Bathtub Stimulation

I'd been feeling an insistent but pleasant itch in my glans since I'd awakened that morning. I knew I was getting horny, and needed self-release that day. Two things regularly make me horny. One is when I haven't had a cum in a week or longer, and the pressure in my sperm tanks builds up to demand relief. I usually don't let this happen unless I'm looking forward to an encounter with another guy, when I like to save up for a big, blasting orgasm.

The other thing is the build-up of smegma under my foreskin. I don't bother to wash every day, because it isn't necessary and because the build-up creates the pleasant itch that tells me I need an orgasm. Then I empty myself and wash my cock-head at the same time, as I was about to do right then.

I began running water into the bathtub, making it as hot as I could stand it. I enjoy soaking in hot water, and it relaxes my cock and balls as well. I saw my cock floating in the water, the skin coming out from my pubic bush smoothly along the shaft, expanding at the bulge of my cock-head, then tapering to form a nipple in front of the glans. The hot water gave me an urge to pee, but I resisted because I knew that the pressure in my bladder would enhance my sensations. I read a book for half an hour, with just a trickle of hot water keeping the temperature up where I like it. The pleasant itch had settled in my corona, and was at the edge of my consciousness as I read. Then I put down the book and reached for my prick with my left hand.

I closed my eyes and rolled the nipple of my foreskin between two fingers, fantasizing that it was someone else's hand on my prick. I often did this, because the feel of another's hand on my prick was more stimulating than my own, and using my left hand gave a feeling of unfamiliarity that enhanced my fantasy. My prick began to swell, and the front came out of the water. I opened my eyes and shafted my grip to behind the head, tugging gently on the skin.

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I'd seen some other guys skin back immediately, then pump their hoods back and forth until they came, but I preferred to go slowly. Like most experienced jack-off artists, I feel that getting there is half the fun, and that taking it nice and easy allows me more time to enjoy it. I'd known a couple of guys who used an anesthetic cream to desensitize their cocks and delay orgasm, but I'd found that using self-control was a lot better because I experienced every nuance of sensation.

My cock was fully hard now, and I pulled back gently on my hood, watching the nipple begin to stretch back over the big swollen head, losing its pucker. This slow retraction let me feel three kinds of sensation, the friction between glans and foreskin, the stretchy feeling as the hood expanded to slide over my large tip, and the pressure as the ring muscle at the tip of my foreskin pressed on the head. I let go, allowing the skin to slide forward again, then began pulling back once more. I slid the skin back another fraction of an inch, enjoying the friction/tension/pressure, then slipped it forward again.

Now I pulled back once more, watching my cherry come into view as the skin cleared the big dome in front. Actually, my glans is shaped like a German helmet, with blunt nose and large flaring rim, but I'd learned the term "cherry" from Chico, a Latino I'd known years ago. We'd jacked off together, and jacked each other, and when he skinned his cock back he'd always say; "Hey, look at my cherry." His tip was round, not oval, and was red like a cherry. The first time he slid my hood back to reveal my big purple helmet, he called it a "cherry" too.

Chico's cock was longer than my six inches, thicker at the base and tapering slightly near the end. Chico had been fascinated by my long tapering hood, because he had a short foreskin that covered only about half his glans when his cock was limp, and came completely off the head with erection. He was unable to use the long strokes I was used to because his skin would come only part-way up the head when he pulled it forward for masturbation.

We jacked each other the way he'd showed me, jiggling the skin over the ridge, while using the index finger of the other hand to trace small circles around our dripping come-holes. Chico kept a firm grip on my ample cock-skin, allowing it only half-way up the head, as his finger spread the juice that seeped from my orifice. I did the same to his cock, but had to tug harder to stretch his foreskin up to compress the nerve endings in his ridge.

We always went for sequential orgasms, not simultaneous ones, because our technique of jacking required a lot of concentration, and I found it impossible to maintain the stroke while my prick was exploding in hot sensations. Often, I made Chico cum first, and I'd watch, fascinated, as his cock shot thick ropes of white cum over his chest. That was another difference between us, because I tended to dribble, not shoot, and Chico would keep his fingertip on the front of my glans as the gushes came, and he's spread my juice around the head as he had my pre-cum. Now, pre-cum seeped from my tip as I thought of those enjoyable sessions with Chico years ago, and I spread the lube over the front of my glans as I continued to tug back the foreskin in small increments. After another minute, I had the skin completely off the head, exposing my high purple ridge, speckled by flecks of smegma. The odor was delicious, a heady masculine smell that was strong but not rancid. I was always careful to skin back when I peed, to avoid trapping drops of urine under my hood, and this tended to keep it clean and pleasant to smell.

Now I began stroking my hood back and forth, very slowly, right up to the tip to catch the drops of lubricant, which blended with the smegma and made a white froth that lubricated my foreskin perfectly, masking some of the sensations so that I would not go over the edge before I was ready. After a few minutes of this, I decided to change my stroke. I unhooded my cock completely, leaving the helmet exposed so that I could run my finger all around its contours. Keeping the foreskin tightly back, I gently strummed the tense gee-string under the glans, then ran my finger around the deep groove behind the ridge, up one side and down the other. Then I traced small circles around the pouting orifice, filled with clear fluid that spilled down my helmet. I then ran my finger along the broad upper surface, recalling that another friend of mine had enjoyed doing that to me years ago.

He'd loved my cock because it had a big head, unlike his small mushroom. He said mine looked very sexy, especially the high, flaring ridge. He liked running his lubricated finger along the ridge, and the feel of his rough fingertip ridges made all the nerve endings in my corona come alive. I closed my eyes, visualizing my friend running his finger along my ridge, first on the flaring surface, then on the back-face, and finally in the groove behind it. This was very stimulating, and I forced myself to go slowly because otherwise I'd get to close to the point of no return. Languidly I traced the outline of my helmet, eyes closed, relaxing in the hot water, pretending it was someone else's finger. My cock-head was very smooth and slippery, and I felt my finger sink slightly into the spongy surface as I pressed my ridge. I pressed my ridge at different points, then put my thumb on the ridge and my index finger under the glans and squeezed. I felt the reflexive throb in my cock-root, and it reminded me of another guy, who long ago had brought me close to the brink just by squeezing my cock-head rhythmically, then finished me off with a few fast strokes of my foreskin.

I slid my hood up to cover the head, and began rolling my prick between my palms. My buddy Stan had done this to me, wringing a massive, shuddering orgasm from me with the intensity of the sensations. I had writhed in the delicious agony of orgasm, unable to keep my eyes open, and he'd told me afterward that I had shot long streams instead of dribbling. I believed him when I saw the come on my chest.

Now I had to stop, because I was getting too close. I'd read that some guys can practice "edging," staying just this side of orgasm, for many minutes or even hours, but I could never do it. I had to stay far below the peak, because I had to avoid the point of no return, when my hand would take over automatically, and stroke my cock to climax.

I resumed stroking my foreskin back and forth, slowly, languidly, making my prick feel very good but avoiding the plateau of sensation just before orgasm. I lightly touched the front of my swollen tip with the index finger of my left hand, caressing the well-lubricated surface. Now I was becoming aware that the pressure in my bladder was building up to a point where it was almost unpleasant, and I knew that I had to finish soon. I stood, pulling the plug, and began massaging my cock-head in earnest.

I moved my foreskin back and forth in long strokes, feeling the build-up of sensations. It felt as if my urge to pee would soon become overwhelming, although I knew that no urine would pass as long as I had an erection. I skinned back and caressed my swollen glans with the fingertips of my left hand, feeling the helmet lose it spongy feeling and become harder as it went into it final swelling. I felt as if my bladder were bursting, and that a yellow gush would run through my penis any second. Instead, the feeling of tension grew in my cock-root, and I became aware that I was standing on tip-toe.

I was right at the edge, unable to back away, and my fist brought the long, thick foreskin sweeping over my glans, bumping the ridge and then running down-hill to the end. A hot tingle filled my turgid cock-head, and I felt a convulsion deep inside as the first burning hot jet surged up my cock. I saw it dribble into the water at my feet before my eyes closed involuntarily. Now I was swept away in sensation, aware only of my fist around my hard, throbbing cock, and the jets of hot fluid rushing up my tube. I cried out, helpless in the throes of orgasm, as liquid poured from my tip. The spasms beginning in my cock-root dominated my mind, and I barely felt it as my body sagged against the tile wall.

After an amount of time I couldn't measure, I came back to full consciousness. I was stroking my prick, milking the last drops of cream, carefully expelling them over the drain to avoid their sticking to the hairs on my legs. My erection began to soften as I turned on the shower as hot as I could stand it. I stood facing the nozzle as rivulets of hot water ran down my body, and I felt the pleasant rush as hot water washed over my exposed glans, bringing forth a strong yellow stream that rinsed the cum from my tube.

After I'd drained my bladder, I carefully rinsed my cock-head and foreskin in the hot water. No soap was necessary, as all my secretions were water-soluble. Once I was sure my prick was squeaky clean, I turned off the water and pulled my protective hood over the tender head, now shrunken back to its usual size.

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