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Then again he relaxed. He reached a hand up to move the book,
placing it upright on the bed, propped against the side mirror wall of
the alcove and turned the upper part of his body so that he could
stare at it.

And his eyes thus engaged, he resumed the pumping action. A looser
grip at first, his hand sliding farther up and down the shaft, then a
tighter grip at the top, the side of his finger digging into the sen-
sitive point. He meant to complete the job this time.

His other hand was cupped to his bollocks, the forefinger digging
into the root of the shaft beneath the taut skin. Did he mean to halt
the flowing? His hips and thigh reared up once more, his toes and feet
twisting the sheet into knots beneath them. The sheen on his glans was
lost as the pores open up with the climactic blood flow. He would
come! He would come!

Too late did his ball hand clutch for the towel, for the first wad
was already airborne, flying to land above his navel. The twist of his
body sent the second jetting to a splatter on the side mirror. He was
obviously very full, for the third spasm also sent a glob into the
air, landing on his still pumping wrist. He spasm again and again, but
this time producing floods of more liquid spunk which flowed warmly
down onto the top of his hand. He spasmed a six and seventh time too,
but this time nearly dry – just a wide working of the glistening eye
of his dick. Then the pent-up breath was released.

May 2018
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