Troy King Erotica

Awesome erotica for awesome adults only

Ghostly

Yup, you guessed it.  Over 18 only on this please.  As usual, when you get right down to it, nothing on this blog is appropriate for anyone under 18.

 

Email checked and black thong safely disposed of, Russ heads for the shower.  While the shower heats up, he lays out his clothes for the day: pants, shirt, tie, underwear and socks.  He exclusively wears boxer briefs because he feels they help to show off his package.  When the bathroom is so steamy he can barely see, he climbs in and soaps himself up.  He only uses the best soaps, no fragrances, just a clean, healthy feel.  It’s important, he believes, to keep your skin in good shape.

It’s hard to be sure, but while he’s showering but he swears he can feel something stroke him.  Between the heat and the water pouring down, it’s impossible to be sure, but he certainly feels like something just stroked his cock.

Against his will, his dick rises.

Normally, Russ refuses to masturbate.  As far as he’s concerned, masturbation is for losers.  If he needs to cum, well, that’s what women are for.  It’s a kind of discipline and he’s never broken his rule about masturbation before.

There are times when he wakes up from a particularly vivid dream with a giant, throbbing erection.  Those days are hard, no pun intended, to get through.  His discipline and his absolute refusal to break his rules usually get him through the work day.  After work, it’s no problem to find some hot little number he can fuck and dump by the wayside.

Sometimes, though, a small part of his mind thinks he should let a woman sleep over.  She could suck him off in the morning before she leaves.

Thinking of getting a blowjob first thing in the morning, maybe even being woken up by the feel of a woman’s mouth on his member gets his dick even harder.  Without realizing it, his hands have moved to his cock.  When the realization that he’s touching himself hits, he jerks his hands away in disgust.

Men, after all, do not masturbate.  That’s women’s work.

His disgust with himself terminates the erection quickly and Russ smiles to himself as he watches it fall flaccid

Don’t worry, he thinks to himself, there’s a woman out there right now who needs my dick.

The thought calms him, gives him something to focus on other than this strange morning.  Pushing the oddness and near failure out his mind, Russ shuts off the shower, towels off and gets out.  When he opens the door to his bathroom, the colder air rushes in and dissipates the steam.

As he starts to wipe the condensed water off his mirror, Russ notices a small frowny face has been drawn in the center of his mirror.  The sight takes him completely off guard and he immediately starts looking for the joker that left graffiti in his mirror.

“You’d better run,” Russ yells.  “If I catch you, your ass is toast!”

No response.

A towel wrapped around his waist, he looks around the whole house, but finds no one.  The place is silent and perfect, just like he likes it.

Unfortunately, the search took time and put Russ off his schedule.  He hurries back to the bathroom and wipes away the face with a towel.  Brush teeth, comb hair, deodorant on.  Quick, quick, quick.

At least I’m smart enough to lay out my clothes, he thinks as he rushes to get ready.

His clothes are patiently waiting for him.  Shirt and pants still neatly pressed and hanging up.  Shoes exactly where he wants them.  Belt, watch, and wallet are all ready to go.  The only thing missing is his underwear.  In its place is the cut up black thong.

What the fuck?

Russ is getting pissed now.  His normally laconic, better than thou behavior is being rapidly replaced the dark side almost no one gets to see.  In a rage, he grabs the thong and throws it across the room.  When the tiny piece of soft fabric doesn’t make a huge racket, doesn’t, in fact, make it across the room, Russ just gets more pissed.

He contemplates grabbing the thong and setting it on fire, but time is short, so Russ angrily grabs it, wads it up in his fist and tosses it in the trash again.  He grabs another pair of underwear out of the dresser, hurriedly dresses and hauls ass downstairs to his car.

What a fucking day, he thinks to himself as he revs up the engine on the 911 GT3 and roars off down the road to work.

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This entry was posted on June 21, 2014 by in Stories and tagged , , .

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