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Four Minutes



He looked over at the clock and smiled; five minutes before the alarm went off. He had noticed lately that he often just beat the alarm in the mornings. Not all mornings, by far, but often enough to take notice. And often enough by now to make up a game to pass the time.

He casually looked to his sleeping flat-mate, making sure he was asleep even though he could hear the regular snores.

He pushed the sheets down and pulled his legs out from under them while both hands went around his briefs, squeezing his package as a single unit.

He let out a soft moan and a sigh and heard the clock tick over a little, flat number. He looked over and saw that he now had four minutes.

No problem, he thought, hooking thumbs under his briefs and pulling them out and down and over his raging morning woody. It was nothing new, to wake to a stiffy, but he wondered why he was so hard it almost ached this morning. 

I must not have had a wet dream during the night, just leaked some pre-cum, but not likely had an actual release. Wonder why not? Those were some fucking hot dreams! It was like it was happening over again, while I watched. Still, fine with me, he thought as he wrapped his cock with one hand and played with his large, loose balls with the other. 

"Mark! I could so fuck you! You are hot incarnate!" he whispered into the morning, gazing at the sleeping outline.

He relived the end of the party last night, relived the moments that Mark had allowed something new, something strange to happen. It was brief, and Mark changed his mind quickly, but those memories ran again in his head.

He made his grip tighter and sped up the tempo. His other hand started working his balls in another rhythm. He tensed and released his butt, legs and groin, getting his body into it. He stroked a bit faster now, tugging his balls down as his fist hit his pubes, releasing them as his fist ran back up his shaft. His fingers closed a bit over his head, nearly covering the hole in the tip, but not quite. As he built toward orgasm, beating fast, then slow and tight, he pushed up a bit with his hips, arching his back.

Mark! I will suck that cock this year! Oh, that cock! And your balls! I bet you'll fill my mouth, and then fill it again when you cum, more than I can swallow! That hot, solid, sturdy body. Your full butt and lips! Yes, let me put my hand down there, unbutton those jeans, get them down. Oh, let me see what hides behind there!

He was close now, tensed and rigid, from curling toes to tightly scrunched  eyes.

He let his imagination fill in the mystery view as Mark's jeans slid down his strong thighs and to the floor in the dark. He remembered rubbing his hands over the white briefs and feeling that big, hard, dick. He had gotten it out for a few strokes, and had fondled his balls as well, also very briefly. He remembered the size and weight as it was in his hands, putting images there to fill the void as he had done so many times before.

Ahhh, Mark! Your dark hair, your strong body, your flashing smile!

His imagination built from there, Mark no longer pulling away and mumbling, "Maybe some other time." His mind's eye saw the scene unfold. He watched as he slid his tongue down that chest, down over that strong, flat front, and down into the thick hairs and over his hardness.

"YES!" he hissed, stopping his hand as it reached the edges of his head, only squeezing now, not stroking, as the first wad exploded and arched over his torso, landing squarely between his nipples.

"YES!" another hissing affirmative and the second stringy shot somersaulted over his abdomen, landing in a curved rope at the bottom center of his rib cage. Still only squeezing, not stroking, but now his balls were squeezed as well for the third shot.

"YES!" a short, low grunt this time, the third spun out in a long strand, landing as a two-part rope, the top portion inside his innie belly button.

"YES!" a high squeak now, a small cry, cut off, sounding like someone sticking their finger with a needle. A kick of both feet, straight out, tense and locked at the knees. The fourth squirt was more of a drop than a stringy stand, landing between the bush and where the previous cum lay just below his navel.

He stroked to draw the last oozing drips from the shaft and out the head. Once there, it was rubbed over the head, making slick, greasy, sounds. 

"Ahhhhh, damn," he whispered, relaxing into the sheets, still rubbing the cum around his head with one finger, the other hand slowly releasing his balls.

Ahh, good one! he thought, looking over at the clock. I should keep track.

He rolled over and turned the alarm off. It clicked all four digits over within seconds. He didn't need to hear it. He hated hearing it. He'd rather beat it, and wake Mark with a soft voice and a gentle touch.

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