God and the Cum Dump

I went to my stool, sat, and took a sip of the beer Dave had bought me.

"Long bathroom trip, Brenda," said Tony.

"Something I ate," I said.

He gave me a stern look and went off to polish glasses.

3. Sticky Picnic

The guy that had been talking to Dave approached me. He looked rich, like some kind of businessman, about fifty with a white shirt, jeans, and polished Oxfords - an odd combination.

Before he could say anything, I said, "Don't tell me, let me guess. Somebody said I was giving out free blowjobs, and you want to know if you can have one too."

"Well, I was hoping to make a smoother approach, you know. I don't want to objectify you."

"What do you mean, objectify?"

"Treat you in a degrading way, so you feel like an object - less than human."

I stared at him in astonishment. "That's it!" I said. "That's exactly it! My boss objectified me when he fucking fired me today, and my boyfriend objectified me when he dumped me tonight, and I was so juiced by all that objectifying that I wanted to suck every cock in this place."

He looked uncomfortable, the way you get when strangers tell you more than you want to know about their troubles. "I'm sorry about your job and your boyfriend," he said.

"Don't be," I said. "My boss was an asshole, and my boyfriend was a fat jerk and a dumbass. And the very last thing my boyfriend did before he walked out was help me figure out that I love being objectified. God, I can't believe there's a word for that. I really love that word."

"Look," said the guy. "Do you mind if I sit?"

"Feel free," I said. I was warming towards him more every second.

"So about the blowjobs," the man said. "You're not actually planning to blow every man in here, are you?"

"I don't think I can get away with it," I said sadly. "Tony would throw me out. He's already half caught on to what I did with Dave."

"Dave?"

"The guy you were just talking to. I don't think that's his real name."

"I think you're right about that," he said. "But if you could do it, would you?"

I looked at him. "Do you think I can?"

"Not in the ladies' room. You could do it outside. There's a picnic area next to the parking lot that's pretty well hidden from the road. Mind, I'm not saying you should do it, just that you could. If that's your inclination."

I took a sip of my beer and thought about it. The fact is, getting face-fucked by Dave hadn't cooled me off even a little: if anything, it had heated me up more. I glanced around the room. The same six guys were still here - seven if you counted Tony. What would it feel like to suck them all off? I felt way better after sucking off Dave than I had before: would I feel better with every load of cum, or would there be a point where the effect got reversed and I started to feel worse instead? Where would the turning point be, and what would be the net effect?

I started to feel a little dizzy, not being used to this much thinking, especially after two and a half beers. If I did this I'd be a slut, no question, and in this town, everybody would know it within forty-eight hours. But didn't Jesus love and forgive sluts? I pictured myself washing his feet with my tears, and my pussy throbbed, and then I couldn't think about anything but how that warm jism felt splashing into my mouth and oozing down my throat.

"I still want to suck every cock in here," I said.

The guy smiled a huge smile and said, "My name's Randy. That's my actual name, and I'm delighted to meet you."

He held out his hand, and I shook it and said, "Brenda."

Randy said, "Okay, Brenda. I'll get, um, Dave to escort you outside and keep you company while I organize things. I'll be surprised if you don't get exactly what you want."

Five minutes later I was sitting at a picnic table with Dave, who was looking awkward. I was nervous and excited, and the fact that Dave couldn't think of a single thing to say to me, even though we'd been pretty intimate just minutes ago, only added to the coolness of it all.

The guy with the cowboy boots wandered out to the picnic area and sat at a table far from us. The three guys that had been drinking together - I thought maybe they were auto mechanics - joined him a couple minutes later. Finally Randy came out with Tony.

Randy stood near me and said, "Gather round, men."

They all stood and moved towards us. They shifted nervously, hands in their pockets.

Randy said, "This is Brenda. She's had kind of a hard day, and she says what she needs to make her feel better is to eat seven loads of cum. Can we help her out?"

The guys muttered "Yeah," "Sure," "You bet," and other affirmatives.

Randy turned to me and said, "This could get messy, Brenda. Maybe you'd like to do something to protect that nice dress."

I pulled off my dress, glad they couldn't see me blush in the dim light. I hesitated a few seconds: there was no need to take off my panties, but wouldn't being pantiless enhance the experience for everybody? I pushed them down.

I looked around. I liked the way they were staring at me, but they looked like they didn't know how to start. I moved away from the table I'd been sitting at and got on my knees in the grass.

"Okay," I said. "Who's gonna fuck my face first?"

Of course it was Randy that stepped out of his pants and came over to me, pulling his cock out of his underwear. I liked him, and I liked his cock. I took it deep right away, wanting to rev up the other guys.

And it worked! Soon they were crowded around me, and I was working my way around the circle, giving each guy about thirty seconds so they'd all get a turn every few minutes.

I'd been around the circle a couple of times when Randy decided to dial things up. He seized my head and fucked my throat hard. Soon they were all doing it, and it was making them bold. Hands squeezed my tits, which somehow were way more sensitive than they'd ever been before, fingers slipped into my wet cunt, rubbed hard against my clit, making me wriggle and whine, and a hand even explored my crack, pressing briefly against my anus.

And then someone said, "Let's fuck this bitch," and threw me down on the ground, nearly knocking the wind out of me. I was on my back, and one of the mechanics was on his knees above my head, thrusting straight down into my mouth, while below, someone else was prying my legs apart and pushing into my cunt.

My first impulse was to struggle because this wasn't what I'd signed on for - but suddenly it came to me that the feeling of being filled above and below was amazing, and sensation was arcing back and forth between my tongue and clit, burning down everything in between. I was flooding on both ends, cunt making sucking noises as a man fucked me below, and my mouth was overflowing with drool as another fucked me above.

"Nngh," I said, and squirmed and thrust under them. They took turns for a while, all the while saying things like, "How 'bout this skank?" and "Hey, gimme a piece of that twat!" and "Fuck that bitch, Charley!" Not talking to me at all, but just to each other.

Randy pulled out of my mouth and hauled me to my feet, and I found myself staring at Dave's backside, big and hairy, and he was reaching around behind him and pulling his ass cheeks apart: in the dim light I could just see his asshole, puckered and hairy.

I barely had time to think Oh, shit! before Randy seized me by the back of my neck and shoved my face into that crack, saying, "Eat that ass, Brenda."

Well, why not? I thought, as long as my face was in his crack anyway. It was kind of sweaty in there, humid but not filthy, and when I put my tongue out and gave that asshole a lick it tasted, well, not like anything much, really, but like excitement and naughtiness, if you can taste those things.

It was a little like kissing a man with a beard, and yeah, I loved eating this asshole. I said "Mmmm" and my mouth watered as I slurped and sucked, and all the others got turned on and had to have their asses eaten too. They bent way over, and those that could reach their ankles held on that way while the fat ones held onto a picnic table and spread their legs, and while I serviced their butts they took turns fucking me doggie style.

I was on my fourth asshole, thinking it couldn't get any better than this, when headlights swept over us - another car pulling into the lot. I hoped vaguely it wasn't the cops, but I heard Tony say, "Hey, doc! C'mon over and get rimmed!"

A few seconds later, Doctor Rosenberg's voice said, "Brenda?"

I looked up from the crack my face was planted in, and sure enough, it was him. "Hi, Doctor Rosenberg!" I squeaked as the blood rushed into my face. Then it came to me that he wasn't my boss and I didn't have to give a fuck about what he thought. And the man had a cock, like other men, even if he was a shithead, and I turned to him and fumbled with his belt and zipper.

I was clumsy with excitement, but he took over for me, and soon he was naked and bent over, jerking himself off while I tongued his asshole and Randy plowed me behind.

So now there were eight of them, and when I'd rimmed them all I was back to getting face-fucked - and this was hard work, but I was totally in my element for once in my mediocre life, confident, knowing just what to do, and thinking, I'm made for this. Fuck, I'm really good at this!

Tony was the first to come, jerking off while I held the head of his cock in my mouth. He filled me up, and I held his cum on my tongue and turned my head this way and that so they could all see before I swallowed it. After that they all just stepped up to my mouth whenever they were ready. Some plunged into my throat and came deep inside me, and some held their cocks just outside my parted lips so they could watch the cum jet into me.

When it was Randy's turn he stood a foot away, and his cum splattered all over my nose, cheeks, and chin. Greedy, I pushed it into my mouth with a finger. Dave was next, and even though he'd come less than an hour before, his load, which he shot deep inside me, was pretty ample, and I was pleased. And finally Doctor Rosenberg aimed his cock right at the middle of my face and let fly. I blinked reflexively but then forced myself to keep my eyes open so I could watch the cum shoot out of his slit - and he was amazing, the doc, spurting eight or nine times, huge gushes, covering my whole face with his goo before he was spent.

None of the guys said a thing to me. I scooped globs of Doctor Rosenberg's cum into my mouth with a finger while I watched them pull on their pants and wander into the bar, back to their beers, their conversations, and their lonely thoughts. Last of all, Doctor Rosenberg hesitated like he had something to say, but then turned and almost sprinted into the bar.

Only Randy stayed behind.

"What do you think, Brenda?" he asked. "Was it what you wanted?"

"Yeah," I said. "I was just a hole for them, wasn't I? Do you mind if I masturbate while we talk?"

"Not at all," he said, and watched as I lay on one of the picnic tables and stroked myself. I'd been too busy to come, but all that penetration and cum-swallowing had left me incredibly wound up.

"I'd definitely say they objectified you," he said.

"What about you?" I asked. "The rest of them have all gone back inside, but here you are talking to me. Why is that? Aren't I just a hole to you?"

"You know what you are?" he said. "You're a cum dump. Have you ever heard that before?"

"No," I said. "Are you looking at my cunt?" I liked the sound of "cum dump."

"There's a shadow," he said. He put a hand on my thigh - his touch felt so good! - and moved my leg. "That's better. Ah! Exquisite snatch!"

"Thanks," I said. "I . . ."

But I couldn't go on right away. Knowing he was looking at my cunt had sent like a firebolt of sensation through me. Randy watched as my back arched, my pelvis convulsed, and I came, stifling my cries with the back of my hand.

I sat up with my legs crossed. He went on, "I guess I don't have to tell you what a cum dump is. The term is self-explanatory. Thing is, those guys don't appreciate how rare and wonderful a genuine cum dump is. I do. So when you ask if you're just a hole to me, yeah, you are just a hole. A terrific, wonderful hole!"

"Thanks," I said, genuinely pleased by what he was saying.

"Do you think we could stay in touch?" he asked. "I'm not trying to make myself your boyfriend - but I'd like to use you as a cum dump now and then, and I've got some friends who're always looking for a place to dump their cum too. Feel free to tell me to fuck off if you decide tonight was just a one-time thing and you're not a cum dump after all. But I've got a feeling you are."

"Thanks, Randy," I said. "I think you're probably right about me. But I'd better sleep on it. This time yesterday I was a dull respectable girl, and now I've just gotten myself gangbanged and swallowed eight loads of cum - nine if you count Dave twice. It's a lot to take in."

Randy fished a card out of his pants pocket and handed it to me. "Call me tomorrow," he said, "if you decide you're still a cum dump."

He went back into the bar, and I sat staring at his card for about five minutes before I got up, put on my clothing, and drove home, where I fell into bed, masturbated one more time with my trusty hairbrush, and slept soundly till morning.

4. Randy's Fluids

My drinking hadn't been extreme the night before, but I'd had more beer than I was used to, and I was hung over. In the cold morning light, what I'd done the night before seemed vile and disgusting. I was a small-town working-class girl, brought up to be pious and conservative. I went to church and believed in God, and I'd just done this unthinkable thing. I tried to banish the vivid memories, but I couldn't. Again I felt the cum jetting into my throat.

I ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. I rinsed my mouth and took two Advils, then threw them up. I decided I'd forget Advil and eating for a while, but just go ahead and feel horrible. I sat on the floor next to the toilet, head throbbing, till I'd managed to go about a half hour without throwing up, then rinsed my mouth, took more Advil, and went back to bed.

I woke up a little after one ravenously hungry. My headache was gone. I went to the kitchen, made a sandwich, poured some apple juice, and took stock while I ate. I had no job, no savings, and no boyfriend. Word of what I'd done would already be spreading, and soon enough my reputation would be shit. People would snub me at church, my friends, the few I had, would start screening my calls, and random men would proposition me on the street.

I was completely fucked. It wasn't fair. Why was I so avid for cum? Where had this appetite of mine come from, and why was it driving me so irresistibly? The Reverend Edwards said that all things came from God. If He was real, as I'd been taught all my life, surely my love of cum had come from Him. God, in His wisdom, had made me a cum dump.

Why had He done it? Maybe it was a test, like the way He tested Abraham's faith. Maybe He wanted to see whether I'd be true to the nature He'd given me even though it would make me a social outcast.

Well, I would do God's will, be true to my nature, and bear the stigma. And it wasn't so bad, really. I'd lost a lot - my job, my boyfriend, and my reputation. But I had assets, too. I knew how to give a world-class blowjob, I was extremely horny again, and I had Randy's card.

I called his number, and he answered on the second ring.

"This is Brenda," I said. "I'm still a cum dump."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Have you got some free time today?"

"I'm free as far as the eye can see," I said. "Jobless, remember?"

"Sorry, right," he said. "I'm at work right now, but I can get away in, let's see, a half hour. Can I pick you up?"

"Okay," I said, and told him my address.

"I'll be by in about forty-five minutes," he said.

I washed and put on some makeup. I wanted to wear something nice, but I didn't have much. I settled for a comfortable dress with a flowered pattern. It looked kind of frumpy, but then I was a frump, so it suited me.

It didn't suit Randy, though. He arrived exactly on time, and when I answered the door he looked at me and said, "Is that all you've got to wear?"

He was neatly dressed in an expensive-looking suit, and I was a ragbag in comparison. "I haven't got a big wardrobe," I said. "It's mostly dental assistant uniforms."

"Let's go shopping," he said. "You need some slutwear."

I liked the idea, but had no idea where to go. And . . .

"I'm broke. This is not a good day for clothes shopping."

"This whole day is my treat," he said. "I'd like to do unspeakably filthy things with you later, and it'll be more fun if you're appropriately dressed."

There weren't all that many places in our town where you could get the right clothing. A Victoria's Secret in the mall, one tiny sex shop where you could get a few things Victoria's Secret considered too risqué - and otherwise you just had to improvise. But after a couple hours I had acquired a black lacy bra and matching crotchless panties, a clingy dress with a black-and-white pattern that was both decent and suggestive and somehow managed to look good on my body, a black dress so short that it was no trick at all to spot my panties underneath, and black shoes with heels - not stilettos, which made me wobble. We ended the afternoon at a hairdresser's, where a girl cut my hair to just below my ears in a sort of rounded style that miraculously made my face look less heavy and thick. Then another girl took me over, plucked my eyebrows, and made me up.

When I looked in a mirror, wearing my new face, hairstyle, and clingy black-and-white dress, I thought I actually looked good.

"Jesus," I said.

"You're a pretty girl," said Randy. "When that fact sinks in, you'll be even prettier, because a good attitude is a major part of beauty."

He took me to a steakhouse downtown, where several men turned to stare at me as we walked in. This was a new experience for me, and I liked it a lot.

When we were seated with drinks - Randy got me some expensive thing instead of the Bud Light I asked for - I said, "How much are you willing to tell about yourself, Randy?"

"I don't mind telling you about myself. I'm a lawyer, and a good and successful one. I'm married with two grown kids and a wife who's happiest when I'm not around. I've got a number of appetites that she wants no part of, and she's got a lover who satisfies her rather conventional requirements. Our arrangement is comfortable, actually. I'm whatever you'd call a man who's a slut - a horndog, maybe - and I'm extremely fond of sluts. But I've never met a girl who was just in the process of discovering her sluttiness, and that makes you very exciting. Any questions?"

"I'll let you know if I think of any," I said.

"What more should I know about you?" he asked. "What was the job you lost?"

I told him about being a dental assistant and how Doctor Rosenberg had fired me and what Lester had done when he dumped me. "And here I am twenty-four hours later," I said, "still so horny I could scream. I feel like I'm never going to get over this. It's like I want a cock in my throat every minute of every day. Well, maybe not this morning, when I was hung over and throwing up."

"You deserve to have lots of cocks in your throat," he said. "I hope I can help with that."

He talked about his sex life through much of dinner. He'd been to whorehouses all through the United States and around the world, and he'd experienced just about every possible kind of sex. I was amazed that just hours ago I'd thought there were only a few ways to fuck. By the time we were done with dinner I was in much more desperate shape than I'd been before. I practically leapt to my feet when he said, "Shall we go?"