The sight of the two of them standing there pleasuring each other was driving me nuts. I wanted desperately to whip my own hardening ramrod free from my trousers and gratify myself in similar fashion. But I understood that this was more a clinical demonstration than a lusty peepshow, and so I restrained myself.

It took an agonizing period of time before either of them was showing any signs of nearing climax.

“It also builds stamina,” Paul commented, as he likely noticed how impressed I was with the interminable amount of stroking they could each withstand. After a few more minutes of heavy, fast, hand-jerking, Aaron began to twitch and heave.

“I’m gonna come!” he shouted out. His whole body seemed to almost implode in on himself as his eyes closed and his mouth opened wide. His midsection sunk in, and his ass and hips jutted back, almost as if he were attempting to flee from Paul’s attentive hand. He then froze, no motion whatsoever, no breath escaping his lungs. At first I thought something was wrong, he seemed so distressed.

But then, with a mighty cry and gasp, he rocked his pelvis forward and unleashed a soaking stream of cum that traveled half the distance of my kitchen and splattered atop the half-cut plate of kiwi on the table. His bulging cock spasmed forth three more shots that neared that mark, glazing the top of my dinette with wads of heavy cum. Some of the blasts landed atop the table with such force, that they resembled the effect of skipping stones, as fragmented wads of semen bounced and collided with the surface of the shellacked oak.

Aaron had momentarily ceased his stroking of Paul during his pre-orgasm seize-up. Regaining his composure, he resumed his aggressive twisting and yanking of Paul’s thick pole.

Another few minutes passed and Paul’s breathing began to change. His body was rocking gently to and fro with the motions of Aaron’s hand. He bit his lower lip and sucked in his stomach, curling his fingers tight into the edge of my kitchen island’s countertop. Aaron slowed the pace of his stroking and worked Paul with a series of tight, aching, agonizing twists and tugs.

Paul’s knees bent slightly and his abdomen withdrew in on itself in the way that Aaron’s had moments ago. He was panting and huffing, staring blankly at the wall across the kitchen from him. Just as Aaron had, he seized all motion. He appeared an anatomically correct mannequin, getting a powerful handjob.

In an instant, Paul gasped and launched his pelvis toward the table. A high-arcing stream of cum soared across the kitchen and splattered with considerable force against the wall on the other side of my dinette. His convulsing member continued to erupt like an untamed firehouse, sending high-flying curling, twisted, winding, streaming wads of come all over my little kitchen.

I gasped in shock as I watched him send at least seven full, thick, bands of man-juice across the room. And then I continued to watch in awe as his softening cock released two more heavy ropes of cum, resembling a pump of a Jergen’s hand lotion container.

Both out of breath, Paul folded his cock back into his pants and Aaron stepped back into the bathroom to retrieve his own. I just sat speechless on the couch, still not sure what to say.

“Believe us now?” Paul asked, finally catching his breath.

“Uh… yeah…”