Cum

There is really no other way to say - so I'll be blunt:

I love cum.

I seriously fucking love it. I adore the feel of it on my skin, so warm, thick, and sticky; I love the smell of it on me, the taste of it in my mouth, the sensation of it hitting me, spurting with force over me or into me, even the little trickle of it into my hand as i grip tightly. I love cum. My thighs are clamped together a lil tighter at my desk as typing this brings that lil tingle to me.

I know it's not for everyone, and a lot of chicks would prefer to eat offal over swallowing, but not me. If a guy cums in a condom or even inside of me, I see that as a waste. When I watch pornography (which I rarely do), I'm the kind of gal who skips to the end to see who the butler came on, as it were. The fucking's just building my anticipation, letting me wonder how much he'll cum, if he'll shoot or dribble, if it will be thick or thin. Then, most importantly, where she'll take it, so I can imagine myself in her position.

Even before I'd ever encountered cum in (on?) the flesh, I was captivated by the concept of cum. When I first learned about how boys work I started to imagine them cumming, watching it erupt from their hard cocks, desperate to ejaculate it because of me. Back then I obviously didn't really have much idea of things such as the powerful taste or hot gooey texture, simply the idea of the... mechanics of it was enough to keep my fingers busy as my growing imagination found it's first fetish. I was sadly, later to learn that what I imagined, a scene akin to the bursting of a damn, could be more like a leak from a rusty tap. But oh well...

Some of my earliest fantasies were utterly centered about the notion of a guy or guys ejaculating. Most back then were very simple little plays where I'd discover a bunch of boys all jerking off together and I'd touch myself as I watched them cum one after another, or I'd let a boy (or boys) see me naked or half naked if they'd make themselves cum as they stood and stared at me laid out before them like living pornography. Before I'd ever heard of bukkake I was including it regularly in my bedtime routine.

(Side Note: on checking the spelling of bukkake I was incredibly amused to find the wikipedia page on it.)

Other times my fantasies were a little more involved, featuring usually an older man, generally in some kind of authority cumming discretely as he looked at me, my moment of orgasm occurring as I noticed the wet patch appear on his trousers. These fantasies would generally be about non specific teachers, tutors or doctors etc (none of which in real life were even vaguely attractive). Other times it might be a stranger on a bus or in a cafe or a shop, his hand maybe in his pocket or even openly masturbating over me as I watched but did nothing else to encourage.

Quite clearly I was desperate to be desired, my fantasies all revolving about men wanting me and letting that override any social or moral considerations which they might have had. A little girl wanting to be wanted, needing to be needed, loving being loved. This theme appears quite often in my fantasy land, and I know what it says about me and I'm very comfortable with that, with my needs and faults.

I did have one quite specific fantasy in this area at the time which I was telling someone the other day in a chat, and it occurred to me in hindsight how very, very wrong it was... but it really was one which captivated my imagination for a lil while after I came up with it. I think at the time it was the most embroidered of any of my fantasies.

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It all started when I discovered the practice of the Catholic confessional: the priest in the box who you tell your sins to. And yes, I did say that I realize now how wrong this looks in today's world of evil catholic priests...

...but moving past that... In the scene I was generally dressed very conservatively, a knee length skirt and socks with a blouse and jumper. Pretty much the uniform I was wearing at the time for school I guess. My hair would generally be back in a pony tail and my face would be free from makeup.

In the fantasy I would sit and tell this anonymous priest my sins, all of which would involve boys touching me, me touching boys, sometimes even fucking boys. The revelations generally got more extreme as I replayed this scene over and over. I think the first time I just let a boy touch me and by the time I was growing bored with it, I'd be taking on the entire football team or something ridiculously slutty. Generally tho it worked best for me when there was enough innocence about my actions to be surprised at what happened next.

The priest would ask me details about my actions and my thoughts, asking me to elaborate on points of interest to him. Unknown to me he starts masturbating as he looks thru the slits between us, directly at me. Staring at my face as I look to the floor in shame as I talk. His eyes over my young body as he strokes quicker and quicker to my sins.

At the point of his orgasm he stands tall, literally fucking his fist, bucking his hips hard and I turn to see his cock thrusting out of his hand opposite me a mere 6 inches from my face. The consequence of me looking at him masturbating makes him thrust one last time, bringing the tip of his cock as close as he can get to me and his cum sprays out landing on my face and down my dark jumper, a little landing in my mouth as I open it in surprise.

The more innocent I was in this scene the more shocking I found this shower of cum and the more I enjoyed the scene. Having it happen if I was already a slut made his actions much less powerful in my head.

After he cums he leaves his side of the box hurriedly and I'm left to clean myself up, swallowing the cum that landed in my mouth and, for my sins, liking it so much that I eat the rest, scooped off my face and jumper licking my fingers clean after. I leave the booth moments after him, cum stains obvious on my jumper and stray stands of it in my hair.

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Like I say I do realize exactly how wrong that sounds these days and I know if anything even close to that had happened to me, I'd have run a country mile and hide behind the nearest sofa screaming for the police. This is why it's called fantasy. It's not real. We don't need it to be real, sometimes we don't even want it to be real. In no way do I condone any of the atrocities carried out by the Catholic clergy.

Anyway, so that I guess, is my first fantasy told to any of you who are reading this. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave any comments below.

Red.