Buildup: The reason I had been able to catch up on last month’s sex life was that I had been sent to a week-long seminar out of town. Of course, writing about the sex I was no longer having is a recipe for blue balls, and an undercurrent of unfulfilled horniness ran throughout my business sessions during the day, and my dreams at night. To make matters worse, B and I never seemed to be able to sync up our schedules to talk on the phone, and when we could, never had a decent mobile phone signal. To make matters more intense, I decided that I wasn’t going to come unless and until B was directly involved (as opposed to merely being the object of a solo masturbatory fantasy.) On my last night of the trip, I had visions of doing some kind of joint cam show. I set up my laptop and webcam at the edge of the tub in the hotel bathroom and waited, absent-mindedly stroking myself.
And waited.
And waited.
His Turn: While I waited for B to log on, my mind (and hands) kept drifting back to our last time together in our tub — in particular, the “continuous handjob” that B gave me during foreplay. I poured some of the hotel’s shower gel onto my hands for lubrication, and tried the same trick — bringing my hand on a downstroke from tip to base, then following with the other hand in the same motion. Without B’s words of encouragement, though, I was having a hard time staying hard. (A soft time?)
And when B finally logged on, a) she was fully clothed at our home computer, and b) the connection kept dropping. Undaunted, I told her to turn the camera off on her side to conserve bandwidth, and I offered to forge onward. I started describing for her the scene I was playing in my mind. I kept listening for her to pick up the theme and talk me through it, but her head was not in the same place and she wasn’t as ready to go as I was ready to finish.
They say a stiff prick has no conscience, and I guess that’s true even for self-control. If B wasn’t going to do the coaxing, she could still be involved as a voyeur. Instead of thinking about B at the other end of the line, I closed my eyes and remembered B at the other end of the tub. Suddenly, my dick swelled and I realized I was moments from coming. Down, down, down, down, my soapy hands came over my engorged cock, and then — a geyser.
The first spurt was hot and clear, and shot nearly four feet into the air. The next spurt of white spunk also fired a foot or two into the air, followed by three or four more spurts exploding and receding over my hands and into the bath water. B couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I just kept saying, “Oh, wow” — even as horny as I had been, I had no idea how much pressure had built up.
Now B wants to nickname me Old Faithful.
