Dear Reader,
It's hard sometimes to express my feelings with my boyfriend or friends, and since starting with a new therapist, she suggested that I write down my thoughts to share openly among others who may have had similar experiences.
In blunt terms, I'm a bad girl and a cum slut. I've always been since I was a teenager. More specifically, I love the attention I get from men and while it turns me into an uncontrollable thot, I am fascinated with the idea of being surrounded by an endless supply of penis on any given day. Just the thought of it, and typing those words gets my pussy panting and throbbing for penetration. I admit, I'm easy. With all of those shapes and sizes, sometimes I wonder if I was put on this earth to be a mindless cum receptacle for load after load of horny and dirty men. And why not? After all, what is more goddess-like than being pampered into laying spread, getting your thoughts shut out as you helplessly lose all control, becoming a doll-like cum vessel with erect cocks repeatedly sliding in and out of every bodily orifice? (Let's not forget one in each hand as well...)
Full disclosure: I also squirt uncontrollably. For a long time I thought that there was maybe something wrong with me, until I discovered that men loved being showered by a blonde full of wet pissy joy. I also discovered I could squirt on command, which led me to making some side money masturbating on camera or picking up random men and having them pay to watch me (or fuck me, or both). Sometimes I didn't care if I got paid or not.
When I met my boyfriend I couldn't hold back. The first time we slept together I showered his face, and his humongous cock seemed to pop me like a cum-filled water balloon. Blushing, I thought he wouldn't like me, but instead it made him fuck me harder, like a wild animal. Makeup streaking down my face, the difference was that he made me suck the squirt off his dick as he dumped a wet load into my open throat. From then on, I was addicted to him. After dating for a few months, we started talking more about fantasies, and he mentioned to me that he had a fetish for pearl panties, which to be honest, I had to look up online. Seeing the panties on a model for the first time made me realize why. I helplessly bit my lip and clicked "purchase" as I sloppily masturbated myself to orgasm.
The next day at my therapist, I told her about the purchase. She asked me with being such a nympho and all, if this was a healthy decision. "Dr. Jane" (as I will call her) began telling me about the clitoral stimulation of the panties, and whether or not I was prepared to handle being in public. To be honest, I was a bit nervous, knowing myself. As we continued talking, I noticed Jane was playing with a pearl necklace she was wearing against her grey blazer, and began crossing and uncrossing her taupe colored nylon-stocking legs more and more frequently. She had reddish, auburn hair, and a tight, thin frame. Her green eyes narrowed in on me from behind some big plastic glasses as I spoke on and on at length (pun intended) about my boyfriend.
"So you think he has had lots of sex with other women and that makes you jealous?" she asked.
I told her yes, but no... but yes... as his large, perfect penis made me choke for air just thinking about how obsessed and weak I became for it.
"Yes, but think about how many people YOU'VE been with," Dr. Jane spoke adamantly. "I'm just curious however, have you ever been with another woman before?"
I explained to her no, but that sometimes I had thoughts, but that deep down, I was an attention whore who loved being cummed on by men. Our pussies must have been listening in, because by now, her office was filling with the unmistakable waft of yearning, unfulfilled desires. We both shifted noticeably in our chairs as the conversation became rambling and Dr. Jane just kept nodding and seemed to be spacing out. I was wearing some yoga leggings with no underwear, and a large, worn out 'Rush' band T-shirt, my braless, firm upturned C-cups and nipples poking through the old faded cotton.
"I'll tell you what..." Dr. Jane said, trailing off, "Let's try a different kind of therapy..."
She unclasped her pearls and began dangling them between us like a hypnotist while completely uncrossing her slender legs in the antique armchair.
