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I’ve had a lot of pretty extreme things done to me sexually in the last 17 years. I’ve been forced to orgasm so many times, one right after the other, that cumming became a form of torture, and then I was trained to cum on command. My first big gangbang, 32 men. I got mercilessly finger-fucked and toy-raped. Electro through my cock, balls and ass; deep, deep sounding; and electro-sounding. Jacked-off, experimented with and just plain fucked in front of both public and private audiences of up to 20 or more people. I’ve been edged with a goddamned feather nearly to the snapping of my mind - twice. My nuts have been pierced through their center with needles. Flogging, fire-flogging (yes, that’s flogging with fire), cock-pumping by machine, fucking by fucking machine, sooo much bondage... all of this before I discovered that I’m a cumdump. Since then I’ve spent three years just taking cock. All kinds of cock, every single cock that wanted in me got in me. I’ve taken gargantuan cocks, double penetrations, bathhouse sluttings of 20 men a day, brutal jackhammer dildo-raping. Hundreds of men have bred and seeded me or fed me their load, the last two days ago. It’s been a wild ride. I started very late, at 37, with a strong sense that my clock was ticking toward an end, and I desperately needed to make up for lost time, to have the sex life I missed in my 20s and early 30s, or regret it forever. I no longer feel that urgency; I guess I caught up. The problem is, now it’s hard to really reach a point of deep satisfaction. I remember a time when I had orgasms so intense that everything went white around me - I called them white-out orgasms. I can’t remember the last time I had one. Ever since I took a certain holy-mother-of-god-thicc cock in 2018, I’ve been yearning for another Top to fill me like that, but none has. Certain Tops have power-fucked me for hours, or in just exactly the right way, truly using me the way I’m designed to be used, with the attitude to match (looking at you, @FelchingPisser), but these have been very rare experiences for me. Every fuck is always a privilege and a gift from the Top, and I treat every single fuck as though it has the potential to take me to Nirvana - and you never can tell what some men can do - but the rush of gratification I receive from the Top’s pleasure is becoming weaker and weaker. It used to be that I could lie ass-up on a bed, knowing that an anonymous man would show up in moments to open the door and then penetrate, fuck and inseminate me, and I could say to myself, He’s coming. He’s really going to come in. A stranger is going to fuck you and nothing you can do will stop that from happening now. And a huge rush of excitement, along with humiliation, would sweep through my body. Now, I only get a buzz or a tickle; there have been so many strangers, and I never even got a look at them. Even the poppers - the first time a Top used poppers on me I blacked out. Fortunately, I was bound to a St. Andrew’s Cross at the time, so I couldn’t fall down. Since then, I’ve only blacked out twice, very briefly, and only in the early days. But I can always tell they’re going to work because I see a colorful ring appear before my eye that looks exactly like an asshole opening up to accept a cock. I take it as proof - the litmus test that reveals what I truly am and what I’m truly for. Except now, no matter how fresh the bottle, I don’t see my ring as often, and sometimes not at all. All of this adds up to a growing anxiety, a building emptiness inside me - I now crave an intensity of sexual experience that isn’t provided by most encounters. Something in me is crying out for some very Dominant, selfish, aggressive Top to take advantage of my willingness and use me in ways that take me beyond (read: deeper, more debased, more devolved) ways than I have been. In a way, I feel that the “safeties need to be removed” before I can access what is inside me and grow, and I can’t do it for myself because things have to be done to me for it to work. In essence, in order to blow my mind, I need to find someone interested in taking me down a dark hole and using me unscrupulously. The fact that the poppers aren’t doing what they once did, however, raises a concern. It’s the question of desensitization. Desensitization is a factor in chemical dependency and addiction, of course (poppers are not considered to be an addictive substance), but it also figures in the concept of the Inhibitory Threshold. When we are constrained in certain actions for ethical, moral, or legal reasons, we stand away from those actions beyond an Inhibitory Threshold - it is a line we do not cross, basically because One Does Not Cross That Line. It’s a kind of personal line-in-the-sand. The Inhibitory Threshold is a strong deterrent - until you actually cross it. Once you cross the Threshold, once you’ve Done The Deed, even if you feel guilt and swear never to do it again, the precedent is set - you did it, therefore you can. This directly undermines the Inhibitory Threshold, which gets its power by convincing you that you can’t. In the context of sexual experience, the Inhibitory Threshold is constantly at work on guys, informing them about what their naughty little animal minds can get away with and what they can’t. Once a given Threshold is crossed, however, the result is usually such a potent jolt to the brain’s pleasure and reward center that that Threshold can never again have any influence - the man has been desensitized to the sense that that activity is off-limits, and thus desensitized to any anticipatory or imagined consequence titillation he might once have felt. Been there, done that. Even if the activity is intensely pleasurable, that intensity will diminish with repetition simply because of the neurology of the thing; the body and brain will get used to it. In general, this shouldn’t be that big a problem, because sex is extremely varied, practices can be variously extreme, the average guy isn’t really all that promiscuous, and most people don’t readily jump their Inhibitory Thresholds (they’re mainly Vanillas). For most, they should never reach a point of desensitization that can’t be readily refreshed by a minor variation. But what happens to a man who does burn through the options until he’s desensitized to most things? What happens when there’s nothing left capable of meeting the sexual need most people meet with common activity? It seems to me that the parallel with drug addiction is very close. The need (and sexual fulfillment is one of the basic human needs) continues to build as an unmet hunger in the individual until a state of desperation is reached. At this stage, the individual begins to make what are essentially internal triage decisions, risking other needs like food, sleep, health, security and freedom in order to take actions to meet the unmet sexual deficit. Even if the individual is able to cognitively control his impulses, the result is likely to be a persistent state of unfulfillment, and unless it is somehow resolved, self-actualization, or complete development of the individual, becomes practically impossible. I am afraid I have reached, or am reaching, a point of serious sexual desensitization, and am torn on what course I should take. On the one hand, I have a sense of some things that could continue to sustain me for a while to come. These would involve me providing myself much more frequently to the use of men in more varied locations, and essentially forcing myself into a sleazier style of life, hoping to attract the attention of certain types of Dominant, aggressive men, with a goal to being serially used/abused and even trafficked by them. Another possible avenue would be physical ownership by a very select Dom or Doms who wished for their own gratification to explore the potential limits of my sexual transformation mentally, and broaden the extent of my physical sexual exposure, service and use. The risks of these strategies are both obvious, and less so. An intensification of my activity as a self-whoring cumdump will unavoidably risk greater public exposure. At my age, the likelihood of actually attracting the target Tops is relatively small, so I would have to spend significantly more time exposed to possibly achieve the result. And in the event of personal exposure my home community is far less than accepting. The increase in potential exposure to STDs is a given; I would unquestionably contract gono, chlamydia and syphilis on a repeated basis, at the least (as indeed I previously have). Aggressive men are dangerous, and arrogant, selfish, aggressive men in heat are especially so. The activity I would be actively seeking carries a higher risk of injury. Falling in with the sort of men who would think nothing of hate-fucking my cunt and then whoring it out to make bank is also plainly unwise... yet the only means to reach a certain depth of debasement. Submitting to Domination for experimental training of the kind I’m thinking about would be a very long shot at best, because the kind of Dominant interested in and capable of such work would be an incredibly rare find. Even my former Master was unwilling to go to the extents that I contemplate. Ethical constraints would have to be... loose. The danger, in my consideration, is not what such a man might practice upon me, but what I might be after he’s finished. If my prior training proved anything, it’s that permanent transformation in a man can be achieved. The greatest risk, however, is perhaps that I could pursue these courses of increasingly intense experience, crossing Inhibitory Thresholds like highway mile markers, until at last I find myself at the end of the road. I imagine I would encounter one of two things there: Either a sense of self completion, like the finishing of a puzzle, all the inner questions about myself finally answered, in satisfaction and peace - or else an endless, howling void that marks the end of all potential, and the beginning of a hopeless, insatiable hunger that will try ever more desperate things, in vain, until I am destroyed in its excesses. I am frightened because I am hungry even now and I don’t know what to do. I am frightened because my hunger drives me even against my thought, and I know full well that if by chance my hunger places me in the path of a chance to start down one of these roads... I will take it. I don’t know how common this feeling is among other men, but if you’ve read this far, a) Wow and b) I’d be interested in your thoughts.
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