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I drove home from Nashville Sunday morning - a 90-mile drive - having spent the last night taking cock in a hotel room. I still had nine loads inside me as the result of my night of service. I don’t know anyone in Nashville, but an acquaintance from Chicago I met at IML last May had had come down to visit family, so I made arrangements to come down and take a hotel room so he could fuck me again. He also offered to be my doorman as I hosted. It was a successful night of hosting, especially for a Saturday - I usually avoid Saturdays because I find I have less luck then than any other day of the week, but this was the only day my acquaintance could meet. Aside from him, nine other complete strangers showed up to breed me. Between them all, I ended up being loaded nine times. As I drove, the number stuck with me for some reason, and I couldn’t shake the realization that my body now contained - and was actively absorbing - the reproductive fluids of nine other men, eight of whom I had largely not even seen, and one of whom was a mere acquaintance. I had, essentially, allowed nine strangers to insert their penises inside my body and ejaculate. (The first of them had a cock roughly nine inches long - I could tell by the way it threaded through my second ring.) In a general public sense, a man’s penis is considered a feature to keep hidden, at best a private, intimate thing; at worst, a thing considered unclean because of the fluids it produces. We don’t walk around in public with them hanging out (for the most part) and anyone who does is usually arrested because it isn’t considered decent. Of course, countless tomes have been written on the nature of the phallus as a designator of power and influence, and undeniably so. It is the single most defining token of masculinity. For all the protestations that a bottom isn’t any less a man because he receives cock, there is persistently, undeniably, something significant about the statement made when a man penetrates another man. Sometimes the point is made openly, but the subtext is always there due to humans’ binary reproductive nature - in that moment, the one is being less a man than the other. I never penetrate. I’m always the one penetrated. I not only allow it, I make it possible. I spend my money to arrange it. I endure discomfort to experience it. Yet I’m not ignorant of the way most people would perceive what I do, or their likely opinion of me if they knew. What, then, does it mean that I have allowed myself to become this? Yes, I was trained by a man who sought to draw out this part of my nature, but the nature was there to be drawn out. Who have I become that I would let nine strangers use their cocks to rut me like a breeding animal and inseminate me? Nine of them in a night. Nine, though, isn’t that significant a figure, actually. I had already passed the 999 mark in men who have fucked me, a while back. You can’t be un-fucked once you’ve taken a cock, so how much more completely far gone am I now? There is no denying it - I am not a man in the way the men who seeded me are. I know that a breeding doesn’t actually combine a man’s DNA with mine, but the fluid he pumps into me is a product uniquely of his body, and some of that fluid, and the compounds it contains, are absorbed into my flesh to become part of me. I know that my body has fused with the products of over a thousand men, the vast majority of whom are complete strangers, and many of whom I never saw at all. I now have difficulty framing a rationale why any man should not fuck and seed me, when I have accepted so many indiscriminately. I have accepted that my anus and my mouth are receptacles for what society considers unclean organs and the sexual fluid they emit, and done so so often that there’s no point in thinking otherwise. So what does that make me? What can people legitimately think of me? Obviously, some would say ‘you faggot’ and I have no grounds to dispute it - and I have to appreciate the irony that that phrase contains 9 letters. Nine feels like a heavy, weighted number because it’s incomplete, not quite ten. It leaves the sense of something lacking, something unfinished. Perhaps that’s why these nine loads resonate within me - they seem to call out for more, and I know that there will be more. Because I’ve become a cumdump, and there’s no going back.

Near Home—March, 2022 Friday night. I was horned. I had thought about little else all day. I grabbed the reins and my cock led me to the local bookstore, drooling all the way… The gay theatre is empty. I check the straight one. Surprise. There are half a dozen men here watching multiple-guys-on-one-girl porn. The cocksucker’s chair is filled—literally. A very heavy man is sitting there. He currently has no takers. But guys are stroking—or squeezing dick through the fabric of their pants. I sit along the wall in one of the few vacant chairs. I have a clear visual of a man a row ahead of me flogging his tiny dick. I have to turn around to see most of the other men. When I hear a rustle behind me, I look to see one of the horned guys get up and make use of the cocksucker’s mouth. I set my dick free—and stroke to the porn. My eyes get used to the darkness. Right across from me, against the far wall, is a young man. Around 28 or so. He is African-American, with a handsome profile, a mostly trim body and a sizable cock. He is stroking at an incredibly fast pace. I turn back to the movie and sneak an occasional glimpse at him. His hand moves quicker as up on the huge television a hung Black man takes the girl anally, while white cocks are in her two other holes. I watch the movie—expecting him to drop a load any moment. But I catch him looking at me. A lot. He looks away at the screen whenever our eyes chance to meet. Suddenly he puts his cock away—tenting his jeans—and leaves the room. I linger a minute, waiting to hear the door to the gay room shut. But nothing. I put my dick in my pants and go out into the dark hallway. I check the three preview booths, thinking he may be there. Nothing. I decide he’s gone—or in the arcade. I go to the gay cinema just to see. And there he is. I shut the door, just as quietly as he must have. He is leaning against the wall. Stroking. I sit in the cocksucker’s chair over here, not sure what he wants—if anything with someone so much older. We stroke in unison. The porn here is mild after the group effort on the straight side. He looks at me. I catch him at it. He turns away. And again—the same thing. Then he walks over, rather duck like with his pants around his knees. Is he offering me his dick? He whispers: “May I suck you?” I nod. He kneels. His mouth is big. His tongue is velvety. He’s good for his young age—or a natural. He makes my cock very happy. “Lick my balls.” “Yes, Daddy…” His fat tongue does a great job there, too. My hand directs his head to go back to my drooling shaft. He licks up my precum before ovaling his lips and taking me deep. I sigh. He works harder. But I’m not close. He pulls off me. “Will you fuck me? Please?” I nod and stand up. He gets up and takes his pants off completely. I bend him over, so he is holding onto the backs of the chairs in front of us. It arches his full butt cheeks perfectly. My hand grazes the tight curls of black hair all over them—and a forest of it in his ass crack. I kneel and sink my tongue into him. He gasps. He begins to whimper as I go to work. I drill into his tight hole. I love his showered-but-slightly-sweaty-from-all-the-jerking smell and taste. He is panting now. And groaning. “Nobody eats me out…” he murmurs. “Nobody.” I re-double my efforts. My cock is rock hard as I tongue his ebony mounds. I lube myself up as my tongue drills into his now not so tight pucker. I need to fuck. “You want me raw?” I ask as I stand up. “Yes, he whispers. “I want your cum in me.” My head pushes in. He gasps. I wait. The kid is tight—but no virgin. His hole relaxes and sucks me in. I fuck him slowly. Deliberately. Each stroke is my full length. His hand never leaves his big cock. I slap his ass. The sound fills the room. And ignites the kid. He pushes back now, to meet every thrust. He moans louder and begins mumbling a string of profanity. His ass tightens down. I am sure he’s going to shoot before I do. “Cum, man, cum in me…” And that does it for him. He shoots a massive load on the floor. A spurt with each thrust I pound into him. I slow. And he moves abruptly, disconnecting us. “Sorry,” he pants. “It’s too much after…” leaving it unfinished. He accepts a piece of paper towel to clean up. I go back to the straight side for someone to take my load. No one is there. The porn has changed to something generic. I wait around—Nobody is here. Finally I go home, vowing to return tomorrow night… The original is here: From My Side of the Sling: The Kid With the Big Cock (felchingpisser.blogspot.com) April 18, 2022