I am Whitesnake, Hear me Roar

I walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on. As the water sprayed down and I tried to find balance between scalding and freezing, I laid back and let the water run over my midsection. The warmth of the water reminded me of that same warmth that came with being inside of a woman, and thus my dick began to rise. I groaned as I reached down and stroked myself, closing my eyes. I thought of girls of all cups and sizes, one by one entering the shower to take their turn with me. Using me like a piece of meat.

First was a wild blonde, who refused to spit out her bubble gum as she bounced up and down, beating my chest with every pump, and when she had come in my fantasy I was not quite there yet, so I exchanged her for a fair skinned brunette, who knew she wanted my member but was unsure of what she actually wanted to do with it. After moments of debate she buried her head in my lap and licked my shaft all the way up and down, gagging but not caring. 

Her eyes were begging for my come, and while I got closer and closer I wasn’t getting there quite as fast as she would have liked, so she beckoned a friend in to help speed things along. This friend of hers had blonde highlights streaked through her black and blue hair and a piercing just above her right nostril. Her breasts were perky and fake, full of whatever it was they put in those things. The two of them began taking turns, but quickly decided to each take a side as two tongues licked up and down, at times connecting at the tip.

Finally I could feel myself reaching that point of no return. I reared my head back and let the juices flow out of my piss hole and slide down the drain, although some drips attached themselves to the bathtub, as if all my dying children were hanging on the edge of a cliff, desperately trying not to fall into that black abyss. I opened my eyes. What a feeling! I looked around and smiled. Everything looked normal. I didn’t care about the journey and I didn’t care about the finish line. What I cared about was that I could finally stop thinking about it. I could look around and enjoy the world for what it truly was. I laid in my own filth, basking in the glory of a free mind. I noticed little things that I normally wouldn’t care about, like how clean the spots between my tiles were. I saw that I needed to buy some more soap, and that my finger nails were in dire need of a trim.

I looked up on the shower rack, and scanned the Head and Shoulders bottle, admiring the artwork on the front. It looked as if Jackson Pollock had tried using his paintbrush as a sword, swiping one big, long, curved red streak along it. Then that streak began to transform into a strand of hair, and I was reminded of a fiery redhead that practically mouth raped me in 6th grade in the back of a school bus. She was a sleek and dark red and blessed with few freckles. I fought her tongue but it always seemed to win as she penetrated my lips, sticking it as far as she could and stroking the roof of my mouth with it.

I dropped my hand at my side and felt the bath sponge in my hand. It felt like the pubic hairs of a woman who rarely waxed, and I slid my hand across it, feeling for that sweet warm pulsating spot that lies just a few more inches across the horizon. I looked over at the shower liner, and the ripples in it as it trailed across the bathtub reminded me of a beautiful sundress, which women these days just never wore. When they did, however, it was indeed beautiful and I could see just a hint of those soft, silky, milky legs that lay underneath, and knew that just beyond was the land where milk and honey met.

Once again everything I saw, felt and sensed reminded me of that devilish, curvy template of a body I could not resist.

Once again my glasses were covered in rose-colored lipstick.

Once again I lost my free, clear mind.

Once again I was hard.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.


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