I made it. I can't believe I am saying this, but I made it. I made it one whole damn week wearing a contraption quite similar to the one pictured above. I did it for science, and, more importantly, I did it for journalism.
I have long heard of those men, some odd variant of 'cucks,' who wear these contraptions. It prevents them from getting a true and proper boner while their misses are being fadoodled by other men. I had long wondered what it must feel like to be trapped in one of those machines. This last week, I found out.
One week ago, my cock cage arrived at Alan and I's pandemic cabin outside of Fairbanks. Obviously, it wasn't a good idea to allow somebody who might be carrying that dreaded plague so close to our abode, but I had a cock cage to try on, and Alan had to get to training with his set of five-pound weights.
Shamefully, I locked my cock in my tiny little silvery cage. I handed Alan the key and told him not to set me free for a week. Oh, what dread, what misery did my precious little cock feel in this last week. Oh, I wish I were dead. I couldn't get a boner, and I couldn't perform my weekly masturbatory ritual. When I peeed, it leaked out of a hole and all over the floor. I envied free men and learned to hate those who expose themselves to this sort of suffering.
Please, God, if you are there, do not let me ever undergo something like this ever again. I have learned what agony means. I think I might have some sort of yeast infection and, therefore, now know how women feel.
Until next time....Chance Rollicks...signing off.
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