Sarah had never been an early bird, but this was the third day in a row that her massive hard-on had brought her out of her deep slumber before sunrise.
“Ugh, not again,” she mumbled half-asleep, frustrated by the urge to pee and the inability to properly do so. In Sarah’s opinion, if there was anything harder than having a dick (and un-ironically, she knew for a fact there were a million harder things if you did not own one; but, hypothetically, if there was one), it was taking a leak with a hard one, and harder than that, was doing so with one that curved upwards.
She woke up to her husband’s lean and tanned back, their thick comforter covered his raised lower-half up to where the tan below his marked hip-dimples started to fade. He lay down with his face buried on the pillow, quivering.
“Morning…” she whispered on his ear.
“Fuck!” he pulled his hand off his crotch with a jerk. “I thought you were asleep!” his voice muffled.
“…Woood!” she yawned stretching her arms. “You’re going to get clit-lock if you keep doing it on that position every morning,” she said pulling her shaft over her teal brief-boxers waistband.