Summary: Greg, um...enjoys himself.
Mature only.
SMUTLET
Greg awoke, naked, in late evening with three hours to go before shift. His usual morning erection tented his sheets, and he grinned, yawned, stretched and drew a hand through his spiky hair.
Greg once again silently thanked his grandfather, the horny Norwegian, for his genetic gift of an exceptionally long penis. Papa Olaf had asked him, in a conspiratorial tone, one sunny summer day when Greg was seventeen, if the bulge in the boy's shorts was not just an extra pair of tube socks. Greg had turned a scarlet red and blundered over his response.
"Don't worry, boy," the white-haired man said, chuckling at his expression, "I won't tell. We have in common. Believe me, I know."
Greg's eyes were wide as plates. He couldn't believe he was discussing male anatomy with his grandfather.
"Yah." Papa Olaf's blue eyes twinkled. "It's a good thing to have a long dick. Drives the girls crazy. Take care of it, okay?" He then dismissed the boy with a guffaw and gestured to his wife for another beer. He winked at Greg when she scurried to fetch him a cold one.
Greg threw aside the sheets and carefully stretched the muscles in his back and arms, twisting and moving until he heard the pops of his spine. Then he hooked his big feet under the wood bar at the foot of his bed, bent his knees, and pulled himself forward with his arms under his legs.
Swirling the saliva around in his mouth that watered at the sensations that were to follow, he bent forward until his head was as far down between his legs as possible. One hand grasped his erection and pointed it to his mouth. Stroking it firmly, he opened his mouth and licked the tip of his cock and pressed his tongue against the opening. Greg sucked in the head, groaning with the pleasure and effort. Dipping his head, he pumped hard with a firm hand and sucked himself avidly. He bobbed his head in tandem, ignoring the pain he felt in his neck, until he felt himself tighten and explode with pleasure. He kept the sperm in his mouth as he padded off to the bathroom, then spit it into the sink and emptied his bladder.
"Autofellatio," he told no one in particular. "Auto..fell..a-she..o." He rolled the word off his tongue slowly and smugly. Turning to the shower, he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature to the perfect degree.
Sighing with pleasure as the water coursed down his body, Greg soaped himself up and let his hands trail up and down his chest and belly and thighs. He shampooed quickly, thinking of a fantasy for the day. Sara in the Hazmat shower. Perfect. Remembering her beautiful wet body, his dick got hard again and he stroked it with an upward motion. Her pink pussy, wet pubic hair, peach-shaped ass, perfectly pert breasts...ah Sara what you do to me. He hadn't seen her that well, but from what glimpses he'd stolen, she was all that and a bag of chips. Greg closed his eyes, braced a hand against the wall, and imagined Sara seeing his big hard cock, her eyebrows lifting and eyes widening with surprise. In his mind she dropped to her knees in front of him, took him in her mouth and sucked his cock like it was a straw and he was a milkshake.
"Um, yes. Yes Sara you feel so good. Suck me, baby," he groaned loudly and his words echoed around the shower stall. He was fisting himself frantically now, imagining her wide pink lips engulfing him, her brown haired head giving him head. He ejaculated against the tiled wall and watched his come swirl down the drain as his muscles trembled with the aftershocks.
Finishing his usual routine and heading out the door, Greg grinned to himself. Why did anyone wonder why he was always in a good mood?
THE END