This story involves the sexual exploration of the adolescent male body. If such subject matter offends either you or your local decency laws, please turn away now. The events and characters in this story are semi-autobiographical, but the names of any people other than myself have been changed to protect the innocent.
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ONE BOY'S DISCOVERIES by Kid Werewolf
PART 2: THRUST INTO ACTION
Discovering my mother's wand massager was a watershed moment for me. After that fateful night where I put that thing on the crotch of my jeans and minutes later saw stars dancing in my eyes as my first boygasm sent shudders through my body, I'd realized that the thing dangling between my legs that I occasionally touched but never truly felt had a much more interesting use beyond just taking a leak.
Within a few weeks, that wand had probably gotten me off about 100 times. But I slowly realized that there were some drawbacks to this otherwise useful device.
I guess I should've known at a certain point that my adventures in my parents' bedroom would be sussed out. What I hadn't realized was that the buzzing noise made by the vibrator was loud enough to be heard through the closed door. Sure enough, I got something of a stern talking-to by my dad about a month after my discovery.
"I'm hearing some weird noises in our room while you're watching TV," he said with a hint of guile in his voice. "I hope you're not doing anything in there you shouldn't be doing."
"Like what?" I asked, innocently.
"Like using your mother's massager on a certain muscle," he fired back.
Whoops. Busted.
From that exchange, I learned that any vibrator fun would have to be limited to times when I had the house to myself and didn't have to worry about being found out. But that meant I only had about an hour each weekday afternoons before my sisters got home. (Well, "sister" at this point, but we'll get into that.) What was I supposed to do the rest of the time when I got the urge to give my stiffy some TLC?
Fortunately, fate had intervened in the form of my oldest sister graduating high school and moving out of the house to go to college out of state. That freed up a bedroom which I quickly settled into, and within days of having total privacy, I put it to use.
By this time in my childhood, I'd started graduating out of the traditional kids pajamas. My nighttime attire as I entered the back half of 5th grade was less full top-and-bottom PJs and more white T-shirt and just a pair of white briefs to go with it. One particularly restless night, I tossed and turned on the twin-size bed, trying to decide if I was a back-sleeper, a side-sleeper, or a stomach-sleeper. But as I lay on my stomach under the covers, I noticed that my little penis - which may or may not have already delivered a round or two of pyrotechnics that day, who knows - was pressed up between my stomach and the mattress, parallel to the rest of my body.
Any chance of falling asleep within the following 10 minutes was dashed, because as soon as I realized what I could do in this position, I immediately hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs to slide them off and began slowly thrusting my hips into my mattress. The familiar sensation of dick friction began to take hold, and the combination of that friction with the excitement of this new discovery was enough to make my boyhood harden with intent. The movement began to pick up steam: more wind up, more follow through. Up to this point I'd never really taken notice of how hard my dick would get when the need to get off arose, but now it was impossible to ignore. Wanting to enhance the feeling just a bit more, I discarded my shirt and dropped it off to the side of the bed, enjoying the sensation of the sheets against my smooth, fully naked skin.
My adolescent hips began to piston, sliding the delicate flesh of my needy boy-rod against the thin sheet tucked tightly around the mattress. My abdomen muscles flexed and contracted, dragging and scraping the underside of my cockhead against the fabric. This push and pull motion resulted in a now familiar sensation of itchy pleasure from my frenulum straight to my frontal lobe. I felt like a caterpillar, wrapped in the cocoon of my bed covers, and it was now time to turn into a butterfly.
Much like my first experience with the massager, it took a few more minutes for the quota to be filled, but I knew what was waiting for me at the other side if I just kept at it. Free of distraction, my mind simply honed in on the feelings of my fleshy bone smashed against my stomach and the bed. It felt so good, and the inevitable rise of pressure and intensity was way more pronounced. While the massager wand was like slamming your foot on a gas pedal and getting to the tingle as fast as you could, this was a slow, steady build up that invited you to focus more on the journey instead of the destination. Muscles clenched behind my scrotum, squeezing the still-inoperative glands while icy heat swept down the length of my preteen staff. It built, and built, and BUILT, and BUILT...
And then with a choked-off gasp, my hips bucked into the mattress one more time, jamming a cock into it that twitched like a current was running through it. Starlight danced across my eyelids as the magical bliss coursed through my body.
It didn't take much longer for my thoroughly exhausted brain and body to slip into a satisfied slumber. And another way to bring myself to the peak of pleasure was quickly added to the repertoire. Whenever I didn't get a chance to buzz myself to orgasm with the massager, I was giving my mattress a good thrusting - at night, and sometimes in the morning too. As I transitioned from mere adolescence to full teendom, sprouting a boner became a more frequent occurrence - especially in the locker room after gym class, when I began to realize that seeing other boys undressing around me was the key that unlocked my true sexual awakening. I had to concentrate hard on getting my own clothes on and avoid an embarrassing tentpole sticking out the front of my briefs, but when I got home, I couldn't resist thinking of that wall-to-wall buffet of bulges and boy-pouches while driving my own little twig into the my mattress for the 1000th time, humping and humping like crazy until my tiny balls crinkled up into my body and I was left gasping once more with climactic throbs.
Puberty really started to work its magic on me towards the end of middle school, and those orbs accompanying my maturing rod stopped being mere ornaments and started producing sperm. On one hand, this was monumental: proof that I was evolving from boy to man. But I quickly realized that I was going to have to change my methods in order to avoid any incriminating stains on the bedsheets or other garments. Because of the need to keep the evidence of my perversion to a minimum, I learned to refine my mattress technique, one that not only kept the mess down but taught me the joys of edging at the . It also helped deal with the new challenge of precum, which I'd just started leaking during my thrust-off sessions and the wet spots I was causing were making things uncomfortable.
My mornings, nights and afternoons now began as usual, with me stripping down to nothing and going to town on the bed, either over or under the covers depending on the time of day. Once I felt the sting that indicated that pre was starting to flow, I gave the palm of my right hand a lick and reached down there, splitting my fingers like Spock giving the Vulcan salute. My teenage spike would nestle in between the fingers and thrust into my palm. Even at a young age, I produced precum like a pro, and once I was primed with my saliva, there was ample lubrication to reach the finish line.
The best part? Now that my orgasms were juicy, they'd started ramping up in intensity. I guess it's one thing when your body is rehearsing for sexual activity, but when things really start flowing, the sensations become much more distinct and acute. I could actually feel my sphincter muscles squeeze as the pressure magnified. My balls became noticeably tense as my little scrotum drew in tight. My pelvic pumps would slow down instead of speed up, wanting to enjoy every moment of the ascent to bliss. The urge to shoot crept up on me, little by little, until I crossed that point of no return and felt the orgasm become inevitable. As I cross that threshold, I clench my penis tightly, trying to keep the tidal wave at bay for as long as my resolve can hold it. Then, with an reflexive bucking of my hips, the magic potion stored at the root of my cock surges out, firing directly into my palm, as I gasp with relief and euphoria. I would lay there for a moment, totally spent, before finally reaching for a nearby tissue to clean myself off.
That's all for Part 2! Stay tuned for the next part of my self-abuse adventures...