Jacking-Off Log

[rosco rathbone]

I couldn't sleep last night. I sung lullabies to myself, rubbed my belly in a counterclockwise motion and tried all the other tricks I know but nothing worked.

About 4am I fell into a light doze and began to dream about sitting back at my ease upon a large sofa surrounded by young females who were crawling all over me and doting on me, each seeking my undivided attention. From time to time, a new girl would approach with a seductive look in her eye and climb over the others, poking with elbows and knees and provoking hisses of discontent. Then, still dreaming, I began to feel a powerful sensation: one of the girls, undifferentiated in that knot of slender limbs, had opened my fly and was tugging at my cock with stealthy, wise, and knowing strokes. The feeling became stronger and stronger and all of a sudden exceeded the bounds of dreamland, causing me to wake with a start.

It was so powerful that I thought there was someone next to me with a hand in my shorts. Waking, I realized that my cock had begun to slowly stiffen within the confines of my calvin klein drawers and the stimulation of the cloth had caused a representation of a handjob to occur in dreemland.

I returned to slumber. In the mind's eye, I was walking down a generic NYC street. At the other end of the block, I saw what appeared to be a very large dog coming towards me. Why was it not on a leash? All of a sudden, I heard a clear, distinct, distant voice yelling "Run! Run!". I knew that a large beast had escaped and was terrorizing the town. The shock of fear and the far-away clarity of the voice awoke me anew.

I decided to jack; in hopes that the release of neurochemicals would bring an end to strange dreams. My cock would not get hard, but I persisted and rubbed out a half-assed O.

 

[Marquis]

I walk now with the calmness of a man who wears a white robe or colorful dashiki and has a white beard so long it splits and curls around his abdomen.

Things that were once confusing are clear to me now and things that were once frustrating have come to bring me peace.

I have jerked this day, requiring no more than a few easy strokes, milking my penis like an overflowing teet.

And it was grand.

 

[naughtygirl69s]

I couldn't sleep last night. I sung lullabies to myself, rubbed my belly in a counterclockwise motion and tried all the other tricks I know but nothing worked.

About 4am I fell into a light doze and began to dream about sitting back at my ease upon a large sofa surrounded by young females who were crawling all over me and doting on me, each seeking my undivided attention. From time to time, a new girl would approach with a seductive look in her eye and climb over the others, poking with elbows and knees and provoking hisses of discontent. Then, still dreaming, I began to feel a powerful sensation: one of the girls, undifferentiated in that knot of slender limbs, had opened my fly and was tugging at my cock with stealthy, wise, and knowing strokes. The feeling became stronger and stronger and all of a sudden exceeded the bounds of dreamland, causing me to wake with a start.

It was so powerful that I thought there was someone next to me with a hand in my shorts. Waking, I realized that my cock had begun to slowly stiffen within the confines of my calvin klein drawers and the stimulation of the cloth had caused a representation of a handjob to occur in dreemland.

I returned to slumber. In the mind's eye, I was walking down a generic NYC street. At the other end of the block, I saw what appeared to be a very large dog coming towards me. Why was it not on a leash? All of a sudden, I heard a clear, distinct, distant voice yelling "Run! Run!". I knew that a large beast had escaped and was terrorizing the town. The shock of fear and the far-away clarity of the voice awoke me anew.

I decided to jack; in hopes that the release of neurochemicals would bring an end to strange dreams. My cock would not get hard, but I persisted and rubbed out a half-assed O.

WHy didn't you jack the first time, when it was hard?

This facinates me. I could rub my clit all day, but if I'm not feeling it, I WILL NOT O. I have to get to that place in my head where nothing else exists but my own genitals. That deep, dirty, naughty place that makes me tingle in my core. Only then when I get to that place can I O.

 

[rosco rathbone]

When I need to O, I reach deep down into my psychosexual storehouse of thoughts and imagine stuff like making girls do my laundry.

 

[-phreak]

When I need to O, I reach deep down into my psychosexual storehouse of thoughts and imagine stuff like making girls do my laundry.

I gotta say...this thread is fantastic.

 

[bridgeburner]

When I need to O, I reach deep down into my psychosexual storehouse of thoughts and imagine stuff like making girls do my laundry.

Well, yeah, because whose laundry is dirtier than yours, right?

-B

 

[stirbird]

Well, yeah, because whose laundry is dirtier than yours, right?

-B

ROFL!

 

[rosco rathbone]

This morning, I was thinking about shiatsu. There's a spa that I go to from time to time where they walk on your back, supporting themselves with a stainless steel handrail that looks like a chin-up bar. The asian ladies there are brisk and professional and wear white coats like lab technicians. I like they way they flop my limbs about as if I were a cut of meat being chopped up upon the slab.

"I would like a shiatsu this day", I thought to myself. "And wouldn't it be awesome if, instead of the "happy ending" typical of sleezy massage parlors, a relaxing shiatsu began with a very clinical and professional blow-job from one of those scientifical-looking massage technicians?" (For the record, my shiatsu spa is completely on the up-and-up. It's mostly Upper East Side ladies.)

I was jacking leisurely as I thought I about this. Being blown by a pony-tailed, lab-coated Asian shiatsu therapist with a cold and clinical knowledge of the human nerve system- she'd possibly even pull up a special stool manufactured in Taiwan for the express purpose of causing her to lean forward and mouth my penis at the correct ergonomical angle.

The more I thought about the clinical and impersonal aspects of this image, obviously at odds with the extremely intimate nature of the act, the more excited I got. I pictured her coming up for air and whispering in Japanese (or whatever language it is) to one of her co-workers passing in the hallway through the half-opened door. Then after a minute or two of relaxing sucks; stroking some accupuncture point buried deep beneath my perineum and causing me to ejaculate at once. With all sexual tension drained, a shiatsu would be marvelous. I suppose in some ideal, asian world; this would all be the case.

Then my thoughts turned into more familiar channels: warm, mentalistic images of waking next to a girl and wobbling her buttocks with a patronizing and proprietary hand; pushing her sleepy head down towards my crotch firmly and gently. Thus we begin the day with an act of somnolescent deep-throat which serves to establish the proper order of relations between man and woman as the sun rises. The paper boy passes in the street below upon his trusty 2-wheeler, fresh cold milk is delivered by the bottle and birds tweet and hop from branch to branch in their time honored fashion as the eternal harmony of Yang and Yin is once more re-affirmed.

At ejaculation time, I found myself having a mental conversation:
"Who is your father?"
"You are and you tell me what to do." said quietly but firmly.

The O wasn't really hard, but it was deep and once again left me looking inward for a moment as if the leader of life's film had slipped the sprocket and left a hiatus, or as if I hung for a minute in the soundless space that follows the ringing of a gong or large bell. In the black and involuted caverns within myself I saw some actinic and distant blue spark like an unwavering star, far below somewhere and knew it for what it was: the orgone pilot light which is always burning inside me and can never be extinguished. It is this light which re-ignites the orgones from hour to hour and this is why I can get no rest.

 

[luxey313]

At ejaculation time, I found myself having a mental conversation:
"Who is your father?"
"You are and you tell me what to do." said quietly but firmly.

That is fucking hot.

 

[Marquis]

This reminds me of an elaborate fantasy I had recently that I will share with all of you when time allows.

 

[naughtygirl69s]

This reminds me of an elaborate fantasy I had recently that I will share with all of you when time allows.

*waits*

c'mere and share pleeeeeease

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

After a day where I ran the edge between murderous intent and pain, I decided last evening to sit in the tub and get myself off. (Ya'll don't need to know why I had to sit in the tub...)

Anywho, whilst diddling my clit, I got to fanatsizing about the person who had put me into this pissed off mood. I could see her clearly: tied up, spread eagled on a bed with a line of random men leading from the side of the bed out into the hall. All waiting to dump thier loads on her body. (which made it even more of a revenge type fantasy as she is an active lesbian)

The thought, while being hot to me, also managed to piss me off even more so that by the time the men had splooged all over her body and face, I was cumming and cursing and crying loudly. However, this late night diddle did break the anger and hurt I had been holding in so I guess it accomplished that part of it.

 

[rosco rathbone]

I could see her clearly: tied up, spread eagled on a bed with a line of random men leading from the side of the bed out into the hall. All waiting to dump thier loads in her body. (which made it even more of a revenge type fantasy as she is an active lesbian)

Anytime you decide to enact this, call me. I can't think of anything hotter than being a spear-carrier in a lesbian-on-lesbian gangbang/shaming ritual.

Love the detail about the crying at the end as well.

 

[Marquis]

I have recently been taken with the idea of a Slave Pageant, a spectacular occasion to rival even the Ms. Venezuela competition. Slaves will be put through a gauntlet of challenges testing their skill and composure in a variety of situations.

My mind has flickered through the oral sex-off; a row of slaves on their knees blowing their Master's (who are naturally bellowing in theatrical ecstasy) while points are given for technique, speed of completion, depth, thrust, style and stamina; to the talent competition, where each slave exhibits some starky vanilla talent she has perfected and now uses for the purpose of pleasing her Master. Everything from singing lullabye's to culinary artistry to even expert home repair and self defense has seen the final round.

But not today. Today my mind is stuck on the portion of the pageant where judges will analyze the slaves comportment, composure and grace. "The Collar-Trot" as it will be called, resembles something out of the Westminster dog show, as slaves are jogged along a half-moon track with their masters leading them on leash and collar while judges score them on various criteria.

The competition is supposed to be about the slaves, but nothing can be left to chance. I am in my finest leathers, well tanned rhinoceras hide, domino black and accented with my signature blood red trim. All the slaves are kept in pens for 16 hours before their run to increase the challenge of appearing serene and graceful. They are given 15 minutes to prepare between being removed from their pens, barely large enough to move, and being called by the loudspeaker for their run.

A ding like a microwave goes off and a large iron bolt slides to the side automatically with a thud. My slave is seated like an Indian, looking a bit famished and exhausted. I reach in and snap the leash on her collar with a click that wakes her up a bit. I pull her to her feet and out of her pen. The others try their best not to look, but they can't help it. They've got to see what Marquis is doing this year. They have to know if they should even bother running out at all.

I begin clapping her cheeks with my hands to wake her up fully for the task ahead of us. She looks at me for reassurance and sees all business in my eyes and it comforts her. I feed her mouth granola from my palm as she gets into her running boots and sleek leather lingerie. She prays to herself quietly as I rub her down with oil and smack her ass to give it that perfect tension and complexion.

A master walks by with his head held high, ignoring me so hard he might as well have been gazing at me from an invisible periscope. I smile sweetly as they walk up to the launch area and await for their names to be called. His slave snarls at mine as she walks by and he yanks her chain, full of shame for this embarassment. My little angel stares on as blissfully as a Hindu cow.

MASTER SADIUS AND HIS*

They trot out and run through the half moon in what felt like about 14 seconds. Seems short, the half moon should take at least 16 seconds, but you rush if you're nervous. I can tell by the judge's expression that they got good marks, its no surprise, Sadius has entered the competition with three different slaves and always places in the top 3. He even won a few times before I came on the scene.

DOMINUS MARQUIS AND HIS!!!

A quick roar followed by a deafening hush as my slave and I pace around the half moon. We are in excellent form. Through my peripheral I can see the wide eyed judges marvel at my slaves incredible muscle tone, perfect shape, incredible posture, relaxed pace and pervasive, soft, submissive energy.

To the ordinary eye it would seem that there was very little difference between the quality of my submissive and the one before. Certainly not a difference discernable in a quarter minute. However quiet nods from the judges so slight you would barely know they were there unless you knew they were coming spoke loud and clear.

Marquis, you did it again.

*Even though the competition is strictly judged on the subs, they are only ever identified with their Master's. A great controversy was caused one year when a Masterless "slave" attempted to enter the competition and was forced to endure a humiliating shaming ritual which she believed would allow her to be entered, which of course it did not and was merely the machinations of a panel of sadistic ombudsmen.

 

[MechaBlade]

I have recently been taken with the idea of a Slave Pageant, a spectacular occasion to rival even the Ms. Venezuela competition. Slaves will be put through a gauntlet of challenges testing their skill and composure in a variety of situations.

My mind has flickered through the oral sex-off; a row of slaves on their knees blowing their Master's (who are naturally bellowing in theatrical ecstasy) while points are given for technique, speed of completion, depth, thrust, style and stamina; to the talent competition, where each slave exhibits some starky vanilla talent she has perfected and now uses for the purpose of pleasing her Master. Everything from singing lullabye's to culinary artistry to even expert home repair and self defense has seen the final round.

But not today. Today my mind is stuck on the portion of the pageant where judges will analyze the slaves comportment, composure and grace. "The Collar-Trot" as it will be called, resembles something out of the Westminster dog show, as slaves are jogged along a half-moon track with their masters leading them on leash and collar while judges score them on various criteria.

The competition is supposed to be about the slaves, but nothing can be left to chance. I am in my finest leathers, well tanned rhinoceras hide, domino black and accented with my signature blood red trim. All the slaves are kept in pens for 16 hours before their run to increase the challenge of appearing serene and graceful. They are given 15 minutes to prepare between being removed from their pens, barely large enough to move, and being called by the loudspeaker for their run.

A ding like a microwave goes off and a large iron bolt slides to the side automatically with a thud. My slave is seated like an Indian, looking a bit famished and exhausted. I reach in and snap the leash on her collar with a click that wakes her up a bit. I pull her to her feet and out of her pen. The others try their best not to look, but they can't help it. They've got to see what Marquis is doing this year. They have to know if they should even bother running out at all.

I begin clapping her cheeks with my hands to wake her up fully for the task ahead of us. She looks at me for reassurance and sees all business in my eyes and it comforts her. I feed her mouth granola from my palm as she gets into her running boots and sleek leather lingerie. She prays to herself quietly as I rub her down with oil and smack her ass to give it that perfect tension and complexion.

A master walks by with his head held high, ignoring me so hard he might as well have been gazing at me from an invisible periscope. I smile sweetly as they walk up to the launch area and await for their names to be called. His slave snarls at mine as she walks by and he yanks her chain, full of shame for this embarassment. My little angel stares on as blissfully as a Hindu cow.

MASTER SADIUS AND HIS*

They trot out and run through the half moon in what felt like about 14 seconds. Seems short, the half moon should take at least 16 seconds, but you rush if you're nervous. I can tell by the judge's expression that they got good marks, its no surprise, Sadius has entered the competition with three different slaves and always places in the top 3. He even won a few times before I came on the scene.

DOMINUS MARQUIS AND HIS!!!

A quick roar followed by a deafening hush as my slave and I pace around the half moon. We are in excellent form. Through my peripheral I can see the wide eyed judges marvel at my slaves incredible muscle tone, perfect shape, incredible posture, relaxed pace and pervasive, soft, submissive energy.

To the ordinary eye it would seem that there was very little difference between the quality of my submissive and the one before. Certainly not a difference discernable in a quarter minute. However quiet nods from the judges so slight you would barely know they were there unless you knew they were coming spoke loud and clear.

Marquis, you did it again.

*Even though the competition is strictly judged on the subs, they are only ever identified with their Master's. A great controversy was caused one year when a Masterless "slave" attempted to enter the competition and was forced to endure a humiliating shaming ritual which she believed would allow her to be entered, which of course it did not and was merely the machinations of a panel of sadistic ombudsmen.

I like.

Some of my favorite fantasies are the ones where women's sexual talents are display for sport. In my next Utopia story (an alternate universe where all women are sex slaves and nothing more), I plan to have some woman-on-woman strip-wrestling where the victor gets to humiliate the loser. It's a lot like something out of ultimatesurrender.com. But then again, my Utopia stories are really hardcore so I don't think anyone here but I'mNasty will be looking forward to that, if you catch my drift.

For no reason at all, my sex sport fantasies come to me as sports I'd like to see implemented in high schools and colleges around the nation (rather than national or olympic style sports). My particular take on the blowjob contest is that opposing schools with have women and men on their team. Wait, don't stop reading... The men receive the blowjobs and the women give them. Points are given to the school whose girls make the men cum fastest. However, the twist is that the men are receiving their blowjob from the opposing team's girls.

So they can't just stick any virgin boy who will cum as soon as his female teammate touches his dick with her lips. Nay, instead the men must train to hold their sperm in as long as possible. The girls must lick and suck nuts and rim and use their hands and mouths in any combination to get the men from the other school to squirt their seed, and they must make sure the male rival cums before their male teammates cum.

The teams could have more girls than the 1 or 2 guys. Maybe closer to 5 - 7 girls. This way, girls that aren't currently sucking on a dick can try and get their male opponents off by bending over and spreading their cheeks or 69ing each other... just giving them any sort of sexy show. But there would be no touching the male opponent. Only the designated cocksucker could touch the male rival during the round.

This is what I think about when I'm bored.

 

[Marquis]

Ha ha, that's classic, right along the lines of what I had in mind.

 

[rosco rathbone]

BJ contests must be in the air. I was just thinking about the same thing.

The key to a contest is that the penis sucker must not be forced to stop. You can last forever if you can keep halting the action; but it's a whole different game if that's against the rules.

 

[rosco rathbone]

A master walks by with his head held high, ignoring me so hard he might as well have been gazing at me from an invisible periscope.

"A (lowercase-m) master walks by". Why is that sentence so hilarious to me?

merely the machinations of a panel of sadistic ombudsmen.

LOL @ this.

 

[MechaBlade]

The key to a contest is that the penis sucker must not be forced to stop. You can last forever if you can keep halting the action; but it's a whole different game if that's against the rules.

It's strip club rules. The man is not allowed to do anything that she doesn't make him do; that is, he can't touch her and must bend in any position that she bends him in, but if she puts his hand on her head, he can pull and push her head.

 

[rosco rathbone]

It's strip club rules. The man is not allowed to do anything that she doesn't make him do; that is, he can't touch her and must bend in any position that she bends him in, but if she puts his hand on her head, he can pull and push her head.

I wonder if anyone ever made a porno of this.

True oral servitude doesn't really make good porno action though, I don't think, unless you really get off on theatrical oral. I don't. What makes me lose control early in the game is subtle throat-pulses, lips at the base of the shaft, the accupuncture point; none of which is filmable..

I think you'd also have to have some kind of weight system in order to keep things fair. Some guys just have a hard time coming--the heavyweights. Your over-excited virgins would be the flyweights. That's the contest I like to see--more amusing and pervier to me. I always loved that scene in The Stand where the pimply youth got his first BJ and lost it in like six sucks.

 

[naughtygirl69s]

Ok, I'm game...I love it when a guy tells me he can't or doesn't cum from oral. I never turn down a challenge. Big brown eyes, pretty face, big lips, and enthusiasm. I win.

 

[Marquis]

I had the most bizarre dream last night.

I was at some rest stop on the highway, picking up something to eat and a bottle of water. I'm not sure where I was going, but I was in no rush. Eventually I noticed some scruffy dressed girl about my age peering at me from across the room. She would stare directly at me, then lower her head and blush when I looked back at her. She was tall, with long red hair and bore a striking resemblance to a girl I once dated.

I was paying for my supplies when I turned around to find her right in my face.

"Hi."

She had a childish smile and I wondered if she was all there, up there. I smiled back and returned her greeting. There was an awkward silence before she spoke again.

"You're so pretty," she said and began blushing immediately, but tried not to look away this time. Her mouth wrinkled up like she was bursting to say more and could barely maintain herself.

We exchanged names and other perfunctory information. Normally my wicked brain would've already been plotting ways to lure her into a bathroom for some semi-forced oral, but there was something unique about this female that made me want to see what she was about.

Before I could ask more about her, an emaciated man a little older than us came by and stuck his grotesque teeth at me in the most forced con-man smile I'd ever seen. I pretended not to be put off and shook his hand. We chatted for a bit while the girl waited patiently. He was a little darker than I, maybe a native American or some kind of latino. I didn't ask if this was his girl and he didn't offer up the information.

He asked me if I wanted to smoke with him and I said sure. We walked around to the back of the stop, where truckers came to fill up on gas and use the bathroom. We smoked a bit and chatted. I'm sure I looked like a fat meal to this hooligan, but I kept my guard about me. He caught the girl and I exchanging stares and looked back at me.

"She something else isn't she?"

"She's adorable," I replied.

"She does anything I say," he bragged. "There are some sick people around here and I make a lot of money letting them get their kicks. Watch this."

He told her it was time to work, so get out. She hopped out like it was her first day of school and walked over to a chair on the side of the bathroom, but instead of sitting on it, she kneeled down beside it.

I wondered what was going to happen, figuring they were a bunch of crackheads and she blows truckers for less than you'd spend on fast food. He had mentioned something about what they do before, but I didn't understand his slang and didn't bother asking.

Eventually a porky round trucker with greedy eyes and sweaty palms threw a few twenty dollar bills into the car and started walking over to the girl. This was a lot more than I expected, these guys must do pretty well.

She raised up on her knees, closed her eyes and stuck her chin out. The trucker walked right over her and kicked her in the stomach. It was hard to hide my shock, but I kept cool. She fell to the ground and he started wiping his muddy boots on her back roughly. She coughed and choked under the pressure, but no one paid any attention but me and the swarthy criminal in the driver's seat.

When the trucker was all done he went into the bathroom like nothing happened. The girl got up slowly and I will never forget the look on her face as her head raised and her eyes met mine. There was very little shame in her face, if anything a bit of pride in what she had just done. We held gazes for what seemed like forever and spoke through her eyes.

She said to me, "If I would do this for that loser, what do you think I would do for you?"

I woke up and jerked off immediately.

 

[rosco rathbone]

Your Oedipal issues are the stuff psychology textbooks are made of, sir.

Cathect!

250$ is my fee.


ACtually, it's a hot dream.

 

[luxey313]

She said to me, "If I would do this for that loser, what do you think I would do for you?"

That is what made it hot, what real minds would think.

 

[Marquis]

There's been a lot of jacking recently.