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Confessions of a habitual wanker

A confession of how I succumb to my habit
I discovered the greatest pleasure known to man, in my teens.  Since then I've had girlfriends, almost eighteen years of marriage, and more recently a rediscovered single life, but have never forgotten or betrayed my first love.

I may have gone as long as a week without a wank during the last 26 years, but never longer, and I couldn't hazard a guess as to the number of times I've spent a whole day wanking eight or ten times, to the point where my wrist aches and my dick is sore.

I'm not blessed with a large cock, but what I've got is responsive, and has a remarkable ability to recover from almost endless abuse.

I know blokes are supposed to respond to visual stimuli, and I'm the first to offer praise to the gods of the internet for the bounteous porn available at all times of the day and night, but I also adore erotic literature (both reading and writing).  My main buzz however, the one thing that gets me ready to cum in seconds, that gets my heart beating and my breath panting, my balls tightening and the head of my cock swelling, is the danger of being caught.

For the hardened danger freak, there are all sorts of exciting possibilities for wanking in public places.  I've wanked in all sorts of public toilets, on trains and planes, in cars and bars, under stairwells in flats, and behind bushes in parks with dog walkers nearby.

I've also wanked in virtually every house I've ever visited.  My modus operandi is a visit to the loo.  The best houses are the ones where one visits the bathroom rather than just a toilet, and the very best are those with a laundry bin in the bathroom, for here live the dirty panties.  When I'm in the mood (which to be fair, is most of the time) any pants will do.  The thrill of the hunt, rummaging through the clothes in the washing bin, the moment in which the prize is found, and then the moment of turning the gusset inside out to expose the fruits hiding within their folds.

I'm already rubbing my cock by the time the gusset is exposed.  There's a feeling deep in my groin, almost like I've been kicked in the balls, although somehow pleasant nonetheless, and I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples.  I study the stains.  Usually there are drops of pee at the front, the first course, the appetiser, and I pull this to my nose inhaling deeply.  Sometimes there are skid-marks, and I must confess that these I ignore, as they do nothing for me, but heaven knows I'm not one to criticise; whatever floats your boat, and maybe one day I'll progress to an appreciation of the brown arts.  The goldmine however, is the little strip between the two.  

Pale coloured panties are the best in my opinion, because you can gaze at the stains first, imagining how the knickers have ridden up between the owners lips.  Those lips may be pink, they may be brown, they may be hidden within the folds of the vulva, and they might sit fat and proud outside.  One universal truth though, is that they've rubbed against the fabric in that middle strip.

After the eyes feast upon the hidden gems, I lift the crotch to my nose, inhaling deeply.  Fresh is best in panties as in fruit.  The rewards are so much greater from fresh panties.  Even older, drier knickers shouldn't be ignored, a little warm water massaged into them works wonders at rejuvenating both the scent, and the final reward.  The taste.

By the time my tongue comes into contact with the stained material, my hand is flying, rubbing up and down the shaft at a speed which no-one who knows me, suspects I possess.  This last phase never lasts long, and I'll often cum into the sink.  This makes me feel dirty, and a little ashamed, as I hide the evidence of my fetish back in the washing bin, and clean carefully behind me.

The danger of being caught is an irresistible aphrodisiac with a stiff cock, but less of a turn-on when said member is in hibernation, and the guilt and shame is a necessary part of the cycle.  It's this deep low that makes the high so irresistible, and is the reason why I'll often make a repeat visit to the bathroom later for another session.

I am discreet, and certainly haven't found any of my hosts particularly reluctant for me to visit again.  I've not found many of my hostesses attractive, and have rarely thought of any of them sexually, but they've all contributed greatly to my enjoyment of life, and I can guarantee that no-one has enjoyed their hospitality more.
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