How I Learned to Love Cum

I don't know when I realised that I was different from other people.

I mean, at school, definitely. I don't like to talk about High School. It can put me in a really bad mood.

But it was at whatever age I started to have more in-depth conversations with people. About their real beliefs and opinions. That was when... well... when I realised they had all sorts of strange ideas that didn't make sense to me.

I wish everything was logical. Some things just aren't though. Even I'm not logical all the time.

Let me tell you about the first time I had sex.

Sorry, what's that? Oh yeah, that's kind of a leap. I do that sometimes.

I've told you where I'm going though.

We were upstairs at a party. Rolling around together on a bed. We were kissing. That hot, ravenous kissing you do when you think a kiss might be as far as it goes. When you're innocent enough that sex might not be the inevitable conclusion.

He started tearing at my clothes. I could feel his hot breath on my face. On my throat. He was fumbling awkwardly with the buttons of my shirt.

He must have felt daring, when he noticed how I responded to every touch with growing excitement, because he whispered in my ear and asked me if I wanted to go all the way. That meant he wanted to fuck me.

I nodded and laid back while he rolled on top of me. Grinning shyly, his curly hair flopped in his eyes as he manoeuvred inside me.

It felt both strange and thrilling. The twinge of pain as he stretched me open, giving way to a deep roll of pleasure, as he pushed his cock inside me. My body craved each thrust, like it was hungry to remain filled. It happened quickly. He closed his eyes and I watched his face, as it turned from trembling desperation to pure, satisfied bliss.

He probably should have pulled out. It had all happened so fast.

I felt... sticky.

Marked with his seed. Coating my pussy and dripping down my thighs.

I had an overwhelming urge to shower.

He sulked when I ran to the bathroom. I guess he didn't like that.

I'd always had a few problems with that sort of thing. Not liking certain sensations. Textures. It stressed me out, to get my hands dirty. Or put lotion on. It turns out that some things just imprint. And it's hard to get rid of them.

I learned about it in Evolutionary Biology. I liked that class. It gave me some real insights into other people's behaviour. It's kind of nice when there's one underlying rule for everything. Of course, some people say that's biological reductionism. Those people don't understand how nice it is to have everything reduced sometimes.

I realised then that I needed to do something to overcome this biological programming. It made no sense to go through life unable to enjoy sex the way everyone else seemed to. It was just another problem to solve. And solving problems is my absolute favourite thing to do.

It was easy to get guys to help me. I was a CompSci major. The male:female ratio is very, very favourable. And the guys were just grateful if someone showed an interest in them. And if I made it clear that they were going to get laid, or get their dick sucked? It was almost too easy.

I decided to start by inviting guys over to my dorm and blowing them. I figured if I didn't like it, I would just spit out their cum afterwards.

Things are much easier, when you start approaching them as a simple, well-defined problem. Break it down into its component parts and start testing possible solutions.

For example, I don't like eye contact that much. It's very intimate. More intimate than I really want to be with people I'm just talking to. But I found out that men like it when you look into their eyes while you blow them. And you're supposed to do things that challenge you.

So I would flick my eyes upward, to meet theirs, while I was on my knees. With them standing or sitting on a bed. Rest my cheek against their thigh and give them a look that said 'I'm doing this for you. I want you so much, I want to be vulnerable for you'.

And they seemed to like that, my head bobbing up and down, my lips parted softly, the vibration of my moans around their cock. And I suppose that simple happiness I could give them was contagious, it delivered a tingly buzz of excitement straight to the people-pleasing core of my brain. Affix eyes here, feel...pleasure. Just basic operant conditioning, I suppose.

I would also define all the things I did like about blowing them, then rank all the positive and negative factors and weight them for their importance. Plotting the final score over time, you could see the improvement.

And there was so much I liked.The salty, musky smell of their cock as I pressed my face closer to it. The way it would fill my senses and make me weak. The excitement I would feel as I unleashed it from their underwear and felt it 'spring' free, imagining how it would feel, filling me.

The simplicity and repetitive rhythm of what I was doing, how it became trance-like sometimes, with the sliding up and down. But there were always infinite possibilities for how they would react and what I would choose to do next to them. How I would swirl my tongue, coating their bevelled head with saliva, lapping their precum and lingering on that special spot, tight like a little knot. The kind of thing that if it's in your mouth, you can't resist tonguing, flickering and teasing.

The way that groove forms a perfect chevron, as if it was designed for a pointy little tongue to fit there.

It gave me this strange feeling. Of both power and vulnerability. Their desire radiating and filling me with a warm glow.

My face would get wet and messy with drool, which would normally freak me out. But in that moment, hot and fraught with the energy between us, I wouldn't mind at all. Their moans and whimpers, their trembles would take away any worries and I would just look forward to the noises they would make as they got torturously close.

And when they came? I found out cum didn't taste bad at all. Different guys taste different of course. Salty, soapy, slightly sour, mellow or rich. But I like them all. Each has their own, manly, virile signature note. It tastes like pure pleasure. Like a secret smile only I can feel, inside my belly. Like I've taken something from them, even though they think all I've done was give.

And the look on their face when they hear you swallow? I started to do it extra loudly. Gulp some air down with their seed, and enjoy that adoring gaze. Or show it to them on my tongue first, making a long, wet string from their sticky head to my cum-glazed lips.

All men are just little boys deep down. Even the ones who take charge, who appear in control. They just want the acceptance, the approval. Knowing that you want every part of them, even their cum. Especially their cum.

After the first phase, I started to love everything about blowing a guy.

There were one or two regulars.

To my delight, I found a guy who was, he said, 'a hard nut to crack'. That meant he found it difficult to cum.

I learnt so much with him.

When I was on his knees for him, he would reach down and stroke my hair. All the nerdy boys from college did that too. But they were too timid to go any further. When he did it, I would pause and look up at him, give him my shy smile and use my eyes to say "Go on. Do whatever you need to. Use my mouth the way you want."

He would slide two fingers through my hair and twist them, then he would rest his thumb firmly on the other side, cradling the back of my head, just at the base of my skull.

He would gently test and tease my limits, pushing slowly against the soft flesh of my palate.

My eyes would widen at first, with a sense of mild panic, but he would wait, until I relaxed, accommodating him, then slowly push until I felt him fill my throat, at first stretching and burning slightly.

Once I was able to take him this way, he would start to thrust, gently, bucking his hips. I felt like a goddess, seeing him crumble and give into his pleasure.

I also felt the satisfying, intoxicating burn of sacrifice, of enduring his thrusts each time his cock hit the back of my throat and went just beyond, forcing me to gag and gasp air...in time with each throbbing intrusion.

I would hear myself making dumb noises, my eyes watering, mascara running down my face. And he would grip my hair tighter then, at the temples, so it hurt, but all I could feel was the urge to keep going, to please him, to hit the goal and get that reward. The hot sticky jackpot of his cum, deep in my throat. Then swallow it seamlessly while still sucking, without coming up for breath, spurt after spurt, sliding down effortlessly.

It turns out being able to really swallow a guy's dick like that is a special talent. Not everyone can do it, or even likes trying. I became notorious with the CompSci boys. And the ChemEng guys. Oh, and Physics. The quiet, nerdy girl-next-door. Who can deep throat.

Now I was an expert at sucking dick and swallowing cum. I had even learned to like it. I could have stopped there really. But sometimes, I just get... fixated on things.

I decided swallowing it had gotten too easy. I needed a bigger challenge.

The first time I asked a guy to cum on my face, he was surprised. Or not surprised actually. Thrilled, I think.

We even started casually dating for a while.

Turns out he was a little kinky.

He wanted to dominate me. To play games. And well, it surprised me, but it turns out, I like games.

I would dress up for him, then position myself at a bar and wait for him to arrive. The shortest, tightest dresses I could find, ones that hugged my curves, obscenely. There's a formula to dressing like a whore: cheap, tearable dresses and lingerie, expensive shoes, and smearable makeup. My hard nipples would poke through the flimsy fabric, hot with nervous tension as the men in the bar leered at me.

There was a palpable sense of danger, of being left there, like blood in the water. But I could enjoy it, knowing he would arrive at any moment.

When he walked in, he would stare me down from across the room. We'd act like strangers and he'd make a public show of picking me up, showing those thirsty guys how easy it was for him. After just one drink, I'd follow him outside, like his eager, cock-hungry little slut. He'd take me to an alley, where I'd get on my knees, ripping my cheap stockings on the filthy ground while he took out his cock. Gripping my ponytail while he pumped my tight, hot little mouth, using me like a fleshlight.

When his precum really started to drip and I could feel his cock twitch, I would release him, and pump him furiously for the final few strokes, making him explode all over my face. I would close my eyes and open my mouth, hoping to catch some, but not all, of his hot, sticky cum. I wanted to feel it splash my face, shooting in ropes which would cool and bead on my shivering skin. Then I would lick my fingers and make a show of scooping it into my mouth and lapping it down, as noisily and messily as possible.

Afterwards we'd go back to the bar, and order another round of drinks, with me still wearing a warm smear of his cum on my face, drying and tightening at the corner of my mouth and on my chin. Maybe a drip or two on my neck or in my cleavage. I'd feel the eyes of the other patrons burning into me, and I'd bask, both in their shock and disbelief and the feeling of power that exuded from him.

When we got home, we'd be drunk on the sordid, reckless energy of what we'd done. And he'd fuck me, leaving the cheap dress on, only pulling it up to pound me from behind, so he could stain it, and me all over again. Cumming inside my needy little cunt and watching it drip out afterwards. I would enjoy the sensation of being his, letting him mark and defile me with it.

I was really starting to enjoy myself now. I liked these games so much that I found myself thinking about them when I was on my own. When I masturbated.

I would do that over and over again. Sometimes three or four times in one day. When you find something you like, just stick with it. Nothing wrong with that.

I also watched porn when he wasn't around. A lot of porn is quite weird, really. I just stuck to the things I liked and ignored all the weird stuff.

One thing I did like though was blowbangs. The image of the guys lining up. Waiting their turn but getting more and more desperate to be the one inside the girl's mouth. The way they all wanted her. Wanted to use her. And bukkake. Oh. I would just imagine the thrill and the shock of several guys all cumming over me all at once. The sensation of being covered with it. Now my disgust was fascination, and what had seemed like filth had become my craving.

I asked the kinky guy to take me to a party. The kind where people do things in public. Where there's a dark room.

The party itself was very overwhelming. So much noise. So many people. I wore a latex bra and hotpants. I liked the way it hugged and pressed my body tightly, grounding me, reminding me I existed as the music pulsed and lights flashed, illuminating the bewildering sea of faces.

I was relieved to get into the dark room. There the music was more of a faint pulse of bass, punctuated with the sounds of moans, of bodies writhing and slapping together. And of course, the scent of sweat, pheromones and the mingling of juices. And cum.

There was a brief murmur of negotiations but it wasn't hard to find a number of men who wanted to take part. They approached, circling me expectantly as I dropped to my knees, thrilled to be the centre of their depraved attention.

I grabbed the first cock, pumping it and immediately sucking another that touched my cheek as I felt some hard fingers pinch my nipples through my bra, causing me to moan and my thighs to tremble so that I struggled to stay upright.

As another cock slipped into view, I found myself stroking that one too, everything I did was pure instinct as I tried desperately to please all of them, shuffling around on my knees. The debasing thrill of being so completely used by these strangers meant I could feel my own arousal trickling out of me, held tight and warm against my pussy and thighs by the latex. Teasing me with how tightly wrapped and inaccessible my own pleasure was.

There was no way to spend too long on any one cock, in the blur of limbs and bodies, I couldn't distinguish the men, just their shapes, their hardness, their flavours.

I felt the guy I was currently sucking start to twitch dangerously. I kept licking and sucking, massaging his balls until I felt them tighten.

I started to suck hard on just the tip, so that when he finally erupted, his cum filled my mouth. Then I stuck my tongue out to take the next guy, letting the first load run down my chin and neck.

His climax started a chain reaction. Soon, the guys were crowding me, desperate to be next. One or two couldn't wait to get into my mouth and they both exploded, one spraying my right cheek and the other painting my tits with their cum. I was dripping now, the seed of all these men mixed together in my mouth, in my hair and on my body. I started to play with it, rubbing it into my bare skin and sampling it from my fingers as yet another unloaded down my throat, causing me to gag and splutter mid-show.

When they had all finished, I was on a complete high, my clit throbbing with excitement. I enjoyed the sight of my cum-spattered body and streaked face in the bathroom mirror as I wiped myself down and admired my smeared makeup. I felt like a queen, returning to the party, stained and claimed by all these men. Not even knowing who they were, or if I was now pressing up against them on the dancefloor.

So that's how I taught myself to like cum. Using a logical process. It's better when you just discard the irrational beliefs you have about sex. That things are dirty, or immoral. Come to your own, empirical conclusions.

It's made my life so much more interesting. Now that I can enjoy sex like everyone else, I guess I hope to have a serious relationship eventually.

That person will have to share my interests though.