You’d think that after almost 3,000 posts we’ve said all we can possibly say about our sexual relationship. My relationship with you might be like an old, married couple. What was tantalizing in the beginning is now pleasant, but routine. The sight of my penis resting in its steel cage is fun to see occasionally, but doesn’t evoke any sexual feelings.
The sight of it in the beginning, when you first began reading me, might have made you feel a little disgust at such an intimate reveal. Or, it might have been provocative, even a little sexy. After all, you don’t see many penises in captivity. After a while, though, the cage and its resident become familiar images. They’re hardly worth more than a glance. You might wonder why I haven’t grown weary of this display.
But you keep coming back. You don’t masturbate to my words or pictures. You don’t even get aroused. Too bad. Sometimes I do when I write to you. My vulnerability at such a public display turns me on. I feel a stirring behind the steel bars. I imagine how it would feel if the cage wasn’t locked firmly in place and my penis was free to grow.
I can imagine how I would like you to react to my revelations. I like to think that sometimes I make you smile. I wonder if my words stay with you and give you pause for thought. I sometimes see you, aroused and a bit puzzled why this stranger that shows entirely too much of his body can make you feel that stirring inside. Are you feeling what it is like to be me?
Can you feel my frustration when I’m denied even the slightest manifestation of my arousal? Do my words let you picture how my penis struggles against its cage? I don’t feel pain when it does. Perhaps pain would be better. At least it’s a consequence of my unauthorized lust.
But there is no pain. Just pressure that frustrates me more. Even though you may not have a penis of your own, you can understand that feeling of helpless lust when you know your desire isn’t going to be answered.
I know that eventually the cage will be removed. She will take my penis in her hand and I will get hard. As her hand begins to move, I anticipate that moment when I am powerless to stop the cries that accompany my orgasm. I can hear them in my mind as her hand moves in that special way that we both know will make me cry out in ecstasy.
I’m almost there. I can hear my heart beating. I’m panting in naked lust. Her hand continues pulling me toward the peak. Then she stops and moves her hand away. My breathing slows. I moan softly. I am left with frustration and a shrinking penis. She takes it in her hand again and I willingly move close to the top. I help her get me there, even though I am sure she won’t let me finish. She doesn’t. She smiles at me, kisses the tip and moves back to my side. We snuggle.
I want to finish. I want to be hard again and deliver the essence that is waiting to come out. It’s not to be. She asks me to put on my base ring. It’s easy now. All hope has drained from me and I am soft and pliable once again. I’m willing to go back into my cage and sleep until I have a chance to try again.
Can you understand how it feels to be so close and then locked away with no hope of resolution? I’m sure you can. But can you also feel as I do that I can’t wait for the next time? I want to try again even though I am sure it will end with frustration and the cage easily fitting over my once-hard cock.
After all, like any prisoner, it’s good to go out in the sun and enjoy the fresh air even though I know I will be back in my cage after my yard time is over. For someone who has nothing, even a frustrating taste of the promised land is better than the barren world inside my cage. Little things become very significant. A small does of kindness is a tremendous gift when you live in a cage.