A great masturbation session (Official Path)

After finishing the video, another one started automatically. He rubbed and pinched his small cock, kicking off a vicious cycle. The videos got more and more ****, more humiliating, which only made him jerk off harder and longer; his loads kept getting thinner, more watery and transparent. He had no limits left.

Once he was finally spent from cumming, he opened the app again and set his edging stamina to several days. Then he went on X and typed out from memory the most ****, obscene search terms he knew. He’d stopped watching that stuff for a while—not because he believed the “you’re ruining your brain” warnings, but because he was scared of developing erectile dysfunction. Now, though? He could binge it all without worrying about long-term damage, and he could have a long gooning session without any consequences.

He had no idea how much time had passed. All he knew was that his brain felt like mush and his tiny dick was coated in a thick, slippery layer of pre-cum. Right now a video was playing about fully surrendering to porn addiction, becoming a pathetic pervert who could only jerk his little cock and would die alone and virgin, all of it flashing with wild strobe lights and women’s voices that just degraded him more and more—and he fucking loved it. He was frantically rubbing his little clit-dick with just the tip of his middle finger; waves of pleasure crashed through his whole body, leaving him gasping, his legs shaking as more watery pre-cum oozed out. It felt like heaven on earth.

When that video ended, he decided to pause before the next one so he could check IWC. He suddenly remembered he had 10,000 euros burning a hole in his account, and he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it: on women who would remind him just how pathetic, beta, and perverted he really was. Every clip he added to the cart was more ****, more specific, and made him even hornier. When it was time to pay, he eagerly entered the overprice codes the creators offer—proof that you’re such a depraved loser you’ll pay way more than the video is worth just because it turns you on. His cart jumped from 500 euros to 9,000, and seeing that obscene overcharge hit him with the exact same rush as an actual orgasm.

Still rubbing his minuscule cock with one finger, he grabbed his phone with his left hand, opened the app, and switched his stamina back to “natural”—the default setting. He tossed the phone on the desk and bought everything while he exploded: legs kicking wildly, a silent moan ripping out of him, ropes of thin cum splattering his laptop and even hitting his face. He wasn’t sure if it was the afterglow or the fact that he’d finally dropped the last of his limits, but he suddenly had the strongest urge ever to lick it up.

He’d never felt that need before—one time he’d tried and gagged so hard he had to spit it out—but now he felt like a pornstar **** to swallow every drop.

He lapped it all up greedily.Just as he finished, he heard the front door open. He wiped himself clean in a panic and went to greet his mother.

“Hi Mom, how was your day?” he asked, watching her hang her puffy jacket on the coat rack.

“Fine, nothing special,” she answered flatly while taking off her burgundy leather boots. “And you? Did you study?”

“Yeah, I studied all morning. Then I made some macaroni and spent the afternoon on the Xbox and the computer,” he half-lied. He really had studied and eaten macaroni.

She slipped into her house slippers and hugged him warmly. “That’s what matters. You’ll finish your degree soon and then we can start thinking about the bar exam and the master’s in law,” she said with genuine happiness. She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t lying about the studying part.

They went to the living room and she flopped onto the couch with a sigh. “Seriously, Fructuoso, become a good lawyer and let’s open a firm that represents all the city’s lowlifes,” she said, exhausted from her own job.

He smirked. His mom had him very young, so she’d spent half her life killing herself at work. “Or we could just win the lottery,” he joked with a shy laugh.

She laughed too. “Well, someone has to play it first.”

He nodded with a half-smile, but inside a million-euro idea had just hit him—literally. They chatted about nothing important for a while before he went back to his room and wrote in the book:

The next Euromillones draw, the one with a 337-million-euro jackpot, will be held this coming Monday and the winning numbers will be the exact ones on my ticket. The full prize will be deposited into my bank account the next morning at 7 a.m., completely tax-free and with no government oversight.
I am extremely flexible—so flexible I can suck myself off.

He added the last line because it was another one of his fantasies.

Soon after, he went to bed. He used the app to restore his cock to its original size so he could test his new flexibility. He loved the feeling—especially cumming straight into his own mouth.

Sunday flew by. The most notable thing he did was clean his room. He didn’t feel like doing anything else, not because yesterday’s massive goon session had satisfied him, but because—for the first time in his life—he was actually excited for Monday. Even though he knew he was going to win and become a multimillionaire overnight, he was more anxious than he’d ever been. Not even exams or the deteriorating state of the world had ever made his heart pound this hard or his legs feel this weak.

Luckily, Monday arrived. Fiti woke up buzzing with energy, like he’d downed three espressos. Right before reaching the law faculty, he stopped at a lottery shop and bought a Euromillones ticket. Since the numbers didn’t matter, he picked 09244, series 69. He paid happily and headed to class.

The lecture went normally—Professor explaining International Economic Law at breakneck speed with his thick small-town Granada accent while most students (except a few try-hards) did everything but pay attention. Fiti was torn between focusing and fighting the nervous anticipation.

When class ended, everyone rushed out. Before leaving, he said goodbye to the professor. In the hallway he bought a bag of white-chocolate-covered cookies from the vending machine. Normally he’d resist, but since he couldn’t gain weight anymore and had theoretically infinite money, why hold back?

He joined his faculty friends, who were complaining about the class. “And the way he speaks so clearly, yeah, crystal clear, you understand every single word perfectly,” one of them joked sarcastically while opening the cookie bag.

“Thank god it’s the last year, otherwise I’d be jumping off a bridge,” said Roberto—half nerd, half rebel, the one he was closest to—in the same tone.

Everyone laughed quietly. “Could be worse, could be Civil Law II,” Alonso countered in his deep, perpetually tired voice (he was two meters tall).

More laughter. They’d had a terrible German professor who barely spoke Spanish. “Hey Fiti, did you do anything this weekend? You seem… different,” asked Almisha, the only girl in the group, daughter of Algerian parents.

He gave a half-smile. “Same old, nothing special.”

She narrowed her eyes like she was reading his mind. “I don’t know, you seem more confident or something.”

He came up with a lie fast. “I bought a lottery ticket,” he said, pulling it out of his right pocket to show them. “And I don’t know… I’ve got a feeling I might win something.” Half-true—he was definitely going to win.

He put it away. “Well if you win, I’m marrying you,” she joked, laughing and touching his arm. He doesn't know if she like him or is simply amability.

Everyone cracked up. “Deal. If I win, you’ll be my Carmela Soprano—Rolex and everything,” he played along.

They kept chatting until the next professor arrived. After classes he ate at the university cafeteria, then went to the library to study. While reading about private obligations in international law, it occurred to him he could just write in the book that he had a photographic memory. But something about law—he either genuinely loved it or had some principle—made instantly knowing everything or auto-passing classes feel wrong. Since he was in the library and the book was at home, he’d have to wait.

He kept studying so hard he almost forgot to check the draw. He actually loved contract law and everything labor-related. When he finally checked the official site, it confirmed he’d won the jackpot. A wave of joy and exhilaration hit him—not quite the same as if it had been pure luck, but more than enough.

He left the library and headed home, already thinking about the infinite possibilities for his new fortune: **** luxury and giving even freer rein to his depravities. One thing was clear—he’d set aside 200 million for investments and passive income so he wouldn’t have to keep writing new money into existence every few months.When he got home he put on his best funeral face—not just for fun, but because it helped hide the insane excitement of being a secret multimillionaire. He took off his shoes at the door and went to the living room where his mom was watching a series.

He stood in front of her; she paused the TV. “Mom, I have some news,” he said as seriously as possible.

Her eyes widened with worry. “What happened?”

“That tomorrow you’re going to have 20 million euros in your account.” He barely kept a straight face. They’d always said that if either of them ever won the lottery, they’d give a part to the other. He was keeping that promise.

She stared at him in total disbelief. He pulled out the ticket so she could see for herself. Her expression when she realized he’d actually won was priceless—she genuinely never expected it.They celebrated harder than they’d ever celebrated anything, even cracking open the champagne they’d been saving for Christmas Eve.

“Hey Mom, one thing—I’m gonna need the BMW tomorrow,” he said once she’d calmed down a bit after calling his grandma.

She raised an eyebrow. “What for?” He literally never asked to borrow the car; he only hinted when he was going out with friends.

“Just some stuff. I have to claim the prize, and then I want to start enjoying the millionaire life a little,” he said, already knowing exactly where he was headed.