ON THE M6 by Nigel Dean

I love a good wank, don’t you ?

I’ve been enjoying this hobby ever since I was a kid; I first got hairs round my balls when I was a couple of weeks short of my twelfth birthday, had a fantastic wet-dream and then found out what my right hand was really for.

I have tried to estimate how many times I have jerked off since those early days and can only guess it runs into several thousand ! But some of those have been rather special and last in my memory more than others. Here’s one of those exceptional times.

It had been a dead boring meeting and I was angry at the late hour I was having to drive home. The motorway was deserted, just the other occasional car overtaking and my passing the odd slow-coach-granddad in the near-side lane. I wished there had been something a bit more exciting about the day when I hit upon an idea to make it memorable.

The very instant the idea came into my mind a boner began to bulge beneath my trousers. Slowing a little I unfastened the waist and slid the zip down as far as it would go. A shuffle and my trousers were down to the point where the back of my thighs met the edge of the car seat. A glance in my mirror, no lights approaching in the distance. Great.

M6 heading south out of Birmingham towards the M1. Birmingham was well behind me. How long to the M1 junction ? Far enough, I would time things to cum as I entered the slip road.

Right hand down the front of my underpants, nice one - feeling good. Lets get rid of these pants as well. Move them down to join the trousers.

A quick check, yes I could manage the peddles OK and no problem steering with just the one hand. Better keep the speed down to seventy; don’t want to get stopped for speeding by some over-zealous cop.

Hey I sure have a nice cock, perhaps not the biggest in the world, I have several friends considerably better endowed than me, but a nice one no question.

With a firm grip of the left hand, and a gently rhythm developing I wonder if anyone else has ever taken pleasure from himself along this particular stretch of road.

Some music - Classic FM, sounds good - soothing and something to attach my rhythm to. Mozart. I wonder if he ever wanked in time to his own compositions.

The yellow lights so evenly spaced along the sides and centre of the carriageway join the rhythm of the beat in perfect time to the music and the motion of my left hand between my legs.

Precum, loads of precum - how far to the junction with the M1 ? I guess five miles. At this speed a little over four minutes. Keep the beat going but hold back with every force available to make the ejaculation when it comes a big one.

I pinch my buttocks together, the smooth velour of the car seat feels seductive on my bare bum. My solid cock is like an extra gear shift and I move it through first, accelerating briefly to second and into third. Over rev and touch fourth for just a second then slip nicely into fifth. My cock moves and the gearbox of my balls responds to the hand control above.

The sharp bend announcing the approach of the M1 looms up. Look in the mirror, no still nothing behind me. Out into the third lane and cruise round the bend. A final frantic rub, hold on - hold on. Two hands on the wheel, flick the indicator right. Down the slope of the slip road, glance in the mirror - nothing coming along the M1.

Left hand back to its proper work.

Two hundred yards - I’m cuming - hold on.

One hundred yards - that magical male liquid is there at the head forcing its way ever upwards.

Over the white hatched lines and onto the new motorway - cum - cum -cum.

Both hands on the wheel again, no need for a fist of fingers any more. My cock twitches and flicks on its own.

Bloody fantastic. Bloody, bloody fantastic.

That was a wank to remember.