"It really doesn't take much, does it?"
Back when I was still with my ex, she used to love giving me slow, teasing handjobs and penis massages—which I absolutely lived for. My genitals are just incredibly sensitive, so it rarely takes much stimulation; sometimes, the lightest possible touch is all it needs to push me over the edge.
One specific time stands out in my memory because she actually wanted to put my stamina to the test and see exactly how long I could last. To make matters worse, I hadn't ejaculated in a few days leading up to this specific day. I was extra horny and completely backed up, so I was practically a ticking time bomb.
I was lying naked next to her, already horny, when she began lazily tracing the tips of her fingers over my tight, smooth balls. Then, she started to move them. Excruciatingly slowly, she dragged her fingertips up the underside of my shaft, all the way to the tip. She paused there for a split second, softly caressing my glans, before dragging them all the way back down to my balls.
She didn't grab me. She didn't stroke me. She just traced that exact path, up and down, up and down.
With every pass, I got hornier and hornier. She merely pulled her finger back slightly, maintaining the exact same feather-light pressure, forcing me to stay still and take it.
"Oh... are you sensitive right... *there*?" she asked softly, her finger hovering right over that magic spot.
All I could manage in response was a deep, shuddering moan.
"Do you like it when I touch it like that?" she murmured, dragging her finger back down to my smooth balls, teasing them, before making the slow ascent back up.
I was completely losing my mind. Her touch was unbearable. She paused her fingers right at the base of my shaft. A tiny, knowing smile played on her lips as she leaned in close and whispered, "Oh yeah... I know exactly what I'm going to do to you next."
"Let's see just how long you can endure it." With that, she pulled out her phone, opened a timer app and hit start.
She shifted her grip. Her left hand came up and softly cupped my tight balls, applying just enough gentle pressure to make me feel entirely at her mercy. Then, the fingers of her right hand moved to the exact spot she knew would break me: that hypersensitive ridge where the shaft meets the glans, the area packed with the most nerve endings—the frenulum.
She didn't stroke. She simply ran her fingertips over that sensitive patch of skin. Very softly. Very slowly. Back and forth.
That was it. That was all it took.
For twenty seconds, she just lightly grazed the underside of my glans while cupping my balls. That feather-light touch was absolute torture. At the eighteen-second mark, my whole body went rigid.
I let out a loud, completely uncontrollable moan and started to ejaculate. There was no pumping, no fast strokes—just the lightest possible touch on my glans had forced me to blow my load. Ropes of cum spurted out onto my stomach while she just held my balls and kept her fingers moving softly over my twitching frenulum.
As my orgasm finally subsided and my heavy moaning turned into shallow pants, she slowly pulled her hands away. She looked down at the mess I had made from practically nothing, and a deeply triumphant smile washed over her face.
"Wow," she said quietly with a grin. "It really doesn't take much, does it?"
She picked up her phone to stop the timer, her eyes lingering on the barely 20 seconds displayed on the screen, and she couldn't help but let out a soft, amused little smile.