5. Jenny
He feels so good in my hand, like warm, velvety steel that’s slick from my jizz. But it’s the heated look in his eyes that holds my attention. I know he’d probably rather I get on my knees and suck him off, but I prefer handies. It feels more intimate to stand in front of him and stroke his cock while he plays with my tits. That’s not to say I’ll never do that for him, just not this time. Our first time.
I mentally berate myself because I’m starting to sound like him, thinking about us as a forgone conclusion when we’re anything but. Maybe walking up to women and convincing them that they’re soul mates is how he gets laid. It’s clearly effective, given the fact that I’m currently giving him a handjob. Though, for a man as attractive as Eaton, I’d think there’d be an easier way to get female attention than spending the day running errands that included a visit with a grandfather.
“Fuck, Baby Cakes, that’s it. You’re making me feel so good.” His hand on my breast has my nether regions clenching, even though Eaton gave me the best orgasm of my life only minutes ago. “You still want me to cum on these fleshy mounds?”
“God, yes. I’ve never wanted anything more,” I say because it’s the truth.
My business was born from the rejection I felt over my kink. I didn’t think it was that odd since all the men in the romance novels I’ve been reading since I was sixteen seemed to love painting their women’s skin with their seed. It wasn’t until I asked my high school boyfriend to come on my face that I realized it wasn’t as common as I thought. He asked me who hurt me because surely that was the only explanation for wanting an act that degrading. The other reactions I received through the years never got better.
“Then get on your knees,” he demands, but because he’s a gentleman, he hands me a clean towel from a bin to rest under my knees.
I lower myself before him and instantly feel my juices spilling down my thighs. As he takes over the handjob, I can’t help but reach under my dress to flick my bean. His one-eyed monster looks me dead in the face, and I nearly come when a pearly drop of pre-cum appears on his tip. There’s no explanation as to why semen turns me on so much, but my god, does it ever.
“Can I taste it?” I ask.
“Fuck. Those words alone have me wanting to blow.” He stops pumping his crank long enough for me to swirl my tongue over the head. He tastes like a mix of my minty jizz and his own unique musky flavor. It’s the most seductive thing I’ve ever tasted, and I wish I could bottle his essence up to share with the other women in my online forums. I can’t wait to tell them about today. “Oh, shit. I’m coming.”
I sacrifice my own orgasm to tilt my head back and hold my tits up as his hand picks up speed. “That’s it, baby. I want a pretty pearl necklace.”
His breath catches, and his movements become erratic seconds before he lets out a string of curses and ropes of cum shoot from his tip onto my chin, chest, and breasts. I love how his white honey is warm and comforting as it hits my skin, then leaves a cooling sensation as it slides down.
“Goddamn,” he curses as he squeezes the last bit out and flicks it onto me.
I swipe a finger over my chin and greedily suck it off. The pre-cum I thought was the most delicious thing I’d ever had in my mouth just minutes before pales in comparison to his full-flavored jizz. I immediately get ideas about how to tweak my current recipe to make it more authentic.
Those thoughts vanish as I look down to find how beautifully my tits are painted in him. My right hand slips back under my dress as my left plays in his cum. I swirl it over each nipple before lifting each breast to lick it off, and then I rub some of it into my skin like lotion. More than anything, I want to scoop some up and use it to diddle myself. Not that I need it because things are slippery enough down there without it, but I refrain since Eaton might not be ready for our fluids to mix. I shouldn’t be ready for that either, but god, do I want that.
Tingles spread over my body as a second orgasm looms just on the horizon. It’s shocking that I’m not embarrassed in the least that Eaton’s lazily stroking his still half-hard cock as he watches me, but I’m not. He makes me feel safe and free to let my freak flag fly, something I’ve been looking for since I was a teenager. God, I hope he’s not messing with me because I’m starting to see his vision for our future.
“Come for me, Baby Cakes. Diddle that fiddle thinking about how it feels to rub my spunk into your skin,” he says, and I increase my efforts. “Fuck, you look so sexy covered in me. I can’t believe you’re mine. I’m the luckiest bastard to ever walk this earth.”
His loving words are almost as stimulating as his naughty ones, and soon, I’m breaking apart into a million pieces as another earth-shattering orgasm takes hold. I all but black-out, hearing my voice but completely unaware and not caring about what I’m saying.
“That’s my good girl,” Eaton coos as I come back down from orbit, my pussy spasming as I slow my ministrations. “After seeing that, I can die a happy man.”
As my vision comes back, I’m afraid things will be uncomfortable now that the moment has passed. But I should have known better because Eaton seems unfazed, as if he never experienced even a moment of discomfort, which puts me at ease. He pulls his pants up and adjusts himself before offering me a hand and helping me up. I intend to go straight to the sink and clean up, but Eaton intervenes.
“What?” I ask.
He brings my hand to his mouth and hungrily sucks my arousal off each of my fingers. I orgasmed thirty seconds ago, but against all laws of nature, feeling his tongue swirl around to lick my flavor off nearly has me peaking again.
“Get yourself cleaned up, and let’s finish bottling your jizz.” He gives my ass a hard slap, snapping me out of my lustful trance.
After spending an hour sanitizing literally everything, we get back to the reason we’re here in the first place, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Jizz.
“Is this batch ruined?” Eaton asks, stirring the pot.
“Afraid so.”
“Shit, Baby Cakes, I’m sorry.”
I smile shyly over at him. “It was worth it.”
“I agree.” He holds my gaze for a long moment before clapping his hands. “How can I help?”
While Eaton dumps the pot of jizz, I sterilize my custom pink bottles shaped like the shaft of a cock and the metal lids that I’ll eventually cover with a plastic cap that looks like the coordinating fat mushroom head. Once that’s done, he helps me whip up a new batch of lube.
“Where did you grow up?” Eaton asks as we funnel the viscous liquid into the bottles.
“Salem. Born and raised. You?”
“Oakland. My parents actually still live in the house I grew up in.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It is, though after me and one of my brothers moved out, my mom renovated a good portion of it. Now the common areas and the primary bedroom look nothing like they did when I lived there.”
“You have siblings?” I ask.
“Yeah, two brothers. Sam is thirty-six and works in insurance. He’s married to Bryan, who works at a record store. They’re complete opposites. Sam’s idea of weekend wear is chinos and a tucked-in polo, whereas Bryan is more of a jeans and band tee kind of guy.”
“Wow. Record stores still exist?” I move the funnel to the next jar and Eaton pours.
“I guess so.”
“What about your other brother?”
“Casey is twenty-four?—”
“Wow, that’s a big age gap between him and Sam.”
“Yeah, he was definitely unplanned. My mom was forty-one at the time, which already made it a high-risk pregnancy, but then she developed some other complications. Casey had a fifteen percent chance of surviving, but he beat the odds.”
The smile on Eaton’s face as he talks about his brother is contagious, and I hope I get to meet him someday.“That’s amazing.”
“He’s amazing.” He amends. “Anyway, he has Down syndrome and lives at home with my parents. It’s more for their sake than his because he’s extremely responsible and independent, but our folks are getting older, and we all feel better that Casey is there to keep an eye on them.”
“I love that you have such a great family.” I place my hands on my hips. “Not to change the subject, but now that the bottles are filled, we need to put the lids on and place them in the pressure canner. It’ll make sure no microorganisms are growing anywhere and seal the caps on.”
“Cool.”
Eaton helps me get the first round of bottles in the professional canner. “I chose this kitchen specifically for this piece of equipment. The goal is to someday have my own space, but this canner alone is a thousand dollars, and that’s not in my budget.”
“Have you ever thought about getting a loan? Sometimes you have to spend money to make money, especially when you’re just getting off the ground.”
“I have an investor, and that money bought this first round of bottles. Of course, I had to buy in bulk to get the best price, so now my entire living room in my apartment is full of dicks.” I seal the canner and turn on the gas stove. “Okay, this will do its thing so we can start the next round.”
Even though there are rolling stools we could sit on, we opt to sit on the ground near the stove so I can keep an eye on the temperature. It’s quiet, except for the hissing of the canner that’s more white noise than anything. And after only a few minutes of us being still, the overhead motion lights shut off. If it weren’t for the light over the stove, it’d be pitch black in here.
“What about your family?” Eaton asks.
I blow out a breath. This isn’t my favorite topic, but I guess since he told me about his, it’s only fair I reciprocate. “My parents died when I was thirteen. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time and were killed by a drunk clown.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Apparently, Stuffy the Clown liked to take shots in between blowing up balloons at the street fair my parents were at. I didn’t go because I was a moody teenager. Anyway, Stuffy hit them as they were walking across the street. They died instantly.”
“Wow. I’m so sorry.” He takes my hand and rests it on his thigh.
“Thanks. Anyway, my grandpa was my only living relative and took me in. I was angry about my parents, going through teenage hormonal changes, and just generally a little shithead, but he didn’t even consider putting me in foster care.”
“That’s why you two are so close,” he muses.
“Yep. He’s my biggest fan and number one supporter.”
“Is he the investor you talked about?”
“No. Definitely not. My grandpa has enough money to live out the rest of his days comfortably, but he can’t afford to risk thousands of dollars on fake cock snot.”
The euphemism stuns him for only a second before he chuckles. “Okay, wait. Two things: does he know what your business is, and if he’s not the investor, then who is?”
“Yes, he knows what I’m selling and thinks it’s genius. Of course, there are other companies that make similar products, but they all taste like shit and don’t look realistic. I’ve been playing around with my recipe for a couple years now, waiting to start a business until I was one hundred percent confident that mine was better than theirs.” I note how comical we look sitting next to each other with our legs outstretched. My feet barely reach his knees and it’s more than clear which one of us works out regularly and which prefers to curl up with a sugary treat and a good book.
“And your investor?”
I already know he’s not going to like this because each time I’ve mentioned his name today, Eaton became growly and intense, but I’ve kept secrets from the men I’ve dated before, and I won’t do it again.
“Daniel.”