The Morning Came Too Soon

This fictional content contains explicit sexual material. All characters are consenting adults.

"Ahem--thank you," I mumbled as she set a plate on my bedside table.

Irene had taken me in while I renovated her home and wrestled the garden into shape. The heat wave that summer was intense. She was a sweetheart--creamy skin, soft curves, that rosy, kind-faced look you see in old movies. Maybe her hair used to be strawberry-blonde, but now it was silver.

"No worries, sweetie," Irene said.

It had been too long a day. I told myself: eat, shower, sleep. Simple. But when I lay back, every thought circled back to Irene. The little things affected me--like how her butt jiggled when she walked away. I was hungry for something other than the plate she'd prepared. The sun and my hormones were making me crazy. I needed to jerk off.

"One last thing, John," Irene poked her head back in. "My sheets didn't dry in time... just for tonight, can I share your bed?" Her eyes seemed soft--elegant, disarming.

What else could I say to the lovely old lady who'd put a roof over my head?

"Of course, not a problem," I said, unable to make eye contact.

I was very sexually frustrated but even more tired. Absolutely wrecked.

I finished my shower and tiptoed into the room, not wanting to wake her. Irene was already tucked in on her side, sound asleep.

The pillow was firm and musky. It was a deep sleep, until the morning came too soon...

I had the most pleasant dream, a montage of amorous images.

"Ooooh, what's all this!?" I was roused to the alarm of Irene's wavering voice.

Something was up--I felt wet and gooey.

Surely not? I'm a grown man.

"It is everywhere..." Irene gasped as she lifted the sheets, looking for the cause.

Ooze had smushed into my boxers. The sheets--soaked through. Irene felt around and analyzed the mystery substance for what felt like an eternity. My good dream was a waking nightmare.

Irene sampled her fingers like a scientist performing a test--inquiring, curious.

A sea of white, moist goop was between us... in some spots it'd caked.

I knew this was my fault with each passing moment.

Irene's eyes widened. She'd ruled out all options. With the mattress finally checked, the duvet and sheets revealed my shameful truth.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed.

"Did someone have a little accident?" Irene teased. The cause was obvious: my underwear was basted and iced with the cum from a wet dream. The indent of my dick pressed against the fabric. I had made this mess.

Speechless, all I could do was sit in my own juices with a dumb, surprised look on my face. Guilty.

Irene stared at me directly and took her middle finger through the puddle we sat in. She stared intensely into my eyes and tasted. She knew--and there was no escape.

"It happens," Irene said, pointing at my throbbing member with ambivalence. It sprang to life without so much as a touch. I swear it twitched. It pointed back at her. My ears burned; my chest was hollow.

"Looks like you'll be in my bed tonight, young man. I have more sheets to wash!" she giggled quietly to herself at my shame. My gooch strained. My sack tormented me relentlessly.

Irene slowly got out of the bed and bent over to take off her semen-soaked underwear. I had a direct view of her ass as she bent down. It mocked me. She didn't even look back. It felt like a long, lingering moment, but it was gone too soon.

"I think I'll take a quick shower. I feel sticky everywhere... John--I stink like your semen," she said. Her tone was stern, stoic, and strict.

I sighed as Irene left. A long day ahead. The whole ordeal was natural, but it still played on my mind. To distract myself, I worked in her garden. That helped--until I watched Irene humming as she hung a load of washing on the clothesline. The sheets I'd stained. The clothes we had been wearing. A reminder hammered in. I was a degenerate. This awkward situation made me rearrange myself in my work shorts.

As the afternoon wore on, Irene brought me a lemonade to cool off. I sat down to hide my boner. Just the sight of her had me throbbing. She sat across from me and took a sip of her drink.

"My, my, you've been a busy boy." She saw the problem in my pants. I looked down to my lap and blushed.

My eyes scanned her crotch. She wore a short dress that had drifted up her thighs. Her pantyless sex revealed. Her pubic hair was light gray, wispy--hairy enough to hide her entrance. Entranced, I couldn't look away. I wondered what her pussy hair felt like. I daydreamed about her juices beaded on her old bush. I wanted to feast on Irene's womanly scent.

Please, Irene, won't you cum on my fucking face and cover me in your pussy juice? The unhinged aspirations of a touch-deprived and depraved young man.

"See something you like?" she asked, lowering herself to catch my gaze. I'd been caught out. I squirmed in my seat while my stiff member dribbled out disgrace.

I had been humiliated constantly of late. My blood pulsed. I felt primitive. I wanted to use her body like an animal. I wanted to take her and defile her.

I never knew where I stood with her... but she kept a part of me standing for attention. Proud but not proud. Mixed up inside. My vision dazed.

"Ahem. Someone might want to cool off before we eat and get some rest? Hmm?" Irene patronized.

She fanned out her dress and crossed her legs. She no longer flashed me. I took a big breath and finished my lemonade. Here I was, perving on her while she was trying to keep cool. I imagined it felt nice--the air cooling her privates and sweaty bare skin under her dress.

Another shower, another meal, and I headed to Irene's bed. I tried to get there first this time to hide my engorgement. I couldn't even jerk off in the shower--it would have been too obvious. I needed to nut, but I couldn't relieve myself.

Try not to think about Irene's pussy, John.

I missed my chance to get to bed first and walked in with frustration and swelling. I practically exposed myself to her again--a wet spot on my underwear. Irene didn't make a deal of it; she glanced nonchalantly. It was like she was checking in on me rather than checking me out--she must've thought I had a problem.

She wouldn't have been wrong. Was there something wrong with me?

I slipped into bed. She smelled like soap and lavender. Clean. Her aroma was amazing; I felt my senses melting as she rolled over. I thought about what she was wearing under the sheets. I wanted to spoon her.

Trust me, I wanted to push my stiffened cock against her. If only I was more courageous. I didn't dare push my luck.

She moved in her sleep. I could feel her massive tits on my back--skin to skin.

Fuck. She wasn't wearing a top.

Her hand wrapped around me over the sheets. It stirred me so much I couldn't sleep. A soothing metronome of snoring filled my ear. My nerves relaxed to the hypnotic rhythm. My breath slowed and finally I received peaceful rest.

"Again!? REALLY? Come on, John!" she shrieked. I jolted awake.

Uh oh... I'd done it again.

"What kind of man does this TWICE?" Her words made me tear up.

This was bad.

It felt way worse than the night before. So much cum. Disgustingly squishy. I was soaked; Irene was soaked. We must've swapped positions in our sleep because I'd drenched her panties. We squelched as we moved.

"Oh my God! You little devil! It's gotten into everything!"

Irene jumped out of bed, topless, her massive tits drooping on display. She exposed her hairy armpits. My morning wood twitched. She pulled her panties down right there in front of me. She was natural all over, including her legs.

My milk covered her--my seed had sprayed its way into her crack.

She rubbed her inner thighs--her bush taunted me. Irene scooped my cum off and out of her as best she could. She checked her crevices for my filth and brushed it away. I couldn't stop watching her. She gave me a disgusted look: disappointment, judgment.

Great. More embarrassment. Was I marking her subconsciously?

"John!" Irene exclaimed. "Should I be worried?" She pointed at the obscenity. I wasn't sure how annoyed she was. I stood up and stared at the carpet.

She moved toward me and pulled my underwear down in one motion. I was ashamed. My penis sprung out and hit her in the chin. I stared at the carpet--naked, abashed and aroused, all at once.

"Bad, bad John. Your... dick is causing us both some trouble." Her tutted words assertive and authoritative. I felt small and meek. I felt ridiculed and disgusting. I felt demeaned and just...confused.

"What is wrong--" Irene cut herself off. She giggled at my naked body, covered in my inability to control myself.

"I'm SORRY!" I cut in.

"Okay, okay, darling--don't stress." I had irritated her somewhat, but she took it in stride. She tried to de-escalate how horrible this was for me.

"I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry, Irene." I repeated. I couldn't apologize enough.

"I'm sorry I reacted. I'm just... I'm trying to understand why. It's a bit of a compliment but... dear oh dear, that's a lot of... well, you know. Do I need to put down a plastic sheet for you?" She grinned while I had sinned.

I looked down at her bush again. I flustered. She was standing right in front of me--my erection the only thing between us. It almost touched her navel. It overwhelmed me.

"Are you some kind of filthy pervert, John?" she spotted me and shielded her pussy with her hands. I looked up at her quizzically, incapable of thought.

She removed her hands slowly.

"Do... you"--she stepped closer, "want to put your little thing inside me, John?"

Drops of precum spilled onto the floor. I tried to look into her eyes but only sneaked glances at her tits--shameful and shameless at once. She noticed everything.

"It's okay, John. It's going to be okay." Irene hugged me--her soft skin against mine, our chests together. My penis poked into her.

"Do you need to handle that or something?" she asked, then patted my back and walked away. I felt emasculated--a man who couldn't handle himself. A man who cums as soon as a woman is beside him. A bed-wetter. A new low. My degradation.

I needed to get outside. Maybe doing a good job would fix this. I hoped she still respected me. My thoughts circled the wet dreams--the sheets again on the clothesline.

Just do something constructive, John.

Irene made beverages--a refreshing pineapple juice. She brought the glasses to the veranda and called my name.

"John! Why don't you come here?"

"Just a minute!" I answered, putting away my tools before sitting down with her.

"Have a drink, young man. I feel it's time for you to finish up for the day."

"Of course. I've got the bed ready, but it took a while. So many loads to do! And your little pecker isn't making it easy for me. Quite hard, actually!" Irene rubbed it in while she crossed her legs.

We had an early dinner and followed our routine to bed.

"John, I have been with a man before. I understand the needs of a man. Women aren't too different. Perhaps you could touch yourself before we sleep. I only have so much laundry detergent. Now understand--this isn't critique, it's just reality."

"I'm... embarrassed," I replied.

"John... the worst of it is already over. I've seen it--practically felt it. I've bathed in your fluids two nights in a row now. Just begin stroking. I really don't mind, dear. You'd be doing us both a favor."

I took a big breath and pulled the sheets back. I was shy.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

"Oh my God I'm so sorry--I should go somewhere private." I thought she meant here. I was flustered.

She laughed hysterically at me, "I'm kidding, sweetie--it's nothing I haven't seen before. I'm messing with you. Go ahead and stimulate your genitals."

"...But truthfully, John, I want to watch you jerk your cock for me. I need to be certain. Put me at ease with the knowledge there'll be no wet surprises tomorrow," she smiled wryly, lifting her aged eyebrows.

Was she putting on an act to aid me?

I pulled down my underpants. Slow. I watched her eyes widen on my manhood. I felt bashful--repulsed by my carnal needs even though it would make things easier.

"It's a very pretty cock, dear... It has been some time since I saw one...," her voice quavered.

I wanted to jerk it for her so badly. I needed to empty myself.

"We all masturbate, dear." She turned to her bedside drawer and grabbed a small pink vibrator.

I couldn't believe this was happening. That's the vibrator she puts in herself.

I held my cock beside her. She was right--we were way past modesty.

"Start slow, dear. Get all of it out and make sure you don't rush your load."

"Perhaps you need visual stimulation and assistance? I can help. I was once a nurse, dear... Trust me," Irene added.

She instructed me and rearranged herself. Irene sat cross-legged and nude above the sheets. Her big mound of pussy hair surprised me again.

"If it helps, you can look. Take big, slow strokes. Good. You've got a lot of tension built up. Best to get it all out."

"I've never done it that way. I typically rush rapidly the whole way through," I told her. Irene looked disappointed.

"Here. Just let me do it," she resigned. She moved over and brought the vibrator to my gooch. My sensitive region tickled--it was heaven. She pulled away my hand with her frail, wrinkly digits and gripped between my shaft and purple head. The pace felt natural. Her technique made my penis dribble. I was elated and complicit.

"Let's just get this over with," she said, tired and abrupt.

"I'm going to remove this vibrator and start stroking your anus, John. Then I'm going to milk your prostate while I masturbate your penis. You are going to cum, young man--at least we'll be awake through this one." I nodded in approval.

I bubbled more precum. Irene rubbed me up and down with it. She squirted lubricant on her finger and gently probed my bum. It felt odd--slick and cold. My eyes rolled back.

She teased my ring and stroked my cock clinically, confidently. It felt like a procedure more than intimacy. My whole body convulsed--electric.

It felt like a check-up with benefits. This old nurse knew what she was doing.

"Would you like me to use my mouth, John? I'd like to make certain you don't spurt on my bed."

I couldn't even answer.

"Of course you would, you little pervert," she said, watching my face as the tip of my cock entered her mouth. She approached this like a job--perfectly professional.

"Ooooooo," was all I could say.

"I'm just giving that thing a hole, John." She continued to bob up and down with her mouth. She winked as she salivated over me. Her spit polished me.

Her warm mouth swirled on my tip, her hand slid over my shaft while she fingered my ass. She worked me slow then fast--slow, then fast. She watched for cues. In no time I was close. She grabbed the vibrator and shoved it up me, then turned it on full.

She analyzed me. Her suction stopped for a moment. I was barely hanging on.

"You're close, aren't you, John? Not all patients get the mouth, John. You can cum in my slut mouth--just give me a heads up, okay?" Her mouth moved back over my cock as she plunged her instrument further into my sphincter. It rattled my insides. She deep-throated me while she held my sack.

An overload of the senses took me over quickly. My penis blasted down her throat and I buckled. I erupted continuously. Irene's eyes death-stared me as she took my load without warning. She had asked me one thing: tell her when I was cumming. She got most of it--few drops scattered.

She swallowed and cleaned me up, shaking her head as she wiped her mouth. I gulped with her, but in fear.

"You better hope none of it got on my sheets... Jesus. John, I asked for notice. You will learn to control that thing."

Emotionally, I was disappointed while euphoric. Irene tapped me twice on the leg.

"Hey, it's okay. There, there. You did real good." She turned over fast and buried her head in her pillow. I felt the afterglow before submerging into sleep.

The next morning brought odd feelings. No wet dreams, but I felt awkward at the breakfast table. Irene wasn't fazed. Memories replayed of that blowjob and how easy it was for her--how she swallowed my spewing cock.

"Are you thirsty, John?" Her fingers touched my shoulder--one of which had tickled my asshole last night. I had never had my prostate touched before.

"Um... yeah... sorry--yes," she preferred when I used my manners.

"Good. I'll get you a juice." Her stern voice sent a shiver up my spine.

I downed it fast and donned my work clothes. Today was a great day--cooler, clear. I was ready to get shit done.

I cleaned gutters that day; it was fire season, after all. Around midday I came inside for lunch. I misstepped and fell off the ladder. A great thud. The ground smacked my back. I was dizzied--battered. Irene ran to me; her summer hat flew in the wind as she rushed to my aid.

"Oh my gosh, John! Are you okay!?"

I tried to catch my breath and stand at once. She told me not to move so she could check for injuries.

I thought, shit, am I going to be okay?

"You silly man! Let's get you inside. Showered and resting. I don't see anything broken. Here, lean on me." I put my arm on her as she guided us back to the house.

Step by step we made it to the shower together. Irene aided me under the water. Her dress got wet as she scrubbed my body. I hardened the more she cleaned me with soap and water.

"Classic male," she quipped.

"Sorry," I replied.

"No, dear. We women just hide our arousal better," she added as she declothed and wrapped a towel around her.

She toweled me off and escorted me to the room, putting me to bed. The fresh linen and afternoon air felt lovely.

"Gentle, John. Don't lie awkwardly on your back. Let me take a closer look at the damage you've done to yourself."

I did everything she instructed. I tucked my dick downward and stayed still on my belly. The pain subsided but radiated slightly.

"This is why women live longer," Irene joked. Her fingertips prodded me. Goosebumps rose. She searched me for anything out of place. I felt safe. Looked after.

"Here?" she asked.

"No."

"Here?"

"No... but maybe lower." I winced.

Irene ran her leathery fingers over me and murmured near my ear that there was no damage.

"I think you're okay, you lucky duck! But you might need some loosening up!"

She was incredibly delicate. She started from my head and moved down. I closed my eyes and focused on her hands. I wanted her to touch me everywhere. She'd moved with precision. Irene handled me with concern and care while comforting me.

She massaged like a chiropractor. My knots melted. Pleasure replaced pain.

Each touch eased tension. By the time she reached my hips, my nerves tingled downward. She kneaded my buttocks gently. Relaxation swept me. I moaned in ecstasy. From there, she worked from my feet and calves up my inner thighs... all the way up.

Every so often she brushed my delicate areas--my scrotum, the inside of my butt cheeks, the underside of my hardness.

"Are you feeling better, dear?"

I was euphoric. She'd made me forget about the ladder.

"Turn over, darling." I tingled at her words.

As I turned, my cock bounced side to side. Irene gasped audibly. I had forgotten she was nearly naked--her towel had slipped around her torso.

"Let me rub your chest," she deadpanned.

I closed my eyes to avoid embarrassment. Her fingertips traced my chest. My dick stood straight toward the ceiling.

"I understand, John," she said, disregarding my hardened length.

Drool pooled on the pillow and down my leg from my penis. Irene spread my legs to work the inside of my thighs with her magical hands.