I Hate The Texture Of Cum But I’ll Always Be A Filthy Cum-Slut at Heart.

The first time someone came on me it was all over my stomach, and I spent the following ten minutes swirling my fingers through it, rubbing it in, and generally devouring the new sensation with an almost innocent fascination. For once I didn’t even consider if what I was doing was weird (and in hindsight it probably was a bit odd – to him at least) since I’d totally forgotten he was still there.

That first experience sparked a strong desire to be spattered with cum – a desire that still burns brightly inside me today. I love nothing more than for Chris to grab me, flip me onto my front, pin me down and cum all over my back. Admittedly I have a kink for being used, but it’s more than that, the feel of warm cum droplets falling on my skin, does things, really good things, to me.

I also love LOVE LOOOOOOOOVE giving blow-jobs, the responses – the groans, tensing muscles, spasm-ing cock. It all drives my hunger. Playing chicken with my gag reflex I will greedily take more of him in my mouth, allowing his cock access to my throat, always steadily encouraged by the fistful of hair he’s grasped at the back of my head.

It’s not obligation that drives me, its need, desire, an urge to please that runs so deep I don’t think I’ll ever truly satisfy it. I instinctively suck him harder, mentally willing him to cum, eager for the fruits of my labour, wanting to bring him to orgasm more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. Even knowing that once he’s cum the fun will be over (for 20minutes or so) doesn’t deter me. I want to be the one to evoke this reaction in him, I want him to feel like he’s been stranded in the desert for weeks and my mouth is the deliciously wet pool he can finally delve into. His salvation.

Then his dick starts twitching, his legs have tensed, his back is slightly arched, and while most of me is hungry for what comes next, there’s a part of me that isn’t. Because whilst I love cum I also hate it. Blow your load on my tits, my ass, even my face, but please for the love of all things not puke-inducing, not in my mouth!

I hate cum in my mouth, spit or swallow, neither helps. It’s frustrating because I want to love it, and I especially want to love Chris’s own brand of cock juice. It’s almost worse because the flavour is fine, nice even, but like everybody else I’ve sampled, is just too thick and gloopy for me to not feel sick.

For years I’ve swallowed, took a quick swig of water and beamed with self-pride at my partners, See I’m just the filthy little cum-slut you always wanted, I’d try to say with that smile, I’m not afraid of bodily fluids. Because being a hungry cum-slut meant swallowing, right? And then slowly I’d get less inclined to give blow-jobs, knowing that reaching the Holy Grail always meant taking a sip from it.

I’ve now (Thankfully) come to the conclusion that being a filthy/hungry cum-slut can mean whatever you want it to mean. Just because you don’t want to swallow doesn’t make you worth any less as a sexual partner, and it certainly doesn’t make you a prude. I guzzle cock like a pro, I’ve got mad fellatio skillz, I’m eager and I’m determined. The value of my blowjob isn’t lessened because I won’t take a load in my mouth – I’ve got better places for that cum, places it’s actually wanted, yearned for and once I’d explained it, Chris wanted nothing more than to make my filthy-cum-slut-dreams come true.