Leaderboard

Falling for a Cum Vessel, pt. 2 But First, A Cum Dumpery Detour I hadn’t cum. Fuck my life. Despite my awe over fucking the athletic, handsome man with hair in all the right places I didn’t even cum. How fucking rude. And then a pandemic happened and I figured once would have to be enough for getting so close to perfection. Around Halloween I started exploring cum dumpery fun with an out-of-towner who would coordinate tops to stop by in 15 minute increments to load him. The first time I was the fifth loader, my first time fucking a true dump: door open, dark room, ass up, sloppy wet hole. I remember my pubes got really wet with the loads of the men before me. I came fucking him slowly because the sensation of a cum hole was so new. He said no one had ever cum in him with such slow fucking before, and the following times I was the fourth and third load, respectively. I was starting to like this. At New Years he wanted me to be the first load. I jokingly said I had finally been promoted to first dibs and he said that I’d always get first dibs from now on, which of course went to my head. Somehow, when a cum dump tells you that you’ve got a “really, really great dick,” you just need to believe it. It’s December 30 and he can be ass up and fresh for me starting at 11 p.m. I’m stoked, hadn’t cum in days and even arrived a little early. He accommodates and lets me get at it 10 minutes early. He’s expecting five more cocks and I’m somehow able to record the hottest ejaculation of my life. I tell him I’ll be back later. Walking out I see the red taillights of a car going by slowly, so a thought pops in my head: scope out the next guy walking in. Why not, I figured, the first time I loaded this dump he made me wait a couple minutes and I glimpsed the top before me. It’s now 11:16 and maybe the second top will see me walking to my truck. Sure enough that slow car is the next top. He’s tall, white, good build, can’t really make out his face, and walks with a rush. I start jerking as he walks in knowing the hole I stretched not three minutes before was about to get loaded again. He probably knew he wasn’t the first top, which turned me on even more knowing he wanted the hole loaded. I decided to wait to leave until he walked out, you know, to see if he lasted longer than me. About five minutes later top 2 walks out and I smile knowing he couldn’t have felt as good as me. Meanwhile, I’m about to leave when I see another car drive by slowly and park a few doors down. Surely top 3 will notice top 2 walking by. I’m stroking watching all this—tops scoping out tops—thanks to the cum dump. Sure enough third top walks up with the same rush in his step, and I start a timer to see how he stacks up. I end up watching six guys total go in and out (sly fucker, had only said five), and I figure his hole is definitely sloppy by now. I message to say I’m nearby and if he's ready for my second load. I wait a minute and see a silver sedan drive by slowly, come to stop in front of the house, but doesn’t park. Weird. I walk in and hell if it doesn’t reek of sweat, spit, and cum. I ask and says he got “seven, no wait, eight loads,” and freely admits that he was able to get a sixth top. He’s not even finished telling me about the sixth that I’m already pushing into his gaping hole, cock catching all drops of cum sticking to his hole hairs. My pubes are instantly drenched after the first thrust and I can’t fucking believe this slut let me and six guys walk in and use him, and so efficiently. He didn’t see any of our faces, probably let them all record and photograph him, too. My senses are out of control and next thing I know I’m shooting hard up his loose hole. I’m walking out satisfied, accomplished, and sleepy. In my truck I see another car pull up and a big chubby black guy with an orange cap walks up to the house. This must be the top-off load, even though the dump said I was the last. Shouldn’t matter, and yet, I wait until the top walks out and leaves. I know I don’t own the dump—he could never be owned—but I can’t shake this need to know who loaded him, how they compared to me, what happened to the load(s), and of course, wishing I could inspect the hole and play with the loads in him to make sure it can continue serving. It was now almost 2 a.m., December 31, and sitting in my truck outside the dump’s house I realized that I had barely scratched the surface: this new kink needed exploring. I wanted to feel that power over another man, feel him quiver for my cum with his hole, which made me feel like more of a man. I wanted to fuck more dumps, feel that velvety texture of a freshly used hole, and to know that the hole was mine after loading it. I knew more men like this dump existed who'd like that. I knew there’d be risks associated, but fuck it, because I knew I would see this new kink all the way through. What I didn’t know was that in less than a week I would be reunited with the Cum Vessel and that he would become the new kink.

I don’t know why so many of my entries seem to center around numbers - I’m not a numbers kind of guy. Nevertheless: Ten. I’m getting bred by another man in ten minutes from now, ten minutes from this moment. That’s enough time to put my whole life into a weird perspective that leads up to me being a hollow vessel for another man’s lust. Ten. Ten toes that splay and curl with his penetrations; when he forces me to an anal orgasm In missionary I can see my own big toes draw under and inward in involuntary response, as though they weren’t mine, but his - which, of course, they are. Ten. Viagra is dispensed in doseage measurements of 10mg. Ten. The cock length that somehow almost everyone claims to have taken, in spite of their rarity (I, however, absolutely have. It was not a comfortable fuck. I took an 11 that was much better.) Ten. The number of times the man who is about to fuck me has cunted me like a piece of fuck meat and inseminated me deeply with his seed, into places where it fuses with my being and colonizes me like all the invaders who ever entered Britain, and whose essence remains yet today. How many men am I an amalgam of now? How many multiples of Ten? Not multiples - orders of magnitude. How much of me that was original remains? If I am a vessel, my inner walls are coated thickly now with layer on layer of deposits, densely packed and each resonant of the man who left it - whether any actual molecular trace remains or whether the residuum is in my mind matters not at all; his entry into me is indelible. This man almost here has flooded me so many times I have truly lost count. I have taken s great deal of his semen into my body. Ten. The number of letters in CUMDUMP FAG, SLUT FOR MEN and WHORE ME OUT. I have been whored out, and would eagerly accept the opportunity again. If I found a man who wished to do it, I would let him traffic me for his bank. Ten bucks a fuck? Ten cents? Ten. The number I need to count to when I say such things to myself, because part of me means them in deadly earnest. And now he’s here. My ten are up, and I am fuckmeat now.