Using AI

[Eddie]

I've been playing with Google AI Studio to see if it would write decent stories about autofellatio. You can feed a lot of instructions into the app to customize your text...almost endlessly. This is a 'day in the life' story of an autofellator, and it is very close to the days I once had the opportunity to enjoy in the past. Twice a day is more my speed now, but I'm grateful.

I hope you like this:

Day in the LIfe of an Autofellator

Eddie’s bed was his pleasure spot and dominating one wall of his loft was a massive, high-def digital window that looked out not onto the world, but into a very specific, cloistered brotherhood.

The Morning Service (7:00 AM - 10:00 AM)

He awoke to two sources of light: the pale dawn and the cool glow of the monitor, which he’d left on all night. On screen, a lanky Swede was silently, gracefully folded into a perfect plow. Eddie felt a surge of kinship abd swung his own legs overhead, mirroring the man on the screen.

His first prayer was a duet. As the blond on screen remained in silent communion, Eddie whispered his own litany: "Atum, father of autofellatio... deliver into me a flood of my sacred sperm." The first orgasm of the day was a thick, potent creamy jizz. He swallowed, then reached for his remote. A click, and a lanky German appeared, his face a mask of concentration. Inspired, Eddie went for his second, a quicker, more forceful gush of sperm. By the time he’d had his morning pineapple, he’d achieved his third and fourth orgasms while watching a lithe Japanese man perform the act with serene, zen-like focus. He chanted softly, "Autofellatio... autofellating... autofellator... autofellates," a mantra that united him with the figures on his screen.

The Mid-Morning Hymns (10:00 AM - 1:00 PM)

This was the time for performance. He put on a curated playlist: a highlight reel of deep-throat masters. A chorus of silent, straining faces filled the screen. Eddie joined them. He pushed into his own deep-throat plow, his knees framing his ears. As a man from Brazil on screen achieved a staggering release, Eddie felt a powerful, empathetic surge. His fifth orgasm was a massive flood of sperm, a response to the digital choir. The on-screen action triggered a near-immediate sixth, a sympathetic aftershock of pure, hot jizz. He lay panting, then sat up and began to sing his own lyrical vespers, his voice joining the silent pantomime on the monitor. His seventh orgasm was a sweet, copious flow, perfectly timed as a man from Korea on screen finally collapsed in exhaustion.

The Afternoon (1:00 PM - 6:00 PM)

The afternoon was a deep dive into the archives. Eddie explored obscure forums and hidden sites, finding rare clips of legendary autofellators. He watched, he learned, he communed. Orgasms nine through fifteen were a long, luxurious. He’d mimic a particular technique he saw on screen—a unique leg position, a specific rhythm of the throat. Each new clip was an inspiration, a new reason to release another load of his own sperm. His bed became a sacred workshop, slick with the jizz of his own efforts.

High Mass (6:00 PM - 10:00 PM)

As evening fell, Eddie prepared, selecting his favorite video—a masterpiece of autofellatio by an anonymous artist known as "Ouroboros." He turned the volume up on his own powerful chant. "Atum, father of autofellatio, who dwells in me...!" He moved in sync with the autofellator on the screen. His orgasm was a lovely eruption deep in his throat, timed perfectly with Ouroboros’s on-screen climax. The seventeenth and eighteenth came in succession. The nineteenth and twentieth were slower, more reverent acts, a cool-down as he watched a compilation of creamy autofellatio cum shots.

The Endless Scroll (10:00 PM - 1 AM)

Tired but affectionately horny, he lay amidst the glorious, sticky evidence of his devotion. The monitor was on, a comforting abundance of talented autofellators. The scroll was endless. He would wake periodically, his ears catching the moans in a new video. The twenty-first orgasm was a sleepy, reflexive act, triggered by a particularly impressive deep-throat clip. The twenty-second was a dream-like gush of warm cream as he half-watched a playlist on shuffle. Sometime around 1 AM, the twenty-third and final offering came, a small, gentle pulse of sperm, a final Amen to a day spent in communion with his digital brethren. He drifted off, the monitor casting a soft blue glow on a sated autofellator in his temple of jizz, a single node in a vast, silent, and deeply satisfied network.