Did you pack it yourself, sir?

Risk, in sex. Some like it, some don’t. For some it may mean diving behind a hedge on the way home from the pub for a quick alfresco fuck. For others it might mean breath play. And some get a thrill from rubbing one out somewhere where their gorgeous neighbour might see them. Me? I like a little risk. And something a little risky I’ve wanted to try for some time involves flying.

But it’s not the Mile High Club. The toilets in commercial aircraft are not particularly pleasant places, and at best are decidedly cramped. The thought of fucking in a private jet does nothing particular for me. And I’ve had a wank at 30,000ft, so that’s been ticked off the list already. No, what I wanted to do was …

Well, as you will know, Loyal Reader, Geri once locked me in a CB2000 and took me to a strip club. And I’ve enjoyed wearing my CB6000s on countless other inappropriate occasions. But there is a particular feature of these chastity cages I’ve never tested before.

Amongst the various components of the CB chastity cages is a padlock. The idea is that your wife / girlfriend / lover / mistress locks your cock and balls in the device and keeps the key to the padlock. The switched on kinksters amongst you will see where this is going and ask But what if you have to go through airport security? Won’t a padlock hidden in your pants set off the metal detectors? Won’t you end up getting strip searched and have to explain why your pecker is in a plastic prison? And yes, you’d be completely right … except …

Your wife / girlfriend / lover / mistress could give you the key to remove the padlock. But what would be the point of that? You could get out of the cage whenever you wanted and that would defeat the point.

No. There is a better solution.
The kit includes numbered tags.


These are shaped a little like padlocks and do the same job, except once snapped shut, the only way you can take them of is by cutting them, and they all have individual ID numbers on them. That way, your wife / girlfriend / lover / mistress can see you head off, unchaperoned, on a business trip and know that you won’t be sampling any local delicacies. Or, at the very least, you’re going to have to come up with a very good explanation on your return as to why the ID tag ensuring your pride doesn’t get any joy has the wrong number on it or has been cut.

As you will know, Loyal Reader, it’s been a very long time since anyone held a key for me. And now that I have a family, and am not the household’s main bread winner, it is not I who gets to fly off on business trips.

But …

A few months ago I received an email from an old university friend. A reunion had been suggested and a crowd was being assemmbled. Was I up for it?
I’ve not seen most of that crowd for many many years, so sure, it would be great to catch up, find out who’s been up to what, and have a few beers. (And get away from the stresses  of home for a coupje of days.) Yes, count me in.

And then a thought occurred to me.
Travelling to the reunion would involve taking a flight. On my own. And …

And here I am, waiting for my flight to take off, with my dick stiffening slightly in its cage, having watched the stewardess adjust the contents of an overhead locker. Her skirt was quite tight, and there was absolutely no sign of a VPL. I looked really carefully. I promise. 

I am, of course, going to take the cage off when I get to the hotel. Going out on he town with The Lads (ok, I’ll concede, that’s an optimistic term for a dozen middle aged men) whilst wearing it may not be the most prudent course of action. But there is one small problem for which I have yet to find a solution.
I invariably carry a small Swiss Army pocket knife on my key ring. The obvious implement for cutting the plastic tag off my cock cage.
Regrettably, with flight security as it is these days, taking a knife on board is somewhat frowned upon, and as I’m flying with only hand luggage, I’ve had to leave that at home.


Plan B?
There isn’t really a great Plan B at the moment. I’ll be arriving in my destination city long after most shops have closed, so my best hope is that, when I land, I can find something like a chemist in the airport and buy a pair of nail clippers.
Then I need to hope the tag won’t withstand nail clippers.
Perhaps I’ve not thought this through well enough.
Perhaps I will be caged all weekend.
Although I had loosely considered paying someone to give my pride a little joy, I had ruled it out. Perhaps fate has seen fit to ensure my abstinence. But to waste the opportunity of tossing myself off to sleep, and manually reviving myself  in the morning without having to hide my sub-duvet actions all weekend, that would be disapointing to say the least.

A risk? Certainly.
A big risk? Probably not. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? I could have been taken to a side room, strip searched, and been told to Bend over! as I heard the smack of a rubber glove being pulled on.
An arousing risk? Kind of. I dare say it would have been more arousing had my wife / girlfriend / lover / mistress locked me up. But beggars can’t be choosers.
A relief that I’ve got away with it so far? I have to be honest and say yes.
A risk worth taking? Absolutely!

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