Daryl decided that he had to stop. It wasn't an easy decision; it was something he loved, something that gave him the most delicious excitement, the one thing that at low points in his life provided him with what seemed to be the sole tangible reason to go on living.
Tangible: clear, definite, real; but also: sensible by touch. Yes, it was quite clear that what he loved was touching - touching himself, driving himself mad with sexual pleasure, using his penis to keep himself writhing in desperate erotic need. He loved it, at times more than anything else.
So, yes, he'd decided that he had to stop indulging in masturbation. Why? Well, simply because he'd become aware that he was totally obsessed with it, that his primary goal in life seemed to be planning his days so that he would have the greatest possible time to devote to provoking and fondling his erections. It interfered with other parts of his life. At work he'd daydream about the last orgasm he'd had, trying to remember what the pleasure had been like, sneaking little secret touches between his legs to keep himself simmering until he was able to go to work on himself in earnest once he arrived home. His social life suffered, naturally; it was almost non-existent. He did enjoy sex with women, but the fact was that he was much more skillful at pleasuring his cock than they were, and his preoccupation with his own orgasms made him a very shallow lover, indeed! Why risk disappointing someone else when all he needed were his own hands?
Not just his hands. He went to great lengths to find ways to excite himself sexually. He used pornography, of course - not so easy in the days before computers when he was younger - spending countless hours holding up magazines with one hand while he stroked with the other, going to x-rated movies or strip clubs to get his cock primed for later fun at home. Now, of course, he could simply use his laptop to access the phenomenal offerings of the internet. What he especially liked were pictures of mouth-watering young girls who obviously knew they were posing to temp older men who were masturbating to them, and whose expressions clearly showed that they enjoyed teasing and tormenting those men with sexual frustration. Daryl could never last long when he started stroking to those! He knew that those little cock-teasers didn't know him from Adam, but they did know what they did to men like him, deliberately arousing and teasing them, encouraging them to stroke their hard cocks while showing them what they will never get. He loved the way they made him suffer.
In addition, he enjoyed sharing images of his erect penis with other like-minded men while they stroked and moaned together about the girls that drove them to helpless masturbation. It was so exciting seeing other penises being stroked to pictures of young girls that drove him crazy too!
And he would lust after women and girls he saw during the day, taking every opportunity that presented itself to get a peek up a girl's short skirt or to stare at the large breasts of a woman in a tight sweater. Then, later at night, he would lie in bed recalling those images as he fondled and coaxed his erection to climax.
But perhaps the most seductive stimulation to his masturbation addiction was where he was living at the time, a cheap one bedroom apartment in a rundown building. It was a dreary third floor walk-up, but through its single window there was a view of the second floor of a nearby arts college dormitory. Four wide windows were spread across his field of view, and he had learned that this dormitory wing housed only female students; the first thing he did when he realized his situation was to buy a pair of binoculars, quite powerful ones. From that point on he spent almost every night at the window, scanning the rooms for girls who were undressing, or who were traipsing about in their skimpy underwear. He mounted the binoculars on a tripod so that he had both hands free to play with his aroused penis, moaning with excitement as he sat naked watching young girls displaying themselves for his pleasure.
He wasn't always successful in seeing everything he wanted to; that was rare, in fact. But with a true voyeur's optimism he kept trying, and if a girl dashed his hopes by leaving the room or closing her window drapes a moment before she took off her clothes, he took out the frustration he felt on his captive erection, punishing it with tantalizing, maddening touches that drove it wild with tease, its aching need for orgasm increased ten-fold. He would curse the girl under his breath, and imagine that she had led him on deliberately and denied him at the last moment for her own enjoyment. He loved the thought that she'd known exactly what she'd done to him, and imagined that he was in league with her to torment his ravished penis. So whether he was rewarded with the sight of a pretty young girl's nude body, or had his hopes dashed by frustrating tease, his sessions masturbating at the binoculars always ended with his rigid cock bucking and spurting in his hands as he cried out in erotic frenzy. Later in bed, when his exhausted penis had recovered, he'd pleasure it gently with his fingertips, whispering to it, recalling the girls he'd seen during the day, coaxing his cock slowly to another orgasm, this time subdued but indescribably sweet. Then he'd sleep.
It's probably accurate to say that Daryl was in love with his cock. He certainly made love to it, doing everything he could think of to delight it - each session of masturbation was like a gift to a precious lover. And the helpless pleasure he experienced during the long build-up to orgasm was a gift as well, a gift of appreciation from his thrilled cock as it spurted in ecstasy!
He enjoyed lying in bed with his legs spread wide, watching his penis as he pleasured it, loved seeing it helpless as he seduced it with subtle, tantalizing touches, giving it hints of what was to come, but oh so slowly! He knew that he'd made his penis a slave to pleasure, had addicted it to thrills that only he could give, and he took almost sadistic joy in watching it as it twitched and writhed in an agony of need. It excited him to see his ravished cock's ordeal, so he used mirrors to view it from all angles as he worked on it. He'd bought a pair of old fashioned full-length mirrors from a second hand shop, and used them to watch his self-pleasuring. They were mounted in large, oval frames, and could be rolled about on wheeled tripods. These he positioned on either side of his bed, tilted so that he could see his cock from both sides while he worked on it. He found he was able to position one of the mirrors directly above his body, so that he had an exciting view of his fully erect cock extending up his belly as both his hands pleasured it. Sometimes he tied his ankles together and bound his knees wide apart with cords, so that he could pretend he was witnessing a scene of bondage, and watched with gleeful satisfaction as ropes of semen erupted from his captive, sexually assaulted cock.
He often took photographs of these scenes, and used them later to inspire his masturbation in various places, such as public parks or highway rest areas. One of his favorites was a view he took from the side as he ran a single tantalizing finger up and down the rigid arc of his erection. At the time he took the shot he was gently tapping the ultra-sensitive frenulum at the top of his shaft, which futilely bobbed up and down seeking closer contact with his coyly teasing fingertip. It always got him hard when he looked at that picture.
Constant, simmering lust during the day; obsession with an aching need for erotic pleasure; hours of often frustrating sessions of masturbation while spying on young girls until late at night; weariness during the day after long nights of voluptuous, elaborate self-pleasure in bed... Daryl finally realized that his addiction had taken over his life, leaving room for little else - it was time to stop.
