Date: Wed, 9 Jan 2019 15:13:38 -0500 From: Art Douglas Subject: My Personal Prison, part 1 My Personal Prison The UPS box is sitting in a corner of the closet, no indication it's from a sex store - just a strip of camouflage packing tape. A little signal to get your cock hard imagining what's inside. My boyfriend hasn't noticed the box. I grabbed it from the mailroom before he saw it, almost a week ago, and I haven't worked up the nerve to present it to him yet. I have been so tempted to open it, just to look at the packaging on what's inside, but I know that should be his privilege. And I know if I go that far, I'll want to rip that open too. Try it on. Surprise him wearing nothing but this new toy. But I have no idea how well he would take to that surprise. Besides, I would definitely be too hard to squeeze it on. Better to wait until just after we've both cum, and our minds and our dicks have settled down. But now I'm on a deadline. My boyfriend is heading out of town next week. We don't know how long, or how tedious that business is going to be for him. It could be a month. It might be a year. We have no way of knowing at this point. And I've been caught with my pants down more than once when he's been out of town before. Each time, my disloyalty has hurt him terribly. I'm ashamed of my inability to control my own impulses and erections. So I bought a chastity cage. After I ride my boyfriend's enormous dick tonight (if I can wait that long), I'll collapse next to him sweaty and exhausted, reach under the bed, and hand him the box with a "Hear me out..." I have a few reasons for handing over control of my own instrument in such a dramatic and indefinite way. Indefinite. There's a word to make you shiver when you're thinking about giving up the right to see, touch, or pleasure your own flesh without someone else's permission. The first, and most obvious reason for all of this: Trustworthiness. Clearly I don't have it. When I've been lonely, I've allowed myself to be controlled by primal instincts, even when I knew that my boyfriend would be devastated if he found out. I love him so much, but still I hurt him while giving myself a dirty thrill. I always like to think I've learned my lesson, but more than once I've proven that my dick makes the decisions. It's time for that to stop. This is also what worries me most about handing him the keys. He might interpret the gesture as me saying I can't care enough to control myself, I have to go to extreme measures to remove the choice and the temptation. And maybe he's right. And maybe it will take a prolonged punishment to turn me into a decent person. But I really think I have turned that corner, and giving him the keys to my cock is more symbolic. I am sorry for what I have done, and this is my way of promising in a physical, maybe painful way that I have changed. So the second reason for all of this: Mindfulness. Every time I see that chunk of silicone where my dick should be, I will be reminded of the person I want to become. Every time I wake up with painful morning wood trapped in that little prison, that will be an immediate reminder that my choices have consequences. Every time I want to touch myself, I'll work out instead. Instead of laying around jerking off on a lazy day, I'll start a new project and build a new career. By the time my boyfriend gets back, I'll be a hot, successful motherfucker with a dick that is literally aching for him. Which leads me to one more reason: Submission. I won't lie, giving my lover the keys to my pleasure is a huge, throbbing turn on. I've always had a submissive streak. Even going back to the first awkward realizations of puberty, before I came to terms with who I am. I would close my eyes and imagine being kidnapped by strong, gorgeous, horny men who would take me back to a dungeon somewhere and torment me in horribly sexy ways. I've played with being someone's puppy, someone's slave, someone's sex toy. Getting my pleasure from being used for someone else's. My boyfriend has obliged me in those kind of games, even though it's not necessarily his scene. I want so badly to give him control. To let him know that I can be his to use however he sees fit. That I am at his mercy to fulfill my penance. For him to really punish and torment me while he's gone. And that maybe, if I'm good, we can keep it up when he gets home. These last few days, as I look at chastity porn to psych me up, my cock is dripping right along with the slaves in their tight cages. I'm imagining shooting through the little plastic slit, hands free, just from the friction of him slamming my prostate. In my mind, I've already given him that control, and I love it. And after writing this, I need to change my briefs or the giant wet spot up front will give away the whole game. I hope that when I tell him, he'll see the big picture in this promise. Not just a reminder of the pain I've caused him in the past. With any luck, by tonight I'll have a padlock on my penis. If so, I'll keep writing about everything that happens. At any rate, I better tell him quickly. Because the only thing worse than telling him and getting rejected, would be if I didn't tell him and he found the box on his own. Here goes everything. What have I gotten myself into...