Dan's Hammer Pt. 03

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Dan's Hammer, Part 3 - Violet Mayhem

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I am not crazy about flying. Sure, the free tomato juice and peanuts are fine. It's the crashing. Yes, it's more dangerous to take the bus than fly on an airliner. But look at the injury statistics between the two: results from a plane crash are more binary in nature. 1 or 0, alive or dead, with little variation beyond that, and severely weighted in one direction. The wrong direction.

So the key to flying without going crazy, for me, was to prepare enough distraction to cover the length of the flight. An extremely long flight required a book or two, at least 1,000 pages. To be honest, though, spending hours reading can be a drag. How long can you reasonably expect to distract yourself that way, ignoring the fact that you're in a seat 30,000 feet over very hard ground?

Fortunately my flight home today was a relatively stress-free hour and a half hop from the site of my last auditing job. I'd normally finish a book chapter or five, watch an attractive lady enter and exit her row a few times over the course of the flight (in addition to the attendants walking to and fro), and bingo! We'd be approaching our final destination.

Unfortunately today I was an unorganized mess. I was 20 minutes late for check-in, because I woke up late, having only two hours sleep. I had just survived a crazy night of seemingly never-ending otherworldly sex, with a woman with supernatural powers or tantric-adjacent magic or I have no idea what she was. As a bonus, she was stunningly hot, in a "maybe I should talk to someone about where she touched me" sort of way.

I was also thoroughly distracted by the gift that she gave me. A gift that turned my run-of-mill, non-threatening, friendly neighborhood penis into a logic-defying, baseball-bat-cock. It was only six hours ago that Tara, the Mother of Sex Bombs, Queen of Mind Fucking, taught me that in order to access the power of the Hammer (trademark pending), I only had to fantasize about using it. Concentrating on being ready for my flight proved to be a challenge while fighting the temptation to practice my new-found "skill". Hence, my lateness.

So I ran from my Uber so that I could run through check-in, in order to run through my gate and finally run to my seat on the plane. I didn't notice the attractive desk staff, the cute flight attendants, nor the charming lady across the aisle from my row. I threw my carry-on somewhere up there, jumped into my seat, clicked in, and let out a big sigh. Phew; made it. Next stop: the Big City.

The aircraft's seating was split 2/3 -- two seats on my side of the plane, then the aisle, and three seats on the other side. The older gentleman in my neighbouring seat was a slender fellow, so I really lucked out on the flight -- window and no crowding! I was so tired that I half expected I'd doze off through the first hour of the flight, even without cracking my book open. I closed my eyes, and let out a calming breath. Good time for a rest.

To my relief, I actually did fall asleep. It was a testament to how worn out I was after the marathon sex from last night. Okay, okay: it was actually a few 100-metre sex dashes. At my age, it's pretty much the same thing.

I suspect that I would have slept the entire flight if I had not been roused by a minor commotion. I awoke with a start as a lady settled into the seat beside me.

"Oh, shhh. Excuse me, sir, I didn't mean to wake you." She was a dark haired woman, maybe my age or a little younger. Very attractive eyes looked up to me, concern on her face. "I apologize, I've switched seats with my father, who needed to sit closer to the washrooms. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's fine, it's fine." I flashed her a smile of understanding. "I'm good, don't worry." I was still a bit groggy, but not groggy enough to miss how well-endowed my new seat-mate was. If I didn't feel so tired, I'd spend more time marveling at her tight fitting leisure top (thank god for yoga wear), but instead I closed my eyes and turned back towards the window.

Sleep returned, and this time I had a partner. I dreamt of my new friend, Ms. Yoga Wear, and her gigantic twins. In my dream, she agreed with me that her top was not appropriate attire for a domestic flight, and peeled it off to expose two mouthwatering, milky white globes. The struggle to free them had obviously got her so worked up that her nipples were erect, revealing her arousal.

With her eyes, my dream lady asked me to pull out my cock, because it would look so delectable between her tits. Yes, I agree, my Asana bunny. So I stood up, and finding that I was stark naked (because, dreams), took hold of my dick and began pulling at its length.

I did not question why my dream lady had a bottle of oil at hand, but she did, and she seductively poured it all over her chest. Putting the oil aside, she squeezed and massaged her massive tits, preparing them for my ride. She then leaned forward, pushing them up against my groin.

My cock was quickly lost between her natural beauties. It occurred to me that if I brought out the Hammer, then its head would easily protrude from between her tits, giving her the opportunity to kiss the head of my cock.

And as soon as I thought about it, the pleasure rippled throughout my dick. I enjoyed the familiar tingling of its supernatural growth, and its slippery passage up her chest. As planned, it poked against her chin, calling out for a lick.

My dream lady looked up at me, and we locked eyes. Her passion was plain to see. Then she lowered her gaze, down to my crowned glory, opened her salivating mouth, and bit down hard.

The pain was real, but the circumstances were not -- I woke from my dream, suffering from a horse dick boner bent the wrong way in my jeans! Obviously, I am a man, I was accustomed to this type of pain -- but not to this degree!

There was no way I was going to be able to covertly "massage" it back into a neutral position; the only way I could solve this was to open my fly and gently reset myself. Ms. Yoga Wear was turned away from me, reading her ebook, so I don't think she noticed my current condition, but I was convinced she would notice if I stuck my hand down my pants.

I slowly got up from my chair, unable to stand up straight, and limped out to the aisle to head for the washroom. I whispered a terse excuse me to my seat mate; fortunately she didn't even look away from her book.

This was very embarrassing -- in all my life I had never had to hide my erection from people before. Or the 'lump' was never so massively obvious anyway. I tried to encourage myself that I just had to make it to the washroom, slightly hunched over, without catching anyone's eye...

Convinced that my cowered ninja act fooled no one, I sensed a crowd of eyes on me, all around. I prayed that no one noticed the large knot in my pants. I kept my eyes down, ignoring the stares.

Finally, I got to an unoccupied restroom, stepped in, and locked the door behind me. I quickly unzipped my jeans and relieved the pressure on the monster. It bobbed up and down, as though it was nodding to me: thank you kind sir, for your assistance. Now, can we get back to that fine lady?

So I stood there, contemplating my aroused member, squeezing the top half in my fist. I needed to get rid of this erection fast. I wasn't sure that I could get the job done, in that bright cramped space, distracted by the screaming jet engines, and the thought that just outside the door were rows and rows of strangers. Public masturbation was not my forte, not at all.

But it had to be done. I wasn't confident that I could fit this horse dick down my pants, nor could I get away with tucking it in my waistband, hidden by my shirt, like a firearm. So I spat into my hand, and started to stroke the head of my cock.

Knock, knock. "Excuse me, sir? We'll be landing in 5 minutes. You should be returning to your seat." The attendant's voice was gentle but concerned. She sounded young.

Fuck. I wasn't sure that I could rub one out in time! Performance anxiety is a fierce nemesis! I had no idea what I was going to do.

Knock. "Um, I... I want to come in there." The same young lady, but her tone had changed. There was a need there. "Please, open the door. Please."

This situation had turned strange, but if I had learned anything over the last 24 hours, it was that my life has changed, for the stranger. I had a hunch that opening the door to this woman would not be as unacceptable as it might have been for me in pre-Hammer times. So I cracked the door open. "Hi, um, sorry, I'm in a bit of a bind."

The attendant was a thin woman with full, wavy auburn hair, eyes that sparkled with caring, a strong Mediterranean nose, and full plump lips. Her brief smile turned into a look of disbelief at my predicament. "Oh my! No, let me take care of that for you."

She pushed her way into the cramped space, closed the door behind her, and guided me as I stepped up with one foot on the toilet. I braced myself on the opposing wall, with my body facing hers. Elevated like this, her face was almost at my crotch level, and she only had to stoop slightly to engulf the top third of my dick, which she proceeded to do with unbridled fervor.

The way this cute attendant switched between licking my cockhead, tonguing the underside of my dick, and sucking a third of me with a suction so powerful she could strip wood (I promised myself I'd check later) was beyond incredible. This woman had one job, and she was nailing it. Gold star.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position..."

Hearing the announcement from our pilot, my flight attendant doubled her efforts. She began to pump my cock into her mouth, using her saliva as lubrication. I was enjoying her undefeatable skill -- she was milking me now, and it wouldn't be long until she was successful in pulling my seed out of my balls.

"Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened..."

"Oh, my fuck." I couldn't handle it anymore. She gently cradled my balls with her free hand, and when she very lightly scratched the back of my scrotum with her nails, my butt clenched, my hips flew forward, and I shot a load down her throat.

"...is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead..."

"Gak! Mmfth," she choked down my jizz, and swallowed what she could. Her pleading eyes were so hot, I couldn't hold back and exploded with another huge gob of my cream. It filled her mouth, and leaked out both sides, down her chin. She was a fucking champ!

I pulled my cock away from her and pointed it towards the sink, while she swallowed again and then licked her lips, smiling like she was a cat that finally caught her prey. After I stopped shooting all over the sink and wall, I got down from the toilet, and proceeded to clean myself up. Then I began to help the attendant clean the mess in the washroom.

"Don't worry about it, my love. Get to your seat." Facing me, she cradled my head with one hand and kissed me, slipping me some tongue. She tasted salty. "That was fun." Cute smile.

"Bless you, gorgeous." I zipped up, and stepped out of the restroom.

I returned to my seat, sat down with a sigh, and smiled at my neighbour. Ms. Yoga Wear gave me a look that said wherever you were, you look like you enjoyed yourself.

I relaxed, watching the world gradually return to the plane, through the window.

"Wait, did I miss my peanuts?"

***

While I waited for my Uber to pick me up at the airport, I thought about what had just happened to me, up in the friendly skies. There were a few things to consider:

One, I was able to bring about the Hammer in my sleep. Nighttime erections are a normal part of human biology, so it wasn't a complete surprise to me that this could occur. Personally, I often woke up in the mornings with a strong erection, from my teens to my current late- (late, late) thirties. But I strongly suspected that it was the subject of the dream that actually triggered the response.

Two, there was something interesting about the flight attendant's response to my dilemma. As part of the descent process, they must check all occupied restrooms, and I believed that's what happened with me. I did not pass her on the way to the restroom, so I assumed that she didn't know who was behind the door. But then she asked to come in -- that can't be normal! It was though she was drawn to me, attracted without exactly knowing why. Interesting.

And finally, point number three: I needed to consider what I could do to address an unwanted, superfluous erection.I know, I know, unwanted erection?!? Blasphemy!

Before I could put any more thought into it, my Uber arrived. My driver today was named Alfred. Go figure.

"Are you Dan? Alright, cool, hop in." I got into the back of the nice man's four door hatchback, and relaxed during the hour long drive into town. This 5-star driver knew what I needed: silence. Besides the Top 40 playing in the background, of course.

During the drive, I made plans for the remainder of my weekend, before I returned to work on Monday. I would continue to practice calling forth the Hammer, and see if I could find some tactic to call it off. I was also interested in testing whether this "unknown attraction" power had any legs.

Finally, I needed to find some sweatpants that fit the new me. I figured this would be the best improvement to my wardrobe in weeks.

***

Fortunately my place downtown is close to a major mall, so I was able to pick up a few comfortable pairs of joggers soon after returning home. I also bought a couple packs of new underwear -- after thirty minutes of research obsessively following every Amazon rabbit hole, I felt I knew what well-endowed men wear down there day-to-day. Thank god it's not loose boxers, I hate them with a passion, they bunch in all the wrong places for me.

As I was not going to be able to afford to tailor my work pants (from either a time or cost perspective), I really needed to get a handle on my control of my gift. The first part of this was ensuring I could reliably count on my erections. So as soon as I had a quick lunch, I returned to my place, ready to turn on the porn and practice flexing my "muscle".

My strategy seemed to work well. I chose longer videos, and with each I first imagined fucking the sexy lady with my normal penis, with gentle masturbation that of course came naturally to me. Then after a couple minutes, I concentrated on the image of my massive hard-on pushed deep inside of the pornstar, and how her reactions on-screen were as a result of me filling her completely. Once I had achieved the massive donkey erection I was looking for, I lubed up and pulled out a load. Finally, after my orgasm, I'd switch to some CNN or something to wait out my hard-on.

While successful, this training regimen had some fallouts. The erections came faster and stronger with each rep, but I wasn't completely satisfied with my results until I had been at it until 2am -- so while pleasurable, the practice was tiring. What came as a surprise to me was that my orgasms maintained their strength and output -- so obviously my balls were affected by this magic -- however, I created quite a bit of mess. Finally, the magical tingles that spread in waves through my cock diminished in length as I became more confident in my process, however the intensity of those feelings increased acutely -- so much so that I was concerned about becoming addicted to that rush of growth.

Oh, and I went through a ton of lube. I had bought a few bottles at the mall, but if I had to continue much longer, I would have had to invest in a flat of them. Does lube come in family sizes?

***

I awoke the next day, Sunday, a bit ginger from all of the pulling, but still eager to continue my training scheme. Part two would be different, and I wasn't sure what might come of it. But I had some hunches I needed to test.

So while taking my morning shower, I quickly summoned the Hammer, and stroked it for a moment, using the extra suds to buff it clean. It showed no wear from Miss Industrial Wood Stripper. I swore at myself for not asking for her number.

Then, while the water ran over me and washed the soap away, I closed my eyes, and pictured my mother. Then my father. My parents copulating. Two monkeys copulating. Lining up at the post office. Lining up at the motor vehicle branch. Swimming in a river of feces.

I shut off the water without opening my eyes, reached for my towel, and began to dry off. Opening my eyes, I found that none of these images had served to reduce my erection, which continued to bob in front of me, relishing its moment as a monument of impending doom.

This was pretty much what I expected. I thought it was worth a try, before I brought out what I believed to be the big guns. I didn't want to do it, but it had to be done.

After drying off, I sat down on my bed, and took a deep breath -- in, out. Then I closed my eyes, and thought about the dance I shared with Violet, two days ago. It was hot on the dance floor, and I had my hand on her back, holding her against me, gently. Even now, I could remember the smell of her hair. And her hand, pressed against my stomach, moving down to my groin. Through my pants, she cupped my cock, surprising me -- and when I pulled away, I saw the disappointment in her eyes. It was a fleeting look, but it was there, and it hurt. I could not forget those eyes, and that frown, if I tried.

That did it. That look on her face, burned in my mind, and the hurt that I still felt served to crush any erection I had. The big guns hurt, and they hurt big.

After that major discovery, I decided to move on to the next part of my plan. I changed into a running shirt and my joggers, and made myself a light breakfast. All through breakfast preparation and consumption, I challenged myself: call my erection, and then kill it, over and over, until I was confident in my control. My joggers made this rapid on/off game much more tolerable, although the rhythmic tenting was comical.

After cleaning up the kitchen, I took my windbreaker and my ebook, locked up the condo, and went to the parking garage to get my car. I picked up a sports drink at a corner store, and then drove to the lake.

Point Lake was a popular destination for families, tourists and exercise nuts. It had wooded parks, beaches, even a small boat landing. Along one side there was a residential zone, where the lakefront properties were worth millions. All around the lake was one of the most popular, busiest jogging paths in the whole city. I could not begin to guess how many hundreds of people circled that lake every day.

I parked my car in a lot that directly overlooked the lake, and by extension, the path. Then I pulled out my phone, and turned on some tunes. I cracked my window open so I wouldn't suffocate, and placed my windbreaker on my lap. I then started to read my ebook. It was an urban fantasy series which had a great amount of sex and violence in it. It was right up my alley.

As I expected, there were a lot of runners using the path on a Sunday morning. Many of them turned out to be attractive women, running with their partners, their friends, or their dogs. There were some singles too, which I guess spoke to how safe most of the jogging paths are around the Point Lake.

I spent the next 15 minutes switching between reading a couple pages of my book, and watching the people pass by. That was my control period. Nothing remarkable happened during the control period.

Then, I flipped the switch and brought the Hammer into play. It was hidden underneath my windbreaker, and I sort of propped my reading hand on top of it. Even if you walked by the driver's side of my car, in the parking lot, I was confident that you would notice nothing unusual, let alone a threateningly large tent in my pants.