At age sixteen, I became obsessed with making men come in their pants. I still think back with fond (and very horny) memories on my several successes. Such as having my shy date hurriedly drive me home, him pretending nothing was wrong, even though the smell of his semen filled the car (open windows on a cold March night not withstanding). Watching a visible crotch-stain show on the trousers of a prim and fasti- dious Bible-thumper (at a fancy party none the less!). And just the feel of a boy's body going tense, his rod pulsing underneath my hand, so out of control he doesn't care (yet) about the mess he's making in his own panties. -Well, I could go on. But I think you see what a turn on it was, and what a feeling of power I got, every time I made a man so horny he would "shoot himself in the shorts."
Although I enjoyed my game immensely, I don't play it much any more because (however corny it may sound), I found the perfect man. He has a wonderful sex drive that he isn't ashamed of, and he has enough self confidence that he'll let me play my game on him any time I want. But most of the time I can't bear the thought of wasting even one of his wonderful orgasms. I really want to at least see his orgasm with my eyes, but preferably to taste it in my mouth or feel it in my cunt. But right now, I want to explain how I got interested in cum-stained boxer shorts in the first place.
I was barely sixteen and at home with my first real boyfriend. It was springtime, and my sex drive was kicking into high speed. I'd made out with guys before, but Len was the first one I did more than just kiss. He was seventeen, had a driver's license, and wasn't the sort of pimply-faced nerd that I'd gone out with back in my very-very shy Freshman and Sophomore years.
Len and I were sitting on the living room couch on a Saturday, with my parents off running errands. We had warmed up by kissing and groping like typical teenagers, with the TV on for background noise. Before long, my shirt and bra were off and Len was sucking on my small-to-average-sized breasts, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close.
Although I'm a cute brunette with a tight body, my 34-inch chest measurement was nothing spectacular. Because Len was a total breast man, I'm sure I was a second choice for him. From the second date on, he was totally obsessed with my breasts and showed little interest in exploring the rest of me-as much as I really wanted him to! The only reason Len kept going out with me despite my smallish breasts, I'm sure, was because I'd let him play with my tits starting on our second date. He told me I was the first girl to let him get that far. So even though I was on the small side, at least my tits were "accessible'-and they pro- bably looked much bigger from such close range!
I was also the first girl to ever touch his cock, which I'd done just the night before. He'd asked me to. "You can unzip my trousers if you want to," he'd said, because I was already rubbing his crotch from the outside. I wouldn't have had the courage to do something like that without him suggesting it, but he didn't have to ask twice! Nothing much came of it (ha!), as I'd felt a bit unsure of myself in such new territory. His penis head had been so slick with his pre-come, and his cock felt so strange, my poor virgin mind didn't quite know what to make of it.
As soon as I got home, I called my friend Jamie and told her what I'd done. Of course Jamie, twice as horny as me though just as inexperienced, convinced me I was on the road to losing my cherry. She demanded to know every detail about Len's penis, including what it looked like.
"Well, I didn't actually pull it all the way out," I said. "Anyway, the car was so dark. I wouldn't have been able to see it that well."
"Girl, are you some sort of lesbo?" Jamie teased.
As soon as I got off the phone with Jamie, I stripped my clothes off and masturbated myself to a world-shattering orgasm. I spent the whole night dreaming about cocks. And when I woke up, I was in mid-orgasm from all those wet dreams! After that orgasm, I masturbated again in bed. Masturbated again in the shower. And by the time my parents finally went off shopping and Len had slipped into the house, my panties were really wet from just thinking about how "kinky" I'd been the night before and how wonderful things were going to be today. Rather than being worn out, I was just as horny as ever. In my own mind, I was convinced Len was going to pop my cherry that morning. I would call Jamie on the phone before the day was over as a confirmed non-virgin.
Sitting on the couch, with the TV going, I let Len continue sucking on my breasts and, without bother- ing to ask or wait for permission, I reached over and started undoing his trousers. He didn't discourage me. Within seconds, my hand was once again slipping under the elastic of his jockey shorts, across the now- familiar damp head of his cock, reaching down to feel the baby soft yet rock-hard bulge between his legs.
My panties were getting wetter by the moment, and they'd started off soaking wet.
I whispered in Len's ear. "You're underwear's getting in the way." I really wanted to say Take off your pants. I want to see your cock! But I felt pretty brave, and scared, just saying what I did.
"What if your parents come back?" he replied.
"My mom's a power-shopper, Len. They won't be back for hours."
It seemed strange to me that I, as the girl, was having to convince the guy to push ahead. Especially a football player! -Learning about life from the movies and television can be very misleading sometimes.
For a very weird couple of seconds, he sat there thinking, with his saliva cooling on my throbbing nip- ple and my hand being pushed against his hard-on by his jockey shorts. Finally, he decided he would take off his underwear but then put his trousers back on. That way, my hands would have free access to his hot rod, and he would be able to recover quickly if my parents came home unexpectedly.
"You're so smart," I told him, giving his cock a gentle squeeze before I slipped my hand back out of his shorts.
Len stood up, kicked off his shoes, then pulled his trousers and underwear off in a quick motion. He really was quite athletic - a shameful waste, when I think back on it now.
For a few brief seconds, I got to see Len's bare ass: small and muscular, covered in a light peach fuzz, just begging for me to kiss and bite it. He was about five-feet-eleven, stocky, very muscular from all his football workouts, with blond hair (everywhere!) and a cute, blue-eyed face. Seeing Len's bare ass was another first in my growing collection of sexual experiences. But all too soon, that alluring sight was gone. Len was back beside me on the couch, his jockey shorts a wad on the carpet, his penis a thick flag pole rising from the open mouth of his blue jeans, reaching up well past his tee shirt nearly to where his belly button would be.
I got on my knees on the couch, pushing my left nipple into Len's face. He immediately began to suck on it. As he did, I moved my right hand down onto his now-visible penis, stroking it gently and studying it carefully.
Jamie will want to know all the details, I thought to myself. But of course, Jamie's need to know didn't explain the aching sensation between my legs as I studied and caressed Len's erection. The head was really big, and just as blond as the mass of blond curly hairs at the other end. The shaft had three veins on each side that rose up a good quarter inch from the rest of him: definite ridges. Even at that uninformed age, I imagined how wonderful those ridges would feel sliding in and out of my sopping cunt. I was just positive that, after a little bit of me stoking his cock, Len would go crazy, throw me on my back on the couch, pull my pants down, and pop my cherry right there--in spite of all my "objections" (hah!).
For a wonderful minute, Len's mouth and tongue worked my tingling nipple, while my hand slid up and down the length of his manhood. My fingers reached down to cup his ball sack, a strange wrinkly thing covered by those beautiful blond curlies. I wrapped my hand around the shaft (too thick to reach all the way) and squeezed him, even feeling his heartbeat through the throbbing of his cock. (If I was a nurse, that's how I would take a cute guy's pulse for sure!) I stroked his full length with my fingertips, my palm, and even the back of my hand. I was still surprised how baby-soft his skin was over such a hard cock.
I was also surprised at how much jism oozed out as I stroked him. The head of his cock had started off covered in moisture. But within a minute of my touch- ing him, enough jism had oozed out his peep hole to make my hand wet and sticky. I rubbed some of the excess juice down along the length of his six inch, very thick manhood. And I thought again how much I wanted him to thoroughly mix his juice with my juice, with his cock as the swizzle stick and my pussy as the cocktail glass.
My panties were soaked through for sure by now. Any minute, I thought. What will it feel like: fucking? Then suddenly he pulled his mouth away from my breast and pushed my hand away from his cock. He said "Oh, shit" in a hyper, startled voice. And then he started coming!
It was a weird, kind of frightening thing at the moment. I stopped feeling horny as I watched the white come spurting out of him. There was so much of it! And Len was moaning with pleasure and saying "Damn it!" in an angry voice all at once. I couldn't tell if his hands were trying to squeeze his cock to stop it from shooting off, or if he was finishing jacking himself off. But for sure, he couldn't stop coming. That stuff was in a hurry to get out, and there was tons of it!
Some of his come landed on his tee shirt. Some of it shot up and hit the wall behind his head! He got some of it in his hair. But most of it fired up and landed back right in his lap, both on the inside and the outside of his blue jeans, on his thighs, in the hair on his balls: everywhere! I just knelt there on the couch, staring in shock and horror at all this come. No one had warned me there could be so much of it, or that it could shoot out so far.
"Get some kleenex. Quick!" he said.
That made me snap out of it.
That'll stain for sure, I thought to myself, as I raced to get a roll of toilet paper. I was sure my mom would smell it on the couch, because his jism had a definite smell to it. Kind of musty. Pungent, but not exactly offensive. I tried thinking of something to compare it to (for Jamie's edification of course), but I couldn't really. It was her idea (when I talked to her soon after) to just call it the "come smell."
When I got back to the living room with the toilet paper, he was still sitting there on the couch, almost like an invalid, unable to move because he would have been dripping come everywhere. For the next several minutes, I handed him sections of toilet paper so he wouldn't mess up the whole roll while he was cleaning himself off. Both his hands were covered in it.
Although I was still in a state of shock, my horniness started returning as I watched him rubbing the head of his dwindling erection with the toilet paper, milking one last ounce or so of jism out of himself. I felt a small sense of power and satisfac- tion. "I made him come!" I also wanted to help him clean himself in a more active way! But he was really mad at me, saying I'd made him come all over himself on purpose. He called me a slut and made out like it was all my doing. Like I'd taken advantage of him. It seemed like he was embarrassed at having come.
Len left as soon as he had finished cleaning himself off, and I was really worried that he was going to break up with me. He seemed to ignore me at school, and a week went by before he asked me out again. Jamie tried to tell me to dump him right then: that he was some sort of total asshole. But of course I didn't listen to her. (Who ever listens to advice before it's too late?)
It did seem strange that he only wanted to play with my tits. But he was my first real boyfriend, and I just didn't know any better. Plus he was cute, on the football team, and easier to talk to than the pimply guys I'd gone out with before him. I also believed in that old saying, which I paraphrased to be, "One on the titties is better than five fingers on the bush...."
I went out with Len for two months after that. He never apologized for all the nasty things he'd said to me that one day, but I didn't really expect him to. He just wasn't the sort of guy who apologized for any- thing. I put up with him being less interested in sex than I was. And I even put up with stories that he was asking other girls out. But then I discovered he was telling people I was a slut and a whore-because I let him feel my boobs on the second date, because I wasn't afraid to touch his penis, and because I had given him a "hand job" that one day. (Even though I was barely touching his cock at the time....)
As soon as I found out what he was saying, I broke up with him. I cursed him out over the phone (loud enough so my mom heard me calling him a fucking asshole and other nice things). I cried myself to sleep a couple of times. And, to get myself out of the doldrums, I began thinking back on him sitting on the couch, helpless, covered in his own come. Conjur- ing that picture really did make me feel better. It was like preemptive revenge. And whenever I started feeling sorry for myself, or someone I hated asked me how much the going rate was for a hand job, I would just think of Len covered in his own sperm, and I'd start feeling better right away!
One Thursday night, it was early summer by then, about a week after I'd broken up with him, Len called me up and asked me if I wanted to go out. He said he was sorry about talking about me behind my back, he wouldn't ever do it again, "I promise," and all that kind of stuff. Even though it was the first time he'd ever apologized for anything, I kept telling myself that I would just hang up on him.
Lead him on for a while, then just laugh at him and hang up, I kept telling myself. But I was feeling very horny then. I had a few "potentials," but no one yet who'd gotten around to asking me out. And, like it or not, I had a raging sex drive. Even though Len had never tried to go all the way with me; even though he'd never even tried to feel me up, I still got really horny just having him hold me, kiss me, and play with my tits. Whenever I went home after a session with him, I would hurry into my room to masturbate. Those "Len" orgasms would be ten times as powerful as when I masturbated from a "cold start." And believe me, that's saying something!
To make a long story short, within an hour Len and I were back in the dark church parking lot, in the front seat of his dad's Lincoln Continental, with Len's warm mouth sucking on my nipples, and my right hand rubbing the upper part of his thigh.
I can't believe you're out with this guy who called you a whore, I told myself. And I could imagine Jamie saying the same thing. So I lied to myself and thought, I'm just here for revenge. Just to make him come all over himself one last time.
Immediately that casual thought became a holy quest. Too busy sucking my tits, Len couldn't see the evil grin that crossed my face. Make him shoot off all over himself! And this time, his pants won't even be unbuttoned!
Part of me didn't believe it was possible. I'd stroked his bare cock a few times since the couch incident, but he'd always pushed me away without coming. I always believed he was close to coming when- ever he did that, but it seemed unlikely he would "mess himself" accidentally a second time. But I decided to give it my best school-girl try anyway. I would pro- bably fail, but at least I could go down stroking!
In my favor was Len's own horniness that night. He was holding me very tight with his arms, sucking on my breasts really hard. When I gently ran my hand across the crotch of his jean shorts, I could tell that his cock was hard as steel. I even felt him raise his hips and push his crotch into my hand-- something he'd never done before.
Also in my favor was my anger. I hadn't forgot- ten the things he'd said about me. All my friends, all my enemies, and most of my casual acquaintances knew about it. I definitely wanted Len to get his come- uppance.
I pushed his face away from my breasts. He really does have some sort of fixation about boobs. . .
In the dark car, with only one distant street light to see by, I couldn't really make out his face. I could see the blue of his eyes and the shadow of his pretty-boy nose. But not much else. I doubt he could see much more of me. But I'm sure he could hear my bitchy tone when I said, "If you want me to stay here any longer, you're going to have to make it up to me for what you did."
Half expecting him to take me home right then, I was surprised when he said, "What do you want me to do?" The tone of humble subservience in his voice urged me on. "You're going to have to feel me up. And if you want me to feel you up, you're going to have to say that's what you want." Beg for it, I wanted to say.
He pulled me closer and whispered in my ear, "I want you to."
"What! Want me to do what?"
"I want you to feel me up."
When he said that, it pushed me right to the edge of coming. He really did want it--despite all his pious, hypocritical posturing.
Most of the anger left my voice then. But I managed to say, "You first. Show me you're serious."
He pulled my mouth to his, kissing me fiercely, his tongue entwined with mine. And as we kissed, I felt his hands move to my shorts. It took him a minute of fumbling before he finally got the button undone and the zipper down.
His fingers pushed down against my bare belly button, down to the elastic of my white cotton panties. But he couldn't seem to get past the elastic.
I slipped my mouth away from his and whispered in his ear, "Pull them down to my knees."
It took him another minute to get that done, and in the end I wound up doing most of the work myself, lifting my butt off the seat, helping him push my shorts and panties down out of the way. The cloth seat of his dad's Continental felt strange against my bare butt. So much juice had run down between the crack of my ass, I was sure I'd leave a mark behind. I hope I do, I thought.
When his hand finally slipped between my thighs and came to rest on my swollen, tender lips, I let out a faint whimper. However unenergetic he was, it felt good just to have his warm hand there. His was the first hand ever to touch me like this, other than my own, and I felt an orgasm building up inside me. I bit my lip and fought to keep from coming.
It didn't work. As much as I wanted to deny him the satisfaction, my hormones got the better of me and I came. He wasn't even stroking me. His hand was just sort of resting on my pussy, his middle finger lying along the length of my gaping lips, and only the weight of his palm indirectly pressing my clitoris. Still, it was enough. I shuddered. Juice started leaking out of me at an amazing rate, staining his so-pure fingers and soaking into the cloth seat of his father's car.
Maybe I really am a slut, I thought for a mo- ment. This guy I hate barely touches me and I'm coming all over his fingers.
When he sensed my orgasm, he stiffened and pulled away, just slightly. I knew I was giving him more stories to tell behind my back. I had to make him come in his shorts. I just had to.
As soon as my orgasm had faded, I got up on my knees on the seat, pushing my left breast into Len's mouth. I was afraid he would bail out, hurrying home with another story about what a slut I was. Sure enough, though, once my breast got close to his face, his mouth became like a vacuum cleaner and sucked my nipple right in. I could feel him relax as he began sucking. His hands wrapped around me, wiping my own warm juices off his right hand onto my bare back.
My nipple had now grown to half an inch long, and was more sensitive than I'd ever felt it. I was getting close to another orgasm just from his sucking on it. My first orgasm had made me hornier than ever. And having my bare ass and dripping pussy "out in the breeze" just compounded the situation. Somehow, I managed to keep the second orgasm at bay while I pur- sued my plan of revenge.
While he sucked my left nipple, I rubbed my right breast against his face. I'd never done that before. Although my breasts aren't very big, and I didn't have much to rub with, it seemed to drive Len crazy! He grunted several times, and I could hear him sliding his buns against the car seat.
I didn't unbutton his shorts right away. I knew he had to ask for it, or it would be my "fault" again.
"Do you want me to feel you up?" I said.
He just grunted and nodded his head, unwilling to let go of my nipple for even a second.I considered making him say it out loud, but part of me didn't want him to let go of my nipple either! Somehow, my sex- crazed mind came up with a perfect compromise.
"Unzip your fly," I heard myself say. A thou- sand waves of joy were splashing from my breast to my backbone and down to my clitoris. I rubbed my thighs together, too horny to tell myself no. It wouldn't be long before I came again.
Len pulled his hands away from my back to unzip his shorts, but his mouth stayed where it was, and con- tinued sucking, his tongue flicking against my tender nipple. The sound of his zipper going down sent another wave of joy through me.
As his hands went back around me, pulling my breast tight into his face, his mouth opened wider and he took my aureole and the cone of my small breast into his mouth. I closed my eyes and bit my lower lip. Somehow I held the orgasm at bay, but not by much. I felt more of my juices run down my thighs.
Not wasting a moment, I slipped my right hand down, found the gap of his open zipper, and slipped my hand in. He was wearing jockey shorts as usual. They were damp in half a dozen places from his excitement, and stretched tight around the throbbing bulge of his cock. I stroked him through the cotton of his under- wear, sliding the material back and forth over his cock.
Sliding my hand up, I sought for the helmet of his cock. Suddenly I felt the bare skin of his penis. His cock had gotten so hard, the head had pushed up past the elastic of his underwear! I knew that the head of a guy's cock is the most sensitive part. (Girl talk isn't total bullshit.) And I quickly started stroking that delicate area. His juices made it easy to do. I rubbed his helmet thoroughly.
After less than a minute, Len's body stiffened and I thought he was about to push me away. I quickly pulled my hand back out of his jeans and started rub- bing my right breast along-side his face, like I had before. It worked like a charm. His breathing was heavy, and his sucking on my left tit was so fierce it was becoming painful.
When I thought it was safe, I slipped my hand down into his jeans. As soon as he felt my hand there, he grunted, "Uh-uh," like he didn't want me to touch him there anymore. I pretended not to hear him, and I went back to stroking his cock: sliding the cotton underwear around over him, gently pressing my fingers over his balls. His jockeys were so stretched from his erection, half of his hairy ball sack was sticking out the side.
When I slid my hand back up toward the head of his cock, he said, quite clearly, "Don't." I felt sure I'd lost. One of his hands moved off my back, and I felt him trying to push my hand away off his cock.
But I resisted.
It's now or never, I thought. He was pushing me away in earnest, even pulling his mouth off my nipple. I knew he had to be very close to coming. Coming in his shorts! And I was determined to send him over the edge.
It was almost like we were wrestling for a mo- ment. Now, Len is a football player, and I know he's ten times stronger than I am. So to this day, I don't believe he was really pushing me away with his whole heart, because I managed to push my fingers back up and find the bare head of his cock.
I pressed my fingers over it, pressing firmly back and forth, rubbing his own juices into him. For a second, I felt him push much harder and my hand slipped out of his trousers. Dammit, I thought. But then I felt him go weak. He groaned. His whole body went stiff, his legs straightening, one foot kicking the dashboard. He was coming! And as he came, so did I! I'd won.
I fell forward on top of him. Partly, I really did lose balance as he tried to pull away. But partly, I did it on purpose. Feeling my juices running down my thighs, I pressed my hand against the bottom of his shirt and the top of his shorts. I could feel the wet, sticky come all over his stomach and belly button. And I made sure it got spread around, soaking into his cotton tee shirt.
Of course, he got really mad then. I was sure he would hit me. But he just pushed me away. "You fucking slut!" he said. "Goddamn bitch."
"You haven't changed at all," I fired back at him, doing my best to hide my triumph. I slid away from him, making sure to get as much of my copious juices onto the car seat as possible. Only when I was on the far side of the car did I pull my panties and shorts back up.
"It's all over me!" he whined.
Little did he know, it was music to my ears. It was all I could do to keep from laughing as he drove me home. And the first thing I did when I got to my room was call Jamie and tell her every last detail of how I'd made Len the hypocrite come all over himself!