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.