Tag: Steelheart

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A little Friday nerdery

I decided yesterday to go commando. I hardly ever go to work or into the world like this anymore, but yesterday was warm and I was wearing roomy, breezy shorts and the muse moved me. While getting dressed, I simply left the underwear on the bed.

Once I got to work, I was walking across the parking lot toward the building and enjoying the stiff breeze blowing against me. The really hot weather had moved out the night before and the cool front was kicking up the atmosphere a bit. After I got about three-quarters of the way across, I realized that the wind was pressing my clothing to my body and, as I walked, the perfectly clear outline of my tube was plainly visible, rocking back and forth with the motion of my legs, under the thin fabric of my shorts. There were others around and about the doorway and in the lot, but I can’t say who saw what (if anything). So…commandos beware. It didn’t stop me from doing it again today, though.

I woke up last night with some nasty pinching at the end of the tube. In my rush to get back in, I neglected to replace my chunky 4ga PA ring with the space-saving 8ga ring I usually use in the device. That was a mistake and one I’ve made before. I’d get up and walk around to bring the swelling down only to crawl back into bed and find myself in the same spot 15 minutes later after I fell back asleep and the nocturnal hydraulics kicked back in. I could have popped my key (had I woken up Belle, I would have been in trouble), but toughed it out until this morning when I asked Belle if I could borrow hers.

As I took the tube off, I found the insides to be coated with slimy precum leakage. A strong whiff of male ejaculate wafted up to meet me. I had to act fast as Belle was standing right next to me and her presence (and potential observation) combined with the leakage-induced slipperiness of the meat combined with the generally horny as fuck condition I’ve been in since I got home didn’t leave me a lot of time before the blinking and light-shy penis figured out its shell had been removed. I pried the big ball out of the 4ga ring, removed it, slipped in the thinner ring, snapped in the smaller ball, and got the device reassembled and locked in record time. I felt like one of those guys who can disassemble and reassemble his rifle in the dark. Even now as I sit here and type this, I can feel the difference.

In other nerdery news, I still find the base of my scrotum to be adjusting to the ring again. Even with lube, I’m feeling periods of burning. That might be due to the fact that I’ve had zero support down there for well over 24 hours now. No underwear means the meat has to support the device all the time. Just thought of that. Hmmm…

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Unencumbered penises are so overrated

Belle gave me the key yesterday morning just as she was leaving for the day. I admit I asked for it, but she gave it freely. She left me there in bed (I had the day off and was supposedly sleeping in) so I rolled over to her nightstand drawer and took the Steelheart out of the flowery little drawstring bag she put it in when I left two weeks ago.

Getting the ring on was difficult. For one, I was doing it all by touch under the sheets, but my nuts (which have never popped through the 40mm ring with ease) seemed a bit larger than usual. The wince when the right one went through (the larger of the two) was intense. Then there was the penis. Frankly, it just wouldn’t cooperate. Once I had the nuts though, it was sporting a pretty healthy semi and getting it to follow was a challenge. Once that was accomplished, the hydraulics had simply progressed too far to imagine the tube going on.

I thought this was funny. I’ve put the damned thing on maybe a hundred times now and haven’t found it to be so maddeningly arousing in a long while. Tired of waiting for it to relax (and aware that the ring itself was working against me), I got up and filled a baggy with ice cubes. Getting to the freezer from the bedroom and then back to the bathroom was tricky since by that point the penis was tenting out my pajama bottoms pretty well. I had to hook the head of the thing into the waistband so it wouldn’t flop all over. I thought that by walking around, getting the baggy, getting the ice, etc, it’d go down on its own, but no dice. It and I knew what was going on and about to happen. In the bathroom I left the ice on it so long it got numb, but didn’t really go down all that much. It took a really long time, but finally it was soft enough to push the tube on and squish the recalcitrant penis meat down into it. Once the lock was in place, it tried to get hard, but of course couldn’t. Neener, neener! Gotcha!

I’ve said before how wearing a device all the time stretches out your nutsack. Well, it’s apparently the case that the stretching is not permanent because for the rest of the day it burned at the base of the ring. I lubed it several times but could always feel it pulling on the skin. Today, it seems as though my scrotum is broken back in.

Unsurprisingly, the 4:00 AM wake-up call from down below felt exquisite. I got up to relieve myself as usual (takes the worst of the edge off the compression), but absolutely reveled in the feeling of being confined when I got back to bed. I reached out to her sleeping form and laid my hand on her arm. Everything had returned to normal.

Yeah, I got it bad.

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HNThumper XXXVI: The great outdoors

Still on vacation! I scheduled this HNT twofer before I left.

I am, at heart, a nudist. Belle calls me an exhibitionist, and that’s probably true, too, but I don’t think they’re the same thing. I really like to be naked but I’m not particularly interested in being caught in that condition.

As avid readers of this blog may know, Belle and I are fortunate enough to have access to a family cabin deep in the north woods of Minnesota (not all that far from the Canadian border). In years past, I’d get away from the bustle of multiple families all piled on top of one another in its relatively tight quarters by heading off into the woods. Sometimes on a bike (though not recently – I really need a new mountain bike), but most often in a kayak. Whether on forest road or river, this part of the state is sparsly populated. I go for hours and never see another person.

Which is good, because as soon as I’d think I was well and truly removed from view, I’d often strip off my clothes. No, not all at once. Usually just the shirt until I was able to stoke my courage, then the full Monty. As long as I remembered to apply generous sunscreen and bug spray before leaving, it’d be bliss. The feeling of the warm summer sun washing against the whole of my body and the calm, cooling breezes stroking every last hair: chest, legs, and pubes. Inevitably, the heat of the sun on the penis would cause it to twitch and stir and lengthen and do all those things penises do. It’s not that I wanted to be naked for sexual reasons, but the excitement of being that way, totally and completely, in a place where anyone could come across me (either by coming down the road in the opposite direction or by me paddling around a bend and finding a boat of quiet fishermen just sitting there) inevitably caused my heart to start pumping and the rest would just – ahem – come naturally. (OK, maybe I am just a smidge of an exhibitionist.)

One time, in the kayak, I stopped at a giant boulder in the river (probably 20 feet across) and splayed out over it with my clothes back in the boat too far away to get to unnoticed if anyone came upon me. The heat of the rock on my back and the heat of the sun on my front and my hand on what was, at the time, my stiff penis with nothing but the eyes of the eagles and deer and whatever other fauna came across me. I jacked off on that rock, leisurely, enjoying my feeling of oneness with the great outdoors. Of course, I eventually left my seed there. Once it spurted out of me, it seemed to take my courage with it and I scrambled back to the kayak to be closer to my clothing.

Today (eleven days prior to this post), I found myself in a similar situation for the first time in a long while. I was out on the same stretch of secluded river and felt the need to be free of my clothing. Once I thought it was safe, I was kayaking in the nude with only the buzzing dragonflies as my company. This is the first time I’ve done this in a steel tube and was interested to find that, even though it was now sitting in full sunlight, I could feel the metal cool once it was free of the steamy confines of my pants. Then, after a few minutes, it assumed a wonderful heat that was especially evident when a breeze would blow over me and cool the rest of my body while the encased penis stayed warm. I paddled that way for quite a while, keeping my eyes and ears sharp, wondering what I’d do if discovered. The brave naturist in me said I should do nothing except smile and wave (and wouldn’t it be great if we lived in a world where that was possible?), but the reasonable adult in me rehearsed the movements I’d need to execute, aware that to do them too quickly might cause the tippy little boat to capsize.

I never came across anyone, but I did happen by two campsites. After the first, I put my shirt back on and placed my shorts over my lap, but I never saw another person. About 90 minutes after putting in, I stopped on a little spit of land to rest, drink some water, and be naked. The tree cover was sparse, but the position was perfect to see up and down the long river in both directions.

Of course, things are not as they used to be for me. While my heart still pounds and the warmth and breezes still work their magic, the little penis is locked away in a steel tube. I wanted at it badly, but accepted it was not to be. Instead of dwelling on that, I walked down a trail running the spine of the little peninsula. I found a rough campsite (fire ring and left-over wood), but it hadn’t been used in a while. Then, as I came over a rise, I saw in front of me a canoe pulled up into the reeds. Inside was fishing tackle and a bucket. Whoever’s this canoe was, they were not far away. I turned my white ass to it and headed back to the kayak. I decided to get dressed again, but not before I took the first of today’s HNTs (after the jump).

Continue reading “HNThumper XXXVI: The great outdoors”

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Fog of war

Last night, Belle and I had a fight. A screaming, nasty, bitter fight. It wasn’t about sex or anything like that, but it was unresolved when she fell asleep and we woke up this morning on tender hooks around each other and even this evening (though perhaps less so).

After she was asleep, I popped the emergency key and took the device off. The scope and scale of the altercation made it simply impossible to keep it on. Right around 4:00 AM when I’m awoken by nearly six inches of hard cock trying to fit into less than three inches of steel tube and my nutsack is stretched tight around my testicles, heavy and swollen with unreleased ejaculate, the only thing that makes it all bearable is knowing that’s how she wants me. But, of course, last night I didn’t give a fuck how she wanted me to be so I took the damned thing off.

I was tempted to jack off. Very tempted. Perhaps I should have. On the one hand, it would have allowed me to think a little more clearly and be focused on the argument’s aftermath, but on the other I know I would have been wracked with guilt and remorse 2.33 seconds after the sticky white goo splashed all over the sink. So I didn’t. I did jack off in the morning, but not so much that I came.

In any event, I was out all day and all day I felt weird. Hand in my pocket, I’d reach over and feel this big squishy mass where my usually hard and smooth “cock” would be. My nuts were wandering all over the place and felt all goofy and absurdly random and the little soft penis (without any PA jewelry at all) was like a Mister Magoo worm nestled among them. That cock – my old cock that I gave to Belle – doesn’t seem like it belongs there any more. Certainly not now at roughly a week and and half since I last came (right about the time the desire and frustration come back from the dead). I realized sometime in the afternoon that I wanted back in the device. Not because she wanted me there, but because I wanted to be there.

Also, I found it hard to maintain my righteous indignation left over from the fight. Not that I didn’t have a valid position, but the more I thought about being back in the Steelheart and the more I thought about my last post and the kind of interesting new thoughts in my head the fact that all the naked people over on the Portfolio made an erection in my pants that – gasp! – people could actually see if I stood up…I just didn’t want us to be fighting any more. There was not a point where we made up or further conversation leading to a mutual understanding or any of that adult, reasonable stuff reasonable adults do when they fight. It was just me, the little rabbit, capitulating and wanting like hell to be back in my cage.

So, back I am. I put it on just before dinner. I doubt she even knew I was out. As I slipped the cold steel tube over Mister Magoo, I knew it was right. It felt right. And I wonder, had I jacked off last night when the thought struck me and had I squirted all over the sink and smelled the pungent odor of manhood again, would I have felt the same? Would I still be angry with her instead of whatever I am now? And would that be better or worse than what I am now?

Chastity and long-term denial aren’t just sex games. They can radically alter how you think and feel in unexpected ways. I can’t answer my questions from the last paragraph, but I do know that almost six inches of swollen penis meat packed into a less than three inch tube is really the only way I want to be. And when it wakes me up at 4:00 AM, maybe it’ll be bearable because I know that’s how it’s supposed to be.

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Just a theory

Following up on yesterday’s post, I’ve been wondering something.

I said:

Being diminished in that way really worked for me.

And…

I like the feeling of being optional and a beneficiary of her charity.

And…

I felt she knew exactly what she wanted for her and was in total control of how it happened.

And it was good.

And then in a comment:

If I can stay in the right frame of mind and recall the feeling I have right now, then completely severing any right of mine to her pleasure – to really and truly accept my role – could be revelatory and powerful.

What I wonder is if this isn’t where the cuckold fantasy comes from. It could be just a natural progression from…

  1. Learning to pleasure a woman without your cock, and
  2. Starting to think of her pleasure as your pleasure, and
  3. Reveling in her becoming more confident in finding a way to her pleasure that’s all her own, and
  4. No longer thinking of your cock as something that’s part of the sex she’ll have with you, and finally
  5. Learning to take pleasure in her pleasure regardless of whether or not you’re involved.

No, I’m not a cuck and Belle has never shown any interested in being with another man and I’m quite sure there’s a whole lot more going on in relationships where this has happened, but for me, I can see the path to the fantasy pretty clearly. I want her to be totally and completely sexually fulfilled. It has, truly, become the primary way I find my own fulfillment. I also have developed a taste for being treated quite unfairly. Even to the point of liking it when she belittles and humiliates me. I really like it. I can’t think of any more potent way to do that than taking another lover. A more satisfying one.

I have a bunch of fantasies that would never work outside my head. This might be one of them. But, the progression makes sense to me. Not that I’ll ever find out, of course, since Belle’s demonstrated zero interest in heading off in that direction.

That being said, if she was interested in plucking these particular heartstrings of mine, she was heading in the right direction the other night. Were she to remind me that, while I may be adept at utilizing the tools that lead to her pleasure, I’m not the actual implement of that pleasure. She used Pink during her night in the hotel spa just fine without me, after all. In fact, I’m not even capable of being the implement of her pleasure. I can barely last a full minute inside her now. There’s little chance I could satisfy her in the condition I most often find myself. She could remind me of that. How this cock I’ve given her isn’t much use for anything anymore.

It seems counterintuitive to treat your lover with such disrespect. It goes against everything you see in popular culture and learn through normal socialization. But, yeah. I get it. I really do.

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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.

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Biking

I went for my first bike ride of the season this past weekend. Just over 13 miles in my spandexish bib bike shorts and the Steelheart. For whatever reason, I didn’t bike much at all last year and can’t remember ever doing it in the steel before, but, since it’s an often-asked question, I can report that it was no problem whatsoever. The compact, less obvious shape of the Steelheart Short was not an issue. The crotch is padded for comfort and that helped hide the tube, though the material directly above the padding was thin enough to clearly show the locking mechanism. Not just the shape, but also the steel. Since I wear a shirt over the bibs, it was well hidden.

Before starting, I lubed up quite a bit and found it was much more comfortable than the CB6K. Not only did the steel not cause any chafing around the scrotum, but the shorter, more downward pointing tube didn’t get pushed back into my pelvis as much. I did find that the entire device rotated so that the tube was pointing to the right and almost perpendicular to its usual position, but that was easily adjusted and didn’t cause any discomfort. The one bad thing I did discover, though, is that I need to sit up slightly in the seat when going over rough bumps (or, alternatively, rotate my hips back a bit). At one point, the tube was in direct contact with the seat and the PA ring was being held in direct contact with the tube so that when I went over a particularly jarring bump, all that force was communicated perfectly from the wheels to the little bit of flesh between my piercing and urethral opening. Oh. My. Gawd, did that hurt. Just the once, though, and now I know better. No lingering damage was sustained.

In other news, yesterday marked the end of my first orgasmless month. Well, four weeks, anyway. Twenty-eight days down, 140-some to go. During those 28 days, I was locked up for all but two and a halfish of them (for travel). I told Belle I felt like I needed a little attention outside the tube. Either direct teasing or being tied up and beaten or just beaten. Something. I’m feeling a little disconnected at the moment. She let me make her come Saturday and that was very nice, but I didn’t see her for two whole weeks and every time she touches me in even half-hearted and innocent ways, I feel a shock and low thrum deep inside. It seems to me that in these few days since she’s come back and is going through the jet lag thing that she’d really rather not have anything at all to do with me. I guess that’s to be expected, but in my state, it’s difficult to deal with. I find the denial and the being locked up makes me a lot more sensitive to her attention (or lack of) and emotional as a result. If I weren’t worried about being called sexist or genderist or some other ist I might say living the way I do makes me act more like a stereotypical woman than a man, but I’d hate to be called any kind of ist, so I won’t say that.

Also found out that I’ll be unexpected travelling for business next week. I will leave it entirely up to Belle to decide what my state will be while gone. No suggestions or anything from me. Whatever she wants. Either I’ll be free as a bird (with clipped wings) or locked like last time.

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Damn dam

As I was preparing myself for the day yesterday, the though occurred to me that there was a chance I’d be confronted by a metal detector. I mean, it was our plan to enter a Federal installation and all. There was the key and there was the device (all freshly cleaned and lubed), but I decided against it. I had been to Hoover Dam several times, but not, apparently, since 2001.

So there we were, in line to the visitors center, and I had already passed by about 56 large yellow signs warning me of the extreme security measures in place, but I looked right though each of them. We were in line for the 90-minute tour, though my mom had already said she wasn’t interested in it (some kind of fobia about being at the bottom of the damn and all that water or something) and the female offspring didn’t seem all that into the idea, though the boy was. Then, just as I was about to cross the threshold into the lobby, I saw them. It was just like an airport in there. Multiple X-ray conveyers and metal detectors. And guys in uniforms. They might even have had guns.

Shit, I thought as a cold wave of inevitability laced with a healthy dose of panic washed though me. Then I thought, I can’t go through there. I’ll set it off, and apparently said it out loud, too. The boy made some kind of acknowledgement, though I was feverishly woking out what to do next and didn’t really hear him.

“Let’s go have lunch,” I blurted. It was 11:30 and the tour was an hour and a half, so it was a plausible cover to get me out of there. On the way back up the escalator, I worked though all the escape options. There weren’t any, of course. The device cannot be removed at all absent heavy tools or the key (which was on the 47th floor of our hotel back in the city). There was no way we were getting in there.

At first, I was very disappointed. Not just because I wanted to see it, but mostly because I was going to potentially ruin it for everyone else. However, when I came up with an alternate plan over a meal of snack bar burgers and turkey wraps, nobody seemed to mind. In the end, we spent an entirely enjoyable couple of hours crawling over the dam, checking out its nooks and crannies and muscular WPA architecture (it really is a beautiful thing).

So anyway, vacation planning affects aside, it’s probably a good thing I’m in it. When I took the SH-S off before we left, I should have done it after my shower since, once again, I succumbed to the sensual pleasures of antibacterial soap applied properly (though without climatic completion, of course). The cock’s siren song is so strong that this morning I saw the key in my dop kit and really, really, really thought about using it. Just a little bit of jacking off surely wouldn’t be so bad, right? Just a little? I can only imagine what it’d be like were it not there.

And, for the record, I did not use the key.

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No cheating

We’re travelling today so I need to come out. The plan was for me to pop the seal on my emergency key and then reseal it when we get back on Monday (and, in between, put the device back on). I wanted to be able to demonstrate conclusively that I did not release the meat prior to our departure, so I made the following video. Nerdy, true. Obsessive compulsive, maybe. But, no one can accuse me of cheating.

[wpvideo sQO50L0W]