My Nuts' Precious Cargo

It's no secret that I am maybe inordinately proud of myself for the volume and pressure of my cum, and that half the dudes that let me fuck them do so because of that simple fact. And I recognize that it's kind of silly. But in the end I suppose I have fetishized my own ejaculatory prowess. When I have a long dry spell, such as I have this week, as my job continues to eat my brain, my time, and my life, the frustration of not being able to have sex as often as I like is counterbalanced by the knowledge that I am building up a truly impressive store of fluid in my balls and that I can re-brand myself as a seed-squirting stud packed to the gills with salty fluid and out of my mind with the horny need to shed it into the gullet or ass of a willing, cum-hungry cumslut or whatever. But because I fetishize my own cum, I get very picky about who I will put these epic loads in, often causing an even greater buildup of fluid and frustration, until finally, I just have to pick someone at random to relieve myself of my semen inside. Today, that was the blond twink I fucked the hell out of earlier this year even though I wasn't that into him physically. And honestly, it felt like a total waste of my nuts' precious cargo.

He's been after me ever since I did him-- honestly it was a pretty intense, awesome fuck, and he says he never gets drilled like that, but he's just so not my type that it was always hard to muster the desire to get together again. But today when he hit me up, after being prickteased by two different guys over the past two days (the types who gush over how hot for you they are, set up specific times in the future when they will get together, then disappear), I just wanted to get off. I asked if he could host, and he said yes, but that he had roommates. I said I didn't care as long as they didn't sit there and watch. He was about 12 blocks away, an easy walk. I walked. While I was on my way he asked me to stop off somewhere and get him poppers. Grrr. I told him I was already almost there, and he said it was OK, he didn't need them. I got to his place-- a real old-fashioned artist's loft, in a big old industrial building with high ceilings and giant windows, a warren of rooms connected by a winding hallway with plywood floors and caged light bulbs, etc. His own room was pretty spacious and nice.

He dropped right to his knees and gave me not-very-inspiring, toothy head. It wasn't going to work, so I told him to get on the bed so I could eat his ass. "You want me on the bed?" he asked, and I barked yes, not realizing this was an issue. But in the end he was all uptight about the bed, saying after I had tried to start drilling my fat fuckstick into his wiggly, tight asshole, "I don't like to do anything on the bed," and leading me over to a little loveseat that was a terrible height for accessing his innards.

There really was no hope. For a minute or two I did ram him into the wall, bent over the couch on all fours, but the angle was terrible for me, and my dick grew rubbery. He does have a fantastic ass, great for eating, and I could reliably get myself hard again, but his awkward postures and the difficult height of the couch made me just give up.

"Do you want to just feed me?" he asked when I told him it didn't seem to be working for me. I said sure, sat back on the loveseat, and let him do his thing. Which wasn't much; more a hand-job with a little bit of tongue at the end. But then he cupped his hand on my balls while he did this and it was enough to make me feel warm and fuzzy and dickalicious and suddenly I was unloading into him even though I wasn't as fully hard as I was when I was eating his ass.

He didn't take me deep into his mouth like he needed to to make me cum really hard, and halfway through the orgasm I wrenched my meat out of his idle hands and jerked it hard, slipping through the goo, and gave myself the stimulation I needed to ride out the climax right. His eyes were wide as he watched me writhe and then he said "You came so much!"

Blah, I could have given it to a good cocksucker! Ugh.

He was weirdly silent afterward, focusing hard on his phone, despite my attempts to make cheery banter. I was very, very tired after this, like moving through molasses-- next week, when I will be off work for the first time since I broke my wrist over the summer, can't come soon enough. I dressed slowly, which I think annoyed him greatly for some reason, and left saying thank you to his silent figure at the end of the winding hall, and went down the big metal stairs to the big front door.

It's a good thing I always make more. Always more chances to shoot my load in the right dude. But not this time.