Morning Wood
Mister Coffee
Mornings used to be rough. Your clock-radio would jolt you awake at the most inopportune time, and then you'd reach over and smash a palm against the snooze button and enjoy nine more minutes of slumber before the cycle repeated. Usually, by the second cycle you'd be alert enough to attend to your morning wood, and then it was just a race against the limits of your bladder.
Now that you're in Equestria, things have changed.
For starters, you don't have hands to smack the snooze button with, or to deal with your morning wood. That's a downside; on a more positive note, you don't have an alarm clock, either, which leaves you with only one problem.
The best thing about Equestria is that all the ponies are naked, pretty much all the time. Whenever you're curious, you just have to find some excuse to walk behind a mare for a little bit, and you can get your fill. It's kind of frustrating that none of them have showed any interest in you—yet—but that's only a matter of time. You're just working on the right pickup lines, and practicing holding your liquor long enough to actually ask a mare out. Unfortunately, getting turned into a pony did nothing to cure your social anxiety.
You roll on your belly, feeling your hard shaft pressing against your stomach. Squirming your hips sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, serving as a warmup. The tenseness of your bladder adds to the sensation as you smack your lips and thrust into the mattress.
Once you're sure you're good and hard, you wiggle out from under the covers, still keeping your belly down. It's a little chilly in your room, and you don't want any shrinkage. Without hands, squeezing and stroking isn’t an option..
You run through a mental roll of masturbatory material. There's so much, it's actually a bit hard to choose. Sideways looks at Rarity's perfect pink pussy as she walked to the library. Cheerilee unconsciously lifting her tail when Big Mac kissed her. Berry Punch splayed out on her back on a park bench, passed-out drunk. Why, just yesterday, you'd waited in line behind Zecora at a market stall, and the little wrap thing she wears on her tail ensured you got a good look at the dark, exotic vagina right in front of your face. You'd been mesmerized by its movements as she shifted her weight from hoof to hoof, and could have watched for hours if you hadn't felt a familiar stirring in your loins. You had to look away; you didn't want the ponies to think you were some kind of pervert.
You focus your mind on Zecora as you roll over. This next part's a bit tricky, and it doesn't always work quite right.
You slide your rump up against the wall, walking yourself back with your shoulders until your hindquarters are just a little ways in the air. Your eyes are closed right now, picturing those dark brown lips flexing every time Zecora moved her hind legs.
You lean your head towards you belly, and a familiar scent fills your nostrils. It's you—it's horny you. You breathe in deeply, taking in the smell of yourself, and mentally mingling it with the scent-memory of Zecora. As you lean your hips and head towards each other, you imagine yourself mounting her, and as your lips touch your head, you imagine her damp netherlips engulfing your shaft.
The first time was weird. It had begun as morbid curiosity, and morphed into a mixture of pleasure and shame as you climaxed, wanting to spit but not wanting to end the sensation. Now that you're used to it, you don't really have to concentrate as hard on your motions as you work your hips and tongue in tandem. That’s a good thing; it leaves your imagination free.
You roll your tongue around the underside of your cock as you purse your lips around your shaft. In your mind, you're deep inside the zebra, your hooves wrapped around her barrel, and your lips locked in a passionate embrace.
Almost of its own volition, your left hoof moves to your shaft, lightly rubbing the mottled surface. You moan around the horsecock in your mouth as you brush the crook of your leg across your medial ring.
You begin to pick up a familiar rhythm, working your hoof and tongue in tandem. Every touch against the sensitive flesh causes a muffled moan.
Some mornings, you just can't get in the mood and you go flaccid before you're done, but you can already tell by the pleasure-pressure building in your belly that this won't be one of those mornings. You redouble your efforts, slurping and stroking to the thought of Zecora's toned ass slamming into your groin as you fuck her.
You know your body well enough by now to know when it's coming, and you shift your weight to make sure you're stable. The last thing you want to do is fall over and take a cumshot to the eye again. It hurts like hell, and it throws off your whole morning grooming schedule when you have to get it out of your coat.
That’s not the only reason you keep your eyes tightly closed—you'd already decided that having them open was too gay.
Your final thrust is almost to your uvula, and then you pull back slightly as the first rope of cum hits your mouth. You squeeze your dick tightly against your belly as your cock spurts again, releasing another hot and bitter load into you.
A third and fourth follow, and then it's over. You make a face and swallow, then lick the tip of your dick clean, getting the very last traces of semen.
You let your flare pop out of your mouth, and your fading erection slaps against your chest. Without any fanfare, you roll back onto your stomach, then tumble out of bed.
Your half-hard dick swings pendulum-like between your hind legs as you walk to the bathroom, ready to face a new day. You’d overheard Daisy saying she was going to planting flowers in the town park, and you’re willing to bet that will involve a lot of tail-high bending over. Probably enough to get you off to a good start tomorrow.
