Date: Sun, 23 Jan 2005 09:34:03 -0800 (PST)
From: Jack Santoro <jackinnm@yahoo.com>
Subject: Bathtub Stimulation, Mast. 1/1

Bathtub Stimulation
By Jackinnm@yahoo.com

I'd been feeling an insistent but pleasant itch in my
glans since I'd awakened that morning. I knew I was
getting horny, and needed self-release that day. Two
things regularly make me horny. One is when I haven't
had a cum in a week or longer, and the pressure in my
sperm tanks builds up to demand relief. I usually
don't let this happen unless I'm looking forward to an
encounter with another guy, when I like to save up for
a big, blasting orgasm.

The other thing is the build-up of smegma under my
foreskin. I don't bother to wash every day, because it
isn't necessary and because the build-up creates the
pleasant itch that tells me I need an orgasm. Then I
empty myself and wash my cock-head at the same time,
as I was about to do right then.

I began running water into the bathtub, making it as
hot as I could stand it. I enjoy soaking in hot water,
and it relaxes my cock and balls as well. I saw my
cock floating in the water, the skin coming out from
my pubic bush smoothly along the shaft, expanding at
the bulge of my cock-head, then tapering to form a
nipple in front of the glans. The hot water gave me an
urge to pee, but I resisted because I knew that the
pressure in my bladder would enhance my sensations. I
read a book for half an hour, with just a trickle of
hot water keeping the temperature up where I like it.
The pleasant itch had settled in my corona, and was at
the edge of my consciousness as I read. Then I put
down the book and reached for my prick with my left
hand.

I closed my eyes and rolled the nipple of my foreskin
between two fingers, fantasizing that it was someone
else's hand on my prick. I often did this, because the
feel of another's hand on my prick was more
stimulating than my own, and using my left hand gave a
feeling of unfamiliarity that enhanced my fantasy. My
prick began to swell, and the front came out of the
water. I opened my eyes and shafted my grip to behind
the head, tugging gently on the skin.

I'd seen some other guys skin back immediately, then
pump their hoods back and forth until they came, but I
preferred to go slowly. Like most experienced jack-off
artists, I feel that getting there is half the fun,
and that taking it nice and easy allows me more time
to enjoy it. I'd known a couple of guys who used an
anesthetic cream to desensitize their cocks and delay
orgasm, but I'd found that using self-control was a
lot better because I experienced every nuance of
sensation.

My cock was fully hard now, and I pulled back gently
on my hood, watching the nipple begin to stretch back
over the big swollen head, losing its pucker. This
slow retraction let me feel three kinds of sensation,
the friction between glans and foreskin, the stretchy
feeling as the hood expanded to slide over my large
tip, and the pressure as the ring muscle at the tip of
my foreskin pressed on the head. I let go, allowing
the skin to slide forward again, then began pulling
back once more. I slid the skin back another fraction
of an inch, enjoying the friction/tension/pressure,
then slipped it forward again.

Now I pulled back once more, watching my cherry come
into view as the skin cleared the big dome in front.
Actually, my glans is shaped like a German helmet,
with blunt nose and large flaring rim, but I'd learned
the term "cherry" from Chico, a Latino I'd known years
ago. We'd jacked off together, and jacked each other,
and when he skinned his cock back he'd always say;
"Hey, look at my cherry." His tip was round, not oval,
and was red like a cherry. The first time he slid my
hood back to reveal my big purple helmet, he called it
a "cherry" too.

Chico's cock was longer than my six inches, thicker at
the base and tapering slightly near the end. Chico had
been fascinated by my long tapering hood, because he
had a short foreskin that covered only about half his
glans when his cock was limp, and came completely off
the head with erection. He was unable to use the long
strokes I was used to because his skin would come only
part-way up the head when he pulled it forward for
masturbation.

We jacked each other the way he'd showed me, jiggling
the skin over the ridge, while using the index finger
of the other hand to trace small circles around our
dripping come-holes. Chico kept a firm grip on my
ample cock-skin, allowing it only half-way up the
head, as his finger spread the juice that seeped from
my orifice. I did the same to his cock, but had to tug
harder to stretch his foreskin up to compress the
nerve endings in his ridge.

We always went for sequential orgasms, not
simultaneous ones, because our technique of jacking
required a lot of concentration, and I found it
impossible to maintain the stroke while my prick was
exploding in hot sensations. Often, I made Chico cum
first, and I'd watch, fascinated, as his cock shot
thick ropes of white cum over his chest. That was
another difference between us, because I tended to
dribble, not shoot, and Chico would keep his fingertip
on the front of my glans as the gushes came, and he's
spread my juice around the head as he had my pre-cum.
Now, pre-cum seeped from my tip as I thought of those
enjoyable sessions with Chico years ago, and I spread
the lube over the front of my glans as I continued to
tug back the foreskin in small increments. After
another minute, I had the skin completely off the
head, exposing my high purple ridge, speckled by
flecks of smegma. The odor was delicious, a heady
masculine smell that was strong but not rancid. I was
always careful to skin back when I peed, to avoid
trapping drops of urine under my hood, and this tended
to keep it clean and pleasant to smell.

Now I began stroking my hood back and forth, very
slowly, right up to the tip to catch the drops of
lubricant, which blended with the smegma and made a
white froth that lubricated my foreskin perfectly,
masking some of the sensations so that I would not go
over the edge before I was ready. After a few minutes
of this, I decided to change my stroke. I unhooded my
cock completely, leaving the helmet exposed so that I
could run my finger all around its contours. Keeping
the foreskin tightly back, I gently strummed the tense
gee-string under the glans, then ran my finger around
the deep groove behind the ridge, up one side and down
the other. Then I traced small circles around the
pouting orifice, filled with clear fluid that spilled
down my helmet. I then ran my finger along the broad
upper surface, recalling that another friend of mine
had enjoyed doing that to me years ago.

He'd loved my cock because it had a big head, unlike
his small mushroom. He said mine looked very sexy,
especially the high, flaring ridge. He liked running
his lubricated finger along the ridge, and the feel of
his rough fingertip ridges made all the nerve endings
in my corona come alive. I closed my eyes, visualizing
my friend running his finger along my ridge, first on
the flaring surface, then on the back-face, and
finally in the groove behind it. This was very
stimulating, and I forced myself to go slowly because
otherwise I'd get to close to the point of no return.
Languidly I traced the outline of my helmet, eyes
closed, relaxing in the hot water, pretending it was
someone else's finger. My cock-head was very smooth
and slippery, and I felt my finger sink slightly into
the spongy surface as I pressed my ridge. I pressed my
ridge at different points, then put my thumb on the
ridge and my index finger under the glans and
squeezed. I felt the reflexive throb in my cock-root,
and it reminded me of another guy, who long ago had
brought me close to the brink just by squeezing my
cock-head rhythmically, then finished me off with a
few fast strokes of my foreskin.

I slid my hood up to cover the head, and began rolling
my prick between my palms. My buddy Stan had done this
to me, wringing a massive, shuddering orgasm from me
with the intensity of the sensations. I had writhed in
the delicious agony of orgasm, unable to keep my eyes
open, and he'd told me afterward that I had shot long
streams instead of dribbling. I believed him when I
saw the come on my chest.

Now I had to stop, because I was getting too close.
I'd read that some guys can practice "edging," staying
just this side of orgasm, for many minutes or even
hours, but I could never do it. I had to stay far
below the peak, because I had to avoid the point of no
return, when my hand would take over automatically,
and stroke my cock to climax.

I resumed stroking my foreskin back and forth, slowly,
languidly, making my prick feel very good but avoiding
the plateau of sensation just before orgasm. I lightly
touched the front of my swollen tip with the index
finger of my left hand, caressing the well-lubricated
surface. Now I was becoming aware that the pressure in
my bladder was building up to a point where it was
almost unpleasant, and I knew that I had to finish
soon. I stood, pulling the plug, and began massaging
my cock-head in earnest.

I moved my foreskin back and forth in long strokes,
feeling the build-up of sensations. It felt as if my
urge to pee would soon become overwhelming, although I
knew that no urine would pass as long as I had an
erection. I skinned back and caressed my swollen glans
with the fingertips of my left hand, feeling the
helmet lose it spongy feeling and become harder as it
went into it final swelling. I felt as if my bladder
were bursting, and that a yellow gush would run
through my penis any second. Instead, the feeling of
tension grew in my cock-root, and I became aware that
I was standing on tip-toe.

I was right at the edge, unable to back away, and my
fist brought the long, thick foreskin sweeping over my
glans, bumping the ridge and then running down-hill to
the end. A hot tingle filled my turgid cock-head, and
I felt a convulsion deep inside as the first burning
hot jet surged up my cock. I saw it dribble into the
water at my feet before my eyes closed involuntarily.
Now I was swept away in sensation, aware only of my
fist around my hard, throbbing cock, and the jets of
hot fluid rushing up my tube. I cried out, helpless in
the throes of orgasm, as liquid poured from my tip.
The spasms beginning in my cock-root dominated my
mind, and I barely felt it as my body sagged against
the tile wall.

After an amount of time I couldn't measure, I came
back to full consciousness. I was stroking my prick,
milking the last drops of cream, carefully expelling
them over the drain to avoid their sticking to the
hairs on my legs. My erection began to soften as I
turned on the shower as hot as I could stand it. I
stood facing the nozzle as rivulets of hot water ran
down my body, and I felt the pleasant rush as hot
water washed over my exposed glans, bringing forth a
strong yellow stream that rinsed the cum from my tube.

After I'd drained my bladder, I carefully rinsed my
cock-head and foreskin in the hot water. No soap was
necessary, as all my secretions were water-soluble.
Once I was sure my prick was squeaky clean, I turned
off the water and pulled my protective hood over the
tender head, now shrunken back to its usual size.

The End