“Axom, honey, it’s time to wake up.”
Axom groaned softly and pulled the blanket over his head. From the other side of the room he heard the morning crew from FM 105.9 carrying on about the latest faux pas of the vice president. They were quite amused with themselves, as they usually were, even at 6:35 in the morning. Axom knew it was that time even without looking at the clock because his alarm was set for 6:30, and his mother always let it play for exactly five minutes before she knocked lightly on the door and announced it was time to get up. This had been their routine since he entered junior high school four years ago and became, as she put it, a “big boy.”
“Pulling the covers over your head won’t make the alarm shut off, sweetheart,” his mother chided from the other side of the door. “Come on, now. Get up.”
He pulled the blanket down and blinked rapidly as the morning sunlight splashed across his face. He took a deep breath and smiled.
“Is that pancakes I smell?” he asked loudly.
“No!” his mother yelled, and slapped the dishtowel across his closed door. “It’s stuffed French toast. You know, your favorite.”
Axom covered his mouth and giggled into it. He loved getting his mom riled up like this first thing in the morning. “Really? I could swear I smell pancakes.”
“Honestly, I don’t know why I bother. And how you can smell anything other than the sausage and coffee, I will never know.”
He yawned and kicked the blankets onto the floor. When he stretched his body across the bed, his cock bounced across his stomach, turning a darker shade of red each passing second and demanding attention. He heard his mom’s footsteps descending the stairs several feet from his door, and reached down and took the hard shaft in his hand and squeezed it.
Axom moaned softly as tingling bolts of pleasure shot up his torso. He bit his lower lip to keep from being too loud, and slid his hand slowly up and down the length of his dick.
He’d overheard enough conversations in the locker room to know that his situation wasn’t unique. Apparently, every sixteen-year-old boy woke up with a raging boner every morning, and also had to take care of them a couple times throughout the day while at school. Though his classmates were notorious for their exaggerated tales of sexual and romantic conquests—as well as their athletic prowess—he was certain that their boisterous accounts of morning wood were true. And he’d seen enough of them in the boys’ rooms between classes to know that they weren’t lying about their afternoon responsibilities, either.
Still, he was sure that none of them felt what he did every morning. It couldn’t feel as good to his friends as it did with him. It was inevitable to see everyone else’s dick in the locker room after practice. Though they were all still growing, Axom had a sizable advantage over all of his own classmates, and even over most of the juniors and seniors he’d seen naked. When fully soft his cock swung almost five inches below his waist, and the thick vein that ran the length of the shaft always kept it thick and on the verge of being hard. He commanded an undeniable respect from everyone at his school, and though everyone pretended it was because he was the co-captain of the football team and one of the most popular guys in school, the envious way they looked at him in the locker room told him otherwise.
He spit into his hand and then slid it up and down the length of his dick. With his free hand he clutched the sheets and bit his lip again as his body writhed beneath him. The giant vein running along the top of the shaft throbbed against his palm, and Axom thought he could actually feel the blood flowing through it and filling his cock to full capacity. When he squeezed the big dick, a large drop of precum oozed from the head and slid down the pole.
The smell of French toast wafted past his nostrils again, and his stomach growled.
It never took him more than a couple of minutes to blow his load, and he was close already. And hungry. He reached down with his free hand and squeezed his balls gently as he tugged on his cock. His knees began to shake first, and then he felt his entire body begin to quiver. His ball sack recoiled tight against the base of his cock, and he felt the load push from his nuts.
“Oh, God,” he whimpered, and quickly removed his hand from his dick.
The first three shots flew past his face and landed on the headboard behind him. Several more landed on his face, even as he tried to turn his head to miss them. The last couple fell onto his chest and stomach as he wiped at the jizz on his face and tried to catch his breath. He looked down at his slowly deflating cock and prayed that he wouldn’t need to take care of it again before lunch.
“I don’t hear the shower running,” his mother yelled from the kitchen below. “Breakfast is almost ready. And don’t forget, you told Pastor James that you’d help serve communion this Sunday.”
“Down in five,” Axom yelled as he bounded out of bed and trotted into the bathroom.
“Please, class,” Mrs. Rasmussen said with a heavy sigh. “We’ve got a lot to cover this morning, and we’re never gonna get through it all if you don’t settle down.”
Half of the class wasn’t listening to her at all, and the other half took turns distracting her and then throwing wads of paper at her when she wasn’t looking right at them.
She was only three months from retirement, and the elderly teacher had lost the will to fight and try to control her classes long ago. Now she just did her best to ride out the outbursts and keep the class under enough control to prevent an outright riot.
“Axom?” she pleaded as she looked over her cat’s-eye glasses and sat heavily in her chair.
The class groaned in unison for a couple of seconds, but when Axom stood up, everyone quieted down instantly. Several of them looked down at their desks and appeared to be at least somewhat ashamed of their behavior. Others looked directly at him with a mix of awe and admiration.
“Come on, guys, settle down,” Axom said with the smile that he knew would quiet them without questions. “I’m sure we all wanna get out of here on time, and we can’t do that if we don’t pay attention. And”—he looked over at his teacher and winked—“Mrs. Rasmussen has worked really hard to try and teach us something over the years to make sure we aren’t completely ignorant. She deserves a little respect, don’t you think?”
He sat back down and winked at Mrs. Rasmussen as he heard everyone behind and next to him opening their books. The corner of her mouth curled just the slightest bit, and she pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. Apparently, the “lots to cover” his teacher was referring to was calm, cool, and collected—and presentable—though for whom he wasn’t sure. She spent the next twenty minutes fussing with her ash gray hair, smoothing out the wrinkles across her blouse, taking deep breaths, and exclaiming, “Oh, my” every couple of minutes.
No one in the class expected to learn anything new the last three months of her class. Certainly not Axom, who’d had to remind her several times over the past year that she was teaching economics and not Spanish, which she not only had never taught but barely spoke or understood. The bell rang, and the class, with the exception of Axom, jumped up in unison and bolted out the door. He took his time gathering his books and placing them carefully in his backpack.
“You okay, Mrs. R?” he asked as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked over to her desk.
“Sí, estoy bien,” she mumbled almost unintelligibly as she hoisted herself up from her chair.
Axom smiled compassionately, and leaned over to kiss his teacher on the cheek. “I’ve really learned a lot from you, Mrs. R,” he said softly. “You’re a wonderful teacher.”
“Oh,