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!