the chicken.

You extend a trembling hand towards the length of meat, which pulsates in apparent anticipation for what's about to come. Even your breath feels heavier and your heartbeat echoes faintly behind your eyes, as your palm inches ever closer around the circumference, and after what seems like a full half hour you finally close your grip.

A fresh jolt shoots up your waist, and you stagger a step backwards as your eyes roll from the unfamiliar sensation. Although you didn't self-administer more than once in a while, you were no stranger to masturbation - daydreams of perfectly sculpted fictional characters coming to life, caressing you with gentle touches and soft kisses, making you feel more of a lady than you ever felt - at least as far as your fingers could, anyway. This was different; something about pulling that cock just felt all-around vulgar and brutish, like your mind was just hit by a sledgehammer. Was this how boys were all the time? You give yourself another tug, and this time there's no mistaking the enraptured gasp bursting from your throat.

Weakly you collapse onto your bed, the mattress barely floomping under your petite frame, but your mind has already started to meander elsewhere. Still keeping a firm grip, your hand begins to slide along your shaft, feeling the flesh harden under your sensitive skin. What fragments of worry remained quickly fade away, as instinct takes over from rationale; waist pushes into wrist, fingers tighten as though in fear of letting go, and a rivulet of fluid emerges from the shuddering tip, slipping down your length and under your fingers.

"Ah!" you mewl, wailing helplessly from the pleasurable signals assaulting your brain. "Ah! Ah! Ah~!"

As though possessed, your other hand sneaks its way under your blouse and bra, locating a nipple and giving it a tweak - rock hard, though probably not as much as your cock, swelling against the sweaty surface of your hand. The mattress creaks under your bouncing body, harmonizing with your squeals, and you try to focus your mind on something, anything, even while your hand continues to accelerate. Collectible card games, animated shows, cosplays, classmates -

When the wave hits you, you barely even know that it's there; fog surrounds the edge of your field of vision, and the world feels like it's slowed down, numbing your senses along with it. It's only until you start hearing the sound of your shaky breathing that you realize it's all over, and you try propping yourself up to see the aftermath. Your crumpled blouse and bra crease above your modest chest, having been shifted upwards in the violent spasms and now barely covering your sensitive nubs. Streaks of milky liquid scatter around your stomach in all directions, a good portion of it pooling in your navel. You silently watch as a dribble of fluid flows across the lens of your glasses; evidently indicating a far larger blast radius that you'd assumed, and as the sense of touch starts to return again you feel the cooling sticky sensation on your cheeks, your clothes and even your hair. Worse still, a stain has soaked into the mattress between your crotch.

You sprawl back onto the bed, still trying to make sense of the newfound experience while grappling with the afterglow. You're startled to find that not only did you not find the ordeal all that disturbing, a tiny niggle in your brain even suggests that you might have enjoyed it...