Jacking-Off Log

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jacking is totally different now than it ever was. the methods, the sensation...everything. its still methodical but in a more primal way. i am compelled to do it, even when i'm not thinking about sex. which really isn't often, but it does happen.

so on one of my breaks at work, i step into the private unisex bathroom and lock the door. i unhook the keys from my beltloop, so they won't jangle with my motions to come. i toss the plastic badge that hangs around my neck over my shoulder, leaving it hanging down my back instead of my front, so it doesn't click against the plastic name tag pinned to my chest. standing before the full-length mirror, i open my fly and let my pants slide off my hips. i am not hard but it doesn't matter; i pull back on the flesh where the base of my small dick is and make it stand straight out despite its non erect state. licking my hand, i begin to rub the top of my shaft. over and over, i spit on my hand, keeping it slick for the jack, and get the growing head of my meat all shiney and wet. i stare at my hand in the mirror as i beat off, watching my fingers and palm pass over my whole cock again and again. by now i'm hard and seeking nothing but release. my stiff dick pokes out at the mirror, stretching to its reflection...i imagine ejaculating on the mirror, and actually want to rub my cockhead on the glass--but i do neither. in less than 2 minutes, i'm coming. i suck in my breath and keep from grunting-someone walking down the hall way would hear me. it doesn't matter though, in all my attempts to be silent, the removal of the keys, the wearing my badge backwards--anyone who saw me go in or who will see me come out knows exactly what i did.
my orgasm is never ever long enough. its disappointing. but still awesome. before i start jacking, before i even head towards the john, i already know it won't be enough. but i do it anyway. like having lunch or clocking in, or going to the busstop--its just a part of the routine.
i wipe myself off with a rough paper towel, and wash my hands. a pass the wet paper towel that dried my hands across my mouth, to make sure i don't smell like dick or cum. pull up, buckle belt, re attach keys and reverse badge. straighten tie and unlock the door.
and it will be just like that tomorrow too.
 
jacking is totally different now than it ever was. the methods, the sensation...everything. its still methodical but in a more primal way. i am compelled to do it, even when i'm not thinking about sex. which really isn't often, but it does happen.

so on one of my breaks at work, i step into the private unisex bathroom and lock the door. i unhook the keys from my beltloop, so they won't jangle with my motions to come. i toss the plastic badge that hangs around my neck over my shoulder, leaving it hanging down my back instead of my front, so it doesn't click against the plastic name tag pinned to my chest. standing before the full-length mirror, i open my fly and let my pants slide off my hips. i am not hard but it doesn't matter; i pull back on the flesh where the base of my small dick is and make it stand straight out despite its non erect state. licking my hand, i begin to rub the top of my shaft. over and over, i spit on my hand, keeping it slick for the jack, and get the growing head of my meat all shiney and wet. i stare at my hand in the mirror as i beat off, watching my fingers and palm pass over my whole cock again and again. by now i'm hard and seeking nothing but release. my stiff dick pokes out at the mirror, stretching to its reflection...i imagine ejaculating on the mirror, and actually want to rub my cockhead on the glass--but i do neither. in less than 2 minutes, i'm coming. i suck in my breath and keep from grunting-someone walking down the hall way would hear me. it doesn't matter though, in all my attempts to be silent, the removal of the keys, the wearing my badge backwards--anyone who saw me go in or who will see me come out knows exactly what i did.
my orgasm is never ever long enough. its disappointing. but still awesome. before i start jacking, before i even head towards the john, i already know it won't be enough. but i do it anyway. like having lunch or clocking in, or going to the busstop--its just a part of the routine.
i wipe myself off with a rough paper towel, and wash my hands. a pass the wet paper towel that dried my hands across my mouth, to make sure i don't smell like dick or cum. pull up, buckle belt, re attach keys and reverse badge. straighten tie and unlock the door.
and it will be just like that tomorrow too.


:rolleyes:hasn't anyone told you yet that its a two way mirror??...
 
4degrees, I didn't see your post when it happened. Good jacking.

im_a_voyeur, do you masturbate? Or only peep the masturbations of others? Let's have a jack from you.


I've been jacking twice a day, thrice on weekends. My av sums up the content of my patriarchal masturbations.
 
I regret the decline of this thread, but I'm totally bored with my own psychosexuality. If anyone is jacking with gusto, let's have it.
 
i'm just doing my usual maintenance jacks. a little less frequently since i actually have a sex life.

i find myself most onanistically active just following a sexual encounter. i get so turned on by reflecting on recent events and all my senses are so stimulated that i can't shut the sexual response off for a good 8 or 12 hours.
 
jacked
so hard
to the thought of
my tongue in the ass of the nurse
i
didn't see,

as to honor
both her
and
the brother i had sushi with...


*drops mike*​
 
Definitely sometime really soon. Gonna get it up and hit it up, oh yeah.
 
im_a_voyeur, do you masturbate? Or only peep the masturbations of others? Let's have a jack from you.

I'm trying to keep my jacking to a minimum these days. There was a point where it was getting rather ridiculous. Writing out my jacks would probably give most a hard off, lol. I exaggerate but I lack the gift of storytelling.

ha! no. but it's good to see you around, regardless of your deviant politics.

Thanks! :)
 
I'm trying to keep my jacking to a minimum these days. There was a point where it was getting rather ridiculous. Writing out my jacks would probably give most a hard off, lol. I exaggerate but I lack the gift of storytelling.

The shy type eh.

I had a fucked-up jack the other day which was inspired by that picture of the Taliban guy beating the kneeling woman. That and the fact that I'm up to the Book Of Leviticus. The stoning to death of whores, "uncleanliness" and all that. I find it very stimulating. I don't feel good that I jack to these notions but there you have it.
 
EndCredits>> Everything about your post makes me wanna go to bed right now and play. Love ur av, it just speaks of naughty things. "Gonna get it up and hit it up" haha I love it!
 
My jack featured a sawhorse, and a dangerously handsome man holding me down over it, by the back of the neck. Shoving his hard cock into my quivering ass with a vengeance, while my pussy dripped uselessly onto the floor. Growling through his teeth "THIS is how it's done, you stupid cunt!" And the strap-on dangling between my knees.

Mmm...and that was good enough for me. :eek:
 
while my pussy dripped uselessly onto the floor.

Outstanding detail.

Somehow anger and sex got mixed up in my head at a young age. If I'm jacking and can't make it over the top, a scenario of anger will do it almost every time. I can squeeze blood from a stone with a good scenario of anger.
 
The shy type eh.

I had a fucked-up jack the other day which was inspired by that picture of the Taliban guy beating the kneeling woman. That and the fact that I'm up to the Book Of Leviticus. The stoning to death of whores, "uncleanliness" and all that. I find it very stimulating. I don't feel good that I jack to these notions but there you have it.


You're jacking to the bible? Dude, that is so NOT right.
 
I feel exactly the same way. And, I am in mourning.
Well, keep posting until I am bored with your psychosexuality.

I am not bored with mine; on the contrary, I find it quite fascinating, even if it is a bit repetitive.

But sometimes I begin to hate it.

Case in point: I met a girl last night who was the polar opposite of me in everything. Her tastes were just completely different. This was the second thing I noted about her. The first was that she was one of the most drop dead gorgeous specimens I'd ever seen. If she stood next to Scarlett Johansson (who she somewhat resembled), you'd assume that Scarlett was her ugly sister.

My first egocentric reaction of dismay--that anyone could disagree with me on anything--was surpassed by a feeling of injustice. As if her beauty and boyfriend weren't barriers enough, I had nothing in common with her aside from being friends with her friends. I could never date her. I would never see her butt naked, playfully nibbling on the end of my cock, even though I so rightly deserved such a sight.

This sullen mood began to fade and a perverse smile curled on my face when I realized she was the perfect bdsm jack fantasy. Beautiful and arrogant and stupid; needing discipline more than any other girl ever before. I imagined her crying and naked, my marks across her body, finally apologetic after I disciplined her for being so unashamedly girly-girly. I memorized her face. It would be perfect.

But that really got me thinking. Am I that fucked up? Am I fantasizing about hurting her just because of my bruised ego? Is this a fetish or just some defense mechanism?
 
Am I fantasizing about hurting her just because of my bruised ego? Is this a fetish or just some defense mechanism?

I'd say yes to the first question, but so what if it's a "defense mechanism" in part? The inside of your brain is not full of black boxes labeled "legitimate fetish" and "defense mechanism".
 
I'd say yes to the first question, but so what if it's a "defense mechanism" in part? The inside of your brain is not full of black boxes labeled "legitimate fetish" and "defense mechanism".

If this is just a psychological outlash, can it be cured? Should it? Doesn't it lend creditability to those who say we're all sick and had messed up childhoods?
 
i had a good one this morning. By the time i was done, my insides felt like jello, not simply my arms and legs. It was someone from Lit which brought this on too, btw.
 
If this is just a psychological outlash, can it be cured? Should it? Doesn't it lend creditability to those who say we're all sick and had messed up childhoods?

Shut up, brain, or I'll stab you with a Q-tip!


Here's my answer to that.

I think everybody has impulses from outta left field more often than they care to admit. I think kinky people are generally more responsible people, in that they examine those impulses very carefully for unwholesome tendencies.

You didn't take her down in the parking lot and leave her tied up in your closet so you could take your rage out on her again and again - so, you're good.


Now get over here and fuck my ass.
 
Shut up, brain, or I'll stab you with a Q-tip!


Here's my answer to that.

I think everybody has impulses from outta left field more often than they care to admit. I think kinky people are generally more responsible people, in that they examine those impulses very carefully for unwholesome tendencies.

You didn't take her down in the parking lot and leave her tied up in your closet so you could take your rage out on her again and again - so, you're good.
True, there is that.


Now get over here and fuck my ass.
Bend over and spread it, you useless little fuckhole.
 
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