More than a mouthful

by BRK   

It can be a challenge having a mouthcock. For one thing they produce a lot of spunk, which can be a problem in certain situations…

Normally, these days, it’s not as huge a problem when I need to cum as it used to be. I spend a lot of my life alone, thanks to my work-from-home job and most of my friends being boxes on a computer screen now that I’ve moved moved halfway across the country from the old stomping grounds of my college days in Boston. So if I have to blow a load, I can just try to swallow it, and if it’s too much—as it often is, for reasons I’ll get into—I can run to the kitchen and let it gush all over the sink. The only problem I end up dealing with in that scenario is carefully rinsing up any suddenly spunk-covered dirty dishes I had stacked up in there. Otherwise it works.

See, there’s a lot of misconceptions about us mouthcock guys. I mean, yeah, our tongues do turn into boners when we get turned on, but my mouthboner isn’t just a big stiff tubular cock like the one I have downstairs. It’s a hard cock, yeah, but it’s wider and flatter than my crotchcock with this really broad, sensitive head. I mean, it’s my tongue turned all hard and phallic. And it doesn’t stick out inches past my lips like some of the drawings you see on DA and places like that—not unless I want it to, like when I’m in overflow mode and pushing it out so I can splatter boatloads of cum all over my plates and silverware and the saucepan from the stir-fry I had for supper. Generally I keep my mouth-tool all in my mouth, getting all the friction and pleasure I could want from the subtle roughness of my palate and, yeah, a bit of lip action.

Of course, just because I don’t have protruding erection syndrome all the time doesn’t mean my condition is exactly a secret for the people I hang out with. The lanky body and super-fast metabolism is the first clue, of course—we all have that. But the real giveaway is—well, guys like me, I don’t know, I think we have a crazy high libido, because it’s super easy for me to get boned up, from all kinds of sexy guys. And people notice when you get all kinda of red-cheeked and stop being able to talk, like, at all. Most of my buddies think it’s funny, the bastards, and if it happens while we’re catching up video-chatting ‘cause I’ve let my mind wander or whatever they just snicker at me and let me go so I can “take care of my problem”. It used to be all the time in college and my friends would just laugh as I rushed off to the bathroom all flushed and embarrassed to let loose in private.

Why don’t I just swallow all the jizz and move on with my day? Well, I do try to, but, like I said, sometimes I can’t keep up, especially if it’s been a day or two. See, the other thing people don’t know about mouthcock guys like me is that we cum a lot. Like, way more than most guys. From both cocks. That’s a ton of spunk. Now, the one big benefit of being mouthcocked is that, if you manage to focus well enough at the critical moment, you can choose to cum only from one cock or the other. Which is great for not messing your pants if you bone up in class or at the mall or something, but the upshot (so to speak) of cumming all your cum through your mouthcock is that you get all of the cum—the cum from your crotchcock on top of the cum from your mouthcock. So… much… cum. If you’ve ever sucked off a guy that came a lot, you know that’s a challenge to keep pace with, and we get twice as much hot spunk filling our mouths all at once—wave after wave that don’t seem like they’re going to stop, piling in more and more high-velocity cum until your swallow mechanism is struggling and your mouth feels like a blimp filled way past capacity. Chipmunk cheeks might help you for the first few gushers, but after a few seconds of cumming hard I know there’s no way I can manage to swallow it all and I have to start blowing my load somewhere, anywhere, that I can get to and that will take all of my loads of thick, hot, quality semen.

My one friend here in Madison so far is my neighbor, Julio. I managed to find a compact bungalow in a nice old neighborhood that was in my price range, and my next-door neighbor turned out to be this cheerful divorced guy with a sturdy old pickup and a garage gym who’s always out doing stuff—jogging the lake paths in the big park two blacks over, making runs to Home Depot for his various projects, going to high school plays just so the audience won’t be all bored parents, stuff like that. Early on he latched onto me as a newbie and started dragging me with him on his various activities. (The drama club at Jefferson High is actually pretty amazing.) Maybe he was a little lonely, maybe I was feeling a tad isolated in a strange place far from home, but I let him pal up with me and it worked.

One day in April we were out for a run and we decided to celebrate on the way back with a bit of nosh at McDonald’s. I know, I know, but I can eat anything—mega-fast metabolism, remember?—and Julio’s so seriously buff and defined I think any fat would be scared off and run away screaming just from that fuzzy, chiseled six-pack I’ve seen a few times now. So, yeah, I’d already been noticing his fine body—just my type, fit and a bit hairy, and my height, too, which most guys aren’t—and today he was wearing less than usual, just shorts, sneaks, ankle socks, and a snug sleeveless tee in honor of the warming weather. He smelled great, too, all smooth and spicy. I have an above-average sense of smell, I think, and that was definitely a plus as well.

So I was already a little riled up. I think he noticed me looking once or twice as we ran, because he flashed me this big bright smile that made a serious go at stopping my fucking heart.

We were standing in line at the Mickey D’s chatting about whatever and, since I was trying not to look at him as I kept up my end of the conversation, my gaze fell instead on this pair of guys in line a couple of people ahead of us, a skinny blond guy and a big redhead. They looked like goofy twenty-year-old kids, laughing and joking at nothing, just have a great time being alive like you do at that age. What I noticed, though, was that the redhead was seriously built—like, “I spend all my time in the gym and have since puberty” built. The guy was so big and carved he actually looked a bit inhuman. At the moment he was fielding compliments from his blond buddy and a woman next to them in line with too much eyeshadow and inch-long lashes, and he was lapping it up, stroking his green skintight tee shirt and beaming at them like all this praise was exactly why he made himself this big.

Now, like I said, this ginger bull wasn’t exactly my type—I like ’em lean and buff and not all huge and smooth like this guy—but masculinity turns me on in all its forms, and ginger bull guy was oozing masculinity. I started to bone up, and whatever I was saying to Julio faltered and went out of my head.

Julio noticed, and I felt him looking at me as I stared distractedly at the ginger bull. “Stan?” he asked. “You okay, man?”

Just then the redhead lifted up both arms in a double bicep, grinning wide. The green tee strained against his truly impressive peaks—I mean, seriously, his biceps were so tall it looked like they’d suddenly acquired mass from somewhere, like he’d exploded tiny airbag capsules inside each of his upper arms. The skinny buddy and the eyelash girl were stroking the hard summits in pure reverence, and suddenly I was unable to control myself. I looked away and closed my eyes, but it was too late. I was hard, achingly hard, in my mouth and my running shorts—and (as I knew from experience) there was no way out of that but cumming my geyserloads of cum. Libidos as high as mine don’t allow for boners to just dissipate like leaky life rafts. You have to explode, and usually there’s not a lot of time before the need to do so becomes too great to ignore.

I felt a warm hand on my sweaty shoulder. “Stan? What’s wrong, bud?”

Damn it, I thought, I knew I should have cleaned the pipes this morning. And this was one of those places you had to ask for the bathroom key, too, which of course I could not do in my present condition. I was so screwed. The noise of the restaurant fell away as my anxiety grew.

I turned and looked at Julio helplessly, figuring I had maybe a minute to wordlessly make my excuses and bolt off somewhere. Julio cocked his head at me, momentarily perplexed; then his chocolate-brown eyes softened, and he gave me a reassuring smile that turned me on that little bit more. I wanted to whimper. I felt hot, and my pulse was pounding in my ears.

“I knew a guy like you once,” he said quietly, just loud enough for me to hear. His hand was still on my sweat-dampened shoulder, and he gave it a little squeeze.

I panted through my nose as I stared at him, my awareness full of nothing but this handsome, fit, extroverted friend and ally I’d somehow stumbled across. I tried to smile a little, though I made sure to keep my lips pressed tightly closed. I was going to need to cum soon—maybe very soon, if he kept being this sexy-nice.

He was watching me closely. “You need to cum, bud?” he asked.

Well, fuck. I did now! The carnality of compassion—who knew? I felt my eyes get round, and I nodded jerkily.

He nodded once, and, eyes on mine, he tapped his manly lips twice with his index finger. “Come on, then,” he said. “Let me help you out.” His tone was still that of a friend wanting to take care of a friend, but there was an undertow of excitement there, too. He was into this. He wanted this. He wanted to be there for me—and he wanted my hot jizz, too.

I gasped—through my nose, which wasn’t pleasant. Okay, I had to cum now. This guy—this guy—! I moved toward him in a single, almost uncontrolled movement, and he smiled gently and did the same, letting his hand slide down and join the other one on my flanks as our lips met. I opened for him immediately and he did the same—that was kind of the point—and I start cumming hard as we kissed, my body shaking with the throes of a delirious double orgasm. He held me, and I clasped onto him like I might drown in all the cum I was giving him otherwise.

I kept cumming, and he kept sharing it, swallowing it with me, and we somehow managed to keep up as I shot all of my spunk into our mouths, what felt like days’ and days’ worth, both of us breathing hard through our noses as best we could. I reveled in his strong embrace and the feel of his fine, damp, gently muscled body against mine, not least the stiff torpedo cock pushing against my hip near my big, shivering (but blessedly cum-free) crotchcock. I knew I wanted to feel more of that body, preferably without any clothing in the way between us.

Finally the cum slowed down and we were just holding each other and kissing right there in line at the Mickey D’s, and as the heat and the roar of blood subsided I finally heard the whistles and encouraging catcalls from the other patrons. As we shared and swallowed the last dribbles of my spunk, somebody—I think it might even have been the ginger bull—called out a friendly “Get a room!”, and Julio broke the kiss and smiled at me, the line of cum dribbling down from the left side of his mouth looking somehow adorable.

“Good idea,” he said to me, his voice rough and husky. “Your place or mine?”

I just beamed at him, unable to speak. In fact I had a feeling I wouldn’t be doing much talking that day. Or, with any luck, for the foreseeable future.

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