A thing that has never happened: group of guys stand around me in a circle. I, blindfolded and semi-naked (the better to get my underwear smeared and dirty), lie open-mouthed on the floor beneath them. One of them starts to squirt jizz. It splatters from a height onto my stomach. Watching it sets the others off, and they each rub their dicks harder, pumping ropes of spunk over my waiting face. The traditional bukkake fantasy, if you like.

A thing that has happened: mid-fuck with a single guy, he pulls out. He stands up quickly, straddling me with his legs. He looks down on me as he beats at his dick, then sprays come on me from a height, so it makes a satisfying pitter-patter as it lands on my neck and chest.

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I will never not be fascinated by jizz. It’s probably the topic I’ve covered most often here – from the best places to jizz to the weird questions I’ve asked about it.

Perhaps it’s because I can’t produce it myself, or because I sense a similar fascination in guys – that agony of choice when you decide where to do it, and how, and when.

But let’s talk about the only frustration I have with spunk: that there is never – can never be – enough.

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Fun fact: I once spent an entire week wanking to nothing other than a gif someone had made of a particular moment in a homemade porn film, where the woman squeezed her eyes tight shut and grinned as the guy emptied an astonishingly generous load all over her face. Let’s talk about facials, shall we?

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This week’s guest blogger is Katrina England – she writes erotica (which is available on Amazon) and she’s here to talk to you about something I’ve waxed lyrical about before – spunk. Spaff, cum, come, jizz, or whatever you want to call it: if you’re a fan then you’ll love Katrina’s guest blog, in which she explains – in detail – why she has a cum fetish…

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Ten minutes after we’ve fucked, I cough. Inevitably, thick teaspoons of lukewarm spoodge dribble down into my knickers.

I.

Love.

This.

Feeling.

It is not for the physical sensation: a very similar effect is released when I’ve put my pants on after a bath. The wetness gushes slightly quicker, but as it seeps through my crotch the feelings I get are more annoyance than delight.

When it’s spunk, though? I am down with that: it’s like a souvenir. (more…)