Cum Addict Falls Off the Wagon

It had been eight years. Eight years since I’d seen Jason, and four years since I sucked a cock. I meant to give it up – go straight, get a girlfriend, all that. But the sight of him brought the old craving up again, right to the surface. I wanted cock, I wanted cum, and I wanted them so bad I didn’t care who knew. I hadn’t been this hungry for it since the first few months after I quit after college.

Jason’s and my relationship went back to when we were both teenagers. We’d been friends long before that, but after one incident of innocent youthful curiosity, I’d started sucking his dick. I did it a lot back before we graduated from high school. But the funny thing was, we never talked about it. It was this thing that we did that we never discussed in the rest of our lives. One minute we’d be friends, shooting some hoops or just hangin out, talking about women. Then I’d inch closer to him, then closer, and then our thighs touching, then the first light touch of my finger on his leg, slowly moving my way up until I touched his crotch, then undoing his jeans, getting on my knees, and going for it.

When I went away to college I went on to other men – always the same kind of thing, sex without any romance or even acknowledgement. Always feeding my fierce hunger for cock.

But after college I gave it up. I wanted to move on in my life, start being an adult, raising a family, all that. For a while it was hard, but after a while I stopped craving it. Eventually I went days, then weeks, then even months at a time without longing for a guy – any guy – to pull out of my mouth, jizz all over my face, and walk away.

But then I saw Jason again.

We agreed to meet at a bar after he got off work and talk over old times – meaning our friendship, of course. We never talked about the sex. After a while at the bar, under the table where no one could see, I tried lightly brushing his thigh, just like old times. He gave no sign, but then he never did. It was always up to me.

I touched a little harder, and started moving my hand up. No sign.

I wanted it. I wanted his dick in my mouth right fucking there. Hoping he was going to go along, I stood up and said, “I gotta hit the can.”

“Me too,” he said. Like always, I thought that meant he was willing, but had this irrational fear that he wasn’t, that he was going to rat me out, shout for everyone to hear about what a fag I was.

He followed me to the bathroom.

Once inside, he never stepped up to the urinal, just stood there. I touched him again, my hand on his butt. No response. That meant no rejection, which was always what I expected. With my hands shaking like butterfly wings, I opened the door to the handicapped stall. He took the hint and stepped in. I followed.

Once I closed the door, it was time for business. Coming in here with me was enough of a sign even for me that he wasn’t going to turn me down at the last minute. I dropped to my knees and started working on his belt. I was good at that, and had the fly open quickly. Then tug down the tighty whities and…

There it was. Cock. Hard, proud, erect – just as I remembered it. Ah, I’ve never faced a greater challenge giving a blowjob. At least, not since those first couple times with him way back when. But this was harder than ever.

I pride myself on giving good head. I mean, really good head. And I ought to be good at it, I’ve sucked enough. But right then, I didn’t want to give good head. I wanted to wrap my lips around the head, get my tongue right to the spot, right below the head on the underside of the shaft. A man’s trigger – the place you lick when you want to taste cum. That’s what I wanted. I wanted sperm, and I didn’t want to wait.

I forced myself. Gritting my teeth, I made myself move my head down to his balls and kiss them, lick them lightly, and slowly take them into my mouth. My own dick was hard as a rock, but it would have to wait. I did the teabagging for him a couple times, moving my head up and down so his balls dunked slowly in and out of my warm, greedy mouth. Only then did I let myself move on.

Inch by agonizing inch I trailed my tongue up the underside of his shaft, from the base to the head, all the while wanting to just gulp the whole fucking thing in and suck like a Hoover for thirty seconds until I got what I wanted. Fear of disclosure had nothing to do with my desire to hurry. Right then, I wanted to get caught. I wanted the chance it would bring that the new guy might want to join Jason and team up on me. Getting caught would bring me a chance at more dick, and the only thing it would cost would be my reputation, which right then I didn’t give a damn about.

But we didn’t get caught. Instead I trailed my tongue over the tip of his dick and tasted those first oozing drops of his jism. God, it almost hurt! That tiny, tiny little amount – it made me what a fucking mouthful right then and there.

I held my breath, forced myself to go slow as I took his length into my mouth, millimeter by millimeter. I was going to give him the whole treatment – going to show him that after he and I were done, I’d actually gotten better at this in college, gotten a lot more practice. I was going to leave him with no doubt that he’d just received the services of a master cocksucker.

Then I got a pleasant surprise. Apparently Jason hadn’t had any in a while. His dick started to twitch and swell – signs I knew perfectly well meant I was about to get what I wanted. I stopped taking it further and further into my mouth, and instead positioned the head just barely in my mouth, so the cum would hit my tongue directly when he went off. With my bottom lip I worked on his cock, rubbing it wetly against the underside of his shaft.

And there it was! Hot, sour, goopy, it flowed out all at once, in a big gush of semen that coated my tongue. He groaned as he came, spurting jizz into my hungry maw, stabbing his cock further into my mouth, hitting the roof of it, and all the while spreading that delicious, naughty, addictive taste of cum around my lips and tongue.

Oh my God, how I loved it. I savored it, as if every tiny drop of it was some kind of drug. This rush of sensation washed over me, almost like an orgasm of my own but better in its way. It was the old feeling, the one I remembered from every blowjob I’d ever given before. The feeling of being a dirty slut, of being nothing but a cocksucker, of being born only for one purpose, so men could have pleasure from me. It thrilled me from head to toe and to the bone, swelling my own cock until I felt like it would burst right there.

Finally, when his dick stopped spurting, stopped even dribbling – when I had every last ounce I was going to get – finally, I swallowed, savoring it, remembering how good it was to be a cum eater, luxuriating in the fact that a man had used me to get off, and been impressed with how well I did it. I didn’t hold the premature ejaculation against him – far from it. It gave me what I wanted much quicker than I could have gotten it otherwise. Thank God I’d caught him on a dry spell.

I was letting him go soft in my mouth, letting him savor the warm, wet place for his dick to recover, when he pulled out. From my vantage point I had a perfect view of his underwear coming back up over his now-flaccid dick, like some kind of reverse curtain at the end of a perverted play. Then he zipped up and did his belt, before I could offer to help.

Then he walked out of the stall and left.

Oh God! Heaven! NOTHING felt like that – like being used for a blowjob and then left behind without a word. Almost better than the cum, almost better than the dick in my mouth, was the feeling that to him I was nothing more than a whore – and a cheap one at that.

Counting my blessings for the foresight to give him my phone number at the start of the evening, I got back on my feet and walked out of the bathroom to go home, knowing he’d call me when he wanted me, and not before. And that was enough – more than enough.