Paul McCartney loved cum. There was no politer way to say it, but he did. He realised his love for it when he had first given into the raw need of masturbation and had harboured a secret passion for it, which confused him mildly at first, seeing as he had viewed himself to be straight. He could never forget the feel of his own semen as it spurted over his fingers for the first time and coated his cock with a slick warmness that kept him hard for another wank directly afterwards.
Ever since he ‘abused’ himself during a sleepless night eight years ago, Paul had been on a one-man quest to find the perfect cum. He was now twenty-one and still nowhere near to finding it; or so he thought. Every time he had come close to a man as he orgasmed, he found that the end result always tended to be too runny; almost like milk, or too thick, like large globs of shaving cream which never vacated the penis in an arousing way. No, the perfect cum had to be something in between these two extremes, a perfect consistency that jetted out of its bearer’s cock with speed and landed on its destination in the desired fashion. Paul thought that he would never find it, until...
Paul did the most of his detective work through spying, just like any real detective would when needing to find answers during tricky situations. It was what Paul had settled to on the first night of The Beatles’ trip to Paris; he spied on John who was getting awfully caught up in the wanking that he had been forced to do due to a lack of womanly companionship.
The young rhythm guitarist was so focused on his actions that he failed to notice when the door, which adjoined his bedroom to his and Paul’s shared bathroom, opened slightly. He was far too near completion to even think straight and it was with a stroke of luck that he began to moan obscenely as he came.
Paul gasped as he watched the warm spurts of John’s cum coat his stomach, leaving long white trails down his torso and around his pubic hair. Paul had found his perfect cum; his quest had ended.
He made no sound as he fully opened the door and walked steadily towards the sedated Beatle who had done nothing to stop his band mate as he mounted the bed he had masturbated on. Paul then pushed himself between John’s legs and without so much as a greeting, dipped his head and stuck out his tongue, which collected his most treasured prize.
After that night, where John managed to have two more orgasms and Paul had two more cum-feasts, Paul’s devouring of John’s ‘perfect cum’ became a regular occurrence. John would always start by jerking off, although most of the time, Paul would finish him off with his mouth and collected his reward immediately.
There was one night though, about three months after the initial agreement for what they were doing, where Paul confessed to something that even scared himself just a little bit.
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