Damnedable meat

I took the device off this morning. After all, I was going to fly and I couldn’t very well take it through security with me. My plan had been to take it off just before I was about to leave. After my shower and after I was dressed and packed and essentially ready to walk out the door. You know, because I didn’t need the temptation of being left alone with the naked weenie.

Good plan, but somehow the steel was off about three minutes after my last image proving the penis was secured the entire time I was gone had been posted. My concern over temptation was well founded. I ended up jacking it in the shower, after I dried off, while getting dressed, and even in the airplane bathroom at 35,000 feet. I never came, but my underwear was well crusted by the time I got home. Copious leakage.

As soon as I got in the door at home, I retrieved the Steelheart Short from my checked bag, disassembled it, pulled down my semen-stained underwear, and locked the damnedable meat back into its prison. It’s not that I wanted to be bad (relatively, of course – it wasn’t as bad as that other time I was in a hotel by myself), it’s more like I had no choice. I don’t recall making the conscious decision to do any of it. It just happened. The device was off and my hand was wrapped around the stiffy and pulling like crazy. I was able to back off before orgasm because actually coming now it a hard line for me and enough to make me stop, but each time I’d tell myself to stop and focus on the task at hand only to find that task was in my hand and getting worked over. In any event, it’s secure once again. And while I can feel the flickering remnants of the desire to hold its hardness deep inside me, the stainless steel is helping to push that urge further and further away.

As I was snapping the new numbered lock into the keysafe (1871222, in case you’re keeping score at home), I realized I had a whole baggie full of the things and Belle never pays attention to the number currently in use. Theoretically, I could pop the lock and use the key for nefarious purposes and lock everything back up again without anyone being the wiser. Really, I should only ever have the one plastic lock at a time. The rest shouldn’t be in my possession. I’m giving her the baggie as soon as she comes home.

The other thing that dawned on my today is that I have no idea how long it’s been since I came. None at all. I could go back and figure it out with the blog, but I’m not going to. It hasn’t been a really long time, but it’s been long enough that I’m super fucking horny (Did I mention I took a few nipple clamps with me on my trip? My nips still ache.). Belle’s always said she doesn’t like to count the days like I do so I’m doing my best not to think too hard on it and count them. I shall be blissfully unaware and focus on things that matter. My orgasms are pretty far down that list.

December’s come, I haven’t

You may have noticed that the entire world is now in the month of December. Even here, it’s definitely the 12th month of the year. The month in which I will have an orgasm after more than three without.

In not unrelated news, it’s remarkable to me how long I can jack off now and not come. I have become amazingly well tuned to the stages of orgasm and know within a hair’s breadth where I am from actually going over the falls and squirting all over, how long to let it chill before going back in for more, and when even breathing on the head will cause an eruption. Also, that I can essentially walk away from it even though I’m thoroughly juiced, primed, and ready to blow. “Oh, look at the time.”

The other morning, I was looking down at the penis, all greased up and nestled into my fist, and could practically see it begging me with it’s silly sideways mouth. Sometimes, jacking off is just a thing you do to another thing for a particular purpose, but other times there’s this circuit made between the cock, your hand, and your brain and they become one functioning, pumping unit looping feedback between one another. That’s what it felt like when it looked like it was begging. “Pleeeeeease!?” it seemed to be asking. But no. I was going to abide by the rules.

Perhaps Belle could sense how close it and I have become lately because last night she laid down the law. First of all, when I come, it will be in her. She wants to catch it all. Oh, and by the way, she’s on her period, so no, it won’t be for a few days. Also, I’m to stop touching the penis. No more yankie the wankie until after she says it’s time for me to come. Regarding that timing, she jets off again in a few days, so the window of opportunity will be small before then. If I have to wait until she get’s back, then it’s about a week from now. If she leaves on the trip without allowing me to come, I will beg to be locked up.

The double cock ring continues to be on me and, indeed, feels to be just as much a part of my body as the Steelheart can at times. I’ve found that the inside of the penis ring is not smooth like the rest of the device. It’s rough and somewhat unfinished feeling. Not sure if there’s a way to polish it up, but I may try and find out. It’s not a problem, but I can feel it and it bugs. Other than that, I have no complaints. Sleeping, by the way, is cake. If I happen to wake up with an erection, I can feel it filling the rings, but it doesn’t wake me up by itself.

Well, that’s about all I got. Today is ninety-eight days. Tomorrow, ninety-nine. Almost there. I hope.

Rubbed raw

Today is thirteen weeks, four days since the Unfortunate Incident. AKA, ninety-five days since my last orgasm (and officially over my previous record).

The earliest I’ll be allowed to come is day after tomorrow: December 1. However, knowing my Belle like I do, I’d bet she’ll make me wait until the weekend. Saturday will be 99 days. Will she make me wait until Sunday for the even 100? Will she allow me to be out of the Steelheart until then? As I mentioned yesterday, she let me out of the tube on Saturday. Since then, I’ve literally rubbed the penis raw in frustration. Is it any wonder I prefer to be locked up? Do you have any idea how long it takes me to get out of the bathroom in the morning like this?

As an aside, I may need to come up with a better term then “locked up” since the double cock ring also has a lock, the key to which is not in my possession. I am, technically, still locked up, but not at all in the way I am in the chastity device. 

Speaking of rubbing, the new Steelworxx double cock ring (DCR) has forced me to modify my technique. As I pointed out yesterday, when fully erect, the skin on the penis isn’t as loose with the DCR in place. Based on my own first-hand experience with other erect male penises, the skin on “mine” is relatively pliable. I hardly ever have had to use lubrication when jerking off. One guy I know with a particularly fine specimen had to lubricate. When he was hard, it was all monolithic and tight (and so wonderfully hefty). I have always suspected this difference was due to how our individual circumcisions took place (i.e., how much did the doc cut off), but I’ve never been with an uncut guy to verify.

But I digress. My point is, the rings keep things tight down there and that’s partly why I’m raw. I didn’t use enough lube. The other factor is how the skin on the shaft seems to get more sensitive after it’s been locked away for a long time. The other other factor is overuse. Plain, simple self-abuse. Having not been told by Belle not to do it, I have been indulging myself repeatedly.

Besides that, the other new wrinkle the DCR has added to my style is how it’s effectively reduced the length of the penis’ shaft. The penis, as I’ve said here before, is, when fully hard, a perfectly average 5 5/8″ long. The DCR takes about an inch of pullable meat away. Then, on the other end, is the PA ring which can be tricky to masturbate over. Typically, I rub up to it and let my fingers open so they go around. Too much pushing and pulling on the ring can make the hole sore. Take that into account and I’m left with less than four inches of beatable meat. My palm is about 3.5″ across. You see my predicament.

Which, of course, I like. I am, technically, free. And in December, I’ll be even freer since Belle has said I’ll be able to come whenever I want. But the DCR complicates that a bit. I can jack off but it’s awkward. I can get pleasure, but there are still some boundaries and issues. I’m all about boundaries and issues.

I’ll close this post by thanking Tom for the nice call-out the other day on his blog:

Thumper is one of the few — very few — “chastity blogs” that has managed to stay fresh and interesting. I don’t always agree with him; hell, I don’t even always understand him. But there’s no question that Thumper is writing from a special, deep place, and you simply can’t doubt his honesty and emotional openness.

At first I was like, “Aw, that’s nice,” and then I was all, “Wait, doesn’t always agree with me?” and then, “Doesn’t understand me!?” before thinking, “Am I disagreeable? Am I that weird!?” Which, of course, is one of the things about me I’m sure Tom doesn’t understand. In any event, I truly appreciate the props. I’ll do my best not to obsess over the agreeing and understanding bits. As I said…boundaries and issues. That’s me.

Creamery

Belle let me out of my confinement last Wednesday night in anticipation of our family trip to New York the following day. I had been encased for two solid weeks at that point, but I didn’t get much chance to enjoy my freedom since we were up late packing and the alarm went off in the wee hours of the next day so we could catch our flight. Then, three nights with the four of us in a Manhattan hotel room didn’t exactly lend itself to any penis play time.

But that’s not to say I didn’t get something out of it. Like any great city, New York is all about walking. Having not seen the light of day for so long left the head of the penis extraordinarily sensitive. As I’d walk, the motion would cause the penis to move against the fabric inside my pants and I’d find myself very distracted. What’s more, I’d eventually develop a raging boner, all from nothing more than incidental contact with my clothing.

We got home very late Sunday night and Belle told me I’d go in the next night. Monday morning, I found myself edging in the shower. It’s been two months since I came and I’m too weak to keep my hands off when I have the opportunity. Getting out of the shower, I decided to conduct an experiment that would provide me with practical information and make sure I didn’t spill any seed.

I’ve played around with lidocaine cream in the past and found it to be a really good way to temporarily deny myself the ability to orgasm even without a device in place. Recently, I’ve read several accounts of men in my position who’ve used it to allow their partners full penetrative sex while removing worry that it’d make them come (like this one). I told Belle this and she seemed somewhat interested in the idea since the most limiting factor of my denial is her enjoyment of riding the erect penis. Also, I have felt guilt in the past in not being able to give her this activity that she likes so much.

So, I bought a new tube of the stuff, this time at a 5% strength versus the 4% cream I’ve used in the past. What I wanted to find out was A) how long would it take before the penis was numb enough to safely use, and B) what parts of the penis could I leave with sensation and still not be concerned with orgasm?

First off, this stuff ain’t cheap. I got a 2 ounce tube (this one, marketed as an anorectal cream – sexy!) and paid $50. I don’t recall how much the 4% cream I got last time was (and I can’t find it on Amazon any more), but it wasn’t anything like that much. The 5% version is more expensive, but I figured it’d also be 20% faster/longer lasting. Good news is, it doesn’t take much of the stuff to do the job so we should be able to get many session from the one tube.

The reason I wanted to know how long it took for numbness to set in is, of course, I don’t want to leave Belle waiting. Plus, I wanted to know how much advance planning it’d take to use. Turns out, I was sufficiently sedated after about 10-12 minutes (which is a bit faster than the 4% cream). I could still feel a little, but not enough to come. I applied it only on the head and maybe 30% of the end of the shaft, making sure to use the PA ring to get it down inside the urethra, too. I left some of the shaft with sensation since I’m worried that total lack of penile feeling would make keeping an erection difficult. Interestingly, once it had taken affect, the penis felt warmer than it had before. I assume this is because its skin couldn’t feel the air around it anymore. In any event, that was my clue that it was ready to try. I washed the remaining cream off and towel-dried the meat.

I jacked off pretty intensely for about 10 minutes. For most of that time, I had the sensation of wanting to come (my nuts even drew up as if I was about to), but I could never quite get there. It was like having a sneeze ready to come out, but never being able to get it out. I could feel the lower half of the penis pretty good, so my brain knew what was happening, but all the nerve endings in the business end were silent. After maybe 15 minutes, I started to feel like an orgasm was about to happen and I found myself edging again, even with a mostly numb dick. Unlike last time I tried this, there still was sensation in part of the shaft and that seemed to be enough after a long while to move the internal machinery in place. Next time, I’ll make sure to apply the cream further down the bottom of the shaft as feeling in that area seems to be integral in achieving orgasm even when the head has none. Also, if I have the time, I might also apply a second coat.

I think Belle wanted to have sex last night, but it was not to be. She told me I could stay out one more day, but I find being unprotected to be maddeningly distracting. Especially after two months with at least one more to go. Based on that, she allowed me to lock myself back up. After she fell asleep, I did (though not before giving the penis one last round of wanking). If she wants to use it tonight (or whenever), I can get it out quickly enough. If she gives me 15 minutes of warning, I can even make it safely fuckable.

I woke up at 5:00 AM for the first time in days with the incredible pressure of a secured erection. It was intense, as always, but not in a way bad. The discomfort was actually comforting. It’s a feeling only a happily denied man can appreciate, to be sure. The feeling of not being tempted by the annoying penis and there being zero chance of accidentally squirting. It felt safe and secure and perfectly natural.

The unfortunate incident

I was away from Belle and unlocked for one night last week. Thursday night, to be precise. The night before, I was so jacked up and horny that I slept only a few hours here and there. I kept waking up with the kind of stuffed tube that only feeds upon itself with all kinds of visions and scenarios spinning in my head.

So, as I boarded the aircraft the next morning and flew a few hours to make a presentation in front of a bunch of total strangers,  I was operating on energy reserves. Forced fun following and an overly indulgent dinner of the kind reserved for important life events (graduation, marriage, death) or large corporate expense accounts left me in my mid-priced yet stylish hotel room aching for the bed and numerous pillows.

And I was, truly, exhausted. I neglected to pack any bedclothes so I climbed in between the cool, crisp sheets able to feel their cool crispness along my entire body. Even those areas that typically only feel the inside of a steel tube. Nonetheless, I was tired. Exhausted, remember? I laid back and opened my laptop in order to catch up with Facebook and the world news. My eyelids were leaden and I moved to close the computer and turn out the light.

But I didn’t. Instead, I thought to myself, let’s just see what’s waiting for me in my Tumblr feed. I clicked the link to The Portfolio’s dashboard and saw a stream of bodies materialize. At first, I can’t say it much affected me, but after a few moments and seeing a couple of particularly interesting specimens that nicely complimented my taste, there was a stirring beneath the sheets. My leaden eyelids lightened a bit and the veil of sleep withdrew a bit more. My left hand found its way to the pudgy penis and gently coaxed it into full stiffness.

The more dispassionate parts of my brain saw what was coming. I would likely edge myself for an hour or so (and it was already late) before perhaps allowing a couple slugs of creamy white goo out in a non-orgasmic emission. Then I’d toss and turn and deal with multiple erections and probably punch myself in places most men would wither to consider before finding myself standing bleary-eyed at the check-in counter for the flight home.

While pondering this certain fate, I also happened to notice how the stroking felt. How the fat, heavy PA ring moved within the head of the penis and how that sensation was, in a word, excellent. There are times, most men would agree, when jacking off is perfunctory and not especially great, but there are others when the loop of one’s hand and one’s member and one’s brain is in perfect tune. Where the three elements form a continuous element of pleasure. In that crisp white bed in that moderately-priced yet still stylish hotel room with the over-active air conditioner I felt such a oneness. And I weighed that oneness against my previously considered fate.

There really was no question. At no point did the alternative seem likely. I knew what was going to happen. I was going to come. And I was going to like it. Yes, I knew I’d feel guilty immediately afterward, but I also knew with a certainty how good the orgasm was going to feel. The inevitable build-up, the hovering on the brink, and the explosive fireworks that would run along my spine and over my scalp as the creamy payload spewed forth.

And, as long as I was being bad, I decided to drag it out. To really revel in my disobedience and make it count. As the orgasm would approach, I’d change my grip and make it wait, make it work its way back down. The big heavy ring deliciously tickling the most sensitive part of me from within while my hand teased it from without. I worked that load the best I could. I wanted to be bathed in ejaculate. I wanted to really fucking come. This wasn’t going to be a case of manslaughter. This was going to be first degree murder. Not premeditated, perhaps, but with all the same consequences.

And I came. And there were fireworks and tingling. Every hair stood up on my body. The cream gushed forth all over my stomach and hand. I came like a 17-year-old. It was glorious.

For 6 seconds. Then the stupor washed over me tinged with a froth of guilt. I staggered into the bathroom and wiped the offending paste from my body and fell back into bed. And I slept, knowing I’d tell Belle. Which I did. Two nights ago.

Fleshy bits

“You look funny when your fleshy bits are out.”

That’s what Belle said to me a few days ago following her decision that I’d be out of the device and the unencumbered penis flopped around as I climbed into bed. Her reason for letting me be that way had to do with another camping and hiking trip I’m about to set forth on, though I don’t leave until tomorrow and she let me out Tuesday morning. There was a vagueness about whether or not my August orgasm would coincide with this.

The night before that, she had unexpectedly let me give her an orgasm. About midway through, she told me to get on my back and for a second I thought she was going to do something for me, but instead she threw one leg over my face and pressed her pussy down onto my mouth and eager tongue. I reached up and fiddled with her nipples while she grabbed the headboard and gyrated her hips around and lubricated the entire lower half of my face. The penis was straining in its prison as she moaned and groaned while exploring her new-found control over this particular kind of pleasure. It’s a little more natural for her, perhaps, since she used to usually need to be on top while fucking me in order to get off. In any event, she did achieve her orgasm while I laid there like one of those coin operated kiddy rides you used to see outside grocery stores.

The next day, I was out and distracted by the little meaty bit. I admit to playing with it more than I probably should have, but well within reason. I found I couldn’t very well curate The Portfolio while at work and then expect to be able to get up and walk around without demonstrating its affect on me. With the device in place, it always looks the same regardless of what’s going on inside. In any event, it and I were playing our usual game of chance until last night when she told me she would let me rub one out.

I will say right now it sucked. That was no fault of hers as she was more or less just an observer (she was feeling a little under the weather). She hopes that allowing me to come last night will give me the ability to control myself better so as to provide her with a nice ride on the erection tonight (assuming she’s feeling better). While excited for the event and eager to get going, I’m not sure I was in the proper mindset and may have rushed into it. There is a very palpable differnece between jacking off for the purpose of edging versus doing the same with the idea of coming. There was a point when I felt the orgasm building steam and I backed off in order to prolong my enjoyment (as if I wasn’t going to come) but then said fuck it and plowed forward so that when it finally started, there was a definite lack of fireworks. I did come and felt sleep/dopey/tingly from it, but it was hardly the kind of event I would have expected after being denied for two months, in either quality or quantity. I’m feeling more on edge and ready to come again right now than I was last night, so I hope she’ll give me another shot (literally) before I go. I also hope that if she wants to use the penis herself, that I’ll be able to accomodate her desire.

Almost there

I get home tomorrow. I will have been away for something like 11 or 12 days, depending on how you count. I really need to be back there.

Previously, I expressed a concern that being free for so long would tempt me to do things with the penis I probably shouldn’t. First day away, I admit I diddled a bit with it, but as I got further and further from Belle, my interest in it lessened more and more. I’d wake in the tent, snuggled into my sleeping bag, with the penis stiff and hard, but I had basically no desire to play with it. I gave it a few wanks to see if I could kindle a response, but there was nothing. For more than a week, it became just this little tube of meat I urinated through. It was as if the spirit of my sexuality was left behind with her and all I took with me was the useless machine it normally animated.

But, as I’ve driven the many miles back to Belle, the penis has started to become interesting again. This morning, the first time I updated The Portfolio since I headed into the woods, I found my hand wrapped around the hard flesh, pumping it furiously and feeling the heavy PA ring knock around at the end of it. My scrotum tightened up and I felt the electric fire starting to build inside, but I stopped well short of orgasm (though a little leaked out). Then, for the rest of the day, I was very aware of the unencumbered condition of my crotch. Even peeing became somewhat erotic in a strange way. I could feel the stream passing through my prostate and my fingers on its skin would cause the penis to respond by chubbing out and looking very tempting.

It occurred to me at some point over the course of the day that it’s been about a month since Belle last let me come, so it’s only natural that I’d find the penis needy, though it’s reawakening as I get closer to her is more than little interesting. I’m still at least two weeks away from my next orgasm as Belle previously said I wouldn’t have one before August. I find myself craving two things. First, her. Her presence, her scent, her warmth, and her pleasure. Second, her control. Cold, hard steel locked onto the penis keeping it out of reach and less of a distraction. Maybe its stirring is driven by the knowledge both it and I have that its days of freely knocking around down there are coming to an end.

Less than 24 hours to go…

Of lizards and pistons and pinchy bits

The answer to the question, “Why hasn’t Thumper posted recently?” isn’t “Because he had an orgasm,” it’s “Because he had two orgasms.”

It all started about ten days ago. Belle told me she was going to let me out for the weekend and I’ve found that once the meat knows its freedom is set at a fixed point in the future, it starts to get irritable. On that Thursday, I was dealing with an odd pinch in the tube and no shifting or pulling would make it go away. Finally, I asked for Belle’s key so I could remove the internal pinchy bits but she decided to just let me out altogether a day earlier than scheduled. And, of course, upon inspection, I found nothing wrong with it. It was just bitching.

That Saturday morning, we had sex. I got her off using Pink, the hard cock being essentially ignored by her. Not a bad plan on her part because it had been two months since the last time it had been of any use and its effectiveness as a pleasure object would likely have been limited. After she came, she let me mount her. I tried my hardest to make the experience count since I was not sure she’d let me have more than one shot this time around. I was doing OK at keeping a good pace and varying the tempo so I could just feel her soft, hot wetness slide along the hungry shaft, but at a point much too soon for me, something snapped. I would describe it as a mutiny in the control room of my brain, but it wasn’t like that. More like a rerouting of control around my brain. The lizard brainstem and lower half of my body essentially told my brain to fuck off and that they were going to handle the action from that point forward. I literally could not stop. My only function and my only focus was being a meat piston. I fucked the shit out of her…for about 28 seconds.

Then I came in a way unlike the more recent events. No tingling, no feeling of being pulled inside out, just grunts and flexing and surging and the need to fill her up. Fill her with the cock and fill her with the seed and make damned sure nothing else happened until that was over. I cannot say it was the most fun orgasm I’ve had, but “fun” is a concept unknown to the lizard brain. It was function. It was like when two dogs start going at it and you have to turn a hose on them to make them stop. The basic need for all living things to pass on their code drove my hips into her and pinned her to the bed with the cock until the transfer was complete and, finally, felt its own sense of animal satisfaction at the effort.

Sunday night, she gave me a handjob. I thought she’d let me come, but all the way up until the final moment I half expected her to pull her hand away so there was a bit of a race going on internally between her stroking and my getting all the ejaculatory mechanisms lined up in time. I grasped the headboard, hands up over my head, as she pulled the orgasm from my body. It was actually quite wonderful and left me feeling dopey and fuzzy sleepy warm. But, she wanted me back in right then, so she rubbed the sticky goo on her hand all over my chest allowing its stench to fill my senses. Then, she handed me the key and sent me off to the harsh white light of the bathroom to reaffix the steel and clean the goobery mess from my chest hair. I did it, reluctantly. My fuzzy sleepy warmth was all washed away by the experience. I came, and I liked it, but I was not allowed to bask.

For the better part of the week after, it was this thing. This annoying, clinging, intrusive alien sitting in my pants. Almost immediately, the internal security bits were biting me again, so she let me take those out, but that didn’t make my mental opposition to being encased any less severe. Just the opposite. None of my usual routines work the same way when the PA fixing and ring aren’t in there. With them, enough space is held open to allow water to be easily flushed though, but without them the stupid meat is easily squished and squashed and blocks the free flow water in and urine out. The end result of all this wasn’t as bad as I probably felt it was, but for days it was like canned meat swinging between my legs. Nothing good about it.

Things started to shift by Thursday. I was to drive a few hours away that day and be apart from Belle for two nights. Suddenly, the idea that I had to have the fixing and ring in place was paramount. Their absence made me feel incomplete rather than inconvenienced. My device was not whole and neither was I. That morning, Belle left me with her key and I dutifully tended to the total securement of the cock with no ill feelings or surreptitious squeezes. She had given me an opportunity to make it right so the idea of taking advantage was furthest from my mind. I put in the ring, threaded the fixing though it and then slid the still-flaccid cock into the tube and felt along with it the sensation of warmth and comfort and security. It was like putting on my favorite sweatshirt, not an implement of bondage and sexual frustration. I was where I was supposed to be and it felt right.

I was back home by Saturday and she let me give her an orgasm. I had the palpable feeling of being a human sex toy as it was all about her and not at all about me. She didn’t care that I would be left horny and caged and unable to sleep. That was my place. I should get used to it. I was cleaving to her as the orgasm pulsed from between her legs and I grunted along with her moans. I was coming, too, but though her pleasure. As expected, I slept fitfully.

Now, a week in to a lock-up of undetermined length, the meat and its cage have settled back into their symbiotic relationship. It’s a part of me again. I look in the mirror and I see it and it looks like me. Its contents don’t. That thing looks like the other. The intruder. But it’s OK because the lock is on and it can’t get out.

Funny how that works.

Squeaky clean

Air travel stinks. I was talking to my coworkers as we flew back yesterday and one of them remarked that when she was young her family dressed up to fly. How it was such a big deal. Now, planes are nothing more than busses with wings. Endless charges for such luxuries as baggage and rude attendants and knees pushed up into your chin for three hours. Man, I’ve had it.

Anyway, I’m back home. Finally. Night before I left, even with a numb dick, I couldn’t fall asleep. It was a combination of being really horned up and having had a glass of iced tea with dinner. That little extra jolt of caffeine mixed with the hormones kept me up to four in the morning so I got maybe two or three hours of sleep. The tossing and turning went on so long, the feeling came back to the cock and in my delirious half sleep, half awake state, my hand found it again and again. I’d edge myself then control would come back and I’d roll over only to find my fevered brain reinserting all kinds of pornographic thoughts before me and the cock would swell and the whole thing would start over again. I knew that if I just came I’d likely fall asleep quickly, but I resisted the best I could. It was one of the hardest evenings of orgasm control I’ve had in a while. The barrier between pre and post orgasm was membrane thin and, by the time I pulled up and stopped stroking, I was leaking great quantities of ejaculate. I didn’t get the tingly sensation of orgasm and the thoughts and desires came back quickly enough for me to know it wasn’t an orgasm, but it was a very close scare. In the future, even if Belle lets me go to these things unprotected, I should probably bring the Steelheart along for those times I feel I’m losing control. When it’s in place, even if I hold my own key, the Rule of Law descends and my relationship with the cock changes completely.

Got home well after Belle went to sleep last night so I’m still free. I took the opportunity to clean out the Steelheart tube thoroughly this morning. I find that when I’m locked into it for weeks at a time (as I just was – essentially a month), a type of build-up appears at the end of the tube. It appears to be some kind of mineral-type stuff that I assume is left there by frequent contact with urine. It clings to the steel and can’t be cleaned out with soap and water, but I’ve found soaking the tube in a vinegar bath loosens it up enough that it can be wiped out.

I took the opportunity afterwards to take the above picture. I shows how tight things are in the end the tube with the PA fixing and 4 gauge ring. All that squished with the penis meat into a 2.5″ long steel cage. Time will tell when the meat is again so squished. Belle’s given me no indication when she wants it back in there.