Whats In A Cum Shot

"No, no, it's true. It says right here 'Cum Sucker: four ounces Jack Daniels, four ounces Southern

Cumfort

, four ounces Morgan, and,

for ladies

, four ounces of sperm,'" read Stephen from a bartender's website.

"Come on. No bar in the world is going to actually offer a drink like that. Or if they do, they're certainly not going to make one," my old buddy Harvey countered in his commonsensical manner.

"But all the others just list standard ingredients," Stephen continued. "Let's see there are two different recipes for a Cum Shot. There's the Cum Dumpster, Cum In A Tub, Cumstain, Blowjob, Cumlips, oh, and the Cockteaser. One more: Cumshot In The Eye. Ooh, that's gotta hurt."

"What's in a Cum Shot?" someone asked.

Laughter all around mixed with one "You oughta know" and one mean spirited "He knows when he tastes it."

Once they quieted down Stephen went on reading from his laptop's browser.

"One part butterscotch schnapps and one part Bailey's Irish Cream. Top with whipped

cream

," he said, emphasizing the final word with a glance in my direction, raised eyebrows and a smile.

"I'd be surprised if any place even listed these drinks," Harvey added.

Big Mike our intolerable host, again waking from his drunken stupor, threw in his two cents, "I'll bet Lisa's never had a

real

Cum Shot."

The rest of us just ignored the obnoxious prick, hoping the alcohol he'd consumed would finally shut him up for the night. Actually, had any one of the others said this it would have been a turn-on - or a dare. With Big Mike it just sounded vulgar.

The nine of us had finished a two-day sales conference at 7:30 on a Friday night - too late to catch any flights out until the morning. We'd met at the hotel restaurant for dinner, then moved to the bar for a little postprandial conversation and a lot of alcohol. It had been a rough conference with the national marketing director chewing us out for not achieving our quarterly sales targets. Everyone deserved some unwind time.

As is typical with this group and something for which I've never stopped thanking my lucky stars, I was the sole woman. Remember learning about potential and kinetic energy in high school science class? Every three months we were the potential energy equivalent of a gangbang. Nine men and me. Though it had never happened there was always the playful, sexy, excitement in the air. I, for one, could feel it - at the least I could fantasize about it.

Heaven. Almost. There was always Big Mike. Probably not too bad a guy when he'd lay off the sauce. Since we'd never seen him in the "off" condition, he was what could only be characterized as described above: an obnoxious prick. I'm generally not one to call people names, but if there were a dictionary entry for "obnoxious prick" you'd see Big Mike's mug! Never a nice word. Never a team player. Always nasty and negative. Always exhausting and egocentric.

Yet, somehow since the meeting was held this quarter in his town and the restaurant kicked us out at 9:00, we'd left the bar and taken two rental cars plus Big Mike's battleship back to his house.

"Judy tells me it's classy. It's twill or toile or 'twat' or something," Big Mike had explained, leering at me with his crude shot at a rude pun. "To me a chair's a chair. It's where I put my butt. All I know is that it's expensive. Just be careful," Mike had warned us non-stop since we'd arrived. His wife's new, custom cabriole wing chair and matching pillows was delivered today and she hadn't even seen it yet. "Lucky, I can afford her. She's at her mom's in Baker, but she'll be back in the morning. If anything's messed up, she'll have my head. Just don't go near it, you assholes."

There you go, our gracious host.

Crowded into the cozy living room, Stephen still searching for salacious drinks, my brain ruminated about why they were called cocktails in the first place: in my addlepated condition I was so proud of whoever put the words "cock" and "tail" together. With way too much alcohol coursing through all our brains and veins, the conversation turned back to sex and, as I was the only female, I was the center of attention. (Did I tell you I was with nine men? The thought alone made me moist.)

"Judy'll have his head,

Big Mike'll be dead,

Don't you dare

Go near the chair."

When he got snockered, Harvey liked to think he was Calliope. At least his dreadful attempts at poetry made everyone lighten up temporarily.

Harvey was also the guy in the room with whom I was closest. Plus, I had once drunk two loads of his cum on one business trip - without any marital infidelity!

"So, Lisa, have you ever had a Cum Shot?" he asked.

But with Harvey's question, suddenly I wasn't simply the only female. I could see the looks on their faces. My mouth had just become the center of a bull's eye! If I had looked in a mirror I know there'd have been concentric circles surrounding it.

To tell the truth I'd always been more than just a fan of fellatio, I was a fanatic. Though I took pleasure in sucking, it was the semen to which I was addicted. The feeling of a smooth cock between my lips was a real turn on, yet semen was nepenthe. I could have an orgasm just drinking a condomful. (Harvey, that time, had kindly provided exactly that treat.)

It was as though my taste buds were connected to my clit. Is that weird or what?

Well, when in Rome, as the adage goes. Feeling a bit feisty I responded to his question, "I've had more Cum Shots than I can count. If I wasn't a swallower, I could open the Wal-Mart of sperm banks." Then, upon reflection I thought I'd add, "Why? How many have you had, Harv?"

Now, I knew Harvey was straight and I had no doubt that all of them were. I thought it would be fun just to see the reaction.

The room immediately filled with a chorus of denials: "No way!" "Yuck!" "I ain't gay," and other similar responses. I was amazed at that. I mean I love cum. It excites me. Often, tasting it, smelling it or just feeling it will satisfy me. What was the big deal?

"You mean none of you has ever tasted it?" I asked incredulously.

Again, abnegations all around. This was a surprise to me. I'd been with many men who enjoyed kissing me after I sucked the spunk out of them. They certainly weren't gay. They appreciated me and found kissing my slightly slimy mouth exciting. I enjoyed what I'd done. They enjoyed what I'd done. What's not to like?

But here were nine of my fellow sales reps all protesting, in that typical locker room fashion that they were all macho men who'd never taste cum. It notched up my feistiness level.

"Well, tell you what I'll do. I dare you: I'd like to see each of you taste your own cum. If you -" I began to challenge them, but was cut off.

"Yeah, right!" and "When hell freezes over!" were the two most common responses to that.

"So it's all right, even sexy, for a woman to drink semen, but you can't?" I asked.

Big Mike responded, "It's in a guy's genes. Only babes get off on cum - and fags."

Some of the more reserved were feeling a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken and were nervously looking for other things in the living room to occupy themselves.

In the awkward silence, as I was shaking my head in disbelief, Stephen blurted out, "Deep Throat!"

Stephen's interjection captivated us all. (In fact, as far as attention getters go, "Deep Throat!" has got to be up there with "Watch out!" or "Heads up!") He continued, still enrapt in his laptop, "It's a drink: a third of an ounce of rum, a third of an ounce of Tia Maria, a third of an ounce of vodka. Mix into a shot glass and top with whipped cream. Drink it without using your hands!"

It was a perfect diversion and brought the tension down a peg. We all considered this bit of edification in silence momentarily. It dawned on my alcohol-besotted brain that the whole cum tasting discussion had made them quite uncomfortable. This gave them something exciting on which to focus, forgetting about my cum tasting dare.

Eventually, of course, someone asked, "So, Lisa, can you deep throat?"

As I looked around the room I failed to see a face that was uninterested in the answer to this question. Nine men were staring at my mouth and getting aroused thinking about my throat. Is this a crazy world or what?

On the plus side, we were all drunk (always a valid excuse), I was away from my home town, and among coworkers who would all keep things between us, just between us.

Then, there was my love of semen. I had spent years learning how to get the most semen out of a man's equipment. In fact, my command of oral techniques rivaled Demosthenes. And, deep throating a man always produced quite impressive and copious orgasms.

There's an old joke that tells of a woman trying to appear virginal (I told you it was an old joke.) on the first night of her second marriage: "She yells it hurts and he's got to tie his feet to the bedpost so he doesn't fall in and drown." That, to the good fortune of many of my dates, is the story of my throat. I take pride is saying I've not met a cock I couldn't.

My panties were now wet, I realized, as my hand almost started to move between my legs. I had this feeling I was heading into uncharted territory. I'd had some experience with more than one man at a time, but never as many as this!

"This broad could never deep throat me," said Big Mike.

"I'll bet she could deep throat anyone here," someone said. I was unsure if he was sticking up for me - or just sticking up.

"OK. You assholes fuck her face," added Big Mike. "You can warm her up for me. I'll go last. She'll never deep throat me!"

"Whoa, whoa, gentlemen. Can't a girl get a word in edgewise?" I asked.

Even I was amazed at my internal conflict. On the one hand I had the opportunity to drink the cum - once, maybe twice - from nine guys. Men I generally trusted and felt OK with, except for Mike, of course. But, the thought of licking nine cocks and playing with all that cum excited me.

On the other hand, I was still a bit ticked off about their lack of confession or even interest in tasting semen. I mean if they had admitted that they'd tasted it, even years ago, I would have been OK with it. But, swearing that they'd never even tried it - and Big Mike's "it's a chick thing" - just got my goat!

A minute or two passed. I became concerned that none of them had taken a breath for some time. Plus, they all looked so stupid with their mouths wide open. I was afraid they'd start to drool onto Judy's carpet.

"I'll tell you what," I said confidently. "I'll bet you I can deep throat everyone in this room."

Finally, a chorus of respiration followed by quite a few "Oh yeahs!"

"First, though" I continued, "there are ground rules."

Blank looks, my lips the center of attention.

"I've found in my escapades that most men enjoy, no, take delight in a tight feeling at the base of their cocks during sex and especially when they come. They seem to enjoy the feeling of a ring of pressure, making an OK symbol with a thumb and forefinger, at the base of their cocks during a deep throat session.

"And, I don't particularly like the hair tickling my nose." Still they just stared, but at least they were breathing. "When you've got a cock in your throat it's awfully hard to pull your lips over your teeth to provide that same base pressure, at least it is for me. Plus, I'm sure you don't want my teeth scratching such a tender spot!"

I couldn't believe I had just said this to my coworkers. These were subtleties I rarely told anyone, much less men with whom I'd never been intimate.

"So, first I get the 'OK exemption.' I will deep throat everyone here down to my fingers around the base of your cock.

"But - and this is a big 'but' - if I can deep throat you, you have to taste your cum. If I can't, I swallow. That's the rule. Take it or leave it."

I loved this idea. It was a win-win for me. If I deep throat them, I get to taste and play with their cum. I'm good with that! If I can't deep throat them, I get to suck on them anyway and get to drink their cum. I'm good with that too. The cool thing will be watching these cum cringing cads cower.

There was a sea of protest. No one wanted to taste his cum. I explained I'd just dribble it on top of a Cum Shot (I was sure Big Mike would have every alcoholic beverage an average bar would), and they could shoot it. No big deal.

There were continued protests. I subtly explained that if they were such big men then I just wouldn't be able to deep throat them and they wouldn't have to drink their cum.

"Don't you want to know what you taste like? Why give women all the pleasure of drinking your delicious syrup?" I asked, licking my lips slowly.

There was a round of negative replies, but I sensed a change in the atmosphere when I heard some good-natured joshing.

"Well, except for Jeff. He shares equally with his wife and his caddy!" one said.

"Yeah, you're one to talk, Mr. I-can-suck-my-own-dick."

That's something I'd always wanted to see, I thought to myself.

"Hey, I told you that in confidence."

Drunken laughter ensued. But, I wanted my cum. In an effort to get everyone back on track with my scheme I got up, walked over the dinning room table, took a thin pillow from a chair, came back and threw it on the floor in the middle of the living room.

The suit I'd been wearing all day was already wrinkled. What the hell, I thought. I got down on the pillow, put my legs under me and sat back on my feet.

Everyone became very quiet, the reality of a woman actually offering not just to suck their cocks, but to deep throat them, tangible. And except for a bit of alcohol induced swaying no one moved a muscle.

If I can paraphrase from the heroic myths of the great legends: A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

I slowly and concurrently tilted my head back just slightly and, looking up at the ceiling, opened my mouth.

Continued staring from the crowd.

Now for the coup de grace. I even more slowly stuck my tongue out and down my chin.

Nine men as if on cue adjusted their slacks. I knew I had them now.

Just for fun I made a lapping movement with my outstretched tongue, like a kitten lapping up milk - or me licking a dick.

Jeff, opting to be my first challenge, stood up as though in a trance, walked over to me, and unzipped his trousers.

"You'd better start making a round of Cum Shots, unless you want to kiss me and I'll just let it slide from my mouth to yours," I said to the crowd while reaching up to get Jeff's cock out of the confines of his pants. I added, "If anyone refuses to drink his cum, I stop. Game over.

"Think about it, gentlemen, I'm putting my money where my mouth is. How about you? Anyone think he's too large for little Lisa's larynx?"

And with that taunt I made the OK symbol, showed it to the room, and then slid the "O" over the head of Jeff's cock, slowly letting it get down to the base. Of course my hands are rather small so I wasn't able to keep the OK a complete circle, but no one quibbled on that.

There was a drop of pre-cum staring at me and I couldn't stop myself from darting out my tongue, temporarily leaving his slit empty, savoring the mild taste in the process.

"Are we agreed? Has any of you been deep throated? Curious to know what it feels like? I'm told it's amazing."

With that last tease I took the head of Jeff's quite handsome cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it for a minute. Purposely allowing a bit of saliva to build up in my mouth I brought it out again, leaving a little string of pre-cum laden saliva hanging between my tongue and his cock.

Big Mike spoke up, "Well, I'm not worried about tasting mine. The bitch'll never get me down. No one ever has. No one ever will."

What a nasty bastard, I thought. I wish someone would just deck him one day. How does his wife stand him?

Determined not to show my technique until I had the full ennead in concurrence, I again looked around the room of men squirming, physically and mentally. Still holding my OK at the base of Jeff's cock, I again put my head back and pointed to my throat.

That did the trick. Every one of them took out his cock and began to stroke himself.

"I see that you've decided to meet my challenge. Can I get you to confirm that, all of you?"

After each one agreed, I said, "Would you mind making nine Cum Shots, Mikey? Just in case I win?"

Big Mike laughed, reiterating, "Never has, cunt, never will."

Boy, I was really hating this guy!

But, he put down what looked to be a very good sized, semi-hard dick and waddled over to the bar. And as he got out a bunch of shot glasses and three bottles of liquor, I returned to running my tongue up and down Jeff's cock. While everyone watched my ministrations I kept an eye on Big Mike. It seemed like he actually made up all the requisite shot glasses. I was pleased, though my conflict continued. I wanted to have my cock and eat it, too.

Well, not this time. There'll be others, I consoled myself, licking Jeff's balls.

As he was now rock hard, I began to focus more seriously on Jeff's cock. I pushed the others out of my mind and assessed the situation before me. He was pretty average sized and I was thankful for that. I'd deep throated enough guys to know that no one had ever been too long for me, but there had been a small number that were just too wide. Jeff was going to be a piece of cake, but why spoil the fun?

With my other hand I grabbed his butt cheek and pulled him deeper into my mouth, holding him there for a time. I ran him out again, maintaining the layer of saliva over his cock, my tongue and my lips.

"Little dick," Big Mike said. "Any bitch could deep throat that weenie."

What was his problem? Why was he so mean?

Focus, I told myself, focus.

I pulled him into my mouth again and slowly brought his cock to the back. I paused to look around the room. A few good-sized dicks were rearing their lovely heads but so far I hadn't seen anything I couldn't handle.

Returning to Jeff, I saw that there was now just and inch or so between my lips and my fingers at his base. Jeff moaned and I briefly feared that he'd come before I got him down. I glanced up. I saw that he was under control and just enjoying my technique. With that I easily pushed him down my throat and my lips landed upon my fingers.

Jeff made a noise somewhere between a cry and a groan. It was rewarding to hear my work appreciated. I always liked that sound uniquely made by men engulfed in my gorge.

As best I could I looked around the room and saw every eye staring at my lips and the fact that Jeff's cock was no longer visible.

"That's it for you, turd," Big Mike said. "You gonna turn queer?"

If I were not currently engaged with a cock down my throat I would have slapped him upside the head. But I was focusing on the task at throat. I slowly brought the cock out about two inches and, without stopping, went back down on it repeatedly, all the way to my fingers. Each time I pushed the OK made with my fingers harder on the base and each time Jeff reacted with that same cry-groan.

Though I know men usually like rapid stroking motion, there's something about a deep throat that is different. The feeling is so tight all along the shaft that, given a reasonable state of arousal (and that's an important condition), rapid movement may not be required. My head was so full of alcohol I didn't think I was quite in the mood for a rapid in and out motion at least for the nonce.

My slow but steady in and out movements were having the desired effect and I could just tell that Jeff was ready to shoot. As I started to pull him out I took my hand that was on his butt and made another OK around the base, just next to my other hand's extant one. Then as I pulled back I slid that hand up, just behind my lips. As I maintained at least half of the cock in my mouth, I used the new OK, nicely lubricated, to rub the exposed shaft between my lips and the OK at the base.