Spunk: force versus quantity

Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor

I like the feeling of come hitting my skin.

I particularly like the feeling of it squirting hard against one of my nipples as he presses the tip of his cock against me.

It’s not just the force and power of the liquid, but the accompanying twitches of his dick. Being able to squeeze it tight in my hand and feeling the rush of liquid hammering along the shaft.

Of all the words over which I tear my hair out, his orgasms cause me the most anguish. Not because they’re hard to describe, but because there are so many ways to describe them.

Squirting. Spurting. Splashing. Pumping.

Droplets. Mouthfuls. Ropes. Handfuls. Lashings of come.

Cum?

No, come.

Spaff. Spunk. Jizz. Wank.

It’s hard. The difficulty is in getting the detail right. While sometimes spunk ‘pumps’, other times it trickles. There’s rarely a river, but there’s sometimes a flood. Occasionally there’s a great squirting torrent of it, and it takes me ages to rub the slick wetness all over me, and even longer for it to dry.

“Is it better,” I ask him, “to come with great force or to come in great quantities?”

“That’s easy,” he answers. “Both.”

But which feels better? Which gives you more pleasure? Is there a discernible difference, in the head or shaft of your dick, when your come runs in torrents rather than trickles? Can you feel a heavier build-up in your gut, and do you come harder if you feel it just explode out of you? Or, perhaps, is the main delight in the visual – the sight of the head of your dick pressed against me, pushing spurt after spurt of viscous white jizz against my tits? Watching it overflow in rivulets that cover as wide an area as possible.

I need to know. It’s important.

Because when I lie down and take you in my mouth, I know what feels best to me. And when you’re in my cunt I know exactly what I’m waiting for. At the moment you moan that tight noise in the back of your throat and I clench my cunt down onto you: I’m hoping for power.

Volume is nice – when there’s volume I love to watch. The delicious point at which I think you’ve stopped but your dick keeps pumping – an eruption of slick wetness that covers your fist.

But it does less for me than the force does. The sensation of your spunk spurting hard against the back of my throat, or squirting deep inside me: it’s satisfying. The same kind of satisfaction I’d get from a fresh glass of water on a dry, hungover morning. Parched and in pain and dehydrated, aching and needy and greedy – that intense burst of pleasure as I take the first gulp.

14 Comments

  • It’s a widely held belief – that I agree with – that, although the whole build-up to a male orgasm feels great, it’s the few pulsations at the end – during ejaculation – which are the most pleasurable bits. You know, as it should be. Of course it varies according to the individual (and circumstances) how many of these there are, and how much ejaculate there is produced each time.

    From personal experience, Olympic jumping semen notwithstanding, I’m either too preoccupied with scrabbling desperately at the nearest wooden surface (or my chest hair) to actually see my spunk emerging or it’s too fast to actually see mid-flight, although a previous girlfriend described one of my orgasms as “it just sort of flumps out” – not what I was going for, really, but I’ll take it.

    One thing you need to consider is how far it flies, as that’s always a good indication of how powerful the first pulse was – I have yet to reach anywhere higher than my neck. But maybe one day…

    • D. says:

      “lt’s like a muscle. The ejaculation muscle. Like any muscle it gets worn out. When you’re 20 you can shoot it over your shoulder But 30, you’re lucky if it fills your bellybutton.”
      “God, that’s true.”
      “We’re so old.”
      “l still get it over my shoulder.”
      “That’s an athlete’s muscle.

      — Queer As Folk

    • Girl on the net says:

      Haha, your Olympic jumping semen cracked me up =) I once had a guy who came so hard it went straight past my neck, and my face, and my hair, and landed splat on the wall behind me. We were both quite chuffed – I believe a high-five may have ensued.

      • Pallas says:

        I’ve had this happen before. We still tease each other about it. Oddly enough, once it managed to get onto the radiator about a foot away from the side of the bed..

        Regarding the Queer as Folk quote, aforementioned bloke is 49.

        • Girl on the net says:

          =D

          (Although I have to admit this got me wondering if spunk + time + radiator might lead to ‘what’s that weird smell in the bedroom?’ That’s just my horrid mind though…)

  • RB says:

    The magic of the ‘spunk landing on me’ thing was slightly lost on me when someone misaimed and it accidentally went in my eye, once. I was creased up laughing, though…

    • Girl on the net says:

      Ah, eyespunk is the most painful of all the spunk. I once had a guy tell me it was ‘sexy’ when a bit of his come went in my eye. When I spent the next half an hour with a cold flannel clamped to my face, moaning in pain, he realised that perhaps it wasn’t *that* sexy.

  • Chris says:

    Many things contribute to the volume, most notably the amount of time since his most recent previous ejaculation and his overall level of hydration. However, when it comes to the intensity of the spurt, it has everything to do with the level of arousal. Hyper arousal leads me to spurt nearly to the ceiling or across a room. A less exciting experience, and it may just burble out, sad drips.

    May the force be with you.

  • Jareth says:

    As a witness, I prefer force, for the partner to have a last exhausting fling. But whichever he prefers I’ll tend toward.

  • Frisky says:

    As I approach orgasm, the tension mounts. The kinetic energy building in my loins is truly a magnificent feeling. The sensation of increasing power in my cock and balls is accompanied by waves of pleasure the strength of which it’s nearly impossible to convey. Things really originate in my balls, which get hotter and hotter the closer I get to orgasm. At some point, I begin to feel a sweet scratching of an itch in the head of my cock. Like the best scratching of an itch you ever felt and magnified by a thousand. The pleasure and the kinetic power continue to mount. I can control it to some degree with the muscles in my loins. I’m riding the waves of pleasure and throttling my cock as I head toward a release that is both given to me and which I allow and facilitate.

    When I’m ten seconds from orgasm and ejaculation I feel all the power of life, the world. It’s all in my big balls and my rigid rod. The moment I crossover from holding the orgasm at bay to surrendering to its inevitability is impossibly delicious. An involuntary groan/sigh of release is the signpost.
    And then the fireworks begin and I go into an amazing trance as my copious load cummeth forth in a spurting frenzy. It’s exciting. It’s euphoric. It’s quite literally a blast. Check out the vid for visual and aural examples.

    http://xhamster.com/movies/90959/cumshot_compilation.html

  • Bodhi says:

    For me, generally, more force equals a more powerful orgasm. More quantity gives a longer-lasting orgasm. I prefer the latter.

  • JMurgatroyd says:

    I have always been gifted when it comes to force and distance, if you know what I mean :-P Reading your blog about force reminds me of a time two summers ago when I was on holiday in South Australia. I had been a good, gooood boy for some days, if you take my meaning. I had normal needs. I had a laptop, I was full of beans, I decided to make a night of it. A very, very long night of it.

    I have always been gifted, as I say. I can hold off a very VERY long time. I don’t understand why other guys complain about blue balls. To me, that ache is….power. It is build up. I watched the hottest, HOTTEST videos and pictures I could find, and teased myself for two, three, four hours. Edging, edging, edging. It was a hot summer; I was sodden in swett. I was acccching soooo good. The girls I was watching began to look hotter and hotter and hotter, and I was in increasing danger of losing control. I finally reached the FIVE HOUR mark. Edging the ENTIRE time. I was barely human.

    When I FINALLY permitted myself to lose control, I never knew what hit me. I spasmed soooo bad I nearly blacked out. A tsunami; a tidal wave of boiling hot spray smashed me in the face so forcefully that it actually STUNG. Like a hard slap in the face. And it went further, smacking into the headboard behind me. In fact, most of it ended up on the headboard rather than on my face. That was the most forceful, the most copious spunking I have ever achieved. I wish I could do that every day, but five hours, although I have done that a few other times, is usually beyond me…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.