(L) – This story contains strong language.
Hello, it’s Cal here. I want to discuss something about Cindy.
She loves a mess, as you all know. She can squirt most of the time now, but it wasn’t always that way. I’m going to write a few stories about training her to do that.
Training Cindy — Part 1
I’d been thinking about it for weeks. She told me she had wanted to know what it was like to squirt before we even got married.
We had been married about a year now, and we were fresh off our honey moon. I just kept hearing her words in my head: “I wonder what squirting is really like.”
This wasn’t just about making Cindy cum harder—no, not just cum.
I wanted her so wrecked she didn’t know where she ended and I began.
I wanted to make her squirt, and not just a little—I wanted new sheets on the bed. I wanted to need a shower after. I wanted to soak the fucking world in her pleasure.
And because of what I did when Cindy and I met, I knew how to make women squirt.
You guys know from what we’ve shared in the past that Cindy was a stripper. But we haven’t shared yet (it’s weird to say on here, but she told me I could finally say it), is that when we met, I was in the adult film industry. And part of the reason I even approached her at the club the night we met was to bring her into that world. And she came a little bit into it, but not a lot.
For some reason, I felt protective of her from our first time—like she was special. I mean, I’m the guy who fell in love with a stripper. I didn’t believe in love at first sight until then. That was a lifetime ago.
But now we were married, barely.
Anyway, it had been a while since I had done this, and it was nice to be able to do it for my young, beautiful wife.
So tonight… she was going to learn.
I set the scene with low lights. The bedroom was dark except for one a candle. The sheets were pulled halfway off the bed already, like a garden waiting to be watered.
The music was low, but heavy bass still vibrated the floorboards.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, still dressed, watching her.
She came in wearing one of my old t-shirts, a lace thong, and messy hair, clearly thinking she was going to give me one of her signature lap dances.
God, she was fucking perfect. Still is.
And she had no idea what was about to happen.
I patted my thigh.
“Come here, Cin.”
She crossed the room barefoot, crawled up into my lap, straddled me, and was about to dance when I stilled her.
I ran my hands up under the shirt, palming her bare ass, squeezing until she whimpered.
I kissed her slow, deep, slipping my tongue into her mouth like I owned her. Because I did. (As she does me, but in this moment, ownership was mine.)
Breaking the kiss, I leaned in close to her ear.
“Tonight, baby, you’re gonna learn how to let go.”
She shivered against me. Her thighs pressed in tighter.
I flipped her onto her back like she weighed nothing, pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, and spread her thighs wide open before I moved the lace to the side.
First Lesson: Relax
I didn’t dive in right away.
I traced light patterns on her inner thighs, her hips, and the crease where her ass met her legs.
I watched her muscles twitch.
I whispered, “Don’t fight it. Just feel.”
When she was writhing, desperate, I finally dragged my tongue through her pussy, slow, from her clit down to her entrance.
She sobbed my name. “Cal, oh, C-Ca—babe, Cal…”
Good.
Second Lesson: Pressure and Speed
I slipped two fingers into her—slow, deep, curling up toward her belly.
I found that rough little patch—her G-spot—swollen already, her body giving it to me like a gift.
I curled and pumped, hard and steady.
At the same time, I pressed my thumb against her clit—grinding slow circles.
Relentless. Ruthless.
She started squirming almost immediately.
“Cal—Cal I—”
Her voice was wrecked.
“I have to pee,” she said.
I grinned.
“No you don’t. You just feel like you gotta pee, baby. That’s good. That’s the squirt building up. Don’t you fucking dare hold it back.”
Third Lesson: Permission to Break
I worked her harder—fingers stroking that magic spot, thumb abusing her clit.
My other arm locked across her hips, pinning her down to the mattress so she couldn’t run from it.
She fought it, thighs clamping around my arm, back arching—but she was no match for me.
I leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “Let it go, Cin. Make a fucking mess for me.”
And that broke her.
She screamed—raw, primal—and then it hit: a sudden, violent gush, soaking my hand, spraying down onto the sheets.
She cried out like she was dying, like she was being reborn.
And fuck, she was beautiful.
Fourth Lesson: Push Further
I didn’t stop.
I kept my fingers inside her, curling, pumping faster, faster, as she screamed and writhed and bucked against my grip.
Another gush.
Then another.
She couldn’t control it—couldn’t stop if she wanted to.
I licked her juices from my wrist like it was honey, growling against her throat.
“Good fucking girl. That’s it. Drench this bed. Drench me. Show me you’re mine.”
Her face was wrecked—mouth open, eyes glazed, hair plastered to her forehead—perfect.
Aftermath: Hold Her, Worship Her
When her body finally gave out, twitching and jerking with aftershocks, I released her wrists, dragged her trembling form onto my chest.
I kissed her forehead and held her while she shook and sobbed from how hard she’d let go.
I whispered filth and love in her ear: “You didn’t just cum tonight, baby. You fucking surrendered to me.”
And she had. In the most beautiful, filthy way!
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