I left his office in worse shape than when I arrived. My wife took one look at me and hugged me and told me to go to bed. I could barely move my legs enough to get me to the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee, but I stumbled to the bedroom shedding my clothes and dropping into bed.
My cock had finally subsided a little, but now, in bed, alone, it took on a life of its own again. I tried to ignore my erection, to put it out of my mind, to will it to soften, but nothing worked. I'd never thought about an erection as a bad thing before, but now it was almost like I was scared of it and it was in charge of me.
At last I mentally surrendered my reluctance and rationalized that maybe if I stroked one out I'd fall asleep. I ran my hand down my chest and put it on top of my cock through my boxers. It felt so hard, so powerful. I had to again credit Erin, somehow, as I hadn't been this hard since I was much, much younger.
And once I thought of his name, I couldn't get him out of my mind. I saw him standing tall in our session and his body and cock through his professional clothes. I saw myself in front of him as he put his hands on my head and guided me on to his hard cock.
Wait, where the hell did that come from, a part of me asked, but it was too late, as the image of Erin and his cock flooded my mind and my hand stroked my cock through my boxers so quickly. The friction soon got to me and I spurted and pulsed and shot.
Exhausted, I quickly fell into the deepest sleep I had in months.
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