Britslut’s

Slutty Stories

 

 Queen

© Copyright britslut 2005. No re-use allowed without permission.

 

I met him at a club in London - a rather more upmarket place than I usually go, but it was a friend’s birthday and we were pushing the boat out. He was the most physically gorgeous guy I had ever set eyes on: tall, a perfect physique, tanned face and immaculately coiffured blond hair, classical clean-jawed good looks, a wide smile with lots of teeth, and eyes that said ‘sex’. It sounds stereotyped, and maybe he was, but it was a stereotype that got me damp between the legs and determined to bed him as soon as I could.

 

You mustn’t think I’m a sex-hungry girl who preys on men, though. At 29 I’ve had a fair number of lovers and have become pretty discriminating in whom I pursue. But I have the looks to be fairly irresistible if I want to be, and those I pursue almost always get caught. Whether they stay caught for long is another matter; I get bored easily and it takes a vigorous and inventive man to keep me amused in the bedroom for more than a few weeks. In fact, if we stay in the bedroom that’s a bad sign.

 

So I zeroed my sights on Mr Hunk, ignoring my friends, and went in for the kill. He was with a group of richly-dressed guys and a few tarty females, so it took me a while to separate him off.

 

‘Hi,’ I said, flashing my smile and my cleavage, ‘I’m Cindy. What’s your name? I want to dance with you.’ I don’t believe in beating about the bush.

 

‘My name’s Rock,’ he said, in an American accent. ‘Why do you want to dance with me?’

 

‘Because you’re gorgeous. And I love your accent.’

 

He laughed. ‘OK. Just one dance.’

 

Talk about playing hard to get. We moved onto the floor and I did my sinuous bit close up to him so we could talk.

 

‘You live in London?’

 

‘No, I’m on vacation,’ he said. ‘I live in California.

 

‘California, eh? You in films? TV?’

 

‘You could say that.’ He grinned.

 

‘Hey, am I missing something? Are you really famous and I don’t recognise you?’

 

He grinned and shook his head. ‘No, you wouldn’t recognise me. Not that sort of famous. Say, what about you? You live here? What do you do?’

 

‘Yeah, I’m a Londoner. Work in advertising. Someone has to. I’m 29, single, own house, like to have fun. That’s me in a nutshell.’

 

‘That’s great. Say, I have to go now. Nice to meet you.’

 

I was pissed off. I’d been zapping him with my charm and my tits for all I was worth (making my panties very damp in the process) and he hadn’t responded.

 

‘Hey, do I smell or something?’

 

‘No, why?’

 

‘I’m a woman, you’re a man. Let’s at least get to know each other before we say goodbye.’

 

‘You don’t want to get to know me, Cindy.’ At least he remembered my name. ‘You’re a lovely girl. Believe me, I’m not your sort of guy.’

 

‘Why, are you gay?’

 

He laughed hugely. ‘Gay! No! Not in the slightest! No, I really do have to go. My friends are taking me somewhere. It’s been nice talking to you.’

 

‘Maybe we could meet up for a coffee tomorrow. Eh? What’s your phone number?’ I was getting desperate. This guy was the hunkiest specimen of manhood I had ever met and I was determined not to let him escape.

 

His smile softened. ‘Ok, if you insist. But no strings, huh?’ He told me his mobile number and I wrote it on my palm, making a mental note not to masturbate until I’d copied it off. He did leave with his mates, it wasn’t just an excuse. I think. I got some stick from my friends; they knew that Cindy usually scores.

 

----

 

I rang him mid-morning, and had the impression he had just got up. His voice was husky and sent moist shivers down into my pussy. I persuaded him to meet me for lunch at a little place in Soho. What to wear? Tight black pants, a thong so as to avoid the VPL, a tight red top that left my navel, with its stud, bare. I’m proud of my figure and like people to see its shape.

 

Rock was already in the café when I arrived, a nominal five minutes late. I didn’t want to seem too eager. He shook my hand formally and I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, smelling his expensive aftershave.

 

‘You decided I was safe to get to know, then,’ I grinned at him.

 

‘How could I resist your English charm?’

 

We chatted inconsequentially about how London had changed since he had been here last, about my job, his dogs, terrorism, and all the time I was wondering how I could get him back to my place and test out his equipment. He steadfastly refused to flirt. I asked him about his film work, what he did.

 

‘You’re a nice girl, Cindy, you don’t want to know.’

 

I pressed him. ‘Tell me. I’ll sulk if you don’t.’

 

He sighed. ‘This is where they all make an excuse and leave. I’m in the sex industry. I’m a porn star.’

 

I felt my eyes widening, although maybe I should have guessed. ‘Really? A porn star? Oh wow.’ For once I was lost for words.

 

‘It’s just a job.’

 

‘So you … make love to women … and things. On camera. Wow. Do you … enjoy it?’

 

‘So you don’t have deep-seated moral objections to the sex business?’

 

‘Hell, no. I’ve watched a few porn films in my time. They weren’t what you’d call art, but they … have their uses.’ I blushed and laughed. ‘I’ve often wondered what sort of people take part in them.’

 

‘People like me. We’re fairly ordinary really. Probably couldn’t get any other sort of job.’

 

‘So do you enjoy it?’

 

‘Honestly? Yes, I do. Sure, it’s a job, you have to turn up on time and do what you’re told, but …’

 

‘But you get to fuck lots of women.’ I hadn’t meant to be so blunt.

 

 He shrugged. ‘Yeah. There’s worse jobs.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘And it pays well.’

 

‘Really? I always thought women only did it because they were desperate.’

 

‘It’s different for men. There’s not so many who can do it. Women, yes, they’re a dollar a dozen. A few make a lot of bucks out of it, but they have to have something special.’

 

‘Different for men because … it’s harder to perform to order?’ I was enjoying this conversation. Rock seemed genuinely keen to explain the business to me and his voice was making me very wet.

 

‘You got it. Every guy thinks he could satisfy a dozen women, but when you put them in front of the camera, with other guys looking on … they kinda wilt.’

 

‘Do you ever wilt?’ This was getting very personal, but I guessed that Rock had few inhibitions.

 

‘Of course. Now and then. But there’s ways and means. It’s willpower, mostly.’

 

‘You must have had … I mean, professionally … hundreds of women.’

 

‘Thousands,’ he said simply. ‘Thousands. But I rarely get to know their names even - and they mostly use pseudonyms. We don’t date afterwards, if that’s what you think.’

 

‘I heard that most porn actresses were lesbians.’

 

‘I wouldn’t know. As long as they can act convincingly …’

 

‘This may seem like a silly question, but … Doesn’t it devalue sex for you? Do you have girlfriends? Lovers?’

 

His face seemed to sag a little. ‘Yes, of course it does. Like being a gynaecologist, I guess. And not many girls want to be Miss Three thousand two hundred forty-one. And … ‘

 

‘But you’re on vacation now. No work for two weeks?’

 

‘That’s right. I can afford to take off a few times a year.’

 

‘And do you … have a busman’s holiday?’

 

He frowned. ‘Oh, I see. That’s not an American expression. You mean - do I practise when I’m off duty?’

 

I grinned. ‘Yes. Do you?’

 

‘Not really. There’s … problems.’

 

‘What problems? Come on, you can tell me, I’m an adult. In case you hadn’t noticed.’ I stroked my breasts involuntarily, feeling my nipples harden.

 

He sighed again. ‘You really want to know?’

 

‘Cindy wants to know everything.’

 

‘We can’t talk here. I’ll get thrown out. Come on, let’s go for a walk in one of your quaint little parks.’

 

We sat down on a bench in the square. It was sunny and there weren’t any beggars around. I sat close to him and rested my arm on the back of the seat so I could look at his profile.

 

‘To make it big in the porn world, you have to have an angle. Something special. Like, a guy who can keep it up for hours on end. Or a massive cock.’

 

‘What’s your angle?’ I was hoping he had a massive cock; I do like to feel full.

 

‘Do you know what a facial is?’

 

‘It’s what I have at the salon.’

 

‘In porn, it’s when the man - or men - ejaculates into the woman’s face. It’s called a money shot. They always end like that.’

 

‘Why?’ I didn’t admit to him that I had seen films like that and it always triggered off my orgasm (if I was watching alone, that is).

 

‘Tradition! No, I guess it proves that the man isn’t faking. Or it humiliates the woman. Or both.’

 

‘Yeah, I suppose it does.’

 

‘Well, that’s my speciality. I produce a lot of jism. And I mean a lot. I can cover a woman’s face in it. That sells.’

 

‘Wow.’ If he carried on I was going to leave a wet patch on the seat. ‘So … you never cum inside a woman?’

 

‘Sometimes I do. Nowadays there’s a category called creampies. The porn industry loves categories. You heard of them?’

 

‘I suppose they’re not the sort you eat.’

 

‘Not unless … no, never mind. No, a creampie is when the man cums inside a woman, and she lets it leak out. You need a close-up shot. With me, she floods the shop.’

 

‘Wow,’ I said again.

 

‘So, now you know. Time to say goodbye.’

 

‘Hey, wait a second,’ I grabbed his arm. ‘What makes you think I want to say goodbye?’

 

‘Experience. It’s hardly a turn-on.’

 

I hesitated. ‘It’s not a turn-off … don’t you ever want to make love to a woman … as opposed to having sex with her?’

 

‘Oh sure. But …’ he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work.’

 

I looked into his deep Hollywood-blue eyes. ‘I’d like to try.’

 

He grinned. ‘You’re not the first to say that. But it really doesn’t work.’

 

I put my hand on his thigh. It was warm and very firm. ‘Let’s go back to your hotel, where we will make love. Any way you want. And see if it works.’ God, he was hard work.

 

‘It won’t.’

 

‘Look, I am putting myself on the line for you. I am pleading. Cindy never pleads for sex. But I am. And I’ll make a scene if you say no.’

 

His lips curled into a sort of smile. Was he just enjoying humiliating me? But I was being driven by the juices seeping out of my pussy and I didn’t care.

 

‘OK,’ he said. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

 

This was a really good way to start a seduction.

 

We got a taxi to his hotel and in the back seat he held me tenderly and we kissed softly and passionately. He had obviously decided to give in with a good grace. But even as his expert kisses sent shivers down my neck and renewed the wetness in my panties, I found myself wondering if he was just acting. Oh well, as long as his acting was first-rate …

 

In the lift he cupped my buttocks and pressed his erection into my stomach. ‘First of all I’m going to eat you,’ he whispered, and I almost climaxed there and then. In the suite (very luxurious) he undressed me expertly and laid me on the bed, parting my thighs with gentle hands. Willingly I exposed my secrets to his gaze - I noticed he had turned all the lights on. He was obviously used to sex under bright lights. I had shaved myself thoroughly that morning and his tongue would not have detected the slightest trace of stubble.

 

He certainly took his time exploring all around my hips and buttocks and thighs and then my lips and ass and then between my lips and then, oh bliss, my demanding little clitoris. I wound my fingers into his golden hair and let rip with the noise, and I wasn’t acting. I wonder if he was surprised that I climaxed so readily - I had heard that all female screen orgasms were faked.

 

When I had come down to earth I undressed him and licked all over his body. I was amused to find that he was completely hairless - he must shave frequently all over. I didn’t ask him about it - Cindy doesn’t like to interrupt sex with conversation, preferring to reserve it for afterwards or before. It was a novel experience to suck a man’s balls without getting at least a few hairs loose in the mouth. His cock was not massive - on the large size of average, I would say with my fairly extensive experience - but solid and gently curved, circumcised and ultra-clean. But his balls were definitely off the scale - the size of duck eggs, they hung like a ram’s equipment. I recalled what he had said about producing jism, and shuddered with anticipation.

 

I fellated him at length, enjoying his easy hardness. I got the impression he could maintain his erection for hours, and I was in no particular hurry to make him cum. I wanted his cock to spend a lot of time inside me first.

 

And it did. We fucked in most of the positions that I had ever used, our smooth and slickly-wet mechanisms conjoining with tireless rhythm. He plumbed my hot cunt fifty times a minute for hours - interesting to calculate the total length of cock I received. I didn’t invite him into my ass, although I’m not averse to that, but I figured we could try that next time. Every so often, just for a rest, we would slip into a sixty-nine and I would make love to his juicy cock with my mouth and lips while he gave me another shattering climax, holding my lips wide open with his fingertips.

 

His balls had by now drawn up almost inside him, his scrotum just a big tight lump. His cock was as hard and upstanding as ever, and I wondered if he would ever cum. In fact, I was getting a little sore from the constant pounding. So I looked him in the eye, and grasped his cock with both hands and closed my mouth round its purple head. I was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was standing with his feet planted wide apart, his hips jutting towards me, the epitome of male power.

 

I sucked and wanked him with a will, and he must have consciously let go because he shuddered and grunted ‘Here it comes’. His cock went absolutely rigid and seemed to swell another inch. I trembled in that ecstatic moment when time stops and you know that very soon the spunk will be blasting out and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I squeezed my thighs together …

 

And blast it did. His first gush filled my mouth with warm cloying liquid. I swallowed hurriedly and waited to receive the next, even bigger spurt. Nothing happened and I wondered if that was it. Then Rock groaned and shuddered and another huge gush filled my mouth to overflowing. I disposed of that OK, but the next one, after a pause of several seconds, caught me off-guard and spilled out down my chin. After that I decided not even to try and swallow it all. I sucked and stroked and Rock kept emitting these agonised groans and ejaculating these massive, slow gouts of spunk. I wondered when they would stop. But no, the long strings of whiteness just kept on coming, driven by my pumping fists which seemed to have a life of their own. They landed on my face and shot over my head to matt my hair. The thick ropes of semen began to slide down my forehead and over my eyelids, which was a shame as I wanted to keep watching the unbelievable sight of this cock spurting endlessly.

 

Dimly I realised that an orgasm was trembling through my body. I wasn’t even touching myself, although my thighs were squeezed tightly together. I managed to bend his cock down slightly so that his emissions now landed on my cheeks and nose, and in my open mouth. Then further down to anoint my neck and tits. And it just kept on spurting out, until hardly a square inch of my upper body was left dry. Rock was grunting and moaning as if in pain, his hips jerking, the sweat dripping off his torso. Again I climaxed.

 

It seemed like hours before his spurts died away and only a few thick drops oozed from his cock. Even then it remained hard for minutes before finally softening. His knees were shaking and he sat down hard on the bed. I sat there feeling the cooling spunk slowly sliding down my skin. I couldn’t speak, not only because my mouth was full of semen, but because the experience had just been too incredible for words.

 

Rock roused himself and pulled me gently up, then turned me to face the big wall mirror. Through the gobbets matting my eyelids I saw that I was covered in whiteness from the top of my head to my stomach. Slowly I reached up and touched the slick, sticky goo on my breasts. I could see Rock behind me grinning tiredly. Then I put my hands flat against my wet stomach and slowly drew them upwards, gathering a great wave of cum. My palms slid viscously over my breasts with their achingly erect nipples, then up my neck to my face. I massaged the thick jism into my hair and face, then down again to my breasts and pinched my nipples as hard as I could. I felt another small orgasm surge through me, and I swayed into his arms.

 

I lay on top of him on the bed and we dozed. He didn’t object when I kissed him with spunk-coated lips.

 

‘Well?’ I said softly.

 

‘Well what?’

 

‘Did it work?’

 

‘I should say so! You are a very unusual girl, you know.’

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Women don’t like it when I squirt all over them. It turns them off.’

 

‘Really? It makes me cum,’ I said simply.

 

‘Mmm … you know, we do this shoot - you don’t mind me talking about my work?’

 

‘I like it.’

 

‘We do this thing, where we get girls off the street … we give them fifty dollars to be filmed sucking me off. Nice innocent girls, not slags. Most of them have sucked a cock before, though, and some have even had cum in their mouths. So they know what to expect, or they think they do.’

 

‘And they get a shock.’

 

‘You bet. Some of them get hysterics, some just hate it. I can’t remember any who came.’

 

‘Bit hard on the girls.’

 

‘Yeah. We give them some more money if we have to.’

 

‘What about the others - the experienced ones?’

 

‘They know what’s going to happen. They take it like professionals, but I don’t think they like it.’

 

I was feeling proud. I had genuinely loved it when he hosed me down with his cock. Why? The feeling of utter vulnerability, of complete sluttishness, of sublime mess. The thought that it was me alone that had triggered his mighty emission - quite wrong, of course, he did it every day. I even enjoyed the feeling of the semen cooling and drying on my skin and in my hair.

 

I rubbed my itchy nose on his chest. ‘Can you do it again?’

 

He shook his head. ‘No, only once a day. I can cum again … but you won’t get much out of me. It’s quite draining, actually. My balls get sore.’

 

So making love with Rock would be a few hours of strenuous fucking concluded by an enormous explosion of spunk, rather than a cycle of erection, orgasm, deflation and re-erection. Oh well, I could get used to it. I sometimes went at it with my dildos for two or three hours non-stop, I knew my body could take it.

 

He said he had to meet some people later so we showered together. It took me ages to wash all his jism out of my hair. We grew aroused and he held me from behind, his cock pressing against my spine, and masturbated me gently under the sluicing water. I climaxed with abandon in his arms, but he didn’t fuck me again.

 

I asked him if we could meet again tomorrow.

 

‘You want to?’ He seemed surprised.

 

‘Of course I want to! Don’t you want to do it again?’

 

‘I do. It’s just … strange, to find a woman who actually enjoys it.’

 

I kissed him on his sculptured lips. ‘You can cum on me till I drown in it. How’s that?’

 

-----

 

And so we became lovers, united by the strangest bond I have ever known. The next day I prepared myself for anal sex as I wanted him to have me in every possible way. I asked him how many women’s asses he had been inside - it made me aroused to think of this.

 

‘Thousands,’ he said. ‘It’s almost compulsory these days. You don’t get far in films if you won’t do anal.’

 

We did anal, for hours, until my poor orifice was gaping like a railway tunnel. Then I sucked him off, relishing the taste of my scented enema and lube, and made him cum all over my head and body again. This time I knew what it would be like and rolled his spouting cock all across my breasts and face, covering every square inch of flesh with his seed. Again I felt the orgasms rippling unbidden through me.

 

Rock had a very unusual orgasm. Every man I had ever been with pulsed about once a second, an unvarying rhythm which coincided with my own climactic throbs. Rock only spurted every 6 or 7 seconds or so, with an enormous shudder that seemed to cause him actual pain – but he produced more semen with each spurt than other men make in a session.

 

The third day, I wanted him to cum inside me, just to see how much I could take. We ended up doggy fashion, my ass stuck into the air and my neck twisted so I could look back at his balls slapping against my pubes. I felt him start to cum and my cunt was suddenly filled with a warm pressure. The fullness grew and grew and suddenly there was a white trickle falling between my legs onto the bed. I put my hand under it and caught the flood of spunk, then touched my clit, triggering off a wave of orgasm. He kept pumping and the jism squirted out around his cock - I could feel it sluicing across my lips - and ran down my thighs. Still spurting, he withdrew and with practised ease slid his cock into my ass, and proceeded to fill that with spunk too. Without its plug, my cunt released its contents in a big gush, helped by the cock pistoning inside my ass. I could actually feel my bowels gradually filling up with liquid.

 

Eventually he was drained and flopped out of me. I struggled up and sat on the bed so that I could see myself in the mirror again. From my waist to my knees I was covered in his jism. With an ultimate feeling of sluttishness I contracted my muscles and saw more whiteness gush simultaneously out of my cunt and ass, splattering onto the floor. I started to laugh weakly.

 

‘Is that what they call a creampie?’

 

He grinned at me. ‘That’s a double creampie, honey! You’re a star!’

 

‘You think I’d make a porn star?’ I asked, scooping up a palm-full of his thick cream from my cunt and stuffing into my mouth. I was deliberately doing the nastiest things I could imagine.

 

‘Seriously. You could be a cum queen.’

 

‘What’s a cum queen?’

 

‘Everyone’s got to have a speciality in porn. You wouldn’t believe some of the things … A cum queen is a woman who does things with cum. Drinks it, baths in it, leaks it, wears it, does snowballs -‘

 

‘Snowballs?’ The jargon was fascinating.

 

‘You get a mouthful of cum and pass it to another girl, and vice versa. Or dribble it into her mouth. Or lick it out of her cunt or her ass …’

 

‘Wow.’

 

‘But I’d hate to see you on the porn circuit.’

 

‘Why?’

 

He shrugged. ‘You’re … too nice …’

 

I inspected the mess we had made. ‘The maids must love you. Come on, help me shower again. I need another orgasm.’

 

----

 

We made love, in Rock’s special and extremely messy way, every day for the rest of his vacation. Always in his hotel suite - I like to fuck out of doors, and the weather was warm enough, but the after-effects of one of his climaxes would have made walking around somewhat embarrassing, even for me. On the last day I told him I loved him. He held me tight, wiping the spunk from my eyes and mouth and smoothing my sticky, matted hair away from my face.

 

‘Oh, Cindy, that’s not a good thing.’

 

‘It hasn’t been in the past,’ I said, trying to be light-hearted. ‘But I can’t stop it happening. Will you take me back to America with you?’

 

‘You would hate it,’ he said. ‘Oh, not the place or the people. My lifestyle. How would you feel knowing that every day I was fucking different women? And I couldn’t make love to you properly. I can only manage one a day.’

 

I was silent. He was right. I didn’t like the thought of him pumping his seed over thousands of other women - I wanted it over me, every drop, every time. I felt a tear mingle with the drying semen on my cheek.

 

‘Couldn’t you … do something different? Another job?’

 

‘What else can I do? I’ve been in the porn business since I was eighteen. It’s the only thing I know how to do.’

 

‘But you do love me … just a little?’

 

He sighed. ‘If I let myself … yes. But I put up barriers. You have to. D’you understand?’

 

I kissed him and got up to shower. ‘Keep in touch, huh?’

 

------

 

We did keep in touch, to my faint surprise. We e-mailed regularly and phoned each other once a week or so. I always felt a hot wetness at the sound of his voice, and even masturbated sometimes while we were talking - although I didn’t tell him. We discussed his work dispassionately - what shoots he had done, who with. It excited me to hear about his exploits - I could imagine it was me rather than the myriad other women who were receiving his emissions. Our friendship grew closer, if anything.

 

I had some holiday coming and decided on the spur of the moment to fly to Los Angeles. I gave Rock 24 hours notice so he couldn’t refuse. I was quite prepared to stay in a hotel or something, and even to find that he lived with a wife and kids, but I just had to see him and the way he lived and worked and to find out how I really felt about it.

 

And at the back of my mind was the thought that if it was the only way to have sex with him, I would become a porn star. One of the few who enjoyed being hosed down with spunk, and the fewer who didn’t fake their orgasms. I would do facials and creampies and snowballs and whatever else was needed to monopolise his eruptions. I would become a cum queen.

 

 

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 last modified 24 November 2006