her since we were on vacation so she’s decided I won’t get to do that as much as before and has stuck to it. I’ve essentially been locked up for month and have only been inside Belle once in that time.

She still gets to come, of course. Of course. Whenever she wants. Last time was at the end of my tongue. That was an especially frustrating one because she tasted so good and was so fucking wet after, but nothing for me. On my way down to her snatch, I rubbed the hard steel tube against her pussy and felt nothing whatsoever. Not even her heat. Laying on my stomach between her legs was physically painful as the erection struggled against the device and the device pressed into the mattress. I had to keep my ass raised up the whole time, lapping and licking and feeling her squirm in delight.

This morning, I was tending the porn farm and found this image among the firehose-like stream of pictures and animated GIFs I peruse on Tumblr. It’s not something suitable for The Portfolio since I never post any images of men having or having just had an orgasm (for obvious reasons), but as soon as I saw it, I felt a sharp and palpable pang from deep down. The situation is one nearly all men are familiar with (I may even have had those shoes) and, for a fleeting second, I felt myself there again. Being in that place where I could feel my hand wrapped around and pumping on a hard shaft, coaxing the seed from myself and being so wrapped up in the act that I didn’t care where it went after and, once out, the wash of release cascading like a cooler full of Gatorade dumped over my head and the realization that maybe I didn’t want a bunch of goo all over my clothes or the floor and now I’d have to clean it up. And the smell of it. The pungent smell of fresh semen. All that in a fraction of a second. And I wanted it. And I mourned not being able to have it. And I felt truly denied.

I presume my moodiness stems from that. From being truly denied now. There is no hope of coming for me. Not for a long time. No part of me needs to be invested in hoping she won’t let me. She will not. Nothing even close. No fucking, no touching. I meekly and pathetically suggested to her last night that she might let me out for some penis play time (not in her as she’s on her period) and, once she figured out what I was suggesting, shot the idea down because she couldn’t see what was in it for her. Why the hell should I be let out only to play with the penis? What’s the point?

So what I’m left with is an awful and glorious gnawing in my crotch for release. For attention. For a fucking hard on. I’m squirming and desperate and needy and right where I want and need to be. She won’t let her thumb off of my soul for a second. So cruel and yet loving.

In a few days, Belle’s leaving for another work trip and, just before she gets back, I’m leaving on a nine day camping trip with friends. She told me I could unlock myself at the last possible moment before I leave, but I’m toying with the idea of staying in. Not because I fear having access to the meat (I won’t have much privacy or opportunity to do anything with it I’m not allowed to do) but because I’ve been in so long now and, my desire to feel the stiff penis inside her aside, it’s just how I am. It’s how I want to feel. I resent having to come out. I resent real life forcing itself between us. Logically, I know I need to come out. It would be nearly impossible to keep things clean and lubed and secret for the whole time I’m away from bathrooms and plumbing and paved roads.

But god, I love living as she wants me to. I love how my submission transmutes what I need into something I don’t want and then back into something I crave, all because she wants it, too. You should feel sorry for me…and very happy for me, both.

What I’d like to do

You know what I’d like to be doing right now? Jacking off. I’d like to be jacking the hard penis, smothered in lube, feeling the heavy PA ring flopping around, nasty pinchy clamps on my nipples. I’d like to watch my fist ride up until it was snug around the penis’ head like a turtleneck sweater and all the crazy fucking nerve endings there firing on my brain like a pirate ship sacking a costal village. Then see the shaft rise up out of my hand, then let it all reverse again. Over and over. Then, when I found myself at the edge of orgasm, I’d let go of the poor thing and let it surge and struggle and flex and maybe leak a bit, but then I’d lap that up and just keep going. Salty sweet nectar. The prize inside.

But I can’t. The penis is locked up. And even if it weren’t, Belle has forbidden that I touch it in that way. In the past several weeks, I’ve jacked off for a grand total of ten minutes because Belle told me I could for five minutes twice. That’s it. So, even if I didn’t have steel restricting the erection that wants to be stroked, I wouldn’t touch it because that would be against the rules I have taken to heart very seriously and promised I’d follow.

So, instead, I look at porn. Which makes the penis even more constrained in its steel cage and makes the desire to stroke it even greater which causes me to want to look at more porn which makes me…well, you get the point.

Swingin’ steel

There was yet more sex on Saturday morning as I was still steel-free. I had this weird thing the night before where the end of the penis became super sensitive. It was so distracting that I had to remove my PA jewelry. Every little shift of the stainless loop would send a not very pleasant jolt through me making it hard to sleep yet again that night. In fact, since this crazy sexed up period started, I’ve had troubles sleeping pretty much every night. Even last night, though I didn’t see Belle all day. Anyway, Saturday morning was more of the same except this time Belle got to ride me for an orgasm. I felt pretty good about keeping my shit together for that. I didn’t even get close.

After the sex on Saturday, but before she resecured me, I told her how guilty I had been feeling about taking advantage of the time she lets me out to jack off (yes, I did manage to get some in). This is a new feeling for me. In the recent past, I’ve assumed that if I was out it was more or less a free-range penis, assuming I didn’t come. But as we’ve been having all this fantastic sex lately, the idea of seeking this pleasure without her knowledge or consent hasn’t sat right with me. Maybe it’s the copious hormones produced by all the edging and psuedo-ruined orgasms and the low-grade blue ball tenderness I’ve been sporting, but I was feeling very much the need to be backed into a tight little submissive corner. The penis is hers, not mine. I can’t just do whatever I want with it. If it’s out, it’s out for her. This is a fact. There’s no such thing anymore as a time out for good behavior. I get out for a specific purpose and it’s not to jack off.

In any event, the rule now is I am not to play with the penis at all except when specifically allowed to do so by Belle. Seems like an obvious kind of rule for someone in my position to have, but I’m not sure it’s ever been so explicitly stated by her before. At least not for a long time. Just thinking about it now makes the tube pack tight. I can’t imagine how hard it’ll be if I’m left alone with it in an accesible state.

After clearing that up, she produced the Steelheart. I had to put it on while she watched which is very hard for me to do. It puts my assembly skills in a race against the penis’ hydraulic system with only my brain trying to run interference as an ally. I did manage to get the tube on and the increasingly fat and solid meat shoved up in there and in place so she could slide the lock home and turn it in its slot, but barely. As soon as she removed the key, a deeply satisfying warm wave of submissiveness washed over me. In an instant, the steel tube merged with its contents in my mind and I was seemingly as I was always meant to be.

We went to the gym after and I ran for four miles on a treadmill with the Steelheart heavily swinging between my legs. I’ve been in the Looker 02 so much recently that I forgot what the dense steel monolith of the Steelheart felt like. Not at all uncomfortable. Actually somewhat comforting. A subtlety different mindfuck than the lighter L02. Also, I had to reacquaint myself with the sensation of shifting meat within the tube. The L02’s insert keeps the meat inert and unmoving while the PA fixing in the Steelheart allows some shifting. The penis gently bumped against the inside of the tube with each stride.

That night, my new little nympho wanted another orgasm. I had my doubts that it was even possible considering the number she’s had this week and the one she had had just that morning, but she was feeling the itch and it’s my job to scratch it. After lengthy ministrations by me and Pink, she eventually called the effort off. I couldn’t get her more than 85-90% there. I felt defeated. There were a couple of times I thought she was going over, but it didn’t happen. She packed Pink with her on her trip so she’ll not be denied should the urge strike again while she’s gone.

As I said, I had a hard time sleeping again last night and am very tired as I write this. The lack of sleep is aggravatingly non-specific. Sometimes, it’s because I’m too horny and I know it and I can’t stop imagining things. Lately, though, I’m just too alert and aware. And every time I shifted in bed, the Steelheart would heavily flop to the other side. On my stomach, it was a hard, dense presence between me and the mattress. On my back, it would pull the whole package down between my legs. I was never alone.

But it wasn’t a total wash-out. I did get about four hours sleep again, though the morning wood made the last couple pretty restless. A benefit of the L02 is that it rarely wakes me in the morning anymore. Belle’s back tomorrow night late. I’m looking forward to not sleeping next to her again.

Workin’ it

This post is supposed to be an update on the fitness program, but I find myself out of lock-up prior to our trip and I’m having a hard time keeping my mind on anything specific for too long. The free, unlocked, unplugged penis is very needy and distracting. My last orgasm was about the 5th or 6th of July, after all. I am at or very near uncharted denial endurance territory. Even just putting some jewelry into the PA this morning with the penis all flippy and floppy and squishy was an ordeal. It wanted to chub out while the PA hole had shrunk from disuse making the 4 gauge circular barbell a tight fit. Then, not to waste a perfectly good stiffy, I again “tested” the Fleshlight with exactly the same results as before. What a thing, man.

Aaaanyway, fitness. Yes, still going to the trainer three days a week. I’m stronger now that at any point in my life, I’m sure. I can bench, lift, and curl weights I’d never even try in the past and can push through dozens of sit-ups. When I started, I couldn’t do a damned thing (my plank was about 30 seconds). It’s hard to believe how out of shape I was. The results are evident all over, though I have had a hard time losing any more weight. I’m stubbornly stuck. The muscles under there are nice to have. I can feel a marked difference in core strength and, for example, when on the back extension machine, my ass is as hard as stone. But still the bit about the middle. Frustrating.

Belle’s also seeing my trainer now. She goes before me on the same three days I do. Even she’s getting some muscles and is happily past the every-muscle-in-my-body-hurts-oh-I’m-going-to-die phase. I’m really glad she’s joined me in the routine. We’re even taking our stuff on our vacation so we can work out together at the hotel.

With regard to working out and the various chastity devices I wear, there remain no issues other than an occasional odd bulge nobody’s ever brought up with me. The Looker 02 still has the tendency to give me a penis fuck when I’m squatting or doing other similar movements. I haven’t been jogging for quite a while thanks to peroneal tendonitis in my left foot. It’s been a few months of wearing a brace and going to physical therapy, but I’m almost back to being able to run again. I’ve been doing it in smaller increments on the treadmill and the L02 is quite evident when jogging. As in most other things, it’s not painful or even uncomfortable, but very there. The first time I ran for ten minutes with it on, an image of the impaled penis stuck on a long rigid tube flashed in my head every time I closed my eyes. The sensation was so clear it forced the impression into my mind. That said, I’m actually looking forward to finding out what it’s like to run with it on for an hour or so.

The thing about all this physical exertion, and the thing I want to get across more than anything else, is that starting is massively difficult. Inertia is a hard thing to push past. But, once you get going, the nice thing is that your body starts to crave the workout. Whatever chemicals get blasted into your brain are addictive so that the fitness routine because self-perpetuating. I’m going to miss two sessions with the trainer and it bugs the crap out of me. Not beging able to run, hard and for long distances, actually made me depressed.

I don’t want to get preachy, but all you have to do is give yourself a taste. Get started and your body will take over from there.