Jacking-Off Log
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naughtygirl69s
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Marquis said:
Thanks for the details.
lemmesee
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I last masturbated yesterday mid-afternoon....I sat here on lit and was looking at the large-breast pix on the today's pix site....I had my girlfriend's clean and soft white panties wrapped around my penis, and I just rubbed and rubbed until I squirted off into the panti-crotch....the release felt really really good ....
....
rosco rathbone
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What a strange fortnight it has been, in the annals of jiggery-pokery.
I have no emotional interest in fantasy or sexuality at all because certain herbs I am ingesting are turning me into a human android. However, I have been jacking at least thrice per diem like some runaway orgasmatron. Fantasy content very attentuated: a hoop earring, the eidolon of a jiggly black ass. Half the time I catch myself thinking about other topics of current interest such as interstellar travel or topology. Yet the bone remains rigid and full of blood. There's a Zenlike nature to jacking this month--the less I try, the more I succeed. The key is that I couldn't give a damn. It's a reflexive reaction to the presence of mental contaminants; like allergens; which I must expel with a Pinnochio Sneeze.
I've long noted a trend towards masturbation free of all fantasy content. The dog of masturbation chasing it's own tail in an ever-tighteneing spiral of self-reference. Now it seems clear that my use of the mirror position is a symptom of this. I find myself enjoying the cool porcelain against the root of my sac, and the way my foot, in its sock, always slips on the tiled floor, forcing me to brace myself against the toilet as I strike my ejaculation stance. In the end, always the same momentary flash of lips clamped about the base of the shaft and the fingers holding the gnarled, tight, and flexing sac respectfully as I jazz in the mouth of a ghostly fellatrix who pixellates into being for but a nanosecond of virtual masturbation time.
Interestingly, this type of jack seems to pop the orgone bubble effortlessly. Again, Zenlike.
I have no emotional interest in fantasy or sexuality at all because certain herbs I am ingesting are turning me into a human android. However, I have been jacking at least thrice per diem like some runaway orgasmatron. Fantasy content very attentuated: a hoop earring, the eidolon of a jiggly black ass. Half the time I catch myself thinking about other topics of current interest such as interstellar travel or topology. Yet the bone remains rigid and full of blood. There's a Zenlike nature to jacking this month--the less I try, the more I succeed. The key is that I couldn't give a damn. It's a reflexive reaction to the presence of mental contaminants; like allergens; which I must expel with a Pinnochio Sneeze.
I've long noted a trend towards masturbation free of all fantasy content. The dog of masturbation chasing it's own tail in an ever-tighteneing spiral of self-reference. Now it seems clear that my use of the mirror position is a symptom of this. I find myself enjoying the cool porcelain against the root of my sac, and the way my foot, in its sock, always slips on the tiled floor, forcing me to brace myself against the toilet as I strike my ejaculation stance. In the end, always the same momentary flash of lips clamped about the base of the shaft and the fingers holding the gnarled, tight, and flexing sac respectfully as I jazz in the mouth of a ghostly fellatrix who pixellates into being for but a nanosecond of virtual masturbation time.
Interestingly, this type of jack seems to pop the orgone bubble effortlessly. Again, Zenlike.
bridgeburner
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I'm not sure if I'm envious or if I feel bad for you. I have to concentrate like a mother to get one off. If I hear my neighbors talking outside my window it interrupts my chain of wank, ditto dog snuffles, telephone, television, radio, traffic. My wanks are all about the lead up and I can get derailed fairly easily. I generally get back on track but sometimes it's just out of sheer stubborness. I always feel a sense of accomplishment unless I only manage a 3 or something which is rare.
The idea of being able to get off while thinking of something else sort of appeals. The ease of release. But then I think how much I'd miss all my mental movies.
-B
The idea of being able to get off while thinking of something else sort of appeals. The ease of release. But then I think how much I'd miss all my mental movies.
-B
Biorgium
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Riles said:
That's the thing about masturbation. Sometimes it's long and slow, involving a detailed fantasy and leading to a top-quality orgasm. But it doesn't always have to be that way.
For me, masturbation is part of my daily health routine. It helps calm my nerves and keeps me balanced. Those quick wanks in the shower or at the sink are kinda like flossing, nothing remarkable but still pleasant and actually quite necessary.
I'm lucky in that in my mid 40s I'm still easily able to cum 2 or 3 times a day. Back in my teens I'd sometimes cum up to 6 times in a day. So having a quick morning wank does not lower my sexual drive at all.
In a typical morning shower wank, I'll set the handshower to a hard spray and briefly tease my nipples, anus and perenium with it. I'll use a mild soap as a lube. My favourite fantasy that speeds me along involves me being under a woman (no particular one) in a fervent 69, while an anonymous cock slides in and out of her from behind. At some point this cock slips out of her and I grab it; it's coated with her juices and I rub it over my face, breathing deeply of her delicious smell. At this point I cum, with the handshower strategically aimed at my most sensitive region. Usually less than a minute has elapsed.
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Marquis
Jack Dawkins
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I have been jacking my dick raw recently. I am using less and less lube as well, it seems that I have developed a masochistic response to the increasing friction that occurs as my cocoa butter is absorbed. Stepping out of rhythm to reapply might as well be hitting the reset button, so I endure and cum great spurts in a relief of pain rather than a gift of pleasure.
Also, fantasies are involving more oral than ever.
Also, fantasies are involving more oral than ever.
bulgingjocks
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Been trying to hold off on cumming for over a week now, been jacking at least once a day and denying my release. But yesterday morning, i was woken up by a a raging hard on, so hard that it even had pulled my tight foreskin half way down so slowly and teasing jacked my cock for around 30 minutes and i so needed to cum. Decided to do something nasty so rolled my hips up pointed my cock at my face and let the load go.
Well thats my first wank-log here! Pretty sure there will be more to come (pun was not intended
)
Well thats my first wank-log here! Pretty sure there will be more to come (pun was not intended
)
bridgeburner
threadkiller
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Marquis said:
If things are too lubey I can't feel anything so I'm a fan of "just enough to be sticky" which is pretty much what my body provides. I get damp rather than wet which I used to worry about. I wondered if there was something wrong with me, if my partners would think there was something wrong with me. Would they think I wasn't turned on enough? Was my lack of womanly juices un-sexy? Un-feminine?
I got over it.
-B
rosco rathbone
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The Jesus Complex is a well known feature of Marguis' personality.
rosco rathbone
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arrogance & insolence
masturbatory fantasy of oral as masturbation:
Curled up like a grub on my sweaty cot, jeans on; I slide my hand beneath my wasteband and squeeze my cock in a pulsating manner.
A mood of arrogance and insolence dominates my sexuality; both in its solitary forms and in congress with human women. I fantasize unzipping with a sneer, lolled back upon a throne or easy chair. Jacking off or getting blown, both solipsistic occupations. What are the consequences of coming to regard normal sexuality, that is to say, sexuality with human partners as opposed to ghosts or self-projections, as little more than an adjunct or extension of masturbation?
The ideal partner would be neither heard nor seen, but merely felt upon demand; an unobtrusive and obedient mouth. With thoughts of this nature obsessively revolving; I begin to jazz, but contain myself. Like an inner hummingbird's beak; the coccyx at the base of the spine takes small nourishing sips of raw chi from my distended balls. I draw the energy up my spine with a shiver of pleasure.
masturbatory fantasy of oral as masturbation:
Curled up like a grub on my sweaty cot, jeans on; I slide my hand beneath my wasteband and squeeze my cock in a pulsating manner.
A mood of arrogance and insolence dominates my sexuality; both in its solitary forms and in congress with human women. I fantasize unzipping with a sneer, lolled back upon a throne or easy chair. Jacking off or getting blown, both solipsistic occupations. What are the consequences of coming to regard normal sexuality, that is to say, sexuality with human partners as opposed to ghosts or self-projections, as little more than an adjunct or extension of masturbation?
The ideal partner would be neither heard nor seen, but merely felt upon demand; an unobtrusive and obedient mouth. With thoughts of this nature obsessively revolving; I begin to jazz, but contain myself. Like an inner hummingbird's beak; the coccyx at the base of the spine takes small nourishing sips of raw chi from my distended balls. I draw the energy up my spine with a shiver of pleasure.
rosco rathbone
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I'm always astounded to see the clear linkage between body and mind; which works both ways. By manipulating one, you can easily manipulate the other.
For instance, my jacking fantasy content has been almost totally bdsm free (insofar as that is possible for me) for months. I've also been jacking and jazzing about 3x per diem. I decided to make a little test and retain the seed, while continuing to jack at my regular rate. I'm about a day and a half into this and I find the results almost shocking. All it takes is that little bit of orgasmic frustration and my fantasies become long, clear, involved, and with a strong bondage flavoring. The mood is one of anger.
TOday's fantasy: a scenario of domestic discipline. She refuses to wash and mend, to kneel and scrub, to do her "woman's work". In a fury I lash her to the bedframe and beat her with the doubled-over strap. On the edge of Oing, bone hard as a bone, I muttered angry imprecations. ...in my house, you'll do as I say...I make the rules here...have you learned your lesson yet?...do you want some more of this?...
And once more, I am suprised to learn by direct method how tightly intertwined are my basic sexual drives with the emotional overtones of fury, aggressiveness, sexual rage, frustration. It feels so primally "correct" that for a moment I am sure that the ancient cavemen must have disciplined their women in the same fashion.
Actually, perhaps I'm wrong. Maybe "anger" is the only word we have these days for the emotion I'm describing here. It comes close, but the fit isn't perfect. It's a driven, predatory, animalistic desire to conquer; to inject the swarming seeds into many helpless bodies. Somewhere between brainstem and cerebrum all the animal instincts are swirled up together and emerge to consciousness as a desire to to fight, to fuck, to devour and rend and claw.
Anyhow, I contained myself and felt as if I'd downed a bracing tonic of pepperweed, wormwood, Spanish Fly and mexican jumping beans.
For instance, my jacking fantasy content has been almost totally bdsm free (insofar as that is possible for me) for months. I've also been jacking and jazzing about 3x per diem. I decided to make a little test and retain the seed, while continuing to jack at my regular rate. I'm about a day and a half into this and I find the results almost shocking. All it takes is that little bit of orgasmic frustration and my fantasies become long, clear, involved, and with a strong bondage flavoring. The mood is one of anger.
TOday's fantasy: a scenario of domestic discipline. She refuses to wash and mend, to kneel and scrub, to do her "woman's work". In a fury I lash her to the bedframe and beat her with the doubled-over strap. On the edge of Oing, bone hard as a bone, I muttered angry imprecations. ...in my house, you'll do as I say...I make the rules here...have you learned your lesson yet?...do you want some more of this?...
And once more, I am suprised to learn by direct method how tightly intertwined are my basic sexual drives with the emotional overtones of fury, aggressiveness, sexual rage, frustration. It feels so primally "correct" that for a moment I am sure that the ancient cavemen must have disciplined their women in the same fashion.
Actually, perhaps I'm wrong. Maybe "anger" is the only word we have these days for the emotion I'm describing here. It comes close, but the fit isn't perfect. It's a driven, predatory, animalistic desire to conquer; to inject the swarming seeds into many helpless bodies. Somewhere between brainstem and cerebrum all the animal instincts are swirled up together and emerge to consciousness as a desire to to fight, to fuck, to devour and rend and claw.
Anyhow, I contained myself and felt as if I'd downed a bracing tonic of pepperweed, wormwood, Spanish Fly and mexican jumping beans.
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
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There are times I feel so enslaved by the demands of my penis that it almost seems like a tangible entity, ever encroaching on my own ontology like a psychic cancer devouring every other motivation and desire.
I wake up and imagine it sitting in a chair next to me, looking at me with a sour, arrogant impatience. It knows it has won before we struggle, it merely resents the defiance.
"What are we going to fuck today, Marquis?" he asks in a tired tone, glancing around lazily.
I feel anxious. "I can't fuck today, I have more important things to do." Somehow I feel like I'm telling the teacher that the dog ate my homework.
"Come on Marquis, you've met lots of girls recently, just call one up! You have to fuck them now or they won't be available to fuck them later when you DO want them, we've been through this before."
He makes an excellent point.
"Look at your hand Marquis."
Sure enough it was absent-mindedly gripping my cock, thickening with each slow, pulsing squeeze.
"Do you want to just sit home and jerk off all day? That's all you're going to do, might as well get a damn partner!"
"No, I have things to do, I can't spend that kind of time. Just this one jack and I'll be all set." He gets tighter in his chair as the self love gets more intense.
"Whatever you say Marquis, you're only going to wish you had listened to me when I return."
I manage to gasp out, "NO! This is it, and then you go away! I have other shit to do! I can't sit here and think about fucking all day!"
He grips the arm rests of his chair and lets out a mighty groan as I climax. He drops his head for a minute, as if he has fallen asleep, and looks peaceful. We sit like that for a while until his head pops back up suddenly. "Well that was quite alright."
"Go away now, I have things to do."
He stands up and lights a cigarette. I hear him say before he walks out, "I'll see you in thirty minutes or so, get busy."
I wake up and imagine it sitting in a chair next to me, looking at me with a sour, arrogant impatience. It knows it has won before we struggle, it merely resents the defiance.
"What are we going to fuck today, Marquis?" he asks in a tired tone, glancing around lazily.
I feel anxious. "I can't fuck today, I have more important things to do." Somehow I feel like I'm telling the teacher that the dog ate my homework.
"Come on Marquis, you've met lots of girls recently, just call one up! You have to fuck them now or they won't be available to fuck them later when you DO want them, we've been through this before."
He makes an excellent point.
"Look at your hand Marquis."
Sure enough it was absent-mindedly gripping my cock, thickening with each slow, pulsing squeeze.
"Do you want to just sit home and jerk off all day? That's all you're going to do, might as well get a damn partner!"
"No, I have things to do, I can't spend that kind of time. Just this one jack and I'll be all set." He gets tighter in his chair as the self love gets more intense.
"Whatever you say Marquis, you're only going to wish you had listened to me when I return."
I manage to gasp out, "NO! This is it, and then you go away! I have other shit to do! I can't sit here and think about fucking all day!"
He grips the arm rests of his chair and lets out a mighty groan as I climax. He drops his head for a minute, as if he has fallen asleep, and looks peaceful. We sit like that for a while until his head pops back up suddenly. "Well that was quite alright."
"Go away now, I have things to do."
He stands up and lights a cigarette. I hear him say before he walks out, "I'll see you in thirty minutes or so, get busy."
rosco rathbone
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Hahaha capital stuff old boy. "Penis as interlocutor"; that's a new one!
naughtygirl69s
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Marquis said:
OK, seriously, this made me LOL, not at your penis, mind you, but this is quite possibly the most brilliant thing I've read here.
I thought only teenagers' penises had this much control!
bridgeburner
threadkiller
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Ah, Marquis, you've gotten my morning off to a brilliant start!
-B
-B
rosco rathbone
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A sobering look at the consequences of too much wanking from a Traditional Chinese Medicine point of view.
garbage can
North by Northeast
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Any particular cock ??Rubyfruit said:
rosco rathbone
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In response to this crisis of excessive masturbation; a cease-fire of five days has been decreed.
I will report on the psychosexual and health consequences of this experiment. Stay tuned.
I will report on the psychosexual and health consequences of this experiment. Stay tuned.
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