Part 5 – Roll ‘em!
So, let’s get into the mechanics of my obsession and the masturbatory movie making, shall we? Somebody’s got to tell you about it, so it might just as well be me.
I hope you won’t mind if I break a cardinal rule of erotic story writing, and occasionally give you a “blow-by-blow” account of some of the sex acts themselves? Perhaps through a descriptively-graphic, expletive-filled narrative, one which holds back none of the gritty, smutty details, you may get a better sense of just how depraved my mind had become.
At this point, I should warn you—especially the female readers in my audience—that all of the screenplays I conjured up read like so many of those cheap vintage, pornographic pulp fiction books which were largely marketed to men back in their day. These books were “triple X” porn readers, their covers usually emblazoned with hot, graphic illustrations, and their pages filled with insensitively-phrased, male-centric sex scenarios.
You know the type I’m talking about, right? That kind of dirty-word-filled, trash-smut literature, tattered copies of which you might accidentally find at the very bottom of one of your daddy’s dresser drawers?
God knows, I had read plenty of them! Many a Saturday afternoon was spent prostrate on my bed, thumbing through their course paper pages. With one hand grasping the book as the other firmly rubbed the prominent bulge in my denims, I’d slowly bring myself to the boiling point. My squinting eyes scanned through paragraphs taking in every adjective, every verb, every dirty phrase, feverishly anxious to arrive at that one key-worded “orgasm trigger” so often found at the conclusion of each sex act.
Oh, the character’s names would change, and perhaps some of the words. But the rabid, horny thrust of the phrasing contained within each description generally remained the same…
“Bernice continued to moan uncontrollably even after Harry had pulled his seething cock out from between the tight seal of her lips. Reaching the end of his endurance, he began tugging fanatically on the rigid stiffness mere inches from her face, desperate to coax spurt after spurt of his lust to splash all over her moist lips and reddened cheeks…”
…The sheer dirtiness of such phrasing along with their intent stuck with me during the fantasy script writing process. I couldn’t help feeling their influence.
Because of this factor, I am acutely aware that a good portion of the graphic language and situations to which you are about to be subjected—narrative that will include all those well known, possibly overused, keyword “orgasm triggers”—might appeal more to some of the men than it will to most of the women in my audience. For this I offer the most sincere, humblest apologies to my dear female readers. I admit that at the very core of these sweat-drenched fantasies there exists an underlying theme of male sexual dominance. And also, I’m painfully (embarrassingly) aware that, at times, the nature of the following descriptive text smacks of abuse. However, there’s no getting around the language and depiction of these lust-driven, sometimes brooding teen musings.
I have a sense of decorum, though. I had it back then, as well. These dirty late teen thoughts of mine had their place. That place was the family bathroom; the space where my early sexual frustrations and unreasonable urges were thoroughly “worked out.” None of their content ever passed beyond those four walls. Nor did I ever have any inkling to act upon them in real life. That was simply unthinkable! It just was not part of my make-up.
So, I ask you to look upon this with a “Thurber-esque” spotlight. Yes; “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” Only, picture Walter with a dripping hard-on in his hand!
(Hmm…I don’t know… Was that last bit going a little too far? I’ll let you the reader judge and sort that one out.)
At any rate; once again I must assure you that within this chest, both then and now, beats a heart of pure love; and not only a heart which holds a great deal of respect for women, but one which has the capacity and inclination toward the “gentle touch” and shared partnership within a relationship. So again; at the risk of sounding over-conciliatory, I apologize.
With that said and hopefully understood; onward we go, into the darker side of my nature…
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With my teen penis now doing most of the thinking for me, scripts for these “mind-fuck” movies of mine became progressively more elaborate and infinitely more down-right dirty. Ideas were coming fast and furious for plot lines, and the level of licentiousness increased. Varying darker scenarios started to conjure in my febrile thoughts. I began to construct little themed plays to enhance my hand jobs. These were short but steamy performances I had worked up during the more frequent trips to the bathroom. They were constructed using different story lines within which little snatches of fictitious life-moments played out.
Of course, these story lines were fluid, not static. They changed and developed over a series of hand jobs. Which elements I’d use would wholly depend upon how I felt at a given moment during the act of masturbation. I’d keep the on-the-fly, accidental elements which worked to produce more heart-pounding breathlessness, more throb and more shattering hard cumshots. Others I’d discard or file for possible future rewrites.
I had many different movies, and there could be any one of my favorite obsession characters starring in the main parts. Movies involving this aunt, that cousin, or another, would be threaded on the projector and shown to suit whatever masturbatory whim.
One play was used repeatedly as a classic. I’d call it up at different times. I found it quite effective because the signature elements always made me cum hard. It was a smut-glutted standard! While involving interchangeable main characters, the thrust remained true because the idea was based on a general concept. Its overarching plot point was built upon a very stimulating prospective in my mind—one which pondered the strong possibility that these sexy women might be totally unaware of the effect their smoking was having upon the men around them; especially young men like me. The idea that these hot women of my youth could be completely oblivious to the oral sexual implications being communicated through their smoking to the men around them, was a hot point for me.
In my heated thoughts, different men—totally aroused men…men desperately wanting release—would be popping titanium-hard boners inside their trousers. Imagining their stiff dicks pushing out the fabric at the crotch of loosely-fitting pants into obscene-looking tents, and hearing the sound of their breath quickening while they stood there watching the women of my dreams innocently drag on their cigarettes and then exhale smoke through their provocatively pursed lips, turn me on immensely.
Sometimes the male actors would be nondescript; just random sexually-aroused bystanders on the verge of shooting off into their own pants, who, while breathing in the exhaled smoke from these hot women, seemed helplessly caught in this web of seductive behavior. Sometimes the stiff-pricked fellows would be their boyfriends or husbands. And then, there were those other times when I would step onto the sound stage as the totally teased, frustrated, overly-heated male.
In other constructs of this masturbatory play, my aunts and cousins weren’t acting so innocently. This scenario was of particular significance to me. I would imagine them acting in a lascivious manner, naughtily teasing the male subjects with their smoking, and otherwise behaving like “bad girls,” while pretending to act innocent. Their intent was clear; to entice, and yes, to actually incite a passionate, perhaps even an aggressive or impetuous reaction from the men nearby.
However, during these sick little trashy scenarios, the teasing women at the center of my masturbation fantasy would end up getting something for which they hadn’t really bargained. I’d imagine them miscalculating the intensity of their target male’s reaction. Therefore, a passionate, somewhat violent and animalistic element of force would be introduced as theme in these particular fevered renditions.
Something close to the sexually-tense atmosphere depicted in the film “Fountainhead” would develop; however, without the politically-twisted Libertarian worldview memes and “objectivism” crap threading through the theme of the play, as preached by its author Ayn Rand.
No. The resemblance to which I allude is only mentioned in reference to the sexual interplay depicted between the Roark and Francon characters of Rand’s narrative. Because, quite abruptly, the women would have an “out-of-control,” sexually-charged, aggressively-dominant male to deal with, as well as having to cope with a situation beyond anything they could have imagined.
You see, it didn’t really matter which concept I used. While conjuring the final act, the outcome in these little fist-fuck vignettes always played out basically in the same manner. Much to the ladies’ chagrin, cum would have to be ejaculated, and ejaculated hard. Exactly where that spent semen would end up depended on the situation.
If my male subject was uncontrollably compelled to yank his cock out in an abrupt manner and beat off in front of the hapless, smoking female; warm, sticky sperm would be launched to splatter forcefully all over her surprised, distraught face (“surprised and distraught” being key expressions of emotion in my mind’s eye). This “action sequence” would be replete with copious spurts of semen shooting across her painted lips as she casually blew smoke.
Had I imagined one of my aunts or cousins being taken abruptly; this once-in-control-smoking-woman, as a result of her incessant teasing, would suddenly find herself being forced to jack off the nondescript actor’s hard dick (or my own). Sometimes she would be pushed roughly to her knees while being forced to continue the hand job. Hot sperm would then either end up flying against her lips—again, lips poised in a relaxed purse, and in the middle of ‘naturally’ exhaling her teasing smoke—or all over her jacking fist, and all over the cigarette, which in my mind would be clutched between the fingers of her cock-grasping hand.
This was another “hot point” for me!
The though of these captivating-sexy-distraught women holding their cigarettes between the fingers of the very same delicate hand being used to pump off hard, exploding dicks, always produced the effect I so relished!
If both of my characters were standing and facing each other during the act—both fully clothed; the man’s zipper hastily pulled down, his dick sticking straight out through the opening of his pants…the woman standing close, urgently frigging off his erupting cock while she is blowing a forced stream of smoke straight into his face (Christ! I love the thought of that image!)—I would be firing off right with the male star, almost feeling and smelling the warm smoke being blown into my own face.
The “forced-and-sudden-impetuous jack-off” scenario had some variations. I’d have it develop while both subjects were in an ordinary social setting.
Sometimes I’d see them at a crowded party, but off together in some other part of the house; a secluded room, away from the chattering group. Standing face-to-face in the dimly lit room, I’d imagine a conversation taking place between the two; a conversation within which the woman of my dreams talks innocently about this-and-that.
She’s smoking, of course.
The male lead has already fallen under the influence of her sexual aura—“primed” as it were. He stands there listening to her, but only hears half of what is being said. With his mind clouded and his senses already in overload, he breaths in her essence. The scent of sandalwood perfume mixing with the aroma of the exhaled smoke, the look of her lush lips as they grip the filter of the cigarette during drags, her perfectly-applied make-up, her earrings and jewelry, the sweep of her hair; all of these trappings are slowly eroding his restraint.
As an important plot point, he is already, and has always been, infatuated. That is why only every other word she’s uttering is penetrating the slowly-building fog of his arousal. She’s saying nothing of any consequence, really. It is mostly party prattle peppered with chaste references and licit family gossip.
But let’s not forget; she is by no means an innocent figure in this play. Unbeknownst to our male lead, she is well aware of his infatuation. Her intent is to tease; to elicit a sexual response.
So then, the innocent content within her part of the conversation starts to change. By her encouragement, the tone and subject matter become progressively more provocative, more seductive and teasing. She steps closer to her male target, and with slight smiles playing across her pursed lips, she’s now occasionally blowing smoke in the male subject’s face. And, go figure, he is getting more and more sexually aroused, and much more agitated.
However, the feeling of arousal is not exclusive. The psychology employed within her subtle advances begins to work in reverse. If the truth be known, her own brazen behavior and sexual forwardness is getting the best of her, as well. Her breath quickens as she closes even more of the distance between their bodies. As a result, the aroused tips of her breasts are rising up and thrusting forward; all but touching his broad chest during intakes of air.
Soon, her speech begins to falter. Words normally strung together in seamless succession become orphans, accentuated with brief pauses. Within those pauses, the sounds of distant party clatter begins to filter. The din of overlapping voices, laughter and clinking glasses fill the wordless spaces in their secluded room as they stare into each other’s eyes.
Our male character suddenly feels the back of her hand accidentally brush against the swollen tip of his concealed, protruding cock. This happened when she had dropped her hand down after taking a drag from her cigarette. The effect from the sudden contact is discernible for both of our players; acting like an electrostatic discharge. Both gasp in excitement. With a look of foreboding washing over her pretty visage, the ball of smoke from that last puff is pulled down into her lungs during her gasp.
She glances down, sensing the sexual tension spiking to higher levels. Through a column of smoke rising from the cigarette clutched in her fingers, she observes his condition. Not only is it obvious that his dick is fully engorged and rather large—his loose, pleated dress pants obscenely distended forward under the strain—but the fabric across the tip is already wet. Due to the accidental encounter, a thin drooping thread of seminal fluid stretches across the distance between the back of her hand and the bloated head of his cock, connecting the two. The sight sends an erotic shiver racing through her body. Shock laced with excitement is evident in her expression, as she raises her head and makes eye contact once again.
Have I gone too far? My female lead questions internally. With her thoughts in conflict, she considers bringing this situation of her own doing to a screeching halt. But, where her mind is saying one thing, her titillated body is experiencing something entirely different. She is just as caught up in the eroticism of the moment as is he. Putting a stop to this speeding train would prove to be a daunting task.
During this confused state, mindlessly, she begins blowing the smoke from her last drag in a tight stream, straight into his excited face.
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Parts thus far –
originally published at:http://ift.tt/2vanDOK