and there was just something so satisfying about shooting off on the glass case that held my teacher’s snickers bars and reeses cups.

Load seven was worked out in the parking lot on the trunk of Derrick Holcomp’s Lexus. That was another particularly satisfying orgasm. But it came with considerably more effort than had some of my previous wads. I could tell I was waning, and I was looking forward to lunch for a recharge.

Lunch came just after the beginning of fourth period. I decided to get one more load out of the way just beforehand, and try to hit another at the end of the session. The first was spent into a trash can in the middle of the hallway outside the gym. The second lunch jerk-off took place in the women’s locker room.

In between, Harold shared the images of the evidence of the previous beat-offs. All my cronies huddled around the lunch table, laughing and balking at shot after shot of my shot after shot.

I had now officially come ten times in less than six hours. I had to admit, I was fatigued. My cock was aching. And my shoulder and forearm were burning even at rest. Five more strokes to completion seemed impossible. But I had to persevere. And where my confidence failed me, I had Harold to lift me up with a ‘Micky’ style pep talk about seizing the eye of the tiger.

So, during U.S. History in fifth period, I excused myself at the arranged time, and slid off to the north end to leave a special surprise in the women’s restroom. The surprise turned out to not be so special, as with my eleventh orgasm of the day, I expended not but a slight trickle of come. Nevertheless, it was a shot, and it was captured magnificently by Harold’s camera.

For the twelfth shot, during the next class break, we got creative and decided to ‘christen’ a work-in-progress of some sophomore art student. Harold swiped the painting and absconded to the restroom, where I jerked, heaved, and sweated my way to a tiny spewing of man-juice onto the front of the canvass.

My last class of the day was Keyboarding. For this one, I didn’t need to leave the room, so I had just borrowed the camera from Harold. I sat at the very back of the room and had no classmates within view of me when behind my big, clunky, old green-screen computer monitor. I was able to simply free my aching, throbbing, sore cock from my jeans and take my time working myself up to climax. I spit a hiccup of a cumshot onto the keyboard, and then snapped the shot to catalogue the event.

Just two more. Just two more. I kept telling myself as I massaged my poor, stinging prick through my pants. My whole abdomen was aching now, and I could barely lift my right arm from my side. The challenged had turned out to be far more challenging than I had imagined.

But when the bell rang, Harold was there to give me one more pep talk, and a heavy string of gropes and kisses to put a little bit of lift back into my exhausted prick. As the other students were clearing the hallway, we stepped into the gym and slipped under the bleachers to the side of the basketball court. There, I worked myself (with a great deal of help from Harold) to my fourteenth