Learning the Morning RitualFirm controlling tugs on my testicle leash draw me from the cabin into the bright tropical morning sun.
“Protocol, Mr. Burgess, I need you hard.”
I am to be silent, but I need to explain... though she knows well... that little Mort exploded deeply into my wife’s warm tightness less than an hour before, expelling two weeks or more of pent up essence. That he is at rest.
Yet, once again the girl shows her knowledge of the male anatomy, gesturing for me to part my feet as her free left hand slips between my thighs, under my tethered scrotum and begins massaging my perineum, the fingers of the right pressing at my abdomen.
“A nice full bladder should help. We know all about piss proud penises.”
Sure enough, a worn little Mort slowly firms, untouched! The swellin
