I love taking care of my morning wood. I always wake up hard as a rock and horny as fuck. Without fail. Sometimes my bladder is full and aching, and sometimes not. It doesn’t seem to matter. I just know that every morning finds me already hot and stiff, with my rod poking against my sleeping shorts, and sometimes I awake in the middle of a dirty dream to the realization that I have already started to masturbate, either by rubbing at myself or grinding my hips against the bed. For some reason I don’t usually get wet dreams where I actually shoot off in my shorts although it did happen once or twice. But usually I wake before that happens. What does happen though, especially if I have been grinding against the bed, is that my precum begins to ooze out and wet my shorts, and if I lay on my back and strip them off I can see the shiny wet patch, and the pearly strings running from the glistening red tip to my belly as my cock springs up throbbing and hard.
Author: phux_funny
After [Mf, spank, mast]
You always did like that part the best, though. After. When you would bury your face in the pillow and Daddy would rub the spanks away. You would still be snuffling and sobbing. “Oh, stop all that boo-hoo-hoo, young lady,” Daddy would say as he soothed your behind with gentle touches. “See? All the spanks are going away.”
“No they’re not, Daddy,” you would wail into the pillow. “They’re not.”
“Yes they are,” he would insist. “Here’s one here,” he would say as he rubbed one cheek, circling, rubbing, kneading. “Got it. See? All gone.” And sure enough, the sting would start to turn into a more gentle glow.
“There’s more, Daddy. There’s more.”
“You mean this one here?” he would say as her rubbed the other cheek. “This one?” He would circle and rub, gently massaging you. “See? All gone.” The warmth would seem to spread and intensify, even as the sharpness wore off.
“There’s more, Daddy,” you would say, almost whispering, craving more of his touches. Almost imperceptibly, your behind would flex and tremble slightly.
[M]y Morning Masturbation
I love taking care of my morning wood. I always wake up hard as a rock and horny as fuck. Without fail. Sometimes my bladder is full and aching, and sometimes not. It doesn’t seem to matter. I just know that every morning finds me already hot and stiff, with my rod poking against my sleeping shorts, and sometimes I awake in the middle of a dirty dream to the realization that I have already started to masturbate, either by rubbing at myself or grinding my hips against the bed. For some reason I don’t usually get wet dreams where I actually shoot off in my shorts although it did happen once or twice. But usually I wake before that happens. What does happen though, especially if I have been grinding against the bed, is that my precum begins to ooze out and wet my shorts, and if I lay on my back and strip them off I can see the shiny wet patch, and the pearly strings running from the glistening red tip to my belly as my cock springs up throbbing and hard.
In The Stalls
He swung the door open and looked inside. Quiet. No feet under the stalls. He ducked into one. He tapped a message into his phone. Moments later, the door opened again. He tapped his foot twice. She ducked into the next stall. “I only have a minute,” she whispered.
“That’s ok. This will only take a minute,” he said.
“A minute? Somebody got you worked up.”
“Deliveries always get me worked up.”
“You were already worked up.”
“Yes. Yes I was.”
“Shhh! Not so loud. Somebody might hear.”
“There’s nobody here but us,” he said. “This whole floor is only half occupied. And today is Friday.”
“I know, but still. What if somebody comes?” She trailed off.
“Somebody?” He laughed. “Somebody’s gonna come alright.”
“Someone else.”
“They can come too if they want to.”
“Degenerate bastard. I knew you were going to say that.”
“It’s alright. I’ll be quiet. You know me,” he said.
She snickered. “I do. You’re a pervert.”
“And yet. Here you are.”
“And yet. Here I am. And here I sit. You have it in your fist already, don’t you?”