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Jacking Off With Hundreds of Men

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: admin Posted on: 28 Sep 2003 1 comments
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by Steve Made the long drive to Houston by myself and checked into the Holiday Inn on John F. Kennedy Blvd. at Sam Houston Parkway, near the airport. Went out in the late afternoon and saw the people I had to see, concluded my business, and went back to the hotel. Picked up a bottle of scotch on the way so I could have a few drinks in my room as I relaxed for a while, reading a book, before going downstairs to the restaurant to have dinner. Then I went back to my room, 401, locked and bolted the door, and turned off my cell phone. With the door locked and the phone off I was totally isolated from the world outside that room, and that was just as I wanted it, for it was time for some serious masturbation. You know what I mean. When you're traveling on business all by yourself and have an evening to kill, what better way to do it than by spending some quality time with your cock? I was more than ready for a major stroke session, and the thing that turned me on the most was this: the knowledge, the absolute certainty, that in the years since this hotel had been built, HUNDREDS of men, travelers just like me, had done the exact same thing in this very room. Hundreds of men had spent their one evening in this room naked and hard, jacking off, groaning with orgasm, and shooting cum. Now the room was mine for the night. Now it was my turn. I pulled the blankets on the bed down, just leaving the bottom sheet. I stripped off all my clothes, except for my red boxer shorts, which were stretched over a bulge pointing off to the side. Yeah, hard already. I lay down on the bed, the side nearest the door, right where most guys probably lie. Not rushing things, I thrust my hips a little, enjoying the feeling of the fabric of my boxers sliding over the skin of my dick. Then I took them off. Oh fuck! but like all men, I adore my stiff cock! Pressing with my fingers at the base, I made it stand up by itself so I could admire it, rigid and proud, like so many other horny dudes had done, right where I was lying on this very same bed. You've done it yourself, staring in wonder at your own stiff bone, knowing what's about to happen. But I didn't just grab my willy and start wanking. No, I built my excitement by running my hands slowly all over my body, feeling myself naked and ready to fuck. Yes, fuck. Sex for one is fucking just as much as sex with another horny body in your bed, and I was ready for a really good one-man fuck. I made myself shiver with delight by tickling the hairs on my balls. I teased myself by gently running the tips of my fingers up the sides of my rock hard dick. Finally I wrapped my left hand around my woodie and held it tight. Didn't stroke, just held it tight, relishing the sensation of just holding my bone, knowing what came next. What came next was the Main Event. I don't like to wank dry, and in urgent need will make do with spit. But I love WET brand oil-based lube when I jerk. On their website, the ad copy for this product says, "When it's all about you...", and yeah, that's it, when it's about nothing but me, alone and pleasuring myself, this is what I like. I grabbed the bottle, popped open the top, squeezed out a good dollop onto the tip of my dick, a little more for good measure, then wrapped my hand around the tip of my dick and slowly slid it down my shaft, smearing the lube all over it. Yeah. THIS was what I'd been waiting for! Moaning with pleasure, I settled into a nice slow rhythm, stroke after stroke, staring at the incredible sight of my hand sliding up and down my throbbing pole. I could not look away, just couldn't. I was watching myself fuck. I was right where I wanted to be, alone in my hotel room, naked, hard, and lubed, fucking my hand, fucking my fist, masturbating deliriously, fuck-pleasure flowing from hand-cock out to my entire being. I told myself what I was doing, spoke aloud to myself, drawing out the word; mas-tur-bat-ing. I was flying solo, in the cockpit with my hand gripping the joystick. Jacking off, jerking off, beating your meat, spanking the monkey, whatever you want to call it, I was doing it. The excitement, the intensity was building. I was trying to hold off from coming as long as I could, trying to extend the pleasure, but I couldn't hold off much longer, and there was one more thing I HAD to do. When I'd first walked into the room with my suitcase, and saw that the bathroom door had a full-length mirror on the outside, I had known two things. One, many a naked man had stood in front of it, watching himself stroke. Two, I was going to do the same thing. I got off the bed and walked over to the bathroom, walking in that awkward way you do when you've got your meat in your hand. Stood in front of the bathroom door and, as has happened so many times before, there was a stark naked cock stroker staring out of the mirror. I looked him over. His eyes were wide and staring, mouth hanging open, chest heaving, knees slightly buckled, hand thumping his slick pole with practiced intensity. And as I stared at myself in the mirror, I felt it, like so many others had felt it. IT. The point of no return. It was time. I moved closer to the mirror, steadied myself with my other hand on the door, eyes glued to the reflection in the mirror of my furiously jacking fist. The throbbing pleasure from my cock was building fast, I was breathing in ragged gasps, the strokes of my hand were beyond my control, faster and faster, and YES!! I let out a deep guttural groan and watched as the first jet of spooge shot out of my cock and spattered onto the mirror. Then another, and another! Like all the men before me, I stared into that mirror in moaning ecstasy as my hand stroked and stroked, working out every last drop of cum, milking out every last throb of orgasm. It seemed to go on forever, but eventually there was no more cum to be had out of me. It was all dribbling down the mirror. I must have staggered back to the bed and collapsed; I say "must have" because I don't really remember doing it. It had been that good. I lay there with my hand gripping my cock, both covered with spooge, my hand still moving slightly, teasing out little residual zings of sexual pleasure. My breath was still coming in deep sighs, and with each exhale I moaned with satisfaction, a deep moan that seemed to come from the bottom of my lungs. I only do that after a truly superior wank, and I had just given myself a wank that was world class. I was exhausted, drained, and totally, totally satisfied, by a truly incredible stroke session. And yes of course I cleaned off the mirror. I may be a stroke-crazy spooge-fiend, but I'm not a barbarian.