Addicted to Sperm

By Daniel Guy

Philip has arrived in Oxford to begin his philosophy degree.  He feels liberated, living away from home for the first time. Free at last from the suffocating normality of his mother’s house in London, he is determined to have adventures.

So one evening, having enjoyed a few beers with fellow undergraduates, he decides to slip away and to take a stroll to part of the city he’s not explored before. The night is warm and he's a still little drunk. He walks for about twenty minutes and ends up sitting on a bench in a park, down by the canal.

In front of him, about fifty yards away across the park is a redbrick toilet block, a popular cruising spot for men.  After watching a variety of guys wandering in and out, he plucks up enough courage, gets up and walks nervously over. Inside it’s gloomy and the stench of urine is unpleasant.  There's just one faint emergency light on, just enough light to see where you’re going. He takes a piss.  He feels nervous. He feels a fool. He's straight. He has girlfriend back in London. There have already been a couple of attractive female students coming on to him. He's never had a gay experience. So why is he here?  He waits. He gazes at the obscene graffiti scrawled on the wall in front of him, the telephone numbers and drawings of enormous cocks.

A man walks in. Philip panics, puts away his cock and glances at the man as he leaves.

'Going so soon?' says the man, who's about fifty, balding and fat. This is Colin, who lives in a barge moored further along the canal. Philip's heart races. He gets to the door and stops.  Now Colin is at the urinal, taking a piss. Without turning round he says,

'I have some hot spunk here for you lad, if that's what you're looking for.'

Philip turns. He stares through the doorway, back at the shadow standing in the dim light.  He is torn. Walk away, go home, says one voice. Stay, for this is what you've been fantasising about, says another. Colin finishes his piss and as he turns to face Philip, he keeps his hand gripped around his cock.  

'Come on, lad. Come here. You're gonna love the taste of my spunk. In fact it's so fucking tasty, you'll be addicted to it the moment you swallow it.'

Philip glances down at the cock being offered. It’s very big, but he turns and leaves. Colin watches him go, smiles to himself and decides to count slowly up to thirty, convinced the lad will be back before the count is up.

Philip strides away, back to his hall of residents. It's late. He has lectures starting at nine the following morning. And yet...

'You'll be addicted...'

The phrase goes round and round in his head.

Five, six, seven, eight...

Philip decides he must call his girlfriend first thing in the morning. He hasn't been touch much since he left London. Maybe she can come up and visit him.

'You'll be addicted...'

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen...

Philip has reached the edge of the park and is about to head along the street back to the city centre. He slows. He has the image in his mind of a photograph he once came across on a website, of a young man, just like him, lean, dark haired and handsome, on his knees in front of a fat, balding man. The young man is naked and the fat guy wears a black leather jacket and faded blue jeans.

He stops. Maybe he should go back. He dares himself. Go back.  Maybe the guy is still there. Maybe there will be someone else there.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen....

Colin stands at the door of the toilet. He reaches for a cigarette. Just as he is about to light it, he sees Philip approaching. He smiles again.

Philip stops about ten feet away. Colin lights his cigarette and fills his lungs with smoke before blowing it out slowly in Philip's direction.

'Come on lad. Come to Daddy.'

The word Daddy stuns Philip. It arouses him too. He walks slowly over and as Colin pulls out his dick once more from his jeans, Philips drops slowly to his knees. The cock fills his mouth. It tastes of cock and piss and at once he feels submissive and aroused. His mind empties, he closes his eyes. He feels a hand gripping the hair on the back of his head, then feels it moving his head backwards and forwards. Philip gags and drools. His hands clasp the strangers' thighs. He is helpless, out of control, unable to think.

Finally Colin shoots. Philip's mouth fills with spunk. He gags, splutters and swallows it all. His head is pulled away. He looks up at Colin.

'Swallow it all, lad. Every drop.'

Philip puts the huge cock back in his mouth. He grips it with his hand and sucks again, then licks off the drips of spunk, still oozing from the tip. Every drop. Every drop.

Colin steps back and slips his cock back into his jeans. Philip gets up sheepishly. Colin reaches out, grips Philip round the neck and pulls him close. He forces a kiss. Philip doesn't resist. Their lips bolt together, and Philip feels a tongue thrusting through into his mouth.

They pull away.

'Good lad. Now you're addicted to my spunk, you're gonna want to see me again I expect. You can find me down the canal about half a mile. Look out for a barge called 'Rosie' I'm there most nights.'

With that he turns and walks away, leaving Philip standing in the toilet doorway, the taste of spunk still in his mouth.

Philip walks home determined never to come back, never to wander near the canal again. He's had his taste of cock. Now he knows. It's a box he's ticked. Nothing wrong with trying things out. As he walks along the deserted streets anxiety comes back into his head. Sex with strangers is dangerous - what if he caught something? The risks are too great. He just wants to forget what happened. It was a crazy thing to do. There was of course a thrill, a rush, a mischievous force inside urging him on, but now he needs to stop all that. He's straight. He likes girls. He doesn't want to be someone who hangs around toilets late at night for sex. Each to their own, he thinks, but that's not for him.

But the word Daddy stays in his mind. What was all that about? What was it about the word, which aroused him? His own father had died when Philip was four. He could hardly remember him.

And that stuff about being addicted to his spunk. He thinks about that for days afterwards. His rational mind dismisses the idea every time. What a weird thing for the guy to say. But then two nights later, as he lies in his bed, the image of the young man on his knees comes back to him, sucking on the cock of an old, balding man with a huge beer gut, smoking a cigarette, a young man addicted to the spunk, unable to resist going back time after time for more.

A week later Philip is in the library, working on his first essay. Emma-Jane sits next to him.  She too is studying philosophy but she’s in the year above. She’s petite, slim, with chalk white skin and a nostril pierced with a silver ring. They met two weeks before and she's clever and sharp and she's made it clear to Philip she likes him. Now she's found him working alone in the library and has come over to sit alongside and distract him from his essay.

'Let's get out of here and go for a drink' she whispers.                                                         'Sure' he whispers back. She cups her hand around his ear and whispers again.

'Then maybe we can go back to my flat.  My dad is dropping off some stuff for me later but you could hang around if you wanted.’

Philip whispers back.

'That's ok. I'm meeting a friend later.'

'Who are you meeting? What's her name?'

Philip thinks of a girl's name.

'Rosie.'

She closes up his books and they slip out of the library and into a student bar. Within minutes, Philip finds he hasn’t much to say to Emma Jane, partly because she’s on her phone much of the time. She asks him about Rosie and he has to make up a story. She in turn tells him about her ex-boyfriend Tim, whom she still sees at weekends because his parents are very rich. Fortunately for Philip, Emma Jane is spotted by her friends who come over and sit beside her, so he is able to make his excuses and leave.

An hour later, Philip is walking by the canal. He studies the barges lined up along the towpath. Some are empty, but lights are on in others. The path is empty and in the evening air hangs the faint smells of cooking and wood-burning stoves. He wanders what it would be like to live in a canal barge.

He follows the path under a bridge and around a corner. Now he's passing a boat yard and in the darkness he sees the shadows of the hulls of huge boats, mounted on steel cradles beside the canal. He looks ahead and sees a shabby barge. I bet it’s that one, he thinks.

Sure enough as he passes, he sees the word Rosie painted on the side.

The lettering is faint. The paint is peeling everywhere. On top of the barge is a pile of wood and junk, old bicycles, bags of coal. No lights on. He walks past. He feels relief. The guy isn't there. He should not have come anyway. It was a crazy idea and he can go back home and forget all about it.

He stops, turns back and as he starts to walk home he looks ahead and sees a dog ahead along the footpath. The dog looks up, sees Philip and immediately runs towards him. It's a spaniel, curious and affectionate and Philip stops and crouches to pat its head. Both Philip and the dog hear a whistle. Philip looks up. The dog turns.

It's Colin. He's walking towards them. The dog runs back. Philip stands up. He wants to turn round and walk the other way but can't quite bring himself to do it. He stands frozen as Colin approaches, the dog now obediently walking beside him.

Colin doesn't recognize him at first. Philip is wearing a different coat and his hood is up. But as Colin passes he looks up and realises who it is.

'Well, well, well. My pretty boi is back.'

Philip says nothing. Colin smiles.

'You're addicted to my spunk. Aren't you. I said you would be. I was right. You are. Aren't you boi. Say it. ‘I'm addicted to your spunk, Daddy.'”

Philip says nothing. He wants to go home. He’s on the point of walking away. He holds his breath because he can’t think of anything to say.

'Say it, boi. Just say it and you'll feel horny.'

Philip stares at Colin. That’s all he can do. He can’t make up his mind to do anything else. It’s the easiest thing to do. Then he hears himself mumbling,                                                        

'I'm addicted to your spunk, Daddy.'

'Say it again, boi. I didn't hear you.'

Philip repeats the sentence and after that there’s nothing else he can do but follow Colin onto the barge.

Twenty minutes later, oil lamps have been lit, the dog has found a comfortable position on his cushion in his favourite chair, and Philip is on his knees and naked, beside the yellow glow of a gas heater, sucking Colin's cock once again.  Colin sits on a wooden stool placed in the centre of the narrow corridor inside the barge. He’s stripped to his vest and socks. His legs are apart and his grubby boxer shorts gathered around his left ankle. 

His fat cock is ready to shoot. Philip's head is gripped tight and pulled into Colin's crotch, so that his cock is swallowed up completely and then once again the hot spunk is emptied down Philip's throat. Again he gags and splutters but still he swallows it all up and then licks the tip of Colin's thick purple helmet, to ensure not one drop is wasted. He has to take it all. He is addicted to Daddy's spunk.

'Good boi' says Colin as he reaches for a cigarette on the shelf beside him.

Philip sits back on his haunches. He looks down at the grubby mat on the floor of the boat, littered with fag ends, beer bottle tops and a half chewed rubber bone.  This is not what he is used to. His family is well off. His mother's house is in Holland Park. His shoes are hand made. And yet there is something inviting about the dirt and grime, and the warm smell of tobacco, beer, engine oil, rust and damp is somehow comforting.

'You want more, Daddy spunk. Say it, boi'

'I want more Daddy spunk.' says Philip without thinking. Now he's just a boy, passive, obedient, and there's no need to think. Aroused, submissive, he can forget about everything else. He's just a simple boy who loves the taste of Daddy's spunk. There is something empty and blank in his expression as he looks up to see Colin, rubbing his cock again..

'Good boi. Well if you want more, then this is what you have to do...'

Colin reaches over to a shelf and picks up an empty half litre clear plastic water bottle.

'You're going to get hold of an empty bottle just like this and you're going to wank for me, as many times as you can. And when you wank, you're gonna say to yourself 'I am addicted to Daddy's spunk' and every bit of your spunk is going into that bottle. And when it's full up you can come back and Daddy is going to feed you more spunk. Now get dressed and fuck off.'

As Philip gets dressed in silence the dog wakes up and watches him, lazily, as if what happened tonight happens all the time.  

Philip walks back to his halls of residence with a huge erection. He takes a detour on the way and stops off at a garage to buy a half litre of water.  By the time he’s back in his room the water has been drunk. He locks the door, gets down on his knees, unzips his fly, mumbles aloud what he has to say, over and over again, and rubs his cock. Within seconds he’s shot his load into the plastic bottle.

For several days he does very little else but masturbate. He misses lectures. He declines invitations to parties and other social events. He misses hockey training and choir practice. So many times he wants to stop. So many times he tries to tip away the spunk in the bottle, but he can never quite do it. And every time he forgets for a while about the spell he’s under, all it takes is the sight of a plastic water bottle and he’s instantly aroused again.

When the bottle is full he fastens the lid tight and then wraps the bottle in a black bin-liner. That night he goes back to the boat. The lights are on. He hears Colin's voice, but no one else. He’s not sure what to do.  Maybe Daddy is talking to his dog. He stands on the canal path, unable to step onto the boat. For a moment he thinks this is his chance to walk back, throw the bottle in the canal.  The voice of reason rings out again in his head - stop playing this weird game. You don’t have to do it.

But moments later he is stepping onto the boat. The dog barks. Then the hatch door slides open a few inches and he sees Colin's face peer out.

'Hello Daddy' says Philip, softly.

Colin grins. The hatch is pulled open.

'Come in boi.'

The hatch door is pulled shut behind him. Colin is offered a beer, which he refuses.

'What's your name, boi?'

'Philip.'

'Well, Philip… Have you got something for me?'

Philip opens his shoulder bag, unwraps the plastic bin-liner and hands the plastic bottle to Colin.

Colin holds up the bottle to the light. It’s filled with creamy white spunk right to the top.

'Good boi. Now I'll show what I do with it. You want to see?'

Colin turns, and walks down the front end of the barge. He pulls back a red velvet curtain and on the floor is a slim, petite female dressed from head to foot in shiny black latex. Her head is encased in a tight black rubber mask, with just one opening for her mouth. Around her neck is a rubber collar, attached to a short chain, fastened at the other end to a steel ring in the side of the boat. She's lying curled up on sheets of old newspaper, like a large black cat. 

Colin goes over and gives her a nudge with his boot. She reacts at once and gets up onto her hands and knees. Colin reaches for a silver dog bowl. He places on the floor in front of the black feline creature. He unscrews the bottle Philip has brought and pours half of the contents into the bowl.

'Dinner time, slave.'

He grabs her head and pushes it down till she can feel the bowl on her face. Her tongue comes out and she starts to lick up the spunk. Her tongue is pierced with a silver stud. They watch as she laps up the spunk eagerly. They say nothing. The cocks of both men stiffen.

'That's it, pet. Drink it all up.'

It takes her a while and once the bowl is empty and licked clean, Colin picks it up and puts it back on the table.  He turns back to his latex pet and says,

'Now it's Daddy's turn.'

She nods and turns round on her hands and knees till she’s facing the opposite direction. He reaches down and pulls down the zip between her legs, pulls back the rubber to reveal her ass and crotch. She opens her legs. He places a half-pint beer glass beneath her cunt and waits. After a few moments she starts to piss. He has to move the cup a little to catch it.  They listen as the trickle of her piss pours into the glass and when eventually it stops, Colin zips up the black latex suit and she curls up again on the floor. Colin turns and looks at Philip. He unzips his fly. He pulls out his erect cock. Philip stares at it, and without thinking he goes over to kneel down before it.

'Look up, boi!' Philip looks up. Colin holds out the glass of piss. 

'This is why my spunk tastes so good. This is why you like it so much.'

With that he puts the glass to his lips and drinks the bright yellow liquid quickly. He puts the glass down, wipes his mouth with his sleeve and says,

'Now boi, what do you say before you start?'

Philip stares up. For a moment he is conscious of what he is doing and in that moment he feels disgust and shame again, and thinks about getting up and running out as quickly as possible. He stares at the massive cock, waiting for him, waiting for his lips, and above it the fat belly drooping down.

'Say it.'

Colin lifts his arm and then smacks his hand sharply across Philip's cheek.

'Say it!'

Philip is reeling. His cheek is stinging. But his head is empty again. All that pointless thinking has just been knocked out. His mind is blank. His cock is hard. There's nothing more to be said.

'I am addicted to Daddy's spunk.'

And with that he leans forward, opens his mouth and fills it with Colin’s cock.

The following afternoon, Philip is walking out of the refectory with a bottle of water in his hand, when he sees Emma-Jane ahead, sitting in the sunshine on a bench with her friends.  As he approaches he sees she is licking out the inside of a yoghurt pot as she listens to the conversation.  He passes by quite close but she is too engrossed to notice him. But he does catch a momentary glimpse of a silver stud in her tongue, and all the way back to his rooms, he wonders…

Daniel Guy