Everyone has problems, but I bet mine can top yours. Wait, that’s too aggressive—after all, I hardly know you and it’s not like you have any reason to give a damn about me or my problem. But if you’re reading this on the online story archive, it means you’d probably get a kick, or maybe even your rocks off, with what I have to deal with every day of my life.
Let’s start with me: My name is Cory, and I’m your average college sophomore—I’m about 5’9” with a handsome face and short-cropped, auburn hair and I weigh in at a reasonable 175 lbs. I’m not buff, but I’m healthy. I run on the weekends and hit the weights maybe twice a week. I eat right and get plenty of sleep. I even drink the recommended daily amount of water. I’m gay, and have known I am since about the fifth grade; I’ve been with a few guys, but nothing serious ever came from the experiences. I’ve been in love twice, but both to straight guys (story of all our lives, am I right, gentlemen?).
Since this story is where it is, I’m sure you’re wondering, “Well what’s so special about you, then? Is your junk ginormous or something?” Nope. I’m above the national average in the U.S.—I’m a hair over 7.5” long, with adequate thickness. My penis is big, but normal. My testicles, however, are a completely different story.
Now we get to my problem. Google “hyperspermia.” Go on, do it. I’ll wait.
Did you read up? Okay, good. Yes, I have hyperspermia, meaning I ejaculate an abnormally large amount of semen. I’ve been tested, and it’s unfortunately rendered me infertile—I ejaculate dead sperm. It’s depressing, I know. All those babies I’ll have with all them women! What a travesty!
The condition reared its ugly head around the time I turned 18. I’d been with one guy by that point, and while I did cum quite a bit, we didn’t think much of it. Then one fateful day, I experienced the most excruciating pain I’ve ever felt in my life: my testicles, both of them, woke me up early in the morning SCREAMING in pain. After a few solid minutes of shouting, my parents wrangled me to the hospital, where the doctors and nurses deduced that my body was over-producing ejaculate fluid and sperm, at an even higher rate than any medical journals had recorded before. They said that I was experiencing pressure pains from inside my testicles because of overcrowding of sperm.
I was then told to ejaculate. I was clinically ordered to jack off in the office.
Let me tell you—having to maintain an erection long enough to cum while your balls are screaming in pain is not something I enjoy, and it’s really hard to manage to boot. It took me close to an hour of attempting and reattempting to get enough stimulation to force me to ejaculate. But when I did, the doctors were there with clipboards, watching.
The cum started as a dribble for a second or two, then my PC muscle started contracting, forcing the fluid out at a faster rate. One shot. Two shots. Three shots, each one reaching further and further. One of the doctors had to step to the side by the fifth shot. Seven. Ten. Twelve. The doctors were scribbling furiously while I bit my tongue to stop from screaming in a strange mixture of pain and pleasure. Eighteen. Twenty-one. Twenty-five shots. My penis ached, but the pain in my testicles was quickly subsiding. Thirty shots. Thirty-two shots. My sperm was flying across the room, splattering against a cabinet on the far wall, nearly ten feet away. Thirty-six shots, and finally my range started dropping. By Forty-seven shots, my cum was at a dribble again, and it leaked like pre-cum for another ten seconds or so before finally I collapsed backward, completely spent. I felt no pain in my nether regions, and an immense sense of satisfaction quickly found its place all throughout my body.
The doctors swooped down on me after that and bombarded me with medical questions. They weren’t really concerned with my health, but were instead more interested in the scientific side of what had just transpired in front of them. I was embarrassed and irritated, but I answered their questions as well as I could.
Fast forward to the next morning. Almost exactly 30 hours after the jack off in the doctor’s office, I noticed my balls began to tingle rather intensely. I was playing a PvP game on the computer when I noticed it. I didn’t think anything of it, and continued my hour-long game. Around the 55 minute mark, I winced, as the same pain started stabbing at my crotch. I thought about holding off until I finished the game, but I recalled how painful it was to keep an erection and try to jack off while such ridiculous pain was shooting through my balls.
Needless to say, I left that game high and dry, so close to the end. I think my teammates lost.
With my balls only sort of hurting, it was a lot easier to get it up and keep it up, especially in the comfort of my own bathroom. I felt it building up inside me and I aimed it at the toilet.
One shot lanced through the air and splattered straight into the bowl. Awesome.
Two, three, four—seven, eight—twelve—eighteen'twenty-four—thirty—forty—forty-five? What? Fifty! At fifty-three, my penis ached something terrible as it dribbled into the somewhat flooded toilet. I had to flush three times to get it to dilute enough to go down the drain.
The next day, it happened again. And again, the day after. I began turning it into a routine—if I didn’t get my rocks off by around 1pm, my balls would start their menacing tingle and I’d rush to the nearest bathroom before the pain set in.
And thus started my daily ritual of jacking off, not because I felt like it, not because it felt good, but because my body required me to. If I didn’t jack off, I would experience the most excruciating pain ever felt by a man’s balls.
Fast forward to my sophomore year of college, only about two months ago. I’d mastered my condition by now; my balls would be fine as long as I regularly emptied them, but my daily routine had a somewhat unfortunate side effect: my testicles had swollen permanently, probably some kind of compensation to accommodate their sheer production output, to roughly four inches long, each. End-to-end, my balls were longer than my erect cock, and considerably longer than the average man’s entire endowment. I averaged thirteen streams—not shots, mind you, actual streams like you’d see in a golden shower fetish video—per day. I often had to flush toilets mid-ejaculation, and was left with no choice but to use a condom or risk getting jizz literally everywhere.
Two months ago, I met the second guy I’d ever been with, Ty. He was a fitness nut—muscular and defined. He was an amateur bodybuilder with the largest cock I’d ever seen outside of morph photos and fake videos (roughly 11.5” for you number-oriented people). I warned him about my condition the first time we talked about fucking. He said that he was cool with it, as long as I didn’t get it all over his apartment. Man, was he surprised that night. He asked me to show him, so I jacked off for him in his bathroom, pointed at his toilet as usual. I’d already emptied that day, so I didn’t know how much to expect. Seven streams of cum later, he stood there, speechless. When I told him that it was only about half of what I normally cum, he nearly fainted.
Good thing Ty proved to be a cum lover. He had me cum in everything—wine glasses, condoms, buckets, measuring cups (one night I topped a half-gallon—that really got him going!) and even had me let loose on his body several times. He loved it. And I have to admit, I loved being admired for it.
About three weeks ago, Ty called me to his apartment for a “special dinner.” Intrigued and considerably aroused, I agreed and swiftly headed over. Dinner was great—candle-lit, with wine and everything—and we watched a romantic comedy together, cuddling on the couch. Two minutes before the credits started rolling, I felt the familiar tingle of my balls start to peek through my wine-induced stupor. Now, I was a tad worried—I’d already “emptied” earlier that day, so there was no logical reason to be feeling the pressure tingles already.
Concerned, I stood up and wobbled my way to the bathroom, Ty on my heels. “What’s wrong, babe?” he asked.
“I, uh, need to empty,” I answered somewhat woozily. The tingling had already spread pretty far around my crotch, and it was getting really strong really fast—it was making me lightheaded.
“Didn’t you do that earlier today?” Ty asked.
“Yeah, I did.”
We reached the bathroom and Ty started nibbling on my ear. “Let me help you out,” he said in his sexiest “seduction” voice. I actually had to push him away—this didn’t feel right.
“No time for foreplay,” I muttered and started stroking my cock through my jeans as I tried unbuttoning them with the other hand. Ty helped me undress and started licking my nipples to help me get hard—one benefit of having someone who knows and can help me get off.
Once I was completely up, Ty slid my cockhead into his mouth and Hoovered it up to my oversized balls. He really did know how to suck a cock, flexing his throat around my glans like a professional. “Ty,” I moaned, “I don’t know why, but I’m really close. It’s all too good.”
Ty removed me from his mouth and grinned up at me with a gleam in his eye. “Then maybe you won’t kill me when I tell you.”
My heart sank a little, but my throbbing cock and tingling balls didn’t let much extra thought through. “Tell me what?”
Ty fingered my cock a bit as he somewhat idly explained. “Well, I’d wondered what it would be like to be you, so I bought some of that cum enhancer. You know, the one that’s supposed to double your cum. I took one last night at it worked wonders, but it wasn’t near what you do every day. But then, I wondered, ‘what would it be like if Cory took one of these?’ So I laced your drink with it.”
I would have been angry, if I’d been lucid enough to comprehend what he’d just told me. He was now at a full hand job, and it was throwing me into a tizzy. “T-Ty, I’m coming!”
Ty’s eyes widened and he jerked me to face away from him, pointed at the bathtub behind him. I felt my balls retract as well as they could, and I could actually feel the liquid pumping up my shaft. There was no dribble; there was only a stream.
The cum shot out of my cock like a track runner at the gun. It shot as straight as it could and splattered against the back wall of the bathtub, where the stream held firm for a good five seconds before ebbing. Pleasure wracked my body. The second stream shot out even harder, blasting up the wall and coating it almost completely. The third, fourth, and fifth were each more intense than the last, until the sixth stream shot up above the bathtub rim, plastering against the wall. Seven, eight, nine, ten. By the eleventh stream, paint was actually peeling off the wall from the sheer force of cum I was producing. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. I accidentally hit the shower rod and even the ricocheted cum that hit me in the face stung. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen streams of cum, each a small firehose of liquid, each lasting anywhere from three to seven seconds. Twenty. Twenty-one.
Twenty-two streams. Total time elapsed: roughly 3 minutes of nonstop cum. The bathtub was filled with around two gallons of semen, and it was dripping thickly from every surface I could see. My vision blurred as I stood there, trying to take in what had just happened.
“That was incredible,” Ty whispered, surveying the destruction he’d just witnessed.
And that’s when my vision went black, as my body gave up the fight to stay awake.