From: Chssept@aol.com
Subject: Trapped in a tiny container.

My wife was curious about the International Mr. Leather which comes to Chicago
each Memorial Day weekend.  Actually, not so much the contestants but the
boutique which goes with it, open free to the public.  As we were walking down
the aisles, she stopped at one booth which had a very small curved piece of
metal on the table.  I couldn't see what it was until she turned it over and
we could see on the bottom that it was shaped like a pair of testicles.

"Wouldn't this look cute on you?"  I thought for sure she was kidding.  But
she was not.  I guess it was all this Clinton/Lewinski stuff that made her
think that possibly someone offer me oral sex, and that I would accept it.
Not a bad idea, now that I think of it, since she rations out her sex very
thinly, always leaving me wanting more.  But I would never consider cheating
on her.  Well, cheating in the full sense of the word.  A visit to a massage
parlor, for example, is not cheating in my book; they can feel my privates
thru my underwear but as long as it goes no more, I'm OK in my mind.

I tried to protest that I had done nothing to warrant wearing this but she
went ahead and bought it anyway.  But the worst was yet to come.  She asked
one of the clothing places if there was a changing room, and we went in.

"Strip!"  She took the new device, put my privates thru the hold provided, and
then the two hinged halves came together where there was a securing ring and
then a place for a padlock behind the balls.  Man, that was a squeeze.  I'm
not really well-endowed, and I wonder what someone who is would do with this.
But I went in and had no loose skin sticking out to be squeezed.

You'd think that was enough, but it was not.  She picked up my pants and led
me out of the room, over to a booth which sold leather cuffs, and locked my
hands behind my back.  One more stop, a booth selling leashes; she bought one,
snapped it on to the ring at the end of this metal contraption and led me
around from booth to booth to further see what there was.  With her carrying
my pants, and my hands secured behind my back, there was no way I could hide
my humiliation.

I protested and she did suggest we could add a gag.  I knew she meant business
and quite while I was "ahead."  She gave me my pants back as we left and
released my hands.  But the penis protector has remained on since then.  There
is a hole in the end for urinating so there is no reason in her mind to take
it off.

Could someone PLEASE give me a suggestion on how I can convince her to release
my innocent penis?

Charles