Messes I Have Made

There I was—a few feet from my well-stamped passport, which was in my trendy Fendi clutch, which rested under a painting I had correctly identified, near the remnants of a gourmet cheese and melon platter I myself had arranged in subtle muted tones—there I was, a young woman of the world, a student of one of our nation’s finest institutions of higher learning, on my knees and realizing I knew shit about cock.

“Does that make it a little clearer?” he asked helpfully.

“Yeah, I think I got that,” I nodded, wiping semen from my eyes. “Clear as a bell.”

I wasn’t a virgin when I first met my man. That had been taken care of in high school. I was dating Liam at the time and so I was having sex pretty much whenever I wanted. Still, if I thought about it, I could probably count on my fingers and toes the number of times I had been in the same room as bare-naked cock. And while I had made these cocks come, I had never actually witnessed the money shot. Of course I had seen spurting cocks in porn but never in the gooey flesh. When cocks came for me, they were always hidden inside my body. By the time I saw boy juice, it was a sad little puddle dangling in a limp condom.

Even before we met, the man who would become my man had given me a few guidelines about being with him. “You’ll do fine so long as you do whatever I tell you to do,” he wrote. “But if you want something, you should ask for it. I do a great many things well, but mind reading is not among my talents.”

We’d been together for about a month when I mustered the courage to ask for something. My man had come in all my holes (turns out there were still plenty of virginities left), but always inside me. I wanted to watch him shoot. I wanted to watch and feel hot wet jism land on my skin. When I asked for this, he stopped mid-fuck and replied, “Tell me you’ve seen a boy come.” I told him I couldn’t say that, as it would be a lie. “Well, now, that won’t do.” He pulled out of my ass and shook his head. “No, that won’t do at all.” He untied me and grabbed my hair. “Come with me, girl. I want you to have a good seat for this.” I stumbled behind him as he led me by my hair to a nearby chair. I tried to sit, but he yanked my hair hard. “No, dear. That’s my chair. You take the floor.” He released his grip and I fell, as if he had been holding me up.

He tossed a pillow on the floor. “Kneel,” he ordered. I knelt. He sat in the chair and rested a foot on each of my thighs. “Palms on the floor,” he went on. “Eyes forward.” I did as instructed. He reached for lube and glanced at a clock. “In one hour,” he said. “You may lick my come from your face.” With that, he began to stroke himself. At first, I didn’t lower my eyes from his. I didn’t want to be rude, and he was watching my face very intently. “I don’t ejaculate from my tear ducts,” he finally said. I nodded and looked to his cock. I watched as his hand slowly traced its way up and down the shaft of his cock, watched as he twisted his wrist to scoop his palm under its head, watched as both hands went down his cock, never up, just down, like it was continuously entering and never leaving. He shifted his touch now and then—sometimes faster, sometimes slower, sometimes rougher, sometimes lighter—and I realized he was giving me a silent tutorial in handjob techniques. I nodded again to show I understood and was grateful. After all, I was a cock novice at the feet of a practiced master.

At the back of my mind, I wondered at his final instruction: I would be able to lick my face clean after an hour. I hoped there would be something left; I was sure most of it would drip away as I sat waiting for the time to elapse. I put that thought aside to focus on the show before my eyes.

My clit called to me—“touch me, Sara, touch me, please!”—but my hands followed directions well. My palms never left the floor, even as my arms tingled and my legs grew numb. I concentrated on his cock (already, I was in love with my man’s cock) and the touch of his feet on my thighs.

Soon, there was nothing in the universe except my eyes and his cock. His voice reached from across a void. “Right,” he said. “That was an hour.” With that, he stood and came immediately on my face. His body twitched and convulsed, just as when he came inside me, only now I could experience it with my eyes, not my pussy. Now, my eyes were my pussy. As he came on my face, my cunt was burning and aching. “Okay,” he said, his voice husky and low. “Free one hand and come for me.” My hand leapt free and my fingers furiously rubbed me to release. I cried out. “My name!” he ordered. I gasped and said his name, so loud, so clear.

“Good girl. Now clean your face.” My fingers, sticky from my own come, reached up to touch his, to push it into my hungry, grateful cock-starved mouth.

It was clear to me now.

On our next date, my man was fucking me when his doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock and pulled out. “Excuse me one moment,” he said and left the bedroom, his erection leading the way. He had left his clothes in the bedroom. Was he answering the door nude, I wondered? A few moments later, he returned. A man followed him. I grabbed a pillow to cover my nakedness “This is my friend David,” my man said, taking the pillow. “He’s here to come on your face.”

“How do you do?” David said, offering his hand.

“I’m okay … “ I said as my man returned his cock to my pussy. “How’s … how’s your day?”

David laughed. “Considerably improved,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. David was handsome, older, late twenties, and dressed in office clothes.

“You won’t be eating David’s come,” my man said. “From now on, you only taste mine. And you can’t touch his cock. He’s married.”

“Okay,” I nodded, trying to register these instructions, trying to glance at David’s ring finger. I looked up into my man’s face, waiting for more information.

My man took my face in his hands and turned it away. “Watch David undress. Pay attention to his body. Let him desire you. After he comes on your face, he’s leaving. You’ll never see him again. Clear?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Now come for David.” My man pulled up my legs and plowed me, knowing it would yield the result he wanted. I came.

After watching us fuck for a while, David came on my face. When he was done, he bent over to kiss my wet cheek. He gave my man a brotherly hug and my man hugged him back, never stopping his thrusts into my ass. David picked up his clothes, waved cutely, and went into the next room to dress. I heard the front door open and close a few minutes later. True to my man’s word, I never saw David again.

But I did see many men come. Many, many times. Many more cocks than my fingers and toes could ever have imagined.

My man knew how amazed I was by the sight of ejaculation. He later told me I was free to find cocks online and make them come. “One caveat,” he said. “You think a great deal of your beauty. It makes things easy for you. I’ve told you that I refuse to be impressed by your beauty. It means nothing to me. Still, it’s mine and you can’t use it without permission. When you make men come, you have to use your wits. Be smart, my girl, not simply pretty.” I took his words seriously, because he has made me so much smarter, because he has made being pretty so much more complex and interesting.

I recently met a man online. He’s married, and he and his wife are new to kink, just like I was. I asked him to turn on his cam for me. He’s super good looking. He’s lean and pale, like my man, and he’s got a really fine cock, like my man. He’s got thick red hair and a beard I’d really enjoy running my fingers in. He keeps his pubic hair trimmed, which is a real tease, because what little remains is also red and that is so rare and sweet to see, so of course I want more of it.

He agreed to come for me. He couldn’t see me, but he could read my words. My man has taught me well. I can make a man come with my mouth, with my body, and now, with my words. I told him what I wanted, just like my man taught me, and this boy gave me what I asked for. Because I’m a smart girl, and because he’s a good boy.

He came for me, just when I told him to. He said my name when he came, because that orgasm was mine. It will always be mine, forever. He licked up his come like I told him to do. If I ever meet him, I’ll be able to kiss him and taste the orgasm I made.

He also gave me these pictures that he made for me, because I asked for them. He said it will excite him to see them on my blog.

His wife also reads my blog. She’s got a super special husband. I don’t know if he told her what I wrote that made him come, so I’ll tell her now. I told him that I wanted to watch my man fuck his wife. I wanted to see my man take his ass virginity. I wanted my man’s cock to be the first one he tasted. And when my man came, I would kiss him and his wife and we would pass that magic flavor back and forth until it was gone and in each of us.

(Ok, and maybe I said I would want to suck him!)

My red headed friend isn’t allowed to fuck any women other than his wife. That’s fine. I don’t want to fuck any men other than my man.

Still, I do enjoy making this handsome man come.



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