Self Suck Personal Trainer

by Onania MasturBOT | Inspired by jack1566hard

 

The photo hit me like a fist to the balls. Until then I didn’t know such a thing was possible. I didn’t know how much I’d want it, how far I’d be willing to go for it. Self-sucking—I’d never heard the term—was the impossible made flesh. But there it was, this dude on a forum, folded like a cheap suitcase, cock buried in his mouth like he was deep throating some dude in a sauna. And I couldn’t stop looking. That post set me off, became my private obsession. I pictured myself doing it, imagined my own cock in my mouth, the head so fat and red it almost choked me. It felt like something I was born to do. My dick was plenty big for it; my teenage cock was huge. My body was limber and flexible. And me? Too dumb to even try it. So I set my mind to doing it now, in my 30s. Hiring a coach, getting a trainer, whatever it takes to bridge that last couple of inches and get my lips wrapped around the prize.

I become haunted by it. It eats at me in idle moments. How could I have been so stupid not to try? It’s like seeing an old ticket for a winning lottery in your own trash. The waste of it gnaws at me. My teenage cock should have been stuffed in my teenage mouth; it should have made me moan and swallow and suck until I came. Instead it just sat there, sticking up and looking neglected, while I jerked off like a clueless fool. Every new fantasy spins into the same fucking story: I blew my big chance. This unknown thing—this secret pleasure that no one ever told me about—should have been mine.

I can’t get the past out of my head. My body was so flexible and long, my cock was the same. I did gymnastics as a kid. I could fold like a strip of paper and come out of it with a hard-on. I’d lie in bed and get wood for no reason at all. It was long and thick and ready for anything, except the thing I didn’t know I could do. I had the build of an 18-year-old porn star, the size of one too, and it never occurred to me to stick it in my mouth. How could I be that stupid? If I could go back and find that kid, I’d suck my cock raw for him, blow a load just to show him how good it could be.

But now is the next best thing. I keep telling myself that I’m still flexible, still athletic. My cock hasn’t shrunk. If anything, it’s bigger and harder than ever. All I need is a little push, just a nudge in the right direction. I’ve become obsessed with the idea of getting a coach, of finding a trainer who will get me back to my young, rubbery self. In my mind, I find the perfect one. He won’t ask stupid questions. He’ll get right down to business. “I want to blow myself,” I’ll say. “I’m 2-4 inches away. Help me make that gap disappear.” I imagine his face as I tell him. Surprised at first, then grinning as he sees I’m serious. He’ll look at my cock and tell me it’s totally doable, that he’ll get me there in no time. I’ll finally have a shot at the pleasure I missed.

These fantasies spin around in my head until they almost knock me down with desire. The waste of it. The lost opportunity. My brain won’t let it go. I tell myself that it was my true purpose all along, that this is the main thing I’ve always wanted to do. What are a few years of training now, compared to the prize of getting that cock down my throat? I replay the forum post in my head, substitute myself for that dude, then dream up the details of my real-life training plan.

I don’t know how I’d do it in the real world. The yoga folks are way too into backing off when it hurts, and a hardcore cycling coach would laugh in my face. “What’s your flexibility goal?” he’d ask, and I’d stumble around like a moron trying to say it straight. But I fantasize about telling a true flexibility coach upfront, a no-bullshit trainer who specializes in hard cases like me. He’d get out a tape measure and see I’m still at over 8 inches. He’d be all in, and my lips would follow. We’d make the inches disappear.

I work myself into a frenzy with this idea. I let it fuel me, telling myself that it’s all within reach, if only I have the balls to get out there and do it. My cock is plenty big enough, and I convince myself that’s what counts. I’m an inch or two away from the best pleasure of my life. I won’t let myself miss the opportunity again. I keep repeating that. I write it down. I picture my own lips forming the words as I wrap them around the head and give the old cock a proper suck.

The fantasy never stops playing out. Telling the trainer my true goals, finding the perfect coach, someone who won’t laugh me out the door. I play out the conversation in my mind. I give it the fantasy ending every time. But if it’s a serious fitness place, I don’t see how I’ll make it work. They’ll want to know all about my flexibility and cycling goals. “Self-sucking,” I’ll say, and their smirk will make me hard on the spot. And they’ll think I’m some kind of freak. They’ll think I’m trying to seduce them. But what I really want is a no-bullshit coach. Someone I can say it straight to: I need to get flexible enough to blow myself. They’ll be amazed at my tool size and give me two thumbs up.

But can I ever really find that person? I have my doubts, but the thought of it makes my dick throb. I can’t get past the idea of sounding like a freak. I can’t get past the idea that they won’t believe me. That it turns me on even more. My main fantasy is that they know I’m a perv but they help me anyway. They see I’m serious, and they make it a challenge. And every time I run it through my head, I get harder.

I imagine myself at the kind of place where they do fitness testing and body composition. A serious joint with a pool and a full weight room. I’m sitting with some jock, going over the forms. “What’s your primary goal?” they ask. I don’t see how I can say it, but I say it anyway. I picture their reaction, the looks they give each other. “You want to do what?” and the way they squint at my package when they think I’m not looking. They assume I’m fucking with them, but I tell them I’m serious. The longer the conversation goes, the more turned on I get. I want them to think I’m a freak. I want them to look at my big cock and wonder.

Then I play it out another way. Maybe I’ll luck into the right person. Maybe the trainer is open minded. Maybe they’ll like the idea of pushing me. The more awkward it seems, the more I think about it. I’m sitting across from the coach, already a little hard just thinking about it. He says, “Are you trying to seduce me?” But I tell him no. I tell him I really just want to blow myself, that I really need to get flexible. I tell him it’s my life’s ambition, and I need his help. In my fantasy it always ends with him measuring my cock and giving me two thumbs up. “Let’s make it happen,” he says, and my body responds like I’ve already taken the prize.

Sometimes I imagine it’s a total bust. Sometimes the fantasy is that it doesn’t work at all. They send me away because they think I’m too horny to even try. But most of the time, I dream that it’s the perfect arrangement. They get me on the mat, show me how to stretch. They say it’s not such a crazy goal after all. “We can get you there,” they promise, and I’m stiff before we even start.

But can I really find that trainer? I try to see it. I try to picture how it will go. Maybe if it’s a stretching studio. Maybe if they really know their stuff. My cock is so damn big that they’ll want to help me. That’s what I tell myself. They’ll want to see it in action. And it drives me insane with desire. It makes me obsessive. I know I have to do it. I can’t let this one go.

The less serious I picture it, the more it seems possible. I build the fantasy in every direction. A pure stretching studio. Nothing but mats and tape measures and coaches who see it as a challenge. My tool is huge, and they know it. The perfect trainer won’t laugh me out of the room. They’ll be amazed at my ambition. They’ll be so supportive I’ll get stiff on the spot. I imagine them taking my measurements, telling me it’s more than doable. My favorite fantasy is when they tell me I can suck my own cock in no time. I run that scene over and over until my brain almost bursts with it.

I have to do it. I have to try. The fantasy becomes too much. The fantasy becomes my new reality. I track down a place that doesn’t sound like total amateurs. A stretching studio. Serious. Hardcore. It doesn’t feel real until I step through the door. It doesn’t feel real until I tell the coach. But even then, the fantasy sticks with me. I can’t shake the idea that it’s still all in my head. “Autofellatio,” I say. My dick gets stiff, but so does the coach. He agrees to help. We do measurements, and my size is huge. My size makes him commit to the program. He looks at it, looks at me, and says, “Let’s do this.” He says, “Let’s get you there.” And he really means it.

First day of training. They get me started right away. It’s intense and focused. They don’t waste any time. It’s the perfect place, the perfect plan. They have me do cardio and hit the steam room. Then I’m on the mat with the coach. “How many inches do you need?” he asks, and I can barely answer. “2-4,” I tell him. “You’re big enough to get there,” he says. “Just stay focused.” And I do. I get stiff just thinking about it. He can see how bad I want it. He can see how huge I am. But he stays serious. He doesn’t back off.

By the second week of training, it’s like I live there. I can’t get enough of it. I can’t get enough of how good it feels. I get more and more excited each session. I can’t believe it’s happening. I can’t believe how close I get. My cock is fat and swollen before we even start. I’m so hard I can’t hide it. And I get less and less shy about it. The coach is so committed that I don’t even care. The coach is so intense, he doesn’t seem to notice. “You’ll have it in no time,” he says. He gives me new hope every session.

Third week, and it seems like a fantasy again. It seems too good to be real. I get there, I train, I stretch, and each time I think I’m about to blow my own cock. I hit the steam, and each time I think I’m about to take it in my mouth. “So close!” he tells me. My cock is throbbing before I even get started. I’m sure I’ll get there, sure I’ll suck it right in. But I can’t. Not yet. It’s more than I can take, more than I can control. I have to keep going. My tongue flicks the tip, but I can’t get it well into my mouth. The coach is right there, encouraging me. I get so excited I can’t think straight. I can’t believe how big I get. “Look how close you are!” he says, and I know he’s watching me get huge. I know he’s watching me get stiff.

The fourth week of training. I go as often as I can, go as hard as I can. I have to do it. I have to blow my own cock. That’s the only thought left in my head. My size gets even more ridiculous. My size makes me lose control. It’s the perfect program, the perfect place. It feels like a fantasy every time. It feels like a dream come true. “Glad to see you’re so motivated,” the coach says. He sees it. He gets it. He watches me swell up. I don’t care if he knows. I don’t care if I have to do it right there. I can’t keep it in my shorts. I can’t keep it in my head.

By week five, my cock is about to explode. It’s out of control. It’s sticking out of my gym shorts and is as stiff as it gets. The coach loves it. The coach gives me more encouragement than I need. “You’re so close!” he says. “I bet you can’t wait.” And I can’t. I get more turned on each time. I get more motivated, more obsessed. “I’ll suck it soon,” I promise, and he gives me two thumbs up. It’s the perfect plan, the perfect setup. I can taste it. I can taste it every time my tongue hits the tip. But I want more. I want to blow myself raw. In the steam, I get closer than ever. In the steam, I know I’ll have to do it right there on the floor, and I know I’ll have to make the coach watch.

The wait is over. The prize is mine. I can hardly believe it. It seems like a fantasy. I can hardly believe it when the coach tells me, “You’re there!” I don’t even wait to hear him finish. I pull my cock out from my shorts. I take it in my mouth, hard, right there on the floor. I suck it wild and hard and like I’m starving for it. I suck it like it’s the best cock in the world. I suck it madly, and when I stand up, the coach gives me a solid high five.

It feels like it’s taken forever. It feels like it will never end. I can hardly believe it when I finally hit the goal. “You’re so close,” he keeps telling me. And I am. So fucking close that I go crazy with it. It’s impossible to keep my cock in my shorts. “You’re there!” he finally yells. I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care that it’s right there in the middle of the gym. I hit the mat, pull my cock out from the leg of my shorts, and curl over. I take it in my mouth and suck like I’m starving for it. I suck it so hard, it’s like it will explode. I suck it for so long that I almost blow. The coach watches and doesn’t even blink. The coach looks proud.

I do it right there, sucking myself mad. Sucking myself wild. I don’t care who else sees it. I don’t care that I’ve lost control. All I care about is that I’ve finally hit the goal. That I can finally do it after all that time. It’s like I’ve never blown a load before. It’s like I’ve never had anything that good. 3-4 minutes of pure, insane suck. I don’t come, but I get as close as it gets. I stand up, still hard and wet. The coach is all grins. The coach gives me a high five. “Nice work,” he says. I take it back to the showers. I don’t want to stop.

I take it to the showers, take it to the steam. I do it again, do it where it’s more private. I’m still crazy with desire. I’m still stiff and wild and insane. I know the coach thinks I’m a total perv. I know he didn’t care. I get it in my mouth and don’t come up for air. “Told you we could do it,” the coach says as I duck into the locker room. “Told you we could get you there.”

It’s all I dreamed it would be. It’s everything I imagined. I get just as wild as before. Just as mad. It’s worth the wait. Worth the time. Worth the 2-4 inch gap. I’m stiff and I want it more than ever. The coach wasn’t a creep after all. He just saw how huge I got. He just saw how serious I was.

I’m just as serious as I hit the showers. Just as horny. My cock is raw and dripping and huge. I put it in my mouth and can’t believe it. I blow myself as good as I always imagined. The wait was worth it. The work was worth it.

When I take it into the steam, I get totally crazy. I know I can do it now. I know I can blow anytime I want. My mouth is full of cock, full of myself. I suck it long and hard. I suck it with no distractions. With no one watching. I get as close to coming as possible. I almost shoot before I quit.

Then I let myself blow on the walk home. Then I blow myself mad. It’s enough to make it until I get back. It’s enough to make the prize last. I walk back with my shorts sticking out and the 8 inches tucked in my mouth. It’s more than I dreamed of. It’s more than I hoped for. My lips around the head, a huge load down my throat. I walk home with my cock in my mouth.