He meant to complete the job this time.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. Completely still, with his eyes closed, for about a minute, then wiping the spunk from his stomach and hand. He began to milk the re- maining juices from his dying cock, pulling upwards with the tip of his forefinger pressed hard into the underside of his organ. He wiped the gland carefully, so that the foreskin, now beginning to bunch be- low his glans, wouldn't stick too painfully when it had return to the protection position. Finally he cleaned the mirror, before folding the towel under his prick's tip to mop up any last weeping. |