A Perfect Cock Ch. 03

Jacob awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside his open window. The curtains were open, and early summer sunlight filtered through, already filling his room with warmth and dappling his sheets with liquid gold and light shadows. The smell of freshly cut grass and lounging around in summer pools was wafting in, the smells and aromas of the dawn of a new summer, away from the din of a busy college campus and the accompanying unending load of homework and studying. The smells and sights and sounds of relaxation, of time with his friends, of unloading and destressing before the cycle began anew the next semester. He could almost taste the condensation on the air, the faint mask of dew that had covered the ground over the course of a rather chilly night.

He could see, smell, hear, and taste the beginning of a stress-free, care-free summer, but his last sense brought his slowly-awakening mind into sharp focus, replaying the images of what he had seen – and more importantly, what had seen him – over and over again. Touch. The feeling of his hard, hard cock brushing against his tented sheets.

Jacob was not new to morning erections. In college, at least during his first year, they had gotten relatively annoying. It wasn’t exactly considered proper etiquette to wake up next to one of your best friends sporting a raging hardon, especially if it ended up being the first thing that said friend ended up seeing in the morning. So, Jacob had taken to taking care of that erection before his roommate woke up. He’d gotten very good at it. He always woke up before his roommate, and usually had the time to jerk himself off under the covers. He had started watching his roommate’s face, making sure he was still asleep while Jacob stroked his cock under the covers and came all over his stomach – or if he had planned ahead, into a receptacle for his seed. There had been something extremely erotic about it, at the time; it wasn’t the fact that he had been watching his roommate, exactly. Jacob was many things, but no matter how he had experimented before, the fact remained that he was not gay – at least, not usually. It wasn’t that. It was simply the idea that he might get caught, that someone else was in the room with him, unaware that he was masturbating.

So Jacob had taken to doing riskier and riskier things. He had started to forgo the covers in the mornings, and the clothes at night before he got into bed. He would lay there, naked, idly stroking his cock while staring up at the ceiling or at his roommate, Matt’s, sleeping face. Often, he would lay there, buck naked, while Matt slept, and just look at his cock, pointed straight up at the ceiling. He would pull the foreskin all the way down, admiring the way his precum beaded at the head, and smear it all over, watching as it formed sticky trailed from the tip of his cock to the tip of his finger, like that famous painting – the Creation of Adam. Except this time, his finger was God and his orgasm was what he hoped to create. He really loved watching himself masturbate, and sometimes would imagine that a girl was there, just sitting next to him, fully clothed, but watching him as he stroked his dick. He would continue watching as he came, coating his abs and his stomach in his semen. That part was his favorite. He loved to watch himself come, and watching the slit at the tip of his cock spurt frothy white orgasmic juice over and over, again and again, had sometimes made him so horny that he would masturbate again, right there, using his own semen and cum as lube, gathering it from where it frosted his abs with his fingers and covering his cock with it. He even had pictures and videos of his cock, covered in his own semen, white and thick, and spurting even more in his second – or maybe even third – orgasm of the session. Watching his own cock on video never failed to make him orgasm.

When the novelty of jerking off without covers had worn off, Jacob began to get even riskier. He would prop his phone up while he came, taking videos of his own cock and hands and cum that he would play back later while he jerked off again, pretending that someone else was watching him, or send to his current girlfriend at the time. He would stand up in the narrow pathway between his and Matt’s bed, jerking off scant feet from where Matt slept – and later on, where Matt’s oblivious girlfriend slept with him. He would adventure and see how close he could get to Matt without him realizing that his best friend was naked and jerking off. When his own girlfriend slept over, they played games, letting her suck his cock right there in front of their sleeping roommate, or maybe quietly fuck. But those are stories for another time.

So no, Jacob was not new to the idea of morning wood. He felt his foreskin rubbing on his cock as he woke up to the faint summer breeze and the petrichor of a dwindling late spring storm. He felt the tip of his cock, the very slit at the end that opened up to deliver his cum to the world, rubbing slightly back and forth against the fine-spun sheets, and cracked his eyes open to look down at his cock; rather, where his cock was covered by tented fabric, the thin layer all that separated his body from the thin air around him. His eyes widened and he sat up.

His cock was a mess. Somehow, in the middle of the night, through dreams that eluded Jacob now, he had cum. And, seemingly, he had cum a lot – or perhaps a normal amount, just more than once. The sheets were wet and sticky, a large spot dampening the area around his cock. Where his tip was prominently bulging out of the fabric, semen bubbled out through the gaps between fibers, making what almost seemed to be a miniature fountain of cum that had amassed heavily throughout the night. There was clearer, slicker liquid within the mess as well, and a copious amount of it at that – precum, sticky and wet, the consistency of the juices of a well-aroused pussy. The air, which he had thought was fresh, had the faint scent of must in the air upon closer inspection as he sniffed.

Jacob was no stranger to a morning erection. He was, however, a stranger to wet dreams. Especially to wet dreams that made him cum over and over again, or cum this much. It wasn’t like he hadn’t cum while asleep before. Sometimes, his girlfriend tended to need his cock before he was ready, still asleep from the gymnastics of the night before. She would take it upon herself to suck his cock while he slept, slip it into her waiting pussy, and grind her clit on the edge of his cock and cum while he deposited his load deep inside her. Then, when he woke up, she would present her freshly-fucked, gaping pussy to his otherwise unaware face and get off again while he ate his own cum out of her pussy. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time he tasted his own cum, and the salty, musky taste tended to go well with the wetter, sourer, sweeter taste of a woman’s vaginal juices. So he would eat out his own load and swallow it along with the cum of his girlfriend while she writhed on top of him and sucked another load off his cock, tasting her own pussy off the shaft and head of his erection.

But a wet dream that made him cum, without any other stimulation? That was new. An image from his dream flashed through his head, and almost immediately, unconsciously, his still-hard cock pushed another drop of precum through his sheets, beading up and into the still-fresh pool of cum gathered there, atop his sheets.

His mother. The image from the day before, but slightly altered. Alice, his mother, stood there, watching him orgasm in the shower, separated from his naked body and hard cock by a glass wall that, in this segment of time taken from his dreams, dreams that he barely remembered, did not exist. Instead, only air separated his coming body and hard, hard cock, his straining head and swiftly masturbating hand, from her body. She stood there, watching him, mouth gaping. Saliva glistened and she swallowed as an arc of white semen, thick and gloopy and so fucking hot, crossed the gap between their bodies and hitting her in the chest. His cum landed directly where her nipple would be underneath her clothes – indeed, burned into his memory, into his dreams, into his horny masturbatory imaginings, her nipples were hard as rocks and basically breaking through the thin shirt that clung to her body. An incredible sight to see, to behold, as he came all over her shirt, which was thinner than these sheets that held his cock away from the air. His come was seeping through that shirt, and he knew that soon, it would melt away, into her shirt, into her skin.

He started to masturbate underneath the sheets as another image flashed into his head, rhythmically beating his cock up and down and squeezing it tightly between his fingers, rolling his foreskin over and over.

His mother, on her knees, his father’s cock in her mouth. He couldn’t see much. They were cloaked in shadows, in silhouettes, as she took his cock as far as she could, as deep into her mouth as she dared, choking and slobbering over its length. He jerked his cock as he thought about them, about how he had watched his dad face-fuck his mom right there in front of him, and how he had beat his cock as he watched them. He heard his mom choke once again as he replayed the scene in his head, heard the sounds of his father orgasming deep in her throat, heard ever last little swallow as she took her husband’s – his dad’s – semen all the way into her throat and down into her stomach like a good little slut, like a whore that lived for and loved semen. In his dream, his vivid, lucid replaying of the unbelievable events of last night, his mother turned slightly to the side and he saw something he hadn’t seen before, or at least noticed, when he had watched it unfold in real life. The shape of his mother’s nipple, clearly uncovered and unclothed, naked to his father and to him. He didn’t see it, not exactly, but he saw its shape, its length, its thickness, its hardness. The way that it quivered at the tips of her full breasts as she breathed in, the way it bobbed as she swallowed load after load of his father’s semen.