Use it or lose it?

Over on the Tumblr, someone calling themselves teenlockedboy asked

do you guys think shrinking bc of chastity cage is a real thing?

To which, I replied

It is definitely not a real thing. Been in a device for the better part of 7 years and the penis is the same size it ever was.

Then, someone calling themselves slaveboyinma said…

Yes. Remember the saying. Use it or lose it? Just another reason why that statement is so true.

And someone else calling themsleves nonyshikon added…

It probably can be, for some. The trouble is, very few are doing scientific research on anything sex-related, and…

I’ve gone over this in the past

As I mentioned last week, I was out of the device for a day and a half due to some irritation. During that time, I found myself with a hard penis in my hand (purely for research and reporting purposes, of course – I’m always thinking about my readers) and decided, since it seemed like it was about as hard as it gets, that I’d check to see how things were going. I got the measuring tape and verified that Belle’s cock is every bit the 5 and 5/8 inches it has ever been, even though it spends almost all the time locked inside a very short steel tube.

That was in 2011. In the past couple of months (I can’t recall exactly when), I checked in again on the length of the penis and it’s still, stubbornly, 5 and 5/8 inches long. Contrary to nonshikon’s assertion, I think there’s a fucking lot of study going on regarding items of a sexual nature, but no, I don’t think there’s a lab anywhere doing work on the locked-up penis size issue. However, as a guy encased in a short steel tube way more than half the time (probably at least 75% of the time) and having been like that for many years (even more often in recent years) I can state unequivocally and without hesitation that chastity does not make dicks smaller. Period. At least, not the one on me. Without documented evidence to the contrary, I simply won’t believe anyone who says it does.

Cue all the comments from the little-dicked guys who think they got that way from their devices in three…two…

I recall a chastity blogger who used to be (may still be) active who posted several times about how he and his keyholder were hoping locking him up would make his dick smaller. I asked once if he had seen any changes but never heard back. As far as I know, he never posted any data on the matter. In my personal opinion, he’s not alone in his wish for a diminished member and it’s this penis humiliation kink that drives a lot of the talk about it happening from chastity. This, in turn, freaks out the guys who only want to be locked up, not made smaller.

I also do not believe, beeteedub, that chastity ruins one’s ability to have erections. I still have very nice erections (almost always when I’m supposed to). As I’ve said before, the penis has been trained not to get hard as often in the tube as it would when not, but that’s not a physical issue. It’s a mental thing.

Now, what I have noticed when first coming out after an extended lock-up is the penis will be a little fatter towards the bottom than the top when erect, but that goes away after a day or so. I can only assume the erectile tissue needs to “stretch back out” once its been released. But the effect has never been long-lasting. Certainly not permanent.

So don’t worry, teenlockedboy. Lock away with the piece of mind that the piece between your legs may be locked, but it’s not diminishing. Unlike your ability to use proper spelling and grammar.

No deposit, no return

I ran about four miles on Sunday and then another four on Monday. Tuesday, I started to feel a little twinge in the end of the tube. Like a pinch, but not. Wednesday, it was pretty much constant and had me readjusting the device frequently in an attempt to get whatever little piece of skin was trapped between whatever metal surfaces, but it wasn’t really working. I assumed the tender bits had rubbed against the tube too much, because of the running, and were sore. Or something. Yesterday morning, I finally asked Belle to let me out and check it.

What I found wasn’t a pinch at all. The 10 gauge PA ring I wear had a build-up of mineral deposits not unlike what you’d find if you had hard water. We do have hard water, but there’s also a fair amount of urine passing by that metal regularly, so it could also have been a result of the other kind of hard water. In either event, the white scaly build-up was accumulated near the ball in the ring and went around it about a quarter of the way (remember, I hadn’t seen it for a month). It was on the part of the ring that goes inside the end of the penis, between the natural opening and the piercing. It wasn’t pinching I was feeling, but irritation from the rubbing of this deposit against the inside of the penis’ head. Owie.

I left the device off all day yesterday as I went about my business. It was really fucking weird. The wobbly bits were moving all over and squishing and squashing and rubbing against the inside of my underwear and in general being very distracting. The couple of times I pulled it out to pee, I was like, “Oh! Yeah. That. Right.” Due to an irregularity in our morning schedule, I didn’t have much of a chance to take advantage of the penis freedom. It did allow me to wear a pair of pants I generally don’t wear while in, though. That was a nice treat as I think they make my ass look good.

I got home later than usual and the family was there. Again, no opportunity to abuse the penis. I put on my regular cut-off sweats (worn commando) and t-shirt only to find the penis being even more of a distraction. It’s freedom allowed it to rub against the inside of the sweats and that, combine with its wibbling and wobbling in general, caused it to chub out in an inappropriately noticeable way. So I locked myself back up.

I’m telling you, it’s just easier that way. It’s easier to pee (what with the PA and all) and it’s less of a distraction and it maintains a somewhat large yet totally static and manageable bulge. So that’s me now. The guy who had freedom due to injury yet gave it up because wearing a steel tube is who I am. I could totally see Belle leaving me out because she tends to completely defer to me when I say I feel discomfort (perhaps to a fault) and that would lead to a very difficult night which would have led to a very difficult workout this morning. All things being what they were, I opted for lock-down.

Not totally, though. I left the PA and fixing out in order to give it some time to recoup. That’s left the tube feeling a little more cavernous since the fixing isn’t there to take up any space or hold the penis into place. It’s been bouncing around off the sides as I walk. Also, it’s harder to clean since the water from the shower nozzle pushes the meat up the tube, blocking its escape. Were it hard enough, the water pressure would probably push the penis out entirely. The final weird thing is how a tiny circular piece of the penis pokes out the end of the tube (the PA fixing normally keeps the end of the penis secured just inside, even when under steam). I usually feel nothing on the penis when it’s trying to get hard except pressure but now there’s this little spot that’s intensely sensitive. It causes sharp jolts of electric sensation up and down my body when it brushes against something. For those interested, I’ve included a picture after the jump. Nothing too dramatic. Just one little eye winking though a porthole.

So anyway, I soaked the PA ring and fixing in vinegar for a while this morning and the deposit (whatever it was) dissolved away. Tomorrow I’ll tell Belle I’m good to go with the full meal deal if she wants it in there. Meanwhile, I’ll just keep jiggling (and peeking).

Continue reading “No deposit, no return”

Random penis news

Penises, it turns out, can be trained. Well, at least the brain circuitry that controls it can, but I like to refer to the penis as if it’s an independent being, so just work with me.

For example. The night before she left on her girlfriend’s weekend, Belle let me get her off. I liked it. A lot. It was fantastic feeling her pleasure knowing I was giving it to her. I pressed the steel into her leg while she came and felt the cool cruel cutting of denial as the wave of sensation crested inside her and knowing my experience was ending, too. But, the penis didn’t get hard. Maybe a little plump, but not a boner. Had it not been locked up, it certainly would have been as stiff as possible.

Another example. I tend the porn farm every day. Sometimes several times a day. If I’m out of the device, the penis will react and I’ll play with it and coax its fluids out without orgasm. Those sessions go on a bit longer than the locked variety for obvious reasons. However, when locked (as I am now) looking at images I find to be just as hot and invoking in me the same longing feelings as when unlocked, the penis barely twitches. Occasionally it’ll try to rise to the occasion, but the vast majority of the time, zilch. Same penis, same stimuli, different reactions.

A penis that is locked up all the time is not like one that isn’t. This doesn’t happen overnight. It didn’t used to be this way. But it is now. Also, this isn’t any kind of erectile disfunction because, as I said, when it’s unlocked it works just fine. Also, every fucking morning the erectile plumbing is going full blast. But a good, satisfying erection (let alone the ability to play with it) is one more thing a chronically locked guy is denied.

This morning, as I was waking up, I was laying there with the remnants of penile nocturnal tumescence filling the tube. Not full-on morning wood which is often uncomfortable in its ferocity, but a nicely constricted erection. I was on my stomach and grinding it into the mattress just reveling in the feeling of having a hard-on. Not a normal one, of course, but what I get now. Even if it’s not available, I like having erections now as much as I ever did.

In other penis news, I recently found a website called The Visualizer. The rest of this post contains NSFW images, so I’m placing it behind a jump.

Continue reading “Random penis news”

By the light of the sun

It’s been bad sleeping the past few nights. I have a hard time getting to sleep (or even feeling sleepy), then have a hard time staying asleep, then have to deal with insistent erections from about 4:00 AM on that wake me up. I have a few tricks to make them go away, but the most efective is to get up and pee. So anyway, crappy sleep. Occupational hazard of the chronically denied.

Belle and I woke up at about the same time this morning as dazzling sunlight poured through our window. The device was, as usual, very tight as the penis within was doing its stupid best to get as long and as hard as it could. I whined to Belle about it. She didn’t seem too impressed, but closed the bedroom door so I could get her off. To me, it felt like a quick, hard fuck. I didn’t linger or draw it out. I got her off as fast as I could. As if the faster she came, the better I’d feel or something. But once it was over, I was in even more misery. The penis was throbbing against it’s confinement.

I whined again. This time, about how I wanted to be inside her. Yes, it was lobbying, but I do that from time to time and it’s seldom successful. But this time, she seemed moved by my predicament and got the key.

“You can go for a ride,” she said, “but you can’t come.”

I frantically fumbled with the key in the lock. The penis had subsided just a bit and I had a very short window of opportunity to get the whole thing off before it responded to its new opportunity.

“Don’t get hard, don’t get hard,” I repeated under my breath.

I got the tube off and the PA fixing out of the way, but was too far gone to get past the ring. I was either going in with it on or would have to wait god knows how long before the hydraulics would allow it to be removed. Time was of the fucking essence. Her pussy was right there, all wet, hot and inviting. Somewhere in our house were children who would soon be demanding our attention. Even the dog was antsy.

Fuck it, I thought. I mounted her and pushed the stiff penis home. It felt, in a word, glorious. The cuff ring is too small to wear absent the tube which helps keep the penis from achieving its full erect girth. When it’s not there, the ring bites even more than usual. In my mind, I could see the penis with its veins all standing out and the head deeply red and swollen from the constriction at its base. It felt weird. Not bad, but different. As if I was fucking with someone else’s cock.

After a few minutes of this, the reptile brain took charge and told me to bite Belle. Of course, that’s not allowed, but I wanted to do it badly. I wanted to totally destroy her with this miraculous wonder boner and chew on her face. It was as if my brain was being doused by a fire hose spraying pure testosterone. All semblances of submissive bunny were swept away.

I growled into her ear, “I just love fucking you,” thrust, “so,” thrust, “much!” THRUST.

As I said, the sun was pouring in and Summer is making a last stand here in the Great North, so I was soon getting sweaty with my effort. I felt my forehead bead over and the sweat lubricate our grinding thighs. I kicked the blanket back and my pumping ass was exposed. Even it was sweaty. I felt like a rutting animal. The only human thought left in my head was DON’T COME.

The ring around the penis was becoming insistent in its biting. I would withdraw completely so just the tip of the head was surrounded by sweet pink pussy, then I’d thrust balls-deep, feeling the pain of the ring, the smooth, wet action along the swollen shaft from the folds of her labia clinging and caressing, the throbbing head going deep inside her, my mouth open on hers.

Holy FUCK! I got really, really close. Really. Imagine a beer commercial where they show the bottle tipping in slow motion and the golden fluid cresting over the edge about to pour into a frosty mug, except substitute the bottle for the penis, the beer for my ejaculate, and the frosty mug for Belle’s hot pussy. Then freeze the shot as the beer has just peeked over the edge. Leave it there for ten to fifteen seconds, then roll the footage backward. That was me, heart pounding, head swirling as she said, “I think that’s it, Thumpy.”

Pause. Think. Grind teeth. Flex the penis in her pussy.

Stop.

“Yes, Belle Fille.” And I withdrew.

The penis looked just like I thought it would. Swollen and purplish, glistening with her lube. The ring deeply embedded in the base of the penis shaft. It stood there and throbbed.

“You can stay out until tonight, but then you’re going back in.”

I pulled up my underwear and took the few bits of the device I could get off into the bathroom for a good cleaning. I scrubbed out the tube and, using cold water, cleaned the penis. It was still 80% hard and the corona of the head was massively sensitive. Chilly water or no, it wasn’t going down. And I knew, were it to be left out all day, I’d be messing with it every chance I got. With lots of work and more cold water, I shoved the genie back into the bottle. The lock closed with difficulty as the penis continued its futile effort, stuffed back into the dark cold tube.

I left the bathroom and put the key on Belle’s nightstand. I went to her in the kitchen and put her hand on my crotch.

“I’m not to be trusted,” I said as I buried my face in her neck.

Sweet homecoming

The boy and I got back around 1:00 and I unloaded the vehicle and made sure the tents and sleeping backs were nice and dry before packing them away. It’s bloody hot here today and the effort worked up quite the sweat. My shirt was soaked and I could feel the perspiration running down my back and into my ass crack. The penis and balls were similarly lubed up and sliding around each other easily and in a most madding way. After, when I was cleaning up, I went to put the device on to reduce my extreme distraction (and temptation) but it was all locked together and its key was not present. Belle had it. So I had to wait.

As I said yesterday, I feel as though a switch had been thrown inside me the closer I got to home. I had a very hard time getting to sleep last night (double entendre intended) and had all sorts of thoughts running though my mind as I drove the last 300 miles home today. I had uncontrollable erections that lasted 30, 40, even 50 miles. With no way to control the urges of the penis (except for breaking out the old CB6K which I did strongly consider), I did my best to distract myself from it.

Belle got home around the usual time and, with the kids downstairs playing a video game together (which is weird all by itself), I was able to lay her down on the bed and kiss her face all over. I wrapped my legs around hers and pressed her into me and totally revelled in the smell and taste and feel of her. With my face buried in her neck, I said, “You complete me,” or something similar. In retrospect, it’s a bit of a cheesy thing to say, but that’s how it felt. Like for nearly two weeks there was a big empty hole in me and laying there next to her I felt something big and warm and comforting snap into it. That’s her. She makes me so happy.

After further consideration (because that’s what I do, consider furtherly), I realized that I really am completed by her. In giving her the penis and my orgasm and by changing how I get to feel a sense of sexual satisfaction (that is, though her satisfaction), I really can never be whole without her. A part of me and a part of what makes me feel good and right and healthy is only available when she’s near. Is that why the penis and I didn’t have much to say to one another while I was five states away? I dunno. But the sense of coming home not only to her but also my sense of well-being and certainly my libido is palpable.

Tonight, after the kids were dealt with, we just laid in bed and talked. Talked and talked. About all kinds of things. I love that. I love being married to my best friend. I love that we can talk about anything and that I have little to nothing to hide from her anymore.

As satisfying as the talking was, I was still very aware of the free penis in my pants. I asked what we were going to do about that.

“We’ll lock it up,” she said. Then, after a pregnant pause, “…tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” God, I wanted it now. I wanted her to lock me up now.

“Tomorrow.” I think I whimpered a little. “You’re not complaining, are you?”

“No, of course not.” But I was. Maybe. A little.

“That’s so cute,” she said. “You’re just like a little dog who wants back in his crate. You’re so well trained, aren’t you Thumper?”

Whimper.

“But no, it’ll happen tomorrow. I think you want it too badly right now. I like making you wait for the things you want.”

Surge! The penis got very stiff.

“Turn off the light, take off your cloths, and come under the covers.”

Done. I was in her arms again, stiff little member between us.

“It’s so hard,” I said.

“Yes.”

Kiss, kiss, lick, suck.

“Do you ever miss it? Having it inside you?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” she said, “But you’ve become so good at all the other ways.”

Again, the penis twitched and flexed. Simultaneously aching to be useful and hardening to its fullness at the thought of not being so.

“It’s not even August yet,” she said. “What’s it been now…?”

“Four weeks. But that’s not what I want. That wouldn’t be right. This is what I want. How I feel right now.”

Kiss, slurp. Suck.

“God, I want to touch it,” I volunteered.

“Yes.”

Kiss, suck, nuzzle.

“I don’t know about that,” she said, “but you can give me an orgasm. Then it’s time for bed.”

She pulled up her shirt and I latched onto her nipples like a suckling pig. Jesus fuck, I missed that. Mouth and tongue on one, fingers flitting over the other, I switched back and forth and felt her hips gyrating against the air. When I finally placed a hand over her mound, not even under her pajama bottoms yet, she made the most wonderful little sound. I grazed the tips of my fingers over the outlined of her lips and felt how very close she was. Heat and humidity radiated though the thin fabric. The penis was fully hard and inches away, but it went without saying that it had no role to play.

I put my hand in her pants and she said the softest little Oh! I could have eaten her up right there. I had barely slid my fingers into her hot wetness when she turned her whole body toward me and thrust her hips at me. She grabbed my hand and pushed it home while the orgasm rolled though her. As it subsided, I could feel her pussy twitching.

“Well,” she said after several moments of breathing hard, “I guess I missed you, too.”

Just under the wire

OK, so maybe I will squeeze in one more post before I’m out of here…

Regarding the Jail Bird, it’s not going to happen. Aware that I’ve never been able to stay in that device for more than a few days without developing significant discomfort and suspecting that it’s likely a fit and spacing issue, I decided to try something I read about on Chastity Forums. Not sure who it was that did it, but they were able to create a little extra space between the bottom of the cage and the A-ring by slightly bending the post upward. I tried this yesterday afternoon and the post promptly snapped off. I don’t know much about metal work (whereby “not much” I mean “pretty much nothing”), but I thought welding would create a stronger bond between two pieces of metal. So now, if I ever want to wear the JB again, I’ll need a new A-ring. Which I probably needed anyway.

And, as I’ve been harping on, this now means I’ll be unsecured for the duration of the trip. Belle does not want me in the Steelheart and I guess I understand. Regardless of understanding, it’s her decision. It doesn’t help that I’m in that golden sweet spot where the device and I feel fused and there’s little to no discomfort and I’m even sleeping through the early morning tightness and find it creates a comforting sense of security rather than being something I need to endure. I don’t know if when this happens that anything physical has changed or if it’s all in my head, but I’ve even found myself, when waking with a fantastically full and tight tube, flexing the penis in order to feel more tightness and constriction. As with so many other things, my level of tolerance increases over time.

It’s not like I’ll have ample opportunity to take advantage of my temporary freedom, but I really don’t trust my hand and the penis together unattended even for short periods. There will be little moments (and the chance for several hot, soapy showers in hotels on the way there and back) and, of course, every morning it’ll be all perky and proud and asking for attention. Thing is, when you’re a man in my condition, you end up thinking about what’s in your crotch an awful lot regardless of its state. However, it’s an entirely different flavor of obsession when a healthy ribbon of opportunity is swirled though it. I will try to be strong. Upon return, I will no doubt be anxious for Belle to put me back in.

Belle and I chatted a bit last night about some of the recent blog posts. She’s mad at me (or trying to be) for taking the device off without her knowledge (though I strongly disagree I did it out of spite, as she suggests). While I took it off, I also put it back on, so I feel like I should get some points for that. Also, we talked about my reaction to being belittled, humiliated, made fun of, etc. She says she can’t really see herself humiliating me, but is OK with belittling me. I don’t see much of a difference, but if she can find it in her heart to make fun of me every once in a while, I’ll be happy.

In a related development, I’ve decided to update Thumper’s Rules of Usage and Style regarding how I refer to the sex organ attached my body. It’s clearly established that I never refer to it possessively (it’s not “mine”). I either refer to it as a separate object (i.e., the sex organ) or as hers (though I tend to favor the former style because the latter can be confusing to new readers – “Wait a sec. She had a cock?”). I have typically called it a cock but have just decided to no longer use that word. To me, “cock” implies something unrelated to me or it. A “cock” is an aggressive, action-oriented thing meant for fucking. An in-your-face kind of tool that’s been designed for erect penetration. My little piece of meat doesn’t do any of that. It’s very seldom any longer than the 2.75″ allowed by the Steelheart. From the outside, it never seems to change at all, regardless of how I’m feeling or how much pleasure Belle’s letting me give her. It certainly has practically nothing to do with Belle’s pleasure like a cock would. The only time it gets to be inside her is when she’s giving me one of my infrequent orgasms. Last two times it happened, I’m not even sure she had her top off. It may give her emotional pleasure to let me orgasm, but the act itself doesn’t provide much sexual pleasure for her. The thing’s roll has been demoted to little more than an instrument of prostate maintenance. There’s no aggression down there and certainly little action. It’s not a cock at all. It’s just a penis. And that’s what I’ll be calling it from now on.

I can almost hear eyeballs rolling in some sockets from here, but it’s my blog and I can call it whatever I want. So there. At the end of the day, for me, words have significant value and power. Thinking of it as just a penis strongly resonates with my submissive core. Thinking of it as a little penis just about makes me swoon.

So, finally, this is the last post I’ll make until I’m out of the woods sometime after the 17th or so. As I said yesterday, there’s an HNThumper loaded up for next Thursday, but that’ll be all. I might be able to reply to comments depending on access to cell reception. We’ll see.

Penis weaponization

The incomparable Ferns, in reference to the pictures I posted of the Steelheart Short in comparison to our original Steelheart, said:

I find it interesting that there is no ego in this. If it were me (and I actually *had* a cock and was going to wear a device and and… etc), I can imagine looking in the mirror and going ‘Well, *this* one makes my cock look like an awesome shiny weapon!! Huzzah!… whereas *this* one makes it look kind of short and stubby…”

Of course, now that I have given it a little thought, I do *exactly* this with strapons… “Awesome shiny weapon!! Huzzah!” Heh.

To which Tom replied:

Oh, believe me, we cock-having device-wearers do this all the friggin’ time. We just don’t feel the need to write about it because, well, that would be weird.

Which means I just have to write about it. Weird is my raison d’être, after all.

There are at least two sides of this for me. The first is quite practical. A shorter, smaller device is more comfortable to lug around for days on end. Less of an issue under clothes, less of a strain on the meat upon which it’s attached, etc. In addition, though it’s highly non-intuitive for this to be true, a smaller device can be more comfortable during erections than a larger one. It seems as though the sooner one stops the spongy tissues from becoming engorged, the less discomfort one will feel when it inevitably happens. After a few days, I can say the SH-S is at least as comfortable as the SH-1 while fully erect (at night) and very much more comfortable the rest of the time.

The second side to the issue is more woo-woo than pure practicality, though.

Before I start, I feel compelled to say I do not believe that large cocks or cocks in general have anything whatsoever to do with one’s ability to be dominant or assume a dominant role or that large cocked guys can’t be submissive or that mauve isn’t a completely acceptable color for your grandmother’s tablecloth or anything like that. I will remind you, what I write here comes from my head so a big chunk of it can’t be expected to apply out there where you all live, in The Real World.

Ferns touches on it herself when she says, “Of course, now that I have given it a little thought, I do *exactly* this with strapons.” I assume she’s using strap-ons on her submissive male sex partners and I also assume she uses them, among other things, as some sort of symbol of her dominance (if not, I will be happy to hear otherwise). Of course, my real cock is never used in that way. I gave it to Belle and she tops me so I am ill-prepared mentally to think of the cock as anything other than her tool with which she manipulates me. It’s size, therefore, is immaterial except that it needs to be the right length and girth to make her happy when she chooses to use it to pleasure herself.

Additionally, the cock she keeps in the device hardly ever plays a role in our sex except as a captive witness to it all. Recent activities excepted, I can go weeks or months during which Belle will have as many orgasms as she’ll let me share with her while the cock will only see what light gets though the little hole at the end of the tube. Again, its size does not matter since the basis of our sex life now, and the satisfaction she enjoys, in no way revolves around it.

Finally (and this is where I might piss a few people off), there’s a part of me that doesn not want a large cock or even to do anything that makes it look bigger or more impressive. I’ve written about this before. There is definitely a part of me now, which I trace directly to my growing acceptance and connection with my submissive sexuality, that gets off on the idea of having a small dick. Of course, I do not have a small dick. It’s totally average and satisfies Belle very well. But, it works for me to think otherwise. In fact, when I’m out and able to play with it, one of the quickest ways for me to get to the edge of orgasm is to fantasize that I have a little cock that’s not good enough for Belle. This is hardly unique to me (based on my purely scientific survey of the chastity porn out there). I’m sure there are a lot of guys reading this who can associate with my words and who are in the same boat or are actually small-dicked and are able to achieve the same kind of submissive and almost derogatory pleasure from it.

It’s taken me a while to become comfortable with these feelings. I recall the first times I read a story in which a man was too small to satisfy his wife and she either made him use a large strap-on or took a well-hung lover and how hard it made my heart thump. I resisted it at first. Men in our culture are conditioned to think cock size is to be desired above all other things. This is the same thing that perpetuates the myth that women want ever-larger members inside them and that the size of a man’s penis bears a direct relation to how well he can satisfy women. Of course, it’s all bunk and I already knew that, but still. It’s hard to let go. It’s hard to actually get off on the idea of being “inadequate”.

Long way to say, I have no problem at all with the SH-S making the package “short and stubby” looking. In fact, besides the practical considerations, it’s one the main drivers behind my satisfaction with the new device. As weird as that is.

A token’s worth

The good news is I didn’t lose control of myself yesterday. Yes, there was good deal of self-abuse and I enjoyed myself very much, but I never quite crossed the line into orgasm. I got right up to the line, but didn’t tumble over.

The interesting bit regarding that is the internal conversation that takes place in the moment of trying to stop whatever it is I’m doing in time to avoid the inevitable. It’s like, “I’m getting really close, I’m getting really close, I’mgettingreallyclose…STOP! Stop, stop, stop!!” And everything grinds to a halt. But in those moments of “I’m getting really close” recognition, there’s this other voice interjecting it’s own agenda.

“I’m getting really close.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m getting reeeally close.”

“I know. It’s no big deal. You can go further.”

“I’m getting really, really, really close!”

“OK, just think for a minute. Should you stop? I mean, honestly? Imagine how good it’ll feel if…”

“STOP! Stop, stop, stop!!

“Goddamn it.”

The ancient reptile part of my brain conspires with whichever little bits of my higher brain are against this whole orgasm denial thing – not in order to talk me out of stopping, but to distract me for just a tiny bit at the end when I’m so close that even a second’s worth of dithering will mean I go over the falls and squirt violently all over the place. I was there four or five times yesterday but it wasn’t until the last two that things got dangerous. Both times I stopped in time to avoid the internal fireworks, but not in time to avoid ejaculation. So, if nothing else, I’m well milked.

Having the cock as a member of my little party was highly unusual. I’d pull up just in time and look down at it all shiny and slick and it, in turn, looked back up. It doesn’t have a face, but it’s distain for me was apparent.

“Oh, just fucking do it, already!” Throb. Squirt. Throb. Bob.

But no. I didn’t. I did exactly what I was allowed to do and no more. And before anyone thinks of ripping me a new one for my prolonged masturbatory indulgence, remember I had permission.

Afterward, I took a shower and decided it would be best if I put the Steelheart back on, but the 5:00 hot spot I talked about yesterday was still pretty hot. Belle inspected the situation last night before sleep and said she’d give it another 24 hours to heal. I enjoyed my freedom and still hope she might want to take advantage of the situation for herself somehow, but honestly, the distraction of having a cock I can reach down and touch, with real hard erections and everything, is almost too much for me to handle. I will be grateful to be shut off from it again.