Confessions of a Cockshow Host

There's no mystery to a Cockshow; it's no wild opera of grand passions, no politicized play of cries for freedom. Some audience members might consider it vaudeville, but it is really more akin to the dancing bear shows of old. This is not just because of its base animal nature, but also because were such a spectacle to be released it would no doubt cause a row, a ruckus, and more than a few good people would probably get fucked. Better to keep the bear on the leash.

Johnny Boy was a Cockshow Host. His was the throbbing cock displayed on the screen on laptops hundreds of miles away; his were the furious motions of jerking that blurred across the eyes of users with screen-names from Cathy45 to PeachyLipsFuckDoll. It was always generally the same invitation- the nonchalant "care for a cockshow?"- that potentially made our Johnny Boy the star of an open-legged evening. It's not clear when the first Cockshow occurred. SweetVicky may have been the first to convince Johnny Boy to perform or she may have simply been the most appreciative. In any case, Johnny Boy began to crave her commentary on his cock, her sexual suggestions about his size, her delighted reactions to his dick, and the Cockshow host was born.

He was hooked. The mere mention of a webcam would cause his crotch to twitch. The Cockshow Host would drool at the thought of any performance. He was on Broadway and getting off, throwing up the curtain on a throbbing hard dick, and bowing to a cum-filled encore of breathy sighs and groaned orgasms from his audience. He would hear the voices or read the typed messages again and again in his head, finding his better half already half-cocked. The Cockshow Host had discovered a stage between his own legs and found the spotlight beckoning.

He would entertain from the front, side, or back, gripping a shaft engorged with the fluster of an appreciative audience. He would spread his legs wide, revealing a set of hairy, low-hanging balls that bulged with more milk than a cow's udder, and milk that udder he did. He pumped himself with more enthusiasm than the reddest cheeked farmgirl ever could, emptying his balls in a showering cascade of cum.

The Cockshow host would fuck his own hand harder than the screen resolution would merit, pounding at his own fingers as he would if pounding a pussy, balls smashing forward with each thrust. Were he kneeling across his bed with an arched back or lounging with his legs spread, he would grip his cock as its base and bring forth streams of sticky sludge to the squeals of the unseen. He found submissives, dominatrixes, and switches of every age and stripe, ushering them to a seat cushioned on lust and a screen displayed on desire. He used every channel, every venue, every vehicle his audience demanded, stuffing his member through any messenger that would beam his splashing seed. He experimented at the whim of his watchers, finding their sexual desires to surpass his own. He became a firm believer in a bound cock and balls, testified to the merits of full sensory stimulation, and preached the power of orgasm denial. In one episode he fucked a jar of peanut butter at the enthusiasm of his viewer, the thick gooey cream covering his cock and hanging from his balls like a topping. Great gobs of the stuff clung to his cock as he fucked the jar hard, his balls slapping the edge with great splats. Peanut butter and cock sandwiches were the order of the day, and the menu had a cum-covered buffet.

He was thrilled by the erotic pleasure inherent in entertainment; the idea of giving your audience what they want. At once our Host was showman, slave, and superstar, and he fulfilled his role with an eagerness that would have penetrated even the worst acted script in Hollywood. The giggle, command, or moan of his guest would stimulate in him a passion similar to a captured animal released into the wild.

So if ever you find yourself down the sidestreets of the Internet, where digitized fleshy fun awaits you, peruse the marketplace. In between the onsale dildos, the gyrating plump asses, and flashing displays of fuckery, someone might tap you on the shoulder. As you turn around, your hand already halfway down your panties, your tongue already halfway out of your mouth, your acquaintance will ask you: "Care for a cockshow?"

The Cockshow Host will await your answer.