Confessions of a C*m Sl*t: Part 3

Transcript

When I started this series, these confessionals, I told you about the first time that I realized that I was a slut for cum. I told you about the moment that I realized that, for me, there is no sexual high that is higher than the moment that I feel the first drop of hot cum hit my skin. And then, in the next confessional, I told you about how I let a man cum on my face for the first time.

And maybe, eventually, I'll tell you about the first time I felt the rush of a cock spurting onto my ass cheeks after having my tightest hole fucked. Perhaps, I mean, I'll even tell you maybe about how I've tried other fluids on my skin to see how they feel. I mean, maybe I won't.

These confessionals aren't for you. They're for me. I just, I can't keep this feeling to myself.

It's just so persistent. There's always this simmering feeling. It's like there's always this slight itch under my skin.

Always. Always, always. My nerves are always like a little tingly, like a little on edge.

And most days, it's fine. I can manage it, most days. Some days, I try to ignore it.

I try to think of other things, but sometimes, sometimes the white, hot, burning desire for a sticky white load is just too much. The need is too great. The memory of that feeling is just too fucking good.

I never stop thinking about it. Some days, it's all I can think about. Some days, I can't focus on anything at all, but when I'll be feeling that next rush, will my hand be wrapped around some man's shaft, pumping his cum onto my face?

Or like, will a cock be plowing my pussy, only for me to yell out that I need him to cum on my belly? Those days always end up with me fucking myself furiously until I can finally relax. Those days, I do my best to make a mess of myself to satisfy the craving.

It's never quite as good, though. So these confessionals are for me. That's why I record them.

They're not for you. Do I imagine you listening to them? Yeah, I do.

Do I imagine you stroking your hard dick as I talk about my need for cum? Yeah. Oh yeah, I do.

Do I bury my fingers in my pussy, thinking about that glorious moment when your jizz spurts out and onto my aching skin? Fuck. Yeah.

Yeah, I do. But I don't record these for you. They're for me.

It's a kind of therapy. I can't just call my mom and say, Mom, I let a stranger in the club spunk on my tits last night. No, can I? And I need to get it off my chest.

About how much I love to get it on my chest. And my face. And my ass.

And my back. And that's what today's confessional is about. The first time I let a man cum on my back.

I suppose it might seem obvious that I would enjoy it. Maybe it even seems mundane. But back then, such a thought was almost anathema to me.

I had barely begun to understand my newfound desire. You see, it was only a week after my first time being cum on. That's it.

One week. That's it. And in that week, I had struggled.

I was just so… And I need to stress this point. I do. I can imagine you listening to this confession and thinking, she's full of shit.

She was a slut from day one and she's just saying this to build the drama. I mean, that simply isn't true. I mean, well, I suppose it is true.

I was a slut from day one, maybe. But I didn't understand that. I didn't know.

And I certainly, I certainly did not understand that I was a cum slut. Sex was not something that was messy or kinky or anything like that. Not then.

But now? Yeah. I mean, yeah, now it's kinky and messy and oh, oh, so much better than it was back then.

But then? I would shower before and after sex. Every time I was supposed to be clean, sex was supposed to be clean.

But then? Then that first time? Oh, that first time.

Well, okay, no need to confess something I've already confessed. No matter how much fun it is to think about. I digress.

After that first time, I didn't know what to think. I was so confused. Do you understand? Like, can you understand? The proverbial switch had been flipped.

Only I didn't know what had turned on inside of me. That week, after the first time, the whole week I found my mind just drifting. I would be at my desk.

I'd go about my day and suddenly, a twinge between my legs, a shiver down my spine, and the memory would come back. I'd be facing my monitor at work, but I would be seeing that wonderful, hot, delicious calm on my skin. And I wanted it again.

But then, in the next instant, I would be revolted. How could I possibly want something so unclean? And why couldn't I stop thinking about it? And why did thinking about it make me ache? I would try to regain focus, to be fair.

Eventually, I'd get back to work. I'd put the thought out of my mind, only for it to come rushing back, shooting all over my thoughts, covering them, making me so… Fuck. Yeah.

Yeah. I gotta finish this. Do you see? Are you starting to understand why I need to talk about this? This is to help me.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Distracted.

That first week of being distracted. Well, as you can imagine, by the end of the week, the curiosity was too much. I needed to understand what was going on with me.

So, I came up with a plan. I decided that the first time, it was a fluke. I realized that, yes, the sex had felt like the best I'd ever had, but I was tipsy, or I was a little tired, and it was a moment.

And in that moment, the feeling of cum felt good on my skin. But, I thought, it was just a moment. So, I decided to recreate the moment.

I figured that this time, head clear, awake, alert, the mad desire would be gone, and sanity would reign. Oh, how very foolish I was. Still, this is how we learn.

So, that Friday night, I went back to the bar from the week before. No work party this time. Just me and my curiosity.

I imagine that, knowing what I am now, that you're picturing this scene and I look like a vampy man-eater on the prowl. So, let me set the scene for you properly. I went right after work, so I was in my work clothes.

Sensible, comfortable, navy blue dress, black slip-on flats, round at the toe, grey cardigan. That's it. That was the whole ensemble.

I could have been mistaken for a librarian, and I probably was now that I think about it. I mean, librarians can be naughty too, can't they? So, I sat at the bar, I ordered a rum and coke, and I looked around the room.

Again, I think I know what you're thinking. This cum-crazed whore probably pounced on the first dick she saw. And if this was a story about a recent Friday night, well, you'd probably be right.

But now that I understand what I want and how to get it, everything is much better. So much easier. But then, no.

Oh, no, no, no. I must have been at that bar for hours. Slowly making the most of my drink.

Probably infuriated the bartender with how slowly I was drinking. But I wanted to keep my head clear. Keep things clean.

You know? I had finally finished my second and was contemplating either ordering a third or calling it quits when a man squeezed in between me and the person that sat next to me. He wasn't remarkable, this man.

Decent looking, but not overly handsome. Almost plain, in a sense. Which is why I picked him.

Right there, in that moment. As he squeezed by me face to face so he could get the bartender's attention. As he smiled and said, excuse me.

It was then that I realized that he was perfect for my plan. Nothing exceptional. Nothing remarkable.

Nothing to make the sex I wanted to have with him exceptional or remarkable. Just a decent, normal man. I tried to ignore the twinge between my legs and the shiver down my spine at the moment.

I said something to him. An offhanded comment. I don't really remember what.

I don't want to be mean, but small talk really doesn't matter when a woman's made up her mind to fuck a man. And men, somehow, can tell. We chatted.

He ordered me another drink. He might have brought drinks back to his friends. I don't really recall.

No, what I recall is that, in short order, my third rum and coke was left on the bar, unfinished, and this decent, normal man and I were getting into a cab. I must confess. Well, I mean, I am confessing.

But you know what I mean. I mean, in that moment, as we got into the cab, my mind already made up to fuck this man I met at the bar that he meant nothing to me. He was an experiment.

A means to an end. He was, for all intents and purposes, faceless and nameless. And honestly, I don't remember his face.

No, I certainly don't remember his name. I must have asked him that night. I'm sure I must have.

Anyways, it meant nothing, even then. All that mattered, and I can admit this now, all that mattered to me was getting him hard and getting his cum. You see, it was then that I began to understand.

I began to understand what I wanted. Isn't that crazy? Like, I began to understand, well, myself, I guess.

And that's really what this is all about. This is about me. This is about what I need.

So anyways, in that night, in that cab, I really began to understand. By the time we got back to his place, things began to make so much more sense to me. That decent, ordinary man whose name and face didn't matter, I had his tongue in my mouth shortly after we closed the door.

I made sure that there was no doubt in his mind what I wanted. He stripped, I stripped. It was all very perfunctory.

In fact, it was kind of meaningless. And true to my plan, I was sober. I was alert, and I was about to have meaningless sex with a meaningless man.

There was absolutely nothing about the situation that made it a moment like the time before. There was absolutely nothing about the situation that made it seem like I was about to try something wild. Well, wild by my standards at the time, anyway.

And yet, as I laid down on the bed and he mounted me, the shiver in my spine was, like, much less easy to ignore. I'm sure you'd love to have all kinds of lurid, specific details about that night. And I'm sure you'd be thinking that this is the moment where I tell you that I turned into a wanton sex maniac and did everything that you've ever seen in a porn ever in your life.

I mean, this isn't that kind of story. I have to tell you. He might have fingered me a little bit.

I don't remember. He might have even licked my clit. I honestly don't remember.

I'm sure I sucked his cock. I mean, why wouldn't I? Men often enjoy it.

It's a simple little treat to give them. Come on. I'm sure I'm much better at it now than I was then, of course.

But still, I'm sure I sucked his cock for a bit. And when he was good and hard, when the precom was all mixed with my spit and the shaft was slick, I spread my legs and guided his dick in. I wrapped my hand around his shaft, I spread my pussy with the other hand, and he sank his dick into my waiting hole.

And it was. .. fine.

It wasn't bad. But it wasn't remarkable. I mean, it was just okay.

He probably played with my nipples a little bit. I'm sure I encouraged his thrusting. He probably cooed and said something like, Mmm, yes.

Mmm, just like that. And he thrusted his perfectly adequate dick.