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With a click of the lock, Luther barged into his apartment. The wood always swelled up this time of year, making the door stick. It was a pain in the ass, but what could he do about it? With a sigh, the brown bat tossed his keys into the little dish on the table. He followed through by unceremoniously dropping the duffel bag he took to and from work onto the nearby dining chair.

Luther paused to stretch. There was a kink in his back that felt like his spine was tied in a knot. He had hoped he could get it to pop, but no such luck. So defeated, he padded over to the fridge and pulled the door open. He stared into it for a few seconds before reaching inside to dig out the leftover box of Chinese food from when he'd gone out last Tuesday. A quick smell test suggested that it was still good to eat.

Bumping the fridge closed with his elbow, the bat made his way over to the beat-up recliner that served as his usual after-work resting place. He set the paper food box on the TV table beside it, then took a moment to unfasten the first few buttons of his work shirt. "Professionalism," is what they called it. They could call it whatever they wanted, but Luther called sitting in a cubicle for eight to ten hours a day wearing a tight dress shirt and slacks "hellish." It was boring, it was repetitive, and it's not what he saw himself doing with his life; but the important thing was, it kept him fed and housed.

Luther kicked back the recliner and groped for the remote. Upon finding it, he flicked the television on and dug into his noodles. He wasn't really paying attention to what was on - some "true crime" shit from the sound of it. It just helped to have a little bit of background noise.

This had been his routine for almost a year now. Wake up, go to work, come home, crash on the recliner and watch TV before going to sleep. Sure, he had the weekends off, but he really didn't do much in that time besides browse the internet and jack off. Not the most glamorous of lives, he supposed, but it was tolerable. There were plenty of folks out there in far worse situations than him.

Luther scraped the last few strands of lo mein out of the stained bottom of the carton, then set it back down and idly stared at the screen. Grunting in boredom, he clicked the remote again to turn the TV off. Now in darkness and silence, he took a moment to scratch the ginger curls atop his head. Nothing good on TV, still a little too early to go to bed, and Luther wasn't feeling up to any more self-reflection. What else was there to do but...

The bat felt a familiar twinge between his legs. He couldn't help but smile in amusement. Of course jerking off would be the fallback when there was nothing else left to do. Usually he was too exhausted to even consider it, but if the rapidly growing bulge along the inner thigh of his slacks was any indication, he certainly was in the mood tonight! He reached down and unbuckled his belt. Pulling open his fly, he decided he might as well remove them entirely. After kicking off his shoes, he slid his slacks off and let them land in a heap in front of his recliner.

Luther looked down at the massive member filling the left leg of his boxer shorts. If there was one thing the bat had going for him in his overall mediocre life, it was the fact that he was ridiculously hung. His cock was almost long enough to peek out the hem of his boxers, but not quite. He reached into his waistband to pull his shaft free before it became too stiff for complex maneuvers. He then folded the waistband under his equally impressive nutsack. His balls were heavy and plump, in delicious proportion with his length.

"Okay..." Luther muttered to nobody in particular. He gripped his cock in his hand, feeling it rise to attention little by little. His foreskin unbunched and pulled back from his flaring glans. It didn't take him very long to get to full mast, which was unusual. A length this big usually took some time to fill out entirely. Then again, it had been a couple of days since he'd had the time or the energy to pleasure himself, so he was probably pent up. That also probably explained why he'd gotten a boner without encouragement.

With all eleven inches of his above average dick at attention and ready to go, the bat slowly and languidly stroked from the base all the way to the tip, then back down again. He murmured softly in pleasure. When you lived in an apartment block with paper-thin walls, you learned to keep your voice down, especially when doing naughty things. He picked up the pace a little; his cock rewarded him by drooling a large dollop of precum onto his fingers. His glans soon glistened with moisture as his foreskin was pulled forward and back over it.

"Mmmmnnnh," sighed Luther. It really had been a long time since he'd been able to enjoy himself like this. The room was quickly filled with the soft, wet squishing sound of his fingers smearing his pre down the underside of his member. That was another thing that Luther took perverse pride in - that his cock was as productive as it was large.

It wouldn't be long now. Already his heavy testes were retreating up to the base of his cock, and a dribble of precum escaped his fingers and dripped onto his boxers. He really was horny tonight. His eyes flicked over to the TV table. It was empty except for the remote. Where was that box of tissues he usually kept nearby? A quick glance over the left arm confirmed that it had fallen to the floor.

It was a bit of a reach, but Luther was able to strain just far enough to hook the edge of the box with his little finger. Having caught it, he flipped it over the side of the recliner and against his belly. The bat released the breath he had unconsciously been holding while bent sideways, then returned his attention back to his cock.

Luther pushed the back of the recliner until he was almost laying down. His dick throbbed angrily, almost seeming to tower over him. Though he would never admit it, he loved admiring how huge it was. If he'd had the blinds open, it'd be casting a shadow on his torso. That thought just made him even hornier, and he was still close to the edge.

Biting his lip, the bat tugged a few tissues out of the box and crumpled them up. He then cupped his tissue-filled hand over the flaring, pulsing tip of his length. His other hand returned to his shaft, which was almost hard as steel. This too was unusual. There was usually a degree of give in his length; not enough blood in him to keep it that hard for long. That was a big downside many prospective partners eventually discovered, much to their chagrin. Now? It was hard enough to form a graceful curve, and he felt like he could put a hole in the wall with it. It was a rare feeling, but won he relished on the rare occasions it happened.

Luther panted in earnest now as he resumed stroking. It took all his willpower not to lewdly groan. The neighbors might hear him. Then again, maybe he wanted to let the neighbors know how amazing it felt. Wait, where did that thought come from? Who cared? Luther didn't have time to examine the sudden thought, however, as he had finally reached his peak.

The bat's eyes screwed shut, and his lips curled back over his gritted teeth as he fell over the edge. Not exactly the sexiest "o face" in the world, but he could've done worse. He felt his pulsing meat jump in his grasp, and waves of pleasure crash over him from head to toe as he unloaded into the fistful of tissues capping his length. Said tissues heated up rapidly in the palm of his hand, then was joined by wetness as his cum soaked through it.

Much to his surprise, Luther didn't stop at the usual three to four spurts. This time he managed six. He let out a long sigh of relief as his orgasm wound down, and he sank into the warm embrace of a blissful afterglow. Sliding lower in his recliner, he carefully pulled his hand away from the head of his cock. The tissues he was holding had been reduced to a soggy pulp by the size of his load. He'd known he was pent up, but he didn't think he was THIS pent up.

His impressive length flagged a few seconds after his climax, then slowly began to descend. Luther tried to sit up so that he could wash his hands and throw the tissues away, but a combination of afterglow and fatigue pinned him to his seat. Instead, the bat opted to drop the sopping wet mess onto his TV tray. It was old and battered to begin with, so he wasn't too concerned about ruining it.

Then, uncharacteristically, he wiped his hand off on the side of his recliner. He liked to think he was cleaner than that, but jerking off had taken a lot out of him. Wasn't the first time he'd left a stain on the upholstery. anyways. His eyes grew heavy, and the muted sound of the television faded from his conscience. His last thought before slumber claimed him was the realization that he couldn't remember a time where he'd managed six shots before.