Rarely does one set a specific goal for masturbation other than orgasm.
On the bed, I steel myself to learn how to squirt and not rise until I achieve enlightenment.
Fantasy showing through the back of my lids, desire beating upon my breasts, I curl my middle and ring finger inside myself and pull, forcefully, rhythmically. A gush, a giggle. No orgasm, but the flood precedes one. I can feel it building.
Euphoria. Then dismay.
I made my own cum spot.
That I have to sleep in.