My first Jack Off Weekend at Hamilton Hall.

gaymen2
Jul 18
5 min read

Updated: Jul 19

My First Jack Off Weekend at Hamilton Hall

By Jason.

I’d read about the Jack Off Weekend at Hamilton Hall long before I finally booked it. The advertising on John’s website made it crystal clear what this dirty adult weekend was about: a promise of shameless, cock-hungry men, group mutual wanking, and full-on naked debauchery. And it absolutely did not disappoint. The beauty of Hamilton Halls special events and its horny-as-hell host, John, is you get exactly what’s on the tin - no bullshit, just men ready to blow their loads. That honesty is half the charm, and that’s exactly why I - and plenty of others - keep going back.

It was my first proper “event” weekend at Hamilton Hall. My previous visits were the tamer, get-naked-and-chat B&B-style affairs. Great if you’re shy or vanilla, but this time I wanted filth. When I arrived that Friday night there was a delicious, pulsing tension in the air. I had that unmistakable mix of nerves and pure fucking horniness as I rang the bell. John opened the door with his trademark welcoming grin that just screamed, You’re getting some tonight. Hamilton Hall oozed mischief. Some guests were already lounging around stark bollock naked in the communal lounge, cocks hanging out without a care. I felt mine give a traitorous twitch the moment I stepped inside, already leaking at the thought of what was coming.

Dinner set the tone perfectly. Half of us were naked, the other half still in shorts, but with visible cocks straining the fabric. Introductions were full of smutty jokes, innuendo dripping from every mouth, everyone eyeing each other like we were about to feast. Laughter rolled around the table, the promise of mutual masturbation and filthy fun hanging in the air like the heavy scent of man sex. John orchestrated it like a fucking maestro, knowing exactly what we were all there for and setting the scene beautifully.

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I found myself sat next to a ridiculously fit vicar and his equally slutty boyfriend. The collar was at home, but that commanding energy was all there, along with a filthy sparkle in his eyes that promised sin. His boyfriend was younger, leaner, covered in a thick, fuck-me-now rug of chest hair, with a beautiful fat cock I couldn’t keep my eyes off. The grin on his face alone suggested he’d pound you until you forgot your own name.

We hit it off instantly. Banter turned to shameless, cock-hungry innuendo. The vicar leaned in, hot breath on my ear, and murmured: “This place is our spiritual retreat. Very… hands-on meditation.” I nearly pissed myself laughing. Couldn’t argue though

- Hamilton Hall was basically my church of cock for this weekend.

Later that night, after enough drink to kill any lingering inhibitions, everyone was naked, cocks bobbing proudly, some fully hard, pre-cum already dripping. Play had properly started. Guys were shamelessly jerking, watching, moaning, cocks smacking into hands or mouths. All pretence was gone. It was fucking glorious: a sticky, sweat-slicked, moaning, gasping mess of men just wanting. The whole room reeked of men, sex and testosterone. The sound of wet stroking, breathless moans, the slap of skin on skin echoed off those old walls. I was in a filthy heaven.

Around 11 p.m. things slowed down, but my balls felt like they were going to explode. That’s when the vicar and his sexy-as-fuck boyfriend invited me back to their room. Wearing nothing but a smug grin, I practically ran there with my cock swinging.

We started slow-ish, but not for long. Sitting on the bed, three horny fuckers pressed together, hands and mouths everywhere. My hands were greedily wrapping around both their ample cocks, feeling them pulse and leak pre-cum over my fingers. They took turns kissing me, sucking on my tongue, biting my neck. Then they pushed me onto my back and devoured my cock like starving sinners. The vicar’s tongue was fucking sinful, flicking and swirling like he was baptising me in filth. His boyfriend watched while stroking that gorgeous slab of throbbing cock, precum drooling in thick strands onto his abs before he lunged in to join.

Soon it was an all-out fuckfest. We took turns fucking each other, cocks slamming in and out of needy holes, no mercy. The bed creaked like it was about to snap in half. I had one cock in my mouth, another buried in my arse, then flipped to fuck the vicar hard while stroking his boyfriend’s rock-hard meat, making sure no one felt left out. The moans were primal, sweaty bodies grinding, balls slapping, lube, spit and pre cum mixing everywhere. I loved every filthy, sloppy second.

The vicar, that twisted holy man, whispered the dirtiest filth in my ear while I railed his boyfriend: “That’s it, fuck him, load him, Good boy. God would forgive you, but I hope you don’t even ask.” I laughed as I groaned and unloaded deep inside his lover’s tight warm clenching hole.

We finally collapsed in a sweaty, cum-soaked, panting pile, giggling at how utterly used and ruined we three were. Even after we were drained, we lay there making out, hands lazily stroking softening cocks, cracking blasphemous jokes about the church and sex. Eventually, I stumbled back to my room, my arse sore, my thighs sticky with cum, trying not to wake my room mate with the biggest, sluttiest grin on my face.

Breakfast was a masterpiece of dirty smirks and knowing glances over eggs and sausages. The vicar winked at me while biting into his banger. I’m pretty sure he mouthed “Bless you.”

I left that Sunday morning with my hole sore and my balls emptied, absolutely certain I’d be back for another of John’s well advertised filth-soaked weekends. But which one next? Will I see you there? Go on, book it. You know you want to. You may even meet the Vicar and his boyfriend.

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