Watching another masturbator penis spurt
I’ve become a total masturbation fiend, a horny obsessive whose entire mental bandwidth is occupied by fantasies of orgasm, the blazing wave that starts at the head of my cock and suffuses my body until I’m left gasping and sticky and dazed. My hands are perpetually restless; it’s a struggle not to slide one down my waistband in the most inappropriate places—class, the bus, the gym showers—because the urge to stroke, to edge, to tease myself to trembling is constant. I find myself planning my entire day around when and where I might be able to sneak off and jerk off, the anticipation of it winding me up like a spring. But lately, the mere act of masturbating, as feral and intense as it is, hasn’t been quite enough. I’ve been compelled to up the ante, to document my own pleasure, so now my camera roll is a locked gallery of cocks—mine, in every state of need and release, gloriously oozing or spurting, veins distended, balls tight and high, shaft throbbing after hours of denied orgasm.
But even that, after a while, starts to feel routine, so I’ve learned to direct my attention outward, to become a cock voyeur. At first, it was just porn—watching other men lose themselves in pleasure, the contortions of their faces as they crest and crash over the edge. It’s the look of abandon that does it for me, that moment when the body betrays itself and all composure is gone, and the raw, animal pulse of orgasm takes over. I started seeking out videos that focused on the man’s face, the trembling jaw, the clench of his eyelids, the shock of pleasure as it punches through. I never realized how erotic it was, how deeply it stoked my own lust, to witness another man’s climax, to see the ripple of ecstasy break over him, to hear the ragged gasp, the involuntary moan, the utter surrender. It was like plugging myself into a circuit, feeling their voltage run through me.
But it got worse, or maybe better, depending how you looked at it. I started watching cumshot compilations not just for the cocks, but for the cumulative effect, the way a dozen, or fifty, or a hundred men could share in a single expression of pleasure. I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be in a room where men stroked together, a brotherhood of need, each participant spurred on by the others. I started to imagine these wild, unrestrained jack-off marathons, everyone desperate to last the longest, to drench the floor with proof of their own horniness. I wanted to be watched, to perform, to have someone else see the way my body bucked and writhed and my cock spasmed as I finally shot. It turned me on so much that I started filming myself from new angles, just to see what it would look like to an outsider: the look on my face, the way my abs clenched, my moans, my whispered curses. Sometimes I even watched my own videos as I jerked off, layering the experience, obsessively seeking that perfect moment of empathy and arousal.
It’s gotten so intense that sometimes, when I see another guy at the urinals or spot a bulge in the gym, I flash on how he might look at the peak of orgasm, what face he would make, what sound he would let slip. I started finding anonymous chat rooms and video sites, swapping jerk-off clips with other men, giving each other instructions, edging together digitally, both of us trying to drag it out as long as possible. The camaraderie is electric, a kind of mutual understanding and encouragement that makes the whole thing feel even dirtier, more necessary. The idea that we’re all in on it, that every man is secretly just as desperate and devoted to cock pleasure as I am, is a comfort and a turn-on.
And now, sometimes, when I watch a guy cum—on video, in a chat, or even in my mind’s eye—I get harder than I ever have just jacking it solo. It’s like the pleasure expands to fill the whole room. It makes me want to organize a circle jerk, to gather a tribe of like-minded guys and see who can last longest, who can shoot furthest, whose face is most beautiful when it finally crumbles in bliss. I crave the validation, the sense of shared purpose and mutual encouragement, the idea that we could all edge each other to the brink and then, on someone’s signal, finally explode together, a synchronized symphony of cock and cum and moans.
Watching that ecstasy on another man’s face, knowing he can’t fake it, knowing for that instant he is pure pleasure, is the horniest thing in the world to me. Sometimes I get so worked up fantasizing about it that I have to stop what I’m doing and jerk off immediately, no matter where I am. I want to be surrounded by men who are all as obsessed as I am, all of us egging each other on, no one ashamed, every stroke a celebration of our shared kink.
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