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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.

I’m home tonight, it’s Sunday - Superbowl Sunday in fact, which signifies nothing to me since I’ve never watched football in my life. The clock was closing on 8:00 pm, and I had just heated up a bowl of soup for a late supper. I planned to read the news online while I ate it, and then probably think about getting some rest, as I had been up late the night previous. Tonight seemed like a good night to just unwind. The cat agreed; she wanted me to go the fuck to bed so she could have the house to herself for the night, and was blunt about it, so I wasn’t going to argue. I started to take a spoonful of my soup, and a signal came from my phone - the special bloop that only Kik makes. I checked it. Sometimes it’s just spambots, but on occasion… Hi - Are you available tonight? I’d love to come see you. Damn. “Come see you” meant “come fuck you”. It was the local Top who comes to my house to cunt me semi-regularly. He usually texts me on Kik about an hour before he wants to breed, which is, frankly, short notice. With rare exceptions, he’s the only person who comes to my house to fuck me. The fact that he does means that my preparation for him isn’t just rinsing out my intestines and cleaning my body so that it can be used, I also have to make sure the rooms are presentable, the bathroom is clean enough for company, etc. - I have to play the host as well as the sex object. But I do not refuse a man who claims my ass, if it is within my power. So tonight I left my soup on the table, shut the (annoyed) cat in the living room, and with one hour’s notice I straightened three rooms, cleaned the bathroom, gave myself a basic pre-fuck cleanout, and still had enough time to watch a little porn to remind me what I’m for before I heard the telltale rattle of the doorknob as he came in. My soup was cold, of course, after he left. The cat was, and is, pissed. My chance at a laid-back Sunday evening was lost. Now, you might say, So what? You got fucked, didn’t you? Bonus! The thing is - and this is how I know - tonight, at this particular point, I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to have to let that Top come fuck me. So why did I? Nobody had a gun to my head. I wasn’t being coerced. For all that is said on this forum about how bottoms “must” submit to Tops, the truth is we really don’t have to if we don’t want to. Tonight wasn’t a case of me secretly wanting to - I really didn’t. But I did it anyway. That’s how I know. The fact that something in me compels me to respond contrary to my own interest and desire tells me that the impulse isn’t contrived or imagined. It’s genuine. It’s real. I know I’m meant to be fucked by men and to serve their sex because doing so comes so naturally and automatically that the impulse to do it is as powerful as instinct and the imperative is hard-wired into my body and my mind. I have cold soup in my bowl and his hot cum in my ass. That’s how I know.

Near Home—April, 2022 I was packing for my trip to CLAW for several days before I was to actually leave. I was excited to return to a leather weekend. Just the act of putting things in travel bags at the foot of my bed (toys, restraints, leathers) worked my cock up. I knew I wanted to get off at least once more before I set off to Cleveland. So back to the closest bookstore I went. I wasn’t about to waste my load with a wank… The parking lot is full. I take the last space. A trim young daddy type is locking his car next to me. He gives me a head nod and goes into the building. I follow. He buys a ticket to the two theatres and vanishes into one of them—I can’t tell which. I buy my ticket and step into the straight theatre. It’s almost full. Nothing is currently happening sexually, but you can feel the sexual tension in the air. I take one of the last single seats against the wall. I look around. Right now it’s all just men groping at the mound in their lap. I unbutton and let my cock spring free. I watch the movie and idly jerk my cock. This encourages a younger Black guy to unzip and jerk in public. I pause and bend down, reaching for my water bottle on the floor. When I sit back up, I can feel someone standing right behind me, leaning on the wall. I take a swig and look. It’s the young Caucasian daddy from the parking lot. His cock is out—hard, very red in the head and inches from my neck. I nod to him—and with no shame at all he takes two steps so his dick is lodged in my mouth. This action makes someone on the back wall unzip to let the guy in the cocksucker’s seat have a cock, too. Other men unzip. The young Black man has his eyes riveted on me. His hand gets busier on his dick as I suck a cock so openly. The guy in my mouth is eager—and with little control. He has been in the building for about 15 minutes and his cock is about to shoot. I feel him swell. The guy groans—and fires a thick load into my mouth. He zips up and leaves, smirking. I take another swig of water to wash it all down. I look right at the young man. He looks away—but keeps stroking. We play this game for about five minutes as he decides what he wants to do. We both hear the guy against the back wall get off. The young Black man, thin, maybe as old as 28, stands up and hides his long thin cock. He looks like he is leaving the room. Instead he kneels in front of me. I am slightly surprised—but pleased. He has sucked cock before but has no real skill at it—but his eagerness makes up for it. He moans each time I touch his head or his shoulder. “Do my balls,” I whisper. I pull them freer from the fabric of the pouch. This seems to really turn him on. I pull them up slightly and his tongue goes for my cock ring and the day’s worth of musk under my balls. He jerks faster. And faster. Lapping now, a little deeper down my perineum. “Don’t waste your load,” I whisper to him. He grunts—and stands up. This long thin cock spurts the first blast onto my beard. The rest goes into my mouth. He lets me clean his cock off—actually loves it—where I am almost always too sensitive. He zips up and leaves after I get the last drop off his wilting dick. I lick at some of the cum in my beard. I like that I will smell like him all night… * I have moved to the gay side. I have an older white guy in my mouth. He can’t stay hard. He finally gives up and goes out. I stroke to the movie. I know there is someone in the back corner behind the door. I hear footsteps. “Fuck me.” I turn. It is a mid-30’s Latino. He moves closer yet. “I want that big dick.” He pulls out a condom and shoves the Durex Extra Safe package towards me. I shake my head. He leaves. I watch the movie. He comes back, the door banging. “Here.” He has bought me a Magnum. I can’t refuse him now… He drops his pants to his ankles and leans on the chair in front of him. It’s a nicely rounded ass—dusted on the cheeks with long black hair. His crack is very hairy. I kneel behind him and surprise him with a rimming. I can tell he’s showered before the tongue touches him. I eat him out as he groans, opening the condom and rolling it on as I do it. I lube it—and stand up. I let him feel the condom is in place and poke at his hole. He is tight. He reaches back again with his left hand to slow me down. I see the wedding ring on his finger. I add more lube, remembering the rubber. This time I go in. He is tight—but willing. He groans as I work his ass open. I reach under him. His uncut dick is soft and swinging to my fuck rhythm. It’s a mistake. He cums all over my hand, without getting hard. I pull out—and am really glad I am rubber upped… * I wander between the two theatres. I see the Linebacker, the hot Latin man who took 4 loads from three of us on my first harvesting for cum adventure. He nods to me as he pulls a man my age into one of the preview booths and locks the door. Nothing is happening now in the straight theatre. I go back to the gay cinema, where the movie is better. I sit—aware that again someone is behind the door. I hear pants open. And some wet sounding stroking. I get up and investigate. The guy is mid 40’s, white and thin. His cock is just that, too—very white and very thin with a slight downwards hook. I go to my knees and take him down my throat. He fits perfectly. He fucks my mouth quite happily. Then he leans down, pulling out of me slightly, to feel for my cock. “Wow,” he whispers, “let me suck you.” We switch around. He’s good. Wet and slick. He pulls off me. “Fuck me?” I nod. No condom comes out this time. He wants me raw. He drops his pants and bends over right there. It’s too cramped a space for me to get to my knees to rim—so I just add more lube. I slip in. He takes me like a champ. Groaning and telling me it feels great. I fuck him hard. I am damn close to giving him a load after all the various play tonight. I speed up. Just as I am about to say, ‘You want my load?’ the guy says, “Let my taste you again.” He pulls off me and spins around. “I’m gonna shoot,” I bark. He stands, saying “Shoot on my dick.” My aim is good. Blast after blast hits his thin, engorged cock. He grabs it using, using my cum for lube, and blasts his own load all over the floor and my left boot… * As I leave, the Linebacker is in the parking lot. “May I have your number?” he asks. I give it to him. “My boyfriend loves to see me get fucked by other big dicked guys. Send me some dick pics and I will see what he says.” I smile all the way home. The original is here: From My Side of the Sling: Dropping a Load before CLAW (felchingpisser.blogspot.com) May, 23, 2022