I find a clit

As anyone who lives with their penis locked in a steel tube can tell you, hygiene is important. Not to be scrimped on. Probably a third of the time I spend in the shower is attending to the tube.

So this morning, as I was doing my thing (which involves squirting soapy water in the tube and squishing it around), I stuck my finger down there to make sure everything was nicely cleaned out. Typically, I run it down each side to get to the place under the head of the penis where the PA ring goes around the fixing and urine can collect, but this time I also ran it over the top of the penis and ZING!

So that’s how I found myself with my finger down the tube rubbing the top of the glans on the head of the penis like it was a clit. I mean, the motion was exactly like fingering a clit. After a few moments of this, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, I realized several things. First, being forced into a situation where I can only rub myself like I have a clit is a pretty good mind fuck. Two, there is no way in hell I’d ever be able to come this way. With no way to stimulate the bottom of the head, I might eventually combust, but orgasm would forever be out of reach. Three, after a few seconds of this, the amount of room in the tube that made it possible was rapidly filled. And finally, I wondered if this was in violation of Belle’s “no playing with it” rule. Fuck, probably.

So I stopped.

I’ve been in the device now for about ten days which is not that big a deal in the greater scheme of things but longer than I’ve been locked up solid in a while. I am now entering that period where the device stops feeling like a thing which means I’m getting pretty horny. While I was fingering my little faux clit this morning, the tube felt less like a foreign object and more like part of the thing I was fingering. It’s a weird mental game my brain plays that tells me I’m in the groove. Also, I’m more or less sleeping through the night and am only slightly woken up by the tube pressure in the wee hours and find myself flexing the attempted erection so it fills with more blood and the tube gets that much fucking tighter only because I like how it feels.

It’s also sort of dangerous because I’m feeling the denial ooze around me like a warm mud bath and my desire to come is slipping further and further away. All I want now is her. To feel her come. To hear her moan and breath and climax with my fingers buried up in her hot snatch while the penis throbs and strains and pushes against immovable, implacable, clenching steel. If she let me out and told me I could fuck her and come, I definitely would because it’s her decision, but right now this second today, I would regret it. The head of steam is building in my loins and I want to feel it grow stronger. I am not nearly desperate enough.

But I try and put those thoughts aside. I don’t decide. If she wants me hornier, I’ll be hornier. If she doesn’t, I won’t. But I hope she does. That’s OK, right? Hoping?