Natural Inclinations Pt. 07

The voice in his head cried out. [NO WAY! Now I've got pierced ears? AND EARRINGS?!] If it weren't for the pacifier, he'd tell them that Peter never wanted to go so far as to have his ears pierced or wear studded earrings. [And who the hell is PETRA?!] The frustration of it all didn't slow him from gnawing more forcefully on the pacifier, bringing forth even more creamy goo into his mouth and down his throat. It only distracted Peter's mind from it.

He heard someone say, "Janice, you weren't kidding when you said that Petra loves eating cum. She's more than halfway to finishing off the donation cup." This refocused Peter back to wondering what this cup and the donations had to do with one another.

[HEY! Wait a second.] Peter's internal voice shouted. [If I'm Petra and I've almost emptied this so called donation cup, how the hell long have I had this pacifier in my mouth? Holy crap! Just how much of this imitation cum have I swallowed?!?!]

Just then Peter heard, "Hi mom! Look at what my team made for your special client!"

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Chapter 28

So entrenched within his own thoughts, only Peter's subconscious had heard the little bell on the front door as yet another person entered the salon.

It was the greetings of several women that began to bring Peter back to reality and aware of the latest addition to the circus around him. "Hi there, Terry." "Welcome back, Terry." "What ya got there, Terry?" "Hey, everybody. look what Terry brought."

[Oh great,] Peter told himself. [Just what I need, another woman gawking at the guy strapped to the chair with an oversized pacifier in his mouth.] However, Peter's embarrassment dial was about to get turned up to eleven.

Without warning, Peter heard an unwelcome voice say, "Hi, mom! Look at what my team made for your special client!" This was not a female's voice. This voice was all male. Although Peter couldn't see him, he recognized that distinctively deep, raspy voice. It was Terry Devlin. This meant that Miss Gwen's son was Terry Devlin. Although, to Peter, he was Terry the Terrible. The ringleader to many of Peter's antagonists in school.

Peter sat frozen. [Oh please, please, PLEASE! Please don't recognize me,] Peter prayed, grateful that no one could see the horror in his eyes.

"Oh my GOD, Terry!" Miss Gwen exclaimed. "How on earth...?"

"I told you I could get the whole team to donate to your project. Especially when they heard who the recipient would be." If there was one thing Terry had always been good at, it was getting people motivated in a project.

Now, Peter was well aware that Terry had been a member of several different teams, both in school and as extracurricular activities. Football, baseball, soccer, even at the local swim club. Any one of those teams consisted of a good number of guys. In other words, this meant that no matter which team he was speaking of, there must have been a lot of contributors. Then Peter heard Terry add, "You could say the donations just flowed in."

There was that word again: Donations. Peter felt confident he had heard something about donations not that long ago, even before Terry's arrival. [But why all of this discussion about donations when Miss Gwen wasn't done trimming my hair?] Peter wondered impatiently. [The longer this takes, the greater the chance that Terry will figure out it's me seated in his mother's chair.]

"That is an unbelievable amount to be donated in such a short time." Miss Gwen gushed. "How many donors were there?"

"Well, like I said, every member of the team participated," Terry said proudly. "Plus, Coach Bill and Coach Dave were both eager to help out too. They said this client deserved it more than anyone they knew." There was a hint of snickering when Terry said that. "Oh yeah. And Mister Wise, the janitor, said he didn't want to be left out. With twenty-seven guys jostling for a turn, I couldn't see the whole time. But from what I heard and what I did see, at least six guys, maybe more, gave twice. A few of the guys even stepped up to make a third donation."

"My sweet, wonderful son. I am impressed. This is more than triple what your father and his golfing buddies donated. But what about you? I hope my own son did his part to help out."

"Come on, mom," Terry answered. "You know I wouldn't let you down. I'd been saving up just for this."

"I knew you were looking forward to this, But just how much were you able to save?" There was a pause before Peter heard Miss Gwen say, "Come on. Don't be shy. You can tell your mother."

From what Peter could discern, Terry whispered into his mother's ear. However, Gwen couldn't contain her amazement at what she was being told and bellowed, "Four times?!"

A woman's voice chimed in, "That's youth for ya," which was followed with many chuckles and murmurs of agreement. Peter thought he heard a few say, "good going," and Terry may have even received a few pats on his back.

Without missing a beat, Miss Gwen added, "Well, Terry. You've really made your father and me proud. Maybe it isn't so incredible that you were able to collect enough donations to practically fill a one-gallon water jug with such high-quality cream."

"Quality cream!" "Donations just flowed in!" The gears in Peter's head spun wildly. [Was that...? Could it be...? Is that what all the talk about donations from teammates and golfing buddies has been about?! Jism? Semen? Sperm? CUM!?]

The room started spinning. [Does that mean...? Are they saying...?] Reality was setting in. [Oh, god! This is actually the real thing I have been swallowing? NOT AN IMITATION??? That means that all along, I have been filling my mouth with REAL CUM! And that I have all but emptied a large thermos of cum collected from a bunch of older men. All of it down my throat and into my belly. And I've been doing it IN FRONT OF THESE STRANGERS!!!]

An intense wave of humiliation coursed through Peter. If he correctly understood what was being said, Miss Gwen's son had gotten an even larger group of guys together. All for the purpose of masturbating into a jug and collecting their youthful semen. [Could these teens really have spilled that much seed?] Peter questioned. [A whole gallon's worth?]

Visualizing what that jug looked like made Peter's eyes glaze over. Not that anyone could see that happen. Odd as it may seem, Peter felt a twitch in his groin.

Behind those darken lenses Peter's mind created a visualization. As if he had been a fly on the wall, he clearly saw a large group of guys, all with their cocks out, and each stroking his meaty stick. As this little movie played in his mind, Peter felt his own dick beginning to stir.

Deep in his subconscious, Peter knew he was securely tucked into a pair of panties and that they were eliminating the possibility of becoming erect. Still, thinking about all those guys beating their meat was intoxicating. Peter could even visualize some guys standing in pairs or in small groups, each tugging on his buddy's cock, all working up to a big climax. He thought that was extremely erotic. Peter could see the guys taking turns, shooting their forceful loads into the jug.

Knowing that at that very moment, a previously unimaginable amount of freshly crafted cream sat inches away brought waves of goosebumps crawling across his skin. This gallon of youthful, vitamin-rich, packed with potent protein, virile, extra-thick semen being so close was having strange effects on him. Adding to his chills was the knowledge that those jocks had done this for the sole purpose that it would ultimately be fed to Mrs. Devlin's very special client.

Disrupting Peter's dreamscape, he heard Terry say, "And, it's still warm. I made sure it stayed in the sun as I drove over here."

"Did you hear that everyone?" Miss Gwen announced. "My son even made sure it's ready to serve." Then speaking more directly to her son, she added, "Good thing too, looks like Petra has just about finished off what your father brought."

Miss Gwen laid her hand on Peter's. "Isn't that great news, Petra. Now you won't have to worry about running out before we're done here. With what Terry's collected, you should be well fed and hydrated for the entire day." A burst of laughter filled the salon. "It must be nice to know that so many people wanted to make sure that you leave with a full belly. Wasn't it thoughtful of my son to organize that for you, Petra?"

Hoping against hope that Terry still had no idea who this cum hungry girl was, the one who would soon be benefiting from these additional donations, Peter didn't dare make a sound to give any clues. Instead, curling his lips into a smile as best he could, Peter gave a thumbs up then a peace sign.

And that's when Peter's last hope for saving his reputation evaporated. Terry leaned into Peter's ear and quietly said, "Well, little Petie ... oh, I'm sorry, it's Petra now, right?"

[SHIT!] Peter's inner voice shouted. [Terry knows it's me.] The disappointment and embarrassment of being found out all but erased the shocking confirmation that instead of being some sort of imitation, all along it had been real semen he'd been swallowing. But even those facts couldn't match this shuttering thought: [Terry already knew it was really me sucking on this cum filled pacifier, and what did I just do? I just gave him a big thumbs-up 'thank you' for his efforts.] Still, none of that could prevent Peter's tongue from pressing one large dollop of jism after another from the pacifier.

While a steady river of cum ran down Peter's throat, Terry whispered one last thought. "Just so you know, anytime you need a refill, just look me up." Stepping back, Terry more loudly stated, "Well then, Petra, enjoy your lunch." This generated another round of laughter. Just before stepping out of the salon, Terry turned back to say, "By the way, Petra. Love the earrings."

Peter went limp. Terry knew that Petra and Peter were one in the same. Their number one bully was in on this game of deception and had gone so far as to collect the semen from countless others just so it could be fed to that wimpy kid from school. Even after graduating, Terry's tormenting continued.

Unable to run away in shame, Peter sat there bound to a beauty salon chair with his jaw working overtime. Compounding his embarrassment was an awareness that everyone had witnessed Petra passively swallowing the sperm donations of innumerable men. And now, sending humiliation levels rocketing even higher, it was planned that Petra would soon be savoring the ejaculations of enumerable young studs. And damned if his dick wasn't still throbbing to become erect.

Peter's stomach, though, was like a bottomless pit. As if no amount of semen would ever be enough to satisfy this unquenchable thirst for cum.

Still, he had to remind himself that everyone else thinks he is a girl. A cum crazy girl. But a girl nonetheless. A girl named Petra. [Miss Janice must have given me that girl's name.] If he could only remember when.

[Oh well.] Peter resigned himself. [At this point, does any of it really matter?]

Sucking away on the pacifier while Miss Gwen resumed crafting a girly cut, Peter was forced to wonder, just who else might know that he is not a she?

Besides Miss Janice, it was obvious that Miss Gwen and Terry both knew. But did anyone else in the salon know that the cum guzzler bound to the chair wasn't simply a tomboy being beautified? Does anyone even suspect they are watching a guy being feminized? A guy who had only expressed curiosity about life as a girl. A guy who had entrusted his secret love of cum to someone he thought would keep it private. A guy who never considered the possibility that things would go this far.

And even if they do believe that he is a she, the most embarrassing thing to contemplate was wondering what their opinions might be. What must all these other witnesses think of the person in the chair? This teenage chick who seemingly has no qualms about eating an unending stream of semen. How does anyone -- male or female -- account for that and not experience tremendous humiliation? Guy or gal, who does that?

Of course, the answer to all of this sat there in front of them doing those very things.

It was right about then that nothing but air began coming through the pacifier. Was Peter relieved to finally be done displaying his love of semen to others? Had he had his fill? Time would tell.

Although he desperately wanted to resist the temptation, the knowledge that more -- much more -- had been offered up. It sat there just waiting to be consumed. And that tore at him.

Unlike the first delivery of donations, this time Peter had been wide awake and was fully aware when Miss Gwen's son brought in a gallon of freshly collected semen. Knowledge that Terry the Tormentor had been key in making that happen did not diminish his longing for it.

Peter was torn. To resist asking for more and allow those donations to go unused would demonstrate that Petra still had some self-control. It would show them that Petra wasn't such a cum slut after all.

Still, Peter couldn't shake the unsettling possibility of those donations -- the donations that so many had generously given -- only going to waste. It just didn't seem right. He clearly visualized how beautiful that one-gallon jug looked. Filled with thick, pearlescent-white creamy goo, just waiting to be delivered to its intended recipient. If he refused to ask for it, it would just sit there, aging, losing its freshness and potency.

Then Peter visualized all of that being dumped, untouched, down the drain. The thought of that happening was too depressing to contemplate further. He couldn't let that happen. He wanted it, and he wanted it now! The sooner, the fresher, the better. But how could he inform Miss Gwen of his desires?

Peter needn't have worried. Someone, an older woman from the sound of her voice, called out. "Okay, ladies, she finished it. Let's see who won." The salon broke out in a sudden din of female chatter. "Right. The pot stands at seventy-five dollars." There were a few cheers and great excitement. Even Peter could feel the electricity in the room. "Everyone, get out your tickets. The prize goes to the one who guessed closest without going over. Ready? The official time: 13 minutes, 34 seconds."

There was a brief moment of hushed voices when all of a sudden someone yelled out. "I'm pretty sure I've got the winning time. I guessed she would drain it in 13 minutes and 30 seconds."

After checking for anyone else with a closer guess, she was declared the winner, which elicited a scream of joy. The winner came over to pick up her winnings, proclaiming, "I knew Petra was a proper cum slut the moment I saw her take her first taste." Peter was stunned that he, well, Petra had been the subject of some heavy betting action. All on how fast she would drink the cum Wayne had collected. For her troubles, Petra received a wet kiss on the cheek as a thank you.

Then the winner made a request. "I think Petra is still thirsty. As the winner, I'd like the honors of getting Petra started on the big bottle. We wouldn't want our little cum slut to miss out on any of her liquid vitamins, would we?"

When the clucking subsided with no one objected, Peter heard a cap being unscrewed then felt small motions to the face-side of the Pacifier. "Hey! Who wants to bet whether she can finish off the whole gallon? Just in case, let's start a timer on this bad boy." A few voices could be heard saying it couldn't be done. But that didn't seem to slow the betting action. From what Peter could hear, pretty much everyone was in it to win it. The betting started all over again.

"Okay, here goes. Start the timer ... now." Leaning into Peter's ear, a sweet voice said, "I'm putting twenty that you finish every drop. It all depends on how long it takes. Don't let me down, Petra." and she kissed him again.

Well, Peter wasn't at all concerned whether this unseen stranger won or not. Even he doubted he could drink it all. He had only two objectives. The first was to let as little go to waste as possible. Second, he already knew that there were slight differences between the golfer's cum and his own. Now he needed to know what the cum of randy, athletic teenagers tasted like.