Jacking-Off Log

[Hester]

hesturbate with all the fucklust you can muster!

 

[tortoise]

oly did that. totally rocks.

Yes. It does. As does she. As do you.

 

[tortoise]

hesturbate with all the fucklust you can muster!

Absolutely! Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes!

Heh. That reminds me of an Elvis Costello song.

Now you're sending me your best wishes
Signed with love and vicious kisses
You lack lust, you're so lacklustre
Is that all the strength you can muster?
Possession

 

[tortoise]

Last night. My brain wanted to take it slow, but my cock made a convincing argument that the all-day buildup more than satisfied the "taking it slow" requirement. My cock can be very persuasive. Anyway.

The ultimate primal jack. Vivid mental images fueled the fire all day long, but once my cock was in my fist, my head was filled not so much with images as with raw hunger, primal feeling. The feeling of clutching, squeezing, grasping, taking, possessing. Hips on autopilot, governed by animal need, driven to thrust, penetrate, fill, stretch, plunge. My cock felt huge, powerful, undeniable, so swollen it shone, so taut it hummed. Apple tight cockhead atop wet veiny iron shaft. A monolith of fucklust. Growling, snarling, want and need driving my every muscle to a singular purpose: to fuck. Just fuck. Hard, nasty, driving fuck. A mantra running through my head, in perfect synchronicity with the wet snap of my cockhead fucking my clutching fist: I want. I want. Want. Want. Want. My seed burning in me, searing deep inside. Possessing me, every fiber of me devoted to expelling that seed, every muscle working, fucking, grinding. Shaking, trembling with fucklust. "Mind" consumed with feeling. The searing wet sheath of her silken cunt. The impact of my impaling, driving thrusts on her body, her muscles taut, poised to absorb the impact, return it, hunger feeding hunger in a mounting crescendo of syncopated synergistic fucklust. Her low animal groans and cries feeding me, begging me to fill her, take her, use her, empty myself in her. My growling mantra changed. Mine. Mine. Mine. Snarling. Teeth clenched. Hips pumping, lifting off the bed. Wet fist. Wet cunt. Mine. My cunt. Mine. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Balls slapping against her quivering wet flesh as I pound. Rut. Deep wet plunging into enveloping undulating flesh. Her cunt clutching at my cock, ravenous for it. Growling fuckthrusts, faster. Harder. Mine. Shaking. Breath catching. Almost. Harder. Faster. Close. Thighs clenching hips grinding slick fist fucking fuck yes fuck fuck yes fuck YES! Barbaric growl wrenched from between clenched teeth as my molten seed spurted, thick ropy streams of white hot fucklust.

So. Fucking. Delicious.

 

[Batch]

I got that.

 

[garbage can]

I got that.

Hi Batchy.................

 

[tortoise]

hesturbate with all the fucklust you can muster!

I did! And how!

 

[Hester]

I did! And how!

good work!!!

you get three hesturbation clits up!

 

[tortoise]

good work!!!

you get three hesturbation clits up!

Thank you, A. That is a most inspirational award indeed!

Oh, that reminds me: another definition.

 

[Batch]

Thank you, A. That is a most inspirational award indeed!

Oh, that reminds me: another definition.

smiles

 

[Lester_Hammond]

Report all acts of masturbation with a summary of the act. I haven't busted a nut yet today but I am about to. Wil check back in.

Isn't this kind of a sick idea?

 

[Hester]

Thank you, A. That is a most inspirational award indeed!

Oh, that reminds me: another definition.

another thumbsup!!!

 

[rosco rathbone]

Isn't this kind of a sick idea?

The original idea is pretty sick, I think. It was sort of an online version of something I did in a notebook for a long time-I'd record a daily record of all sorts of data, from how bad my allergies were, to what my dreams were, what I ate, the weather and phase of the moon, what I wore, what I was reading that day, and also how many times I oed by my own hand. My intention was to create a huge wall chart that would map my moods and make my own psyche predictable to me. The thread ended up being more about people's fantasy lives, so it is as sick or healthy as the internal sex life of each of us.

I think the original, somewhat clinical notion is pervy as hell though. Nurse standing over your hospital bed with a chart "how many times did you ejaculate today?".

Anyhow I jayed this morning to something so fucked, so wrong, that I don't feel good about telling the fantasy. It was a first and halfway though I was going to myself, I can't believe you are jacking off and thinking about this. You aren't gonna o to this image, no, no oh fuck. *pop*

 

[Ms_Lilith]

This morning... laying in bed beside my sweetheart, listning to him breathe...

images of lovemaking in my head... of the first time with him...

fingers sliding along my wet slit, circling around my swollen nub, one hand twisting my nipples, one at a time...

 

[Hester]

has anyone heard from beebs lately?

 

[stirbird]

Anyhow I jayed this morning to something so fucked, so wrong, that I don't feel good about telling the fantasy. It was a first and halfway though I was going to myself, I can't believe you are jacking off and thinking about this. You aren't gonna o to this image, no, no oh fuck. *pop*

Oh great! You can't not tell us after that buildup, you sadist! :/

 

[tortoise]

I must admit, my curiosity is piqued as well.

No word from beebs, A. I miss her wit.

 

[stirbird]

I haven't heard from Beebs either, but this is the time of year that one either gets very busy or very depressed in. Given Beeb's personality, I imagine she's in the former group.

This morning I had a delightful rub. In my computer chair, as usual. Looking a porn, as usual (more about that in a moment). It took me less than a minute (I thought--I didn't actually time it) but when I finished, my right hand ached and ached, like I'd be going at it non-stop for half an hour! The hand is badly sprained on the outside, though (I am clumsy and fall a lot--the last time this happened, my right hand took my weight. For the first few days I didn't think I'd even be able to type with it!) so maybe that's what was going on.

The pain has now receeded (duh, or I wouldn't be posting this). I want to show you the picture I came to, but first a little background. Someone started a thread on here a few weeks back about trashy sexy costume/dancer shops online and they posted a truly egregious example (many of the models were wearing slutwear in plaid!!). So that got me looking around at other such shops. They were largely disappointing. What most slutwear vendors think is sexy is the equivelent of what you can see on any liberal beach in the world: less is more in other words. No imagination, no creativity in the clothes. Even my old standby, Flirt, has gone the conventional route. And Dream Dresser (a wonderful and very pervy fetishware shop) is no more. But I did find one pair of pants on an otherwise unremarkable site that I liked a lot. And here they are:

http://www.uploadfile.info/uploads/f38b65dc3c.jpg

My fantasy was humiliation, of course. I imagined my partner taking me to a crowded party or event with lots of men and inviting them, maybe verbally (or maybe through a rhinestone logo he had the pants customized with: "I Need-->" on the left bun; "<---A Poke!" on the right) to poke me through the hole. I go through the evening feeling finger after strange male finger shoved up my ass, men's smiling faces leering down at me as they did so, dozens of rude and embarassing comments about my "tightness." In one version of this fantasy (I was doing two-second replays of various scenarios) I mercifully (albeit more humiliatingly) had a little bag labelled "K-Y" hanging from a string attached to the waistband over one bun. When we get home, my partner, more than a little turned on my my non-stop shame and degradation, rapes me very unmercifully in the ass.

 

[tortoise]

Hot pants and jack, birdie.

Fell asleep last night without a sexy thought in my mind (reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road, not particularly conducive to sexual thoughts). However, about an hour or two into my slumber, I awoke HARD and hungry. I don't even think I was dreaming. My cock just suddenly demanded attention. So, quick and dirty jack. Utilitarian. Surprisingly intense O, given the lack of buildup. Slept like a baby thereafter.

 

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

 

[tortoise]

BTW, meant to say...

so. fucking. delicious. Tort.

I love the one words. It's like that, isn't it ~ sometimes not a full image in your head, just a word the encapsulates a thought, or a brief flashing image that is narrowed and specific but hits you like a heated prong.

Thank you!

That's exactly right. Mind stripped to the bare essence of primal need. When words come, they are a monosyllabic mantra, more grunt, groan, and growl than language. Deeper than thought. Raw. Feral. Searing.

 

[rosco rathbone]

(reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road

My father sent that to my for my birthday. I think it might be the finest of McCarthy's new style. I really loved it, but I'm a sucker because that scenario is one the building blocks of my psyche.

Nobody wants to leave and nobody wants to stay

I didn't know if I was depressed or elated by that book. It's a career ender, he could die now on a high note.

 

[tortoise]

My father sent that to my for my birthday. I think it might be the finest of McCarthy's new style. I really loved it, but I'm a sucker because that scenario is one the building blocks of my psyche.

Nobody wants to leave and nobody wants to stay

I didn't know if I was depressed or elated by that book. It's a career ender, he could die now on a high note.

It's absolutely fucking astonishing. I find myself rereading passages out loud, over and over again. I can't imagine a bleaker book, but it's staggeringly beautiful at the same time. It makes me shiver with cold and feel as if I'm starving along with them. That scene in the basement ("Please, help us.") scared the fuck out of me, and I don't scare easily.

I'm just at the point where they found the bunker full of goods. The mother lode, after scrabbling forever to find a few hay seeds to nibble on. But, of course, they can't stay. Do NOT tell me anything about what happens next.

Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.

 

[rosco rathbone]

When I heard that my favorite living american author had decided to tell the tale that is at the bottom of my nightmares, I was pretty blown away. I think he pulled it off.