Woody's Morning

"Uhhh," he twists, turns and moans in his fitful sleep, groaning as he slowly awakens from the night's erratic slumber.

His sweat soaks through the cotton sheets from his spastic somatic sleep, fighting his nightly battle with the angry sandman, as he does not want to awaken to the new day and the reality that comes with it.

He rolls over on his back, bringing his hands through his sleep tussled hair, as the last whispers of his drowsiness begins to part from his almost-rested body.

The thin flimsy cotton sheet begins to tent from his early morning hardened erect member. Its prize is hidden under the obvious rise of the bed linens, as he slowly awakens, on his back. He is still snoozing, still dreaming of the 'almost' fuck he had a chance of conquering last night from the bar.

He smoozed.

He complimented.

He smiled.

He worked his masculine wiles on his intended prey.

Nevertheless, it did not play out as he had hoped or had longed for it to be and sought after. He did not get a phone number, not even an invitation back to the object of the night's lustful affections apartment.

What he got was a frightening case of 'blue balls'.

He was played.

He lost money from the many bought drinks.

Eye contact between the two of them played out over the course of the many hours before he decided to approach the person.

A wink here.

A subtle glance.

A nod.

Alluring longing exchanges happened between the two over the wide expansive crowded room.

He finally approached, after many glasses of alcohol-fueled drinks of courage egged him on.

They talked.

He charmed or tried to.

He bought more drinks for the both of them.

They talked some more.

He attempted to charm, some more.

He reaches under his sheets, feeling his engorged cock grow as it strains from the hormonal and testosterone-laden overload along with his pent-up intense desires. He feels the cum ooze from his cock, ever so slow and gentle, like a leaking spigot with a busted plastic washer, in need of a much-needed repair. He spreads the pre-cum over the swelled head of his manhood.

This action makes his cock grow even harder, ever stiffer, as he spreads the cream over his crown.

The pressure of his morning hard-on is intense, slightly painful, but he is proud of this pain.

It feels good.

He brings his pre-cum soaked fingers to his nose, breathing in the essence of his manhood, his virility.

He smells...himself.

A strong masculine musky scent that is sweetly fragrant in its aroma, his cock gets even harder.

It reeks of sex, of a fuck, of a long forgotten fuck.

It is the unmistakable smell of man.

Man.

Men.

His strength.

His power.

His cum leaks heavy from his dilated piss-slit, he is wide open.

He continues coating his tool with his essential juice.

With each cum-stroke, his cock grows harder, still.

From smelling it, he brings the essence down to his mouth and tastes his manly discharge.

He licks his fingers of his proteined-jizz.

He likes the taste of himself, his protein in the morning.

Man-tein.

He tastes good.

He can see why his cum is devoured so anxiously by those who thirst for it.

He is sweet and thick.

He feels his ass muscles twitch.

He feels wet.

Drenched.

Sweaty.

He shifts in the bed as the twitching has magnified.

It feels good, almost as if he has been fucked.

His cock seeps more and more as he continues the gently coating of it over his mushroom engorged cockhead with more of his sweet man-juice.

"Ahh," he says aloud as he spreads the fluid with each muscular pump from his cock over his erected tool-head.

He takes both of his hands under the sheets, clasping his full balls with both his right and left hand, tweaking them, and pulling the part of himself, which fills the round globes of his testes, out of his piss-slit. Dollop after wondrous dollop of his man-juice is expelled with each continued milking of his man-equipment.

He smears more of his cum over the crowned head of cock.

The mushroomed-head, grows more, swells more, as the blood fills its innermost cavities expanding his girth of his cock, wider and wider, longer and longer.

His cock is so hard; it shines from its stiffened state.

The sheen of the tighten man-muscle is bright; he is taunt from his intense hard-on.

"Ohhh," he moans as he strokes his cock under the loose cotton sheets of his bed.

He does not have to see 'himself' to know he is at his most virile at this moment.

This is that glorious moment of what it means to be a MAN.

He strokes his cock, gently, not wanting to bust a nut or release his load before he is ready.

"I gotta piss," sudden alarm strikes him at the realization of his sustained hardness is because of his lack of a piss-release.

He bolts to the bathroom.

His cock bounces across his furred groin as he leaps from his warm bed, as his feet hit the cold tile floor, bounding hurriedly to the bathroom.

His pre-cum sprays from his erection spattering across his treasure trail and pubes as his cock reacts to his sudden jerky movements of his dash. His full load still built up in full taunt balls.

"Oh, you are up, finally," says the voice and the person, he is greeted with as he crosses over the threshold of his bathroom and bumps into him as he nears the toilet bowl.

"What?" he says, "It's you?"

It wasn't a dream.

The attempted pick-up from the bar, last night, greets him, unexpectedly, unknowingly, in the bathroom.

"Yeah, it's me," the voice says," you don't remember?"

He was drunker than he thought he was, he does not remember even bringing the person home with him.

"No!" he answers, alarmed.

The man in front of him strokes his cock as they both stand, eye-to-eye in the bathroom.

"You ass is nice," the voice of the man says," it took in all of my 10-inches, easy, but I knew it would."

The man smiles at him.

The man steadily strokes his cock, as they converse.

He reaches behind and feels his own ass, now he knows why he was twitching, uncontrollably.

He looks down at the man's sausage that is dangling between the muscled legs of unexpected visitor but welcome guest in his home.

"I took that up my bum?"

A thick cock, bounces and sways, in a nest of densely furred black pubes, as it points out from the man's mid-section, while the man continues with his handy manipulations of his growing erect flesh-organ.

"Yeah, you took it all, this morning," says the man, happily, "Your fur-lined ass welcomed all of me, into it. I want to go back there, now."

"Whoa," he says, loudly, as he is aware of what has crept up in his oft-used ass, as he slept.

"Whoa, is right," says the man," my name is Miles, and you?"

"I'm Woody," he answers.

"That you are," Miles says, "take your piss and come back to bed and I will relieve you of that cum-burden. You have earned it."

"It has been quite a morning," Woody voices," but it isn't over, is it?"

The man smiles, coyly, and shakes his head 'No' it is far from over.

"Hurry up, now," the man says as he walks to bed, seductively shaking his ass at Woody as they part, "I am not finished."

"...and neither am I," Woody finishes.