A Day In The Life Penis Penisovich

With apologies to Alexander Solzhenitsyn...

I woke up hard again that morning, as usual. It was the early aughts, maybe 2001, so I was a bit younger and more vigorous then. I belong, or at least am attached to, Richard, or 'the Yutz' as I half-affectionately call him.

We're Russian Jews originally, now living on the outskirts of London, and his given name was Rostislav. Yes, I am quite aware of the nickname often assigned to the Christian name 'Richard' in the English speaking world; I have been reminded of it countless times, and any humor attached to this little wordplay wore thin many years ago.

My own name comes as a result of my overwhelming identification with the Universal Penis or Ubiquitous Penis or Pantheistic Phallus, however you want to characterise the concept, and if you check around, I think you will find we penises are far more governed by universal principles, first causes, and instincts than any strictly local cultural influences contributed by our owners.

The Yutz hadn't had too much to drink last night, which always helps. On two accounts. One, when he has had one too many beers it tends to make me groggy, even the next morning, and getting hard isn't the normal reaction to a new day that it ought to be.

That and a full bladder means I must of necessity urgently dump all that residual beer out first thing on awakening, or else. Plus all that bladder back-pressure makes me cranky and out of sorts.

But then I remembered, he'd brought someone home last night too. And guess what! She was still there, right next to me. Sure enough, he had slept all spoony with her last night, his arms around her and a hand on her right breast, and here I was, past daybreak, hard and nestled up between her delicious little arse cheeks. Well, they weren't that little, but the delicious part was spot on. Ooh, she had given me a good invigorating ride last night too, how could I forget?

Richard had met her at a local in Hounslow. He'll tell you it was the way she looked at him or how smart or charming she was or something like that, and it was true she had a cute little dimpled smile even before he bought her a second pint, but I know better.

It was the way her braless boobs moved around inside that silly little tank top she was wearing.

Within the first sentence of conversation I was just like your regular fox hound, dying to get a good sniff of her crotch. She did have long enchantingly wavy blonde hair and lovely bare shoulders, I grant you.

The longer they talked, the more he kept trying not to stare at her sultry insistent nipples. I calculated the odds of some serious adventures were in order.

I kept getting these frantic, hormonally infused brain messages from the Yutz, and I was pressing fierce hard against my knickers by the time he had shepherded her into the Mini and back to our place. Luckily for me, they wasted no time, it was clothes off, into the sack, and then there was her sweet supple mouth taking me to town.

I had a feeling from the way she was moving her tongue around that I wasn't the first prick to make her acquaintance, but that has never bothered me. She was good, in no hurry, but still she had me panting quickly.

She knew enough not to spend too much time early on giving me the old French kiss right on my spermvent, and I was thrilled when she went to work on my mates down south. She tickled both testicles into her mouth and gave them a good workout. Nothing I like better than priming the pump.

She'd kiss them, nuzzle up against their soft excited ballsack, roll them around in her mouth, suckle them like the Yutz would savor a Sussex ale, and before I knew it I was absolutely quivering with desire.

Even after her mouth had made its way back to my engorged mug, she kept running her fingers along my nuts, feeling my arse, rubbing my perineum, sending me into little paroxysms of pleasure.

But the way she tickled me with her tongue was something special, running the soft, wet edges all around my head and then down the shaft one side and up the other.

I was figuring to be erupting down her throat plenty soon, but the Yutz had other ideas. Lots of times that's fine, especially if it means I get to stay hard and excited a little longer.

He returned the favor and knelt down at her crotch to give her a good little going over with his own tongue.

My head was nodding, heavy and most uncomfortable, but I don't mind hearing a women start to feel pleasure. She was a mover too, and was squirming around under his mouth. Much more quickly than most, her legs were all tensed up, she was heaving away and I heard her sharp little yelps of pleasure echo around the room.

'Course all of this made me rock hard, and I started telling the Yutz he better attend to me pretty soon or he was going to have a mess to clean up somewhere else than where he wanted.

But Richard's no dummy (well, that's not true, but he's the only owner I got, and you might as well go with what you brung) and after her hips had stopped pulsating, he'd gone and plunged me into the now soppy and inviting avenue I so knew and loved, at least in the universal sense.

Now, you probably already know this, but there are no two cunts alike. She was a tight one, with a great texture.

Nice thicket of curly hair, darker than her head hair, tickling around my base. Nice smooth-slide sides to her aperture, none of that granular feel some of these fast-heave wenches have, and the Yutz was pushing hard right from the start. Again I thought we were in for a fast eruption until the wench took the initiative and swiveled their positions around, so she was the one on top.

Now, I tell you, I got mixed feelings about this. On one hand, there is nothing like being the piston in a well oiled engine. I love that feeling of ploughing up and down an eager welcoming cunt, in and out, in control, feeling a good head of steam coming and then escape velocity with the blast and the tach redlined. And that works perfectly when you are on top.

On the other hand, when the wench is in charge, things usually take a little longer, and someone with some talent can make the most captivating little movements that seem to coax out a bigger semen load from my mouth.

She turned out to be in the latter category. With Richard on the bottom, she controlled the tempo, and began a slow little figure-eight motion to her hips that was just divine. The Yutz was busy fondling her nipples and kept trying to hump her from underneath, but I was fine with just having her cunt muscles massage me over with those python-like, lascivious oscillations.

Sometimes she would just sit on him, looking down at his face, while she slowly glided back and forth, not a lot, but just enough to keep some arousing friction going.

She had a chest about at the limit that most women would consider acceptable for going braless, nice soft curves with the starboard one a little larger and sloping off to the side enticingly. Then she would lie full out on top of him, her boobs squashed onto his chest, until he had his hands around her ample arse, and he tried to up the ante a bit by pulling hard on her cheeks, spreading them apart and making her anus open.

Well, there was nothing wrong with this, and as the movements got faster and more frenzied, I felt her cunt muscles, oh and they were good, strong, supple ones, start gripping me something fierce.

I'd been ready for a couple hours, and this was no time to let back. I felt the old sperm pressure building up to crisis proportions and then the Yutz started giving me the 'go' sign. His pelvis started heaving with authority and out I gushed, a good half-dozen strong sperm deposits into this delectable little cunt.

She kept clipping me with a strong grip, squeezing the last bit of semen out of me, until I was wrung out and wasted, just the way I like it. I don't even remember Richard taking me to the loo to piss before retiring, and didn't surface to consciousness until this morning, when I found myself nestled up against her arse.

She stirred and I took the opportunity to insinuate myself a little further in between her cheeks. This must have woken her a little more, because I felt her reach around with her hand and check my vital signs, so to speak.

She didn't seem disappointed with what she found, and in fact squeezed her cheeks on me and moved her arse up and down in a most appealing way. Any wench who is ready to play with me first thing in the morning is okay in my book.

After a few minutes of this she turned around to face the Yutz. They murmured a little of those early morning wake-up noises these humans seem to like to do, but more importantly, I felt her fingers running up and down my shaft.

There was some talk about the day, something about breakfast and staying another night and her saving herself for later, but I couldn't have cared less. Her soft little fingers had been desultorily playing me and I was in no mood to think very seriously about anything else.

The Yutz, after a lingering kiss, got up to piss, which I didn't exactly help out with since I was erect enough to pose some problems in that department. It took a couple minutes for me to relax and dangle down enough for him to let the sluice gate loose.

She then took her turn at the WC, while he stoked himself out on his back in the bed, trying to look as manly as possible. Since he hadn't pulled on his clothes, I was hoping there might be some excitement coming, a stirring thought.

I cooperated by edging up on his belly, a millimeter of arousal at a time, until I was laid out pretty close to full length, my nose almost to his navel, bollocks churning away in anticipation. She returned, noticed the scene, and sat down next to him for a kiss, while her hands drifted over to me again.

The gentle fingers went real lightly over me, sometimes she even used the back of them to rub me for a smooth little caress. She seemed to know my kind pretty well, and it has always puzzled me how many women really don't know the best ways to handle a prick with their fingers.

Fucking is fine, and comes natural to almost everyone, and a good tongue is not uncommon, but a talented and inventive pair of female hands is on the rare side.

But she spent some time with my testicles, cupping, squeezing, caressing them and basically telling them they were the best, most favoured bollocks in the world, all the while grazing my shaft with her fingers. When I started leaking some expectant fluid out, she gently smeared it around my head, most lovingly I thought. Then, a bit suddenly, she spat into each of her hands, and began to stroke me, a little more purposefully now.

The lubrication changed everything, and she used a few different ways to start my nerve endings firing. Sometimes she would cup my balls, and use one hand up and down my shaft. Then she would use two hands, one at the top, another down lower, and then made a curious little rotating movement with the top hand on my mug. This last one was nice, and she would stop to pull on my glans with her fingertips making sure to make good contact under my prickhead.

The Yutz had closed his eyes at this point, and his legs were stretched out stiff as a pair of boards. I knew what was up, and the wench started stroking me with energy.

A few fast hard pulls, a few softer pulls, rubbing my ballsack, pulling on the head. My balls were bursting and I felt the surge.

Up, deep within me, the pressure built and then, 'thar' she blows!' I tightened and shot, and damn if she didn't try to squirt the Yutz in the eye! I almost sent my payload up that far, up past his erect nipples with the second and third spurts, then a decreasing distance with each subsequent spurt, until I leaked out my last drops onto his groin thicket in a good puddle.

She finished me beautiful nice, with slow, graceful pulls on my prickhead, the last drop coaxed out to dribble down my shaft. I liked the smile on her face, too, not quite triumphant, but pleased. I could get used to this woman. She even did a nice job of clean-up, getting a towel and wiping off the Yutz's torso. Big satisfied smile the whole time.

After breakfast, since it was a sunny, warm Saturday morning, we took a stroll through town while they chatted. Lunch was a picnic on the town green.

I had been hard off and on that whole morning, probably a little less so than usual on account of erupting twice in the last twelve hours, but on the other hand, the Yutz had been looking hungrily at the wench one way or another the whole time too, which always piqued my own interest, and served as counterpoint to whatever fatigue I might have felt.

The Yutz had a game on with his mates that afternoon and the wench ended up being free to watch. The pitch was to the south of town, and not too far from the Yutz's place. He kept his shin guards and kit at the gym next to the pitch.

This whole football thing is one of my least favorite activities, although the Yutz seems to enjoy it enough. The indignity of being stuffed into a jockstrap and trotted around a grassy pitch is frightful.

I know, the stretchy cloth thing is supposed to bundle me up and save me, and I do remember one pickup game in civilian clothes without a jock when the Yutz had been too slow to move into a proper defensive position.

The ball came fast and hard and caught me right square on my nose, and damn if it didn't hurt, so I know the theory behind wearing them and all, but getting smashed together with bollocks and then sweating like a fiend for a couple hours while the Yutz is racing his heart out on some stupid ball game, well, you can have it.

If I had it my way, I'd be stretched out naked and erect on some tropical beach while topless women waltzed by, or at least dozing knickerless before a nice fire with some close companionship at hand, but I don't get to make those decisions.

The Yutz's local team was named Arsenal, after the big dogs of the sport I guess, and of course they immediately got nicknamed 'the Arsies'. The team wasn't much good but he liked playing well enough. A couple of the mates were fair, and the Yutz shared a pint or two with a few of them on occasion. One tall winger, a fellow Jewish chap named Max, had an easy manner and a quick wit, and was usually good for the first round.

Finally a shower, after a 3-1 loss, and I could finally stretch out and feel a little better. I will say that I never mind a shower room either, most of us penises don't.

Our owners are usually checking out each other's pricks, and getting soaped up with some warm water and cleaned up for whatever is next in the day is fair business.

It is fun to see the different pricks, the short and the long, the danglers, the skinny and fat ones, the ones that drift port or starboard, they are all over the map. Max, being Jewish like me, was circumcised and had a big heavy prickhead I could never keep my eyes off.

I never actually saw him take his jockstrap off, but his prick, being so cooped up, must have always sprung out with a vengeance, and always seemed permanently half erect, sticking out around forty five degrees and wagging in the breeze every time he was changing.

Watching Max get dressed and put his kit away was always a treat, the way the big old knob swung around. One time Max had reached up into his locker and James, sitting on the bench tying his shoes, almost got hit in the face with Max's prickhead when he swung around after gathering his clothes.

'Hey, get that thing out of my face' he said and we all laughed. The goalkeeper Paul had nice big hanging balls, which were always a treat to ogle.

I have never been a size guy. I'm middle of the pack length-wise, and thicker I'll wager than most. Given a choice I'd rather be fat than long, so you could always be feeling the insides of a cunt, whereas being too long might bang into too much real estate at the end of a stroke and some girls don't fancy a prickhead barging into their tonsils.

I figure as long as I can spurt semen in the right place at the right time that's good enough. Looking at Paul made me think that it must be nice to have some big hangers though.

I always wondered if having a big set meant you produced more sperm, like having the Amazon spouting out of your mouth rather than the Thames, but I suppose speculating on that is a waste of my time.

All cleaned up, the Yutz met up with the wench, who'd watched the whole show and said all the right things about the game and how he had played with spirit and enthusiasm, and how handsome and thick his thighs were and all that, and he took us out to the local for dinner.

I was a little worried the Yutz would overindulge in the ale department, but he had enough sense to limit himself to a couple pints. This was enough to loosen his tongue and keep the wench amused without getting too, ah, exuberant, as he was prone to do.

As they talked over dinner I was getting more and more anxious for the rest of the evening to get underway. At one point he had her laughing over some witticism and she leaned forward, her chest resting on the table and her boobs compressing themselves on the flat surface something lovely.

I could feel the little jolt of electricity that the Yutz sent me on that sight. Before paying up, the Yutz slid over next to her on the wall bench she had been sitting at and gave her neck a little kiss. She reached down and stroked me once through his knickers, and I sat upright with a bolt. Hey Yutz! Let's get home already!

First times with someone can be nice enough, but seconds are almost always better. They were much less in a hurry tonight, and I think the anticipation and the realization that there really was all evening made everything go smooth and sultry.

But relieved after pissing the leftover ale out, letting the wench go first of course, we went back in to the bedroom and the wench had sprawled herself out naked on the bed most fetchingly.

He knelt down next to her and nuzzled her breasts, one at a time. She had reached out and was holding me, real soft, and stroking my bollocks. Then, and it surprised me a little since he almost never did this, he started licking her armpits.

She didn't shave there, and had silky soft down, which now that I thought about it, must have smelled really nice to him. This apparently was not a bad thing to do, as she seemed to enjoy this attention as her fingers kept playing over me.

After a little while she guided him onto her chest, so he was straddling her torso, knees on each side of her. The Yutz liked this, as I well knew, and he proceeded to push me up and down her handsome chest, along the furrow between her soft compliant breasts, and gliding about.

She extended her tongue, and gave me a little lick every time I got near her mouth, which was heavenly. But the Yutz knew I wouldn't be able to stand much of this sort of attention, so he lowered himself down to her crotch, and began to tease her with his tongue again the way he had done the night before.

He nuzzled her mons, and the smell was making its way home, as I began twitching with anticipation, just from her own pleasure. He slid his tongue up and down her lips, making them happy and wet, and flicked his tongue tip over her hard little love nub at the top of her notch.

In less of a hurry than the night before, he took fifteen or twenty minutes to give her a good going over, and she came twice within a few minutes at the end, the first pelvis movements very hard and rhythmic, the second a little softer, and not so long. He rested his mouth on her lips for awhile, letting his tongue slide up her well lubricated avenue, and she gently pulled him up onto her, and guided me into position.

There is only one thing in life better than penetration, as you likely know, but the feelings tonight of easing my way up her cunt were quite literally breathtaking. The Yutz gave a little sigh as I slid my way up, until I was buried to the hilt.