Telling a Guy to "Cum on my Face"

Face is the place.

Facials. For some they’re a god-tier level finishing move. For some they’re the ultimate expression of dominance/submission. For some they’re a ‘No fucking way, what’s even the point?’ And for some they’re just a waste of good cum.

For me personally, they’re none of these things. They’re just fun. And, often, weirdly practical. Before i get into telling my deeply un-erotic facial fable, let me first explain my thinking behind this rationale, as I feel it’ll help make sense of the nonsense that follows. Don’t worry, I’ll try to be brief. (Frequent readers of mine will know this is impossible. You’ve been warned.)

Why do I find facials fun? Principally because I take a great deal of delight in making a guy cum. It’s an act in and of itself hugely satisfying and, for a competitive soul like myself, there’s even a very pleasurable sense of ‘victory’ in it. How does this relate specifically to facials? Mainly due to (I assume) the prevalence of a ‘visual finish’ in mainstream porn, the humble cum-covered-face as become a favourite of a large cross section of guys. As a result, when given the choice, many will opt for a facial finish as their preference. If they’re getting to cum on a place they enjoy, they’re having more fun. If they’re having more fun, then so am I (and so is the sense of having ‘won’!)

So that’s why they’re fun. But why practical? Easy. As mentioned above facials have taken pride of place among many (but by no means all) as ‘the ideal finish’. As a result I’ve found that in cases where I’ve found I’ve been on my knees for too long and it’s feeling uncomfortable, or my wrist is starting to cramp, or even, god help me, I’m just longing for the thing to be over, I’ve found the four magic words ‘Cum on my face’ to be the ideal trigger to push a guy over the edge and finish what we started. Is it perhaps a little cold, calculating and manipulative? Absolutely. Is is effective? Fuck yes. It’s saved my knees on many an occasion.

Now, with all this said, here’s an example of the system and partial contributing factor for my current musings on the topic.

James and I weren’t exactly friends, but we’d been passing acquaintances for a while. A selection of mutual friends meant we’d often see each other at gatherings where we would chat amiably enough, but otherwise I doubt would have occupied a momentary thought in our heads. That was until one night out not long after I’d broken up with an ex, where I was very much on the rebound. A large group of us had gone out to socialise, but as the hour drew late the friend circle had shrunk ever smaller as they header for home (or for scoring opportunities of their own.) And I was surprised to find myself left in just the company of James.

A mixture of far too much alcohol and heavy rebound vibes meant I was suddenly finding him far more interesting than I’d ever considered prior. Yes, he was too short for me, but he was being very funny and he had nice eyes. And his new haircut had somehow made him seem far more attractive than I’d considered before.

Clearly I was flirting more substantially than I realised as after about an hour in each other’s company he invited me back to his place. I accepted.

With the switch having been flipped we turned from mild funny flirting to fully attempting to suck the life essence from each other via the tongue on the Uber journey back to his.

On arrival at his flat there was the usual fumbling for keys as though to break the moment we’d built up would somehow shatter the whole illusion and we’d end up reconsidering the whole escapade.

Once inside we swiftly stripped, both mercifully absent of the hard-to-disguise look of disappointment upon seeing someone naked for the first time. After a great deal more kissing, wandering hands, and the apparently requisite three and a half minutes of manhandling/sucking on tits was complete, we got down to it.

The sex was pretty good for two people sufficiently inebriated to not be delivering their finest output. After a bit of switching to find what was working best for the both of us, we settled with me on top doing the thrust of the work. (Pun intended).

After a little time and some varying the pace, I came. I was both surprised and delighted to finish first for a change (long story), and he seemed equally thrilled (/disproportionally pleased with himself since technically I was doing the work!). What it didn’t do however, was apparently bring him any closer to finishing himself.

‘How close are you?’ I asked. Not in a weary or irritable fashion, but as a genuine enquiry so I could gauge what would be the most effective way to get him there.

‘Close!’ he said, giving me no reason to doubt he meant it.

‘Then where do you want to cum?’ I asked, trying to be coy but probably missing the mark.

And at that, he froze. Like the beautiful mind memeI swear i could see his eyes flicker as a thousand possible potential outcomes flicked across the inside of his mind.

I asked him if he was okay, worrying I’d somehow managed to kill the mood at a vital moment, and cursing myself for not just continuing to bounce on him.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine! It’s just… no one’s ever asked me that before.”

Of fuck. I’ve definitely ruined the moment. He’s now going to have been either so sideswiped by the possibilities that it’s going to take till daybreak to get him back in the zone again, or he’s going to pick something insane from some ludicrous porn he’s seen, and I’m going to end up with him wanting to spunk in my ear. I steel myself for the worst.

’Well tonight’s your lucky night. Just name it.”

I swear he started blushing. Which is an odd reaction when you’re already inside someone. Meanwhile my heart sinks even further. if he’s embarrassed about it this isn’t going to be good. I start thinking about how I can maybe sideline the discussion when he answers.

‘Would it be okay…’ he hesitates. ’…if I came on your face?”

Oh thank fuck. He just wanted a facial. My inner panic immediately subsides and there’s no way the look of relief on my face was in any way subtle. I do my best to convert it into what I hope looks like a big eager grin.

I jump off him and indeed off the bed entirely, suggesting if he wants to see it properly he’d be better off either stood up or sat on the edge so he’s looking down on me. He excitedly agrees and stands up, with me now positioned on my knees in front of him.

I take his cock in my hand and begin what I can only describe as an end stage handjob; firm grip, relatively rapid pace while my other hand caresses and gently squeezes his balls.

After about a minute of this I realise the brief discussion has perhaps taken some of the immediacy out of his finish, so instead I tell him to just let me know when he’s about to cum, and take his cock in my mouth.

Oral action doing it’s job, it doesn’t take long before I hear the words I’ve been waiting for;

‘Fuck, I’m close…’

So dutifully I whip his cock out of my mouth and begin stroking. I look up at him, and he looks down at me, lust and excitement in his eyes.

Two minutes later we’re still looking at each other, but I’ve felt that notable pre-cum tension is absent.

‘Sorry. I think I’ve just thought about doing this for so long that now it’s here…’

Fucking hell. Now is not the time for his life story. I smile as though it’s not a problem and take him back in my mouth.

I swear I’m not exaggerating; it took literal seconds for that familiar tension to return. I could feel with with my tongue.

‘Fuck, I’m going to cum…’ he declares, looking down at me.

Thank fuck. I pull his cock out and stroke what must surely be the two to three strokes necessary to finish.

‘Sorry.’ is the response yet again. Only this time he continues. ‘Maybe if I just got myself there?’

SHEER BLIND FURY fills me. Finish himself?! Then where’s MY victory and sense of self satisfaction? He might as well have spent the night jerking off if this was how it was going to end.

He reaches down to take hold for himself, but I don’t let go.

‘Cum on my face.’ I tell him. It’s not a coy piece of sexy talk. It’s not delivered like a request. I’m pretty sure I actually delivered it almost as a chastisement, like a teacher snapping at an irritating pupil.

My hand was still wrapped around his cock, but I was barely moving it. It had, if anything, the residual motion of the handjob I’d been using to finish him, but little else.

And yet, like a spell being broken, with the magic words uttered, he came.

A great torrent of spunk erupted from his cock striking my cheek and my nose splashing upon impact. Thankfully I’d had him pointing fairly low, as there’d been no opportunity to close my eyes before the first wave of cum sprayed across my face.

I upped the stroking as a further three jets shot out, his cum more watery and fluid than the thick ropes I’d been recently accustomed to. The splashback got in my hair, and dripped down the upper half of my body.

He looked absolutely delighted. I immediately knew that I needed a shower but was made to suffer the indignity of having to sit, dripping, while he checked the hallway to ensure I wasn’t inadvertently going to bump into his flatmate en route.

After my shower I asked him if he’d enjoyed his first facial and whether it’d lived up to his expectations.

“Yeah, it was great!” he said, full of enthusiasm. “But it definitely looks hotter in porn.”