It’s early morning in the hotel bathroom. I’ve just had my first piss, that waking up hardness still lingering as my cock slowly calms down. Just me, stark naked, stood in front of the mirror, breathing slow, heavy, and present. The lighting’s soft but honest — nothing polished, just real-life arousal settling into something heavier, thicker, and more demanding. My cock’s in that perfect in-between state. It’s not fully hard, not completely soft — just hanging thick with attitude. Veins showing through the skin, foreskin covering the bellend like it’s hiding something special. And it is. That bellend’s the fucking prize, but I’m not giving it up yet. I’m just letting you stare. Letting you wish. Then I start to slap it against the edge of the sink. Not for show, this is for you. Maybe you’re imagining it’s your face. Maybe your arsehole. Your tits. Your pussy. Your cock. Your balls. Whatever part of you needs to be used. I’ll let you decide. I just keep going, slow and deliberate. Each smack echoes off the tiles. The sound is addictive. The rhythm? Personal. This isn’t for everyone — this is for the ones who get it. The foreskin moves slightly with every hit, but never fully reveals what’s beneath. That’s the tease. You want to see the head, I know. But you haven’t earned it yet. Right now, all you get is weight. Presence. That calm, post-morning piss confidence. That natural meat swinging under its own weight, thick and veiny, ready but unrushed. You’ll feel like you’re right there, watching, waiting, and maybe even hoping it lands on you next. Every slap tells a different story. One of dominance, control, worship, and the kind of filth that doesn’t need to scream to be heard. This is just a man, a cock, and a morning ritual that drips with power. And you? Watching, wanting, and wishing you could take the slap next.