Photo by Lucas Lima on Unsplash

I Squirted for the First Time Because He Wouldn’t Let Me Hold Back

He looked me dead in the eye and said he wasn’t stopping until I soaked the sheets.

I used to think squirting was one of those porn myths, hot to watch, impossible to actually do.

I had gotten close before. That deep, heavy pressure low in my belly that made me want to shove his hand away and cross my legs tight. I always stopped it.

The fear of making a mess, of it being pee, of looking ridiculous while my body did something I couldn’t control… it was too much. So I’d clench and laugh it off and we’d move on.

Last Tuesday night changed that.

We had zero plans. Just us, the apartment quiet for once, a bottle of wine we didn’t even finish. He kept touching me while I was trying to load the dishwasher, hand sliding under my shirt, fingers tracing the waistband of my leggings, that low voice in my ear telling me he had been thinking about my pussy all day. By the time we made it to the bedroom I was already throbbing.

He didn’t pounce. He never does when he is on a mission. He laid me down, stripped me slow, and spent a solid twenty minutes just kissing and touching every inch of me like he had all night. Shoulders, collarbones, the soft undersides of my breasts, the curve of my waist, the insides of my thighs.

Every time I tried to rush him he’d pin my hips and go even slower. I was dripping onto the sheets before he even got between my legs.

When he finally settled there, he just looked for a second. Then he spread me open with his thumbs and let out this quiet, filthy sound.

“Fuck, Raven. Look how wet you are already.”

He started with his tongue, long, flat licks from my entrance all the way up to my clit, over and over, like he was tasting me. He sucked my clit into his mouth and held it there, gentle suction while his tongue flicked underneath. My hips were rolling on their own. I was already moaning like a slut and he’d barely started.

Then he brought his hand up. Two fingers at my mouth.

“Get them wet, baby.”

I sucked them in deep, getting them sloppy with spit the way I know he likes. He pulled them out and dragged them down my body, circling each nipple until they were tight and aching, then lower.

He rubbed them through my folds first, spreading everything around, making it messier. One finger slid inside easy. Then the second. He just held them there for a second, letting me feel the stretch, before he curled them upward and found that spot.

The second he pressed against it I jerked hard. That spongy, slightly rough patch a couple inches in on the front wall. He knew exactly where it was. He started that steady motion, not thrusting in and out, but a firm, rhythmic pull toward him, like he was trying to drag something out of me. His other hand came down on my lower belly, pressing firmly right above my pubic bone. The pressure from both sides at once made my eyes roll back.

He kept his mouth on my clit the whole time. Sucking, licking, sometimes just breathing hot against it while his fingers worked. The wet sounds were obscene. Every time he moved his hand there was this thick, squelching noise that made my face burn and my pussy clench harder around his fingers.

I felt it building fast. That same urgent, “I have to pee” pressure that always made me panic before. My thighs started shaking. My stomach muscles were fluttering visibly. I grabbed his wrist without thinking, trying to slow him down.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low and steady against my pussy. “Don’t fight it. I know what it feels like. When it gets too much, I want you to push out. Bear down like you’re trying to force my fingers out…trust me, Raven. I’ve got you. I want every drop.”

Something about the way he said it, calm, filthy, completely sure cracked me open. I stopped clenching. I let the pressure build. He sped his fingers up just a little, still that same curling motion, and sucked my clit harder. The pressure peaked so hard I thought I might actually lose control of my bladder.

I pushed.

The first gush shocked both of us. Warm liquid rushed out around his fingers in a real spurt, splashing against his palm and wrist, soaking the sheets under me instantly.

It wasn’t a little leak. It was a proper, unmistakable squirt. The sound changed, from that rhythmic wet fingering to something louder, wetter, more open.

Another pulse hit and I gushed again. My whole body was shaking. I think I was crying a little. I definitely screamed his name.

He didn’t stop. He kept that exact pressure and motion, drawing more out of me with every pull. I kept coming in waves, each one pushing another rush of liquid out of me. It ran down my ass, pooled under my hips, soaked everything.

The smell was strong and sweet and nothing like pee. I could feel it cooling on my skin. I could hear it. I could see it glistening on his forearm when he finally slowed down.

He brought his soaked fingers up to my mouth and I sucked them without hesitation, tasting myself, tasting proof that I’d actually done it. He kissed me right after, deep and messy, letting me taste it on his tongue too.

But he still wasn’t finished with me.

He hooked my legs over his shoulders and lined his cock up. I was so swollen and sensitive that the first push inside made me gasp. He was rock hard and throbbing.

The slide was effortless because I was still leaking. Every thrust made these filthy, frothy sounds. He fucked me deep and steady at first, letting me feel every inch, then started getting rougher when I started moaning again.

He reached between us and rubbed my clit with his thumb while he fucked me. I came again, hard and this time I felt myself squirt around his cock. The liquid was forced out with every thrust, coating his balls and running down my ass. He groaned like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Fuck, Raven, look at you. Still squirting on my cock. Such a good girl.”

He came right after, buried deep, pulsing inside me while I was still fluttering and leaking around him. We stayed like that for a long minute, both of us shaking, his forehead pressed to mine.

When he finally pulled out we just stared at the mess. The sheets were wrecked. There was a wet spot the size of a dinner plate under me. My thighs were shiny. His cock was coated in a mix of my squirt and his cum. He looked at me like I’d just given him the world.

We took a shower after. The hot water felt insane on my over-sensitive skin. He washed me gently, then got hard again and fucked me slow against the tiles, one hand over my mouth because I was being too loud. I didn’t squirt that time, but I came so hard my legs gave out and he had to hold me up.

Later, in clean sheets, we talked for hours. I told him how the eye contact and his steady voice made it possible.

How the times before I’d been too in my head about the mess and the shame. How pushing out instead of clenching had been the key. He told me he’d never seen anything hotter than watching me finally let go completely.

Now it happens a lot. Sometimes just a little gush when he fingers me just right. Sometimes a full spray when he’s fucking me in the right position with my legs pushed back. We keep a stack of old towels in the nightstand and we laugh about it. The mess doesn’t scare me anymore. It turns us both on.

If you’ve never squirted, I get why you might be nervous. The mental block is huge. But the women who do it aren’t magic, they’re just the ones who felt safe enough to stop holding back.

If you want to try with your partner, start with the conversation. Tell him you want to explore it. Put down towels or get a waterproof blanket. Make sure there’s no rush. Have him focus on that spot inside you with firm, consistent pressure while he sucks or rubs your clit. When the “I have to pee” feeling hits, don’t panic. Relax and push out gently. It might be small at first. Keep going and your body learns.

And when it happens? Let yourself be loud. Let yourself be messy. Let yourself be held after. Because once you know what it feels like to completely lose control like that, everything else starts to feel a little tame.

God, I still get wet thinking about that first night. The way his voice sounded when he told me to push. The way the liquid felt leaving my body. The way he looked at me afterward like I was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

If you’re reading this with your hand between your legs or already thinking about showing it to your partner… do it. Tonight or this weekend. You deserve to know what your body can do when it finally feels safe enough to let go.

You might surprise yourself.

— Raven

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