As a seventeener enlistee at my first duty station in the military, there was but a single place I found any privacy. That was in the "head", where shower stalls had curtains. Rushing water masked sound just well enough to gamble adding masturbation to my cleaning regimen.
Over time I graduated from basic pumping to variations. One favorite went like this: cupping left hand; roll soap-slicked balls around and around while pressing cock shaft upward with thumb. With right hand, fingers extended; race flattened hand back and forth across shrieking cock head using sanding motion. The sensations made my stomach muscles tighten. After a while, my ass cheeks would flex wildly too. I'd shiver uncontrollably, sometimes gasping to stifle an urge to moan.
After some practice with this new-found sensory overload, I learned to heighten the sensation by arching backward while thrusting my hips forward. It made my cock even stiffer. However, the soap would quickly rinse away and interrupt my progress. By chance, I started experimenting with the shower head, adjusting to a focused spray. When I aimed my cock head straight up into the blast, I could barely endure how it felt. My gut muscles would tighten like steel. Fuck the soap; this was otherworldly!
I would lean back, braced by the stall, my body as rigid as my screaming hard on. While I pumped with fury, flicking my cock head beneath the pricks of jet streams, my Adam's apple would bounce as fast as my nut sack.
or Torture/pleasure at this level eventually desensitized me. I began to stay hard after I came. This got awkward, because invariably there were others waiting for a shower.
If I jacked off a second time my cock would go soft faster. By my wristwatch, I could finish within nine minutes. I often wondered what the next guy would think if he knew I shot my rocks off twice in his shower stall.
Once, for the hell of it, I tried my two-handed technique to see if I could cum a third time. (Neither cock head nor gut could withstand the shower jets again.) Though my cock wouldn't stay as hard, I came within ten more minutes. Sperm merely dribbled though. I became determined to better that.
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In a matter of weeks, I could masturbate three times in a row, and juice with force each time. Spurts still shot for number three, and my total time was down to sixteen minutes. It was too chancy on work days, but weekends presented plenty of opportunities.
Having reached what seemed a plateau, I settled down to once or twice for a period of time. The lack of complete privacy was an irritation; and detracted from the pure joy I sought. (Military life could about ruin a wet dream.)
When I went home on leave, I finally had a place to myself. Oh joy, how I looked forward to a date, but first, some extra practice over dick control. To set the mood, I had a certain magazine propped open to inspire me. Instead of soap, I used Vaseline. Rather than pumping quickly, I jacked leisurely, moving my right hand slowly up and down my glistening prick while rolling my balls around in my left hand. After a while I let go of my nut sack because ball-rolling tempts a wad to blow fast. This was about deep, slow, full pleasure.
I used my left hand to grip my cock at the base, close to my asshole, balls resting over my fist. With my right hand, thumb down, I added a cork screw twist to my jack off. My ass muscles would jerk so hard my hips bounced.
Whenever the cum reflex began, I'd quickly let go and feel it throb at the edge of climax. Before the throb would fully pass, I would tease my cock tip with a finger. My super stiff shaft would dance and my sinuses would tingle like I was cumming. Then it would pass, and I'd close my fingers around the head and resume stroking back to the brink.
Inside my cock, the sperm practically itched. My cock head was burning hot. A dull pressure in my balls concerned me. I squeezed them lightly. They felt cold. I cupped my left hand around them, and the slight stimulation brought me off. A tremor from my cock rocked my whole body. My eyes lost focus. Shots of jism landed on my face and hair, across my shoulders, down my chest. Plops sounded on my pillow. Lost in a vortex, my body about gazzed clear to Delta Quadrant of the Milky Way.
Blobs, streaks and strings of my cum began melting downward from where they landed. My cock was yet stiff enough to dance when I teased the head, but so numb it amazed me. Pinching the head registered no pain whatsoever.
I had to pee bad, and it sprayed in a mist all over the toilet. Damn! did my piss burn. After that my cock went soft quick.
Spermy trails were dripping down the wall behind my pillow. Some were clear, some creamy. A revelation befell me: If I spent 90 minutes to come once, perhaps I'd shot the load of a whole day.
What I discovered instead was intense response to the slightest prompting. When I returned to the brink, something funny happened. While running my finger across the tender pee hole, a single river of cum flowed out. I didn't climax, though it felt really good. Then it took a long time to regain the brink. Again, by teasing the hole, a single flow of cum poured out. There wasn't as much, and I still didn't climax. When I let myself go the third time, I came, but there was less sperm. I was disappointed by the low level climax too, but I'll never forget the earlier one!
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written by drichterRATE THIS STORY
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