When it comes down to it— and his pants do come down— pardon my French, but Kennedy is packing one pretty penis. Lay that handsome man-hood on me, pretty please. Kennedy’s member is clean-shaven and silken. There’s no hair growing up the length and the shaft is satin-smooth. He probably masturbates with Nivea because it’s so soft and supple.
Gorgeous as it is, his manhood is limp. It needs lip service. In the middle of the blow job, Kennedy says he wants to give me a facial. Aw, how thoughtful. No man’s ever given me a pampering facial before.
I ask him, “Are we going to a spa? When do I get my facial?”
“Right now,” he says, looking like he’s just about to ejaculate. I know that not because I have semen radar, but because he said “Coming soon” more times than a movie trailer.
I see Kennedy aiming his manhood at my face, his one-eyed snake staring me down. Kaboom! Next thing I know, I have his man essence all over my cheeks.
Do I look like a uterus to you? “Why are you blowing your load on my face?”
Kennedy says, “I asked permission!”
“I agreed to be slimed with semen?”
He says, “You wanted a facial.”
A sea kelp mask, yes, but not Crême de Sperm.
But something unexpected happens. His hot load on my cheek feels sinfully sexy– the wet sear of it against my skin, ooh! I don’t know why, but it gets my lady parts gushing an avalanche of baby-making nectar. My flesh wants it so badly, I find myself saying to Kennedy, “Come on my face.”
Just as he hears those words, his member explodes another spurt, like shaken champagne on New Years Eve. Kennedy ejaculates in thick ropes of semen. I’m not talking ordinary twine, I’m talking industrial-grade nautical rope. Grab me a poncho because it’s raining jizz lassos, whipping about in a wild semen rodeo.
I open my eyes to see if the jizz blitz is over. Not quite. Kennedy’s pistol penis shoots again, right into my left eye. Holy scrotes, it burns! I think I’ve lost my vision. All I can hear is the sizzle of my burning eye. Mind your aim there, Sergeant Cumblaster, you’ve blinded me with semen.
When I blink my eyes open, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Goodness, did I ever scare myself with my own reflection. My eyes are redder than a subway rodent. My pupils look like they’re strung out on acid. His jizz might as well have been acid. Because it burns like cider. That’ll teach me. Next time I’m caught in a hail of jizz, I’m wearing goggles. Or else I’ll end up a semen cyclops. Sex Rule Number 22:
When he orgasms, be wise.
Cover both of your eyes.
Or else your eyes turn bloodshot,
When he jizzes you a cum shot.
But it’s not over. There’s more to come, so to speak. How much ejaculate can a man possibly have? Kennedy says he hasn’t masturbated in days, so he has a lot of “pent-up energy.” Oh, I bet he does, all bottled up in his balls.
Kennedy keeps shooting boatloads of ejaculate like silly string at the NBA finals. Then he squirts right into my good eye. My mouth drops open upon contact. Kennedy must have assumed I want his hot silly string on my tongue because suddenly he just lays it on thick, layer upon layer, until his silly string semen looked like raw funnel cake in my mouth.
To be continued…