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The Man Who Came Too Much

By: Rich447



In my years engaging in threesomes with my husband I have met some wonderful people and had some wonderful times. Lots of people swing, and I am happy for them. Life is so short. I give them the courage to let their hair and their inhibitions down. Threesomes for us with other men just work better. Everyone has their groove. My husband watching me is ours.

Through, I have learned so much about the fragile male sexuality. I have enjoyed white penises and black ones, young ones and old ones, curved ones and straight ones. They are so different, those little asppendages!

And I worship and love my husband for allowing me the opportunity to enjoy these experiences, all the while never wavering in my love for him. He has always been there with me, and while I am enjoying the company of another man, he is always a part of it, in one way or another; loving me for being a woman, and proud of me celebrating my sexuality. One of the many sparks in our relationship is me being allowed to exploit my femininity. To allow me to be my sexual self to the benefit of us both. To let me explore my sexuality in ways so many women dream of, but are afraid of doing.

While I have so often written about some of these experiences, this story is about a bit different type of thing. 

To be frank, I have met some interesting women, too. I will be more straight and to the point: I have known several women in swing scenes with a semen fetish. They will play with it. Lick it off plates. I saw a woman at a swing party circled by numerous men, and she masturbated each man until he ejaculated on a cookie, using her hand to carefully guide each spurt. And when they were all drained, they cheered her on while she ate the cookie. It is, for some women at least, part of the scene. I have never had such a fetish, and for all the threesomes I have had, I pretty much engage in straight vanilla sex. Just so happens, there's two men involved, and not one.

While scanning personals, we met a fellow by the name of Stan.His name was Stan, and he posted an interesting ad. "Looking for a woman with a semen fetish."

I don't have a semen fetish, but of course his ad caught my eye. So I wrote him, and we emailed back and forth, and he came out and said it: "I come more than anyone you have ever seen, including in the movies. It just sprays all over, and lots of it. I put Peter North to shame."

I am not much into porn and didn't know who Peter North was. But I do now. 

Not my type of thing, really. But what is my type of thing is differences. Not the norm. Hairy on Smooth. Young on Old. Black on White. And why I chose to go with Stan was simply this: It was a new fact I was not familiar with.

Obviously, in my lust for new and different experiences, I wanted to see this fountain of youth! I have had hundreds of lovers, all with various abilities, but this I had to see. 

There was a problem, though, one which we have encountered over and over and over again. Stan would not have sex with me in front of my husband. "I just can't do it with another guy in the room," he said. "To get the best orgasm, I have to work up to it. It takes time and concentration, and I just couldn't do it with another man there."

Normally, this would have been a write-off. But we both met Stan, and my husband took to him right away. 

He was not an overtly good looking guy. He was forty-ish, heavier and hairy, and rather shy. He was also married, a must for me, because it is but one way to attract straight –only men. We will never, ever invite a bi-male into our marriage, simply because of the risk of stds. Not that married men are 100% safe, but we take other precautions, as well, none of which we need to go into here. 

A lot of men, I must state, do have trouble performing in front of my husband. An erection is so purely automatic and biological, I generally have no trouble helping my shy lovers with that part. But beyond that is difficult. Men are not used to seeing each other with an erection, or having their erections so close to each other. It is strictly forbidden in the male culture. 

But the promises of Stan were so impressive, Rich, my husband let me go alone with him. (He was not far away in the hotel we rented, but Stan didn't know that).

As we sat in the hotel room, we shared a bottle of red wine and just sat and chatted. He was a nice guy. I felt sorry for him. He had been married for twelve years, and his wife rarely had sex with him. For all practical purposes, their marriage was dead.


"You know", he said. "A woman has a G-spot and they come all over and make puddles and it's supposed to be sexy and erotic. But my wife never enjoyed semen. It makes a mess. It gets on the pillows, the sheets, the spread. It makes a huge wet spot. She got two children out of me, and now wants me to wear a condom all the time."

I had actually never thought of such a dilemma.

I smiled and sipped my Merlot. I was wearing a short red dress, my thin legs folded over each other, and my blonde hair tied back. It was bitter cold outside, and the little heater in the room was going full blast. I still wanted to look sexy.

"You are absolutely beautiful," he said. "Your husband is a very lucky man." He pushed my hair back and started kissing my neck and ear. His hand touched my thighs, and I parted them. He ran his hand up my leg and sighed when he discovered I wasn't wearing any underwear. He traced the lines behind my knees and thighs where the tanning booth didn't quite fit. And with a slight push, I fell back on the bed with him fingering me and my job as a therapist was about to begin. Even in threesomes, you play the role of therapist to these fragile male egos. But this one was different, with a male problem I never thought of.

And here, he needed me. He needed my perfume, my touch, my body, a warm place to squirt his ejaculate, a female touch warm and accepting of his deposit. That is so the maleness, the need to squirt where it will be accepted, and he found in me a home for his sperm. 

We rolled and kissed and fumbled, and by the time my tiny hand undid his zipper, this short but curved penis was already drooling its saliva. It was on the dark skinned side, curved and cut and pointing upward. His balls were tight and brown, and pulled up into a nice thicket of jet black hair. His scrotum was actually very large in proportion to his penis. I went down on him and tasted his pre come. I was easily able to deep throat him, and fondling his balls, was going to let him come in my mouth. But the message was "Not this way," as he pushed me on my back and climbed between my legs.

It would have been nice if he went down on me first, but I knew my husband would do that after. What pleasure I was deprived now would easily be made up for later. For now, Stan needed a home, and he found it between my legs. While kissing my shoulders, he mounted me and slid all the way into me.

At first, we just fucked with my arms wrapped around him. His penis is smaller than Rich's, which is a good way to spoil a girl. But as our tempo increased, his balls were slapping my arse and it felt wonderful. I reached between his legs, and they were absolutely a handful. Though I didn't ask, I could tell there was an urgency in his thrusts. His wife, I knew, wasn't putting out, and it had been a long time since he had a woman. Here I was, a receptical, and a pretty one at that, just waiting for his fluid. That it was to be shared with my husband afterwards was my dirty little secret.

Stan moved my hand, to release my ball massage, and I put them back on his shoulders. I sensed he was getting ready to come, to fill me with that fluid he promised would squirt all over. But come fast, he would not. I looked up at him, and his eyes were closed and he was breathing hard. I was merely an attachment. There was no emotional union so associated with the act, which, as a swinger, was fine with me. But he was lowering his balls on the mattress, and arching his cock upward in me, and working himself up, and then slow down again. I figured out that the upward stabs were letting his penis get as much friction as possible on the underside. 

I am not kidding: he fucked me for a good half hour, building tempo, then slowing down. What had I got myself into?

Finally, while rubbing his back, I felt goosebumps start to form, and knew his orgasm was finally going to arrive. 

I never expected him to pull out, but he did. He wanted me to see him squirt, to see the fountain he promised me.

I have had some lovers who lean forward after they pull out, to try and spray as high up as possible, to hit my face. But not Stan. He pulled out and actually sat back on his knees. I looked at him down between my feet, his eyes closed, his chest hair wet and matted, as he stroked himself with complete abandon. And when he could no longer hold it, he screamed. It was one of the loudest groans I ever heard. And his penis began its mission.

The first shot of his semen arched in the air and went straight over my head. I heard a "splat" on the head board of the bed, and looked down and saw a line trapsing from my navel, up my chest, over my shoulder, and on the pillow next to me. A thin trapse even lined my cheek. But I know he was careful, not knowing whether I was into facials or not, and I respected his aim.

Stan must have heard the splat, too, because he opened his eyes and aimed four more squirts to my chest. They were fast and powerful and drenched my breasts and chest and tummy. He timed his strokes with the reflex, and covered me, my little frame now a sticky mess. He looked down at me, sweaty and out of breath, and collapsed on the sheets next to me, careful not to lay on the mess he just created on me.

I cradled his head, and while his eyes were closed, stared bug-eyed at the mess. Indeed, the pillow, bed spread—everything was covered, just like he said. Part of me wanted to get up and wash right away, but I didn't want to hurt him. Another part of me did agree that, if this was a regular event, as in—if I was his wife—this certainly was a mess. Just like the G-Spot woman who urinates all over the bed when she comes. This wasn't even my bed, but what if it was?

"You okay?" I said. I ran my hands across my chest smearing the semen, and holding my hand up to the light. "I've never seen anything like this!"

His hairy, brown penis was resting on my thigh and dripping some remnants, leaving a small pile of goo leaking out.

Stan could hardly catch his breath and started to laugh.

"Sierra," he said, stroking my leg. "Thank you."

I rubbed the top of his bald spot. This man just drenched me with semen, and now I had to act like counselor.

"Thank you for what, hon?"

"Not laughing." He rolled over and looked at the mess. "Most of the girl friends I've had would have gotten up and wiped it all off now. My wife? Hates it. Sits there and sighs and never wants to have sex anymore because of the mess I make."

It honestly was one of those things I had never thought about, but yeah, this was a problem. 

We laid there and talked about his kids, and I felt my skin getting really dry and crusty. I didn't have the heart to tell him I did want to get up and shower, but really—when was I going to be this drenched again?

After about fifteen minutes, I was ready to bid him goodbye, and tell Rich to hurry up and come in. But when I started to move, Stan placed his arm around me.

"Don't go yet," he whispered.

Without asking, he pushed me back on the bed, and rolled on top of me, and I again felt his erection between my legs. As he entered me, he said, "I'm sorry, Sierra—please, one more time?"

Before I could answer, he added, "I've never had sex with anyone as beautiful as you. You're gorgeous. And to be perfectly honest, I don't know if I will ever have this opportunity again."

And with that, I laid back down and let him fuck me one more time.

I wanted to make him feel good. I bent over and let me fingers massage his brown, hairy sac. I rolled his scrotum in my hands. Holding his balls, I said, "Think these babies can do it again?"

"Oh, Sierra, I love you."

"Uh—" I motioned." Can't fall in love with me."

"I know," and he started to pump again. I stroked his buttocks, and whispered, "Don't pull out this time."

"Really?"

"Really." I closed my eyes and held him tight. 

His second round took a bit of coaxing. When I thought he was close, I reached down and grabbed his testicles. They were tight again. I reached a bit further down, and found the muscle behind his scrotum. It was huge. It was long and thick, and I figured this is where he gets his wonderful pump from. I massaged it in my hands for a bit, from the base of his balls back to his ass. 

Finally, he pushed into me and buried his face in the pillow next to me, and I heard a muffled scream, as he unloaded. 

I felt a deep warmth spread throughout my abdomen as nature took it's course. He unloaded, and then collapsed again, the hair on his back standing up. 

"I forgot to tell you something," he said. 

"What?"

"I usually come more the second time."

I didn't even want to feel between my legs at the mess he made, because I'm sure he wasn't lying! I took the second bed pillow, and propped it under my ass, feeling a little shameful someone's head would be on that pillow the next day. But I did want to save the event for my husband.

He snuck me a kiss on the lips.

"Are you really married?" he asked.

"Yes, silly."

"And your husband knows you're here with me?"

"Like—yeah!"

***

After Stan left, I just laid in bed and looked at myself. I had sex with lots of different men in an evening, but this was beyond being comed on. The come on my body was dried and crusty, and the stuff between my legs was starting to drip out.

I called Rich, telling him to come over.

"Come home," he said.

"Baby—you gotta see this."

Rich ravaged me, of course. We fucked all night long. I pushed him on his back and straddled him, letting him tongue me deep and hard as the goo ran out. 

But in the back of my mind was the human element of all this. I learned a lot about male sexuality with Stan. I never knew some guys could come that much. A lot of women just would have run away.

But not me. I stayed. I let be him with me, and didn't get up and run to the wash cloth. My acceptance of him was something very few women had ever given him. I allowed him to just be who he is.

He thanked me for allowing him to complete with me. If I ever see him again, I want to thank him for teaching me something about another male secret.