Who’s Next in Line for the Cum Bank?

Memory floods back as I lie here, legs spread, a beacon for the next load. The soft light filters through the window, casting shadows that dance across the beige and white garment draped over me. It’s a scene I’ve played out countless times, each one a testament to my role as the cum bank. And it’s not just for him, but for his friends too. They line up, eager to leave their deposits, each one a step closer to filling me up. It’s a ritual, a game of sorts, where I’m the prize, the vessel for their desires.

The Art of Submission

But it’s not just about the act. It’s about the power, the control. I’m the one who decides when it’s time for the next customer. I’m the one who sets the pace, who dictates the terms. It’s a delicate balance, a dance of dominance and submission. And I’m the one leading the way, guiding them through the steps. It’s a role I’ve embraced, one that defines me in ways I never thought possible.

When Will It End?

The question lingers, a whisper in the back of my mind. When will it end? When will I be filled to the brim, overflowing with their loads? It’s a thought that both excites and terrifies me. The anticipation builds, a tension that coils tighter with each deposit. And yet, I crave it. I crave the fullness, the completion. It’s a cycle, a never-ending loop of desire and fulfillment. And I’m right in the middle of it, the cum bank, the vessel, the whore. The room is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of fabric or the soft sigh of release. It’s a sanctuary, a place where I can be who I am, what I am. And as I lie here, waiting for the next customer, I know that this is where I belong. This is my purpose, my role, my identity. I am the cum bank, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.