Comparisons of cumsplats to Jackson Pollock paintings

An incomplete list. I gave up at some point.

He flung his head back ecstatically as a fountain of cum splattered the mirror’s surface with erratic streaks of white like a minimalist Jackson Pollock.

He crossed his eyes adorably and said, “Paint me,” with wide open mouth, and Andrew chuckled and gripped the base of his cock, beginning to tug on it, jerking it until rope after messy rope of precum painted Jet’s face like Jackson Pollock, splatters turning into coatings that spread all over his face… and then neck, and ear, and finally matting his red hair.

He collected all the cum from around the room effortlessly, the alien vacuum set to “absorb cum”, not letting a single droplet escape. He eventually turned to James’ body. Starting at the feet, he worked his way up, sucking up every drop, leaving James in a pristine condition. You couldn’t even tell cum had been sprayed all over his form like a Jackson Pollock painting just moments earlier.

He slipped his now satisfied cock out of Blake’s ass, noticing with pride that the shadow-drenched wall was practically glowing in the dark, splattered with a Jackson Pollock pattern of Blake’s semen.

With that last invocation he thrust in up to the hilt, balls dangling on Chet’s nose, as he drove his fingers as deep as he could into the muscle jock’s ass. Both boys came simultaneously: Alfie pumping jets of cum directly down Chet’s throat while Chet painted Alfie’s face like he was Jackson Pollock.

Some days, untethered by his obligations of sports or class, I dress him in his full black bodysuit, using him as a footstool, and fucking his shiny rubber ass until I’ve painted a Jackson Pollock on his second skin.

Eli took a few deep breaths. His heart was racing. ‘Fuck, that must be a new record.’ He though as he gingerly moved to survey his surroundings. His chest and belly were covered in streams of thick cum, held in place by the trimmed fur. He felt dollops of cum drip down his face. It was in his hair. He looked above him and saw several large splatter impacts like a Jackson Pollock painting on the head board.

His moans and thrusts lasted a while before his ropes of jizz finally subsided. When he was done, Dom opened his eyes to witness what mess he’d made as he steadied his labored breath. Thick strings of cum clung to all parts of the toilet, with strands extending to the wall above and beside the toilet, and pooling on the cold bathroom tile. He hadn’t had the forethought to lift the toilet seat, so none of it went into the bowl. It was like an obscene art project. A perverted pollock piece.

“Shit,” he said, surveying the damage. His hand was dripping with cum, and the stall looked like it’d been painted by Jackson Pull-cock.

The machine flew off of him into the air above, twisting and turning, and sending out spirals of semen that coated every solid surface nearby with gobs and beads of pearly ejaculate, like some three dimensional Jackson Pollock painting.

My guess was that, in another 10 minutes, his shirt was going to look
like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Jared kept stroking - shots eight to twelve ensuring that my entire back
looked like a Jackson Pollock painting.

“There’s my best bro.” he said, coming inside like he owned the place. “Nice shorts - Jackson pollock brand?”
“Haha. Had a good dream,” I lied, looking down at my crusty, cum-covered

I look like a Jackson Pollock painting, cum splattered across my body.

He swung his hips back and forth, drizzling his jizz the way
Jackson Pollock drizzled paint until Tony, Jason, and the carpet between
them were randomly criss-crossed with lashings of cum.

While Logan finished delivering the last of his brand of foamy draft on tap, Spencer started spewing his generous donation, adding another dimension of sensuous male substance to this emerging (Paul) Jackson Pollock type creation.

I felt as if my tight ass forced him to shoot off, and he thanked you by ejaculating a Jackson Pollock splatter painting in my ass.

He shot again and again, drenching my face and hair and mouth and making me wonder if he had been celibate as long as I had. By the time he was done, I was a canvas that would have put Jackson Pollock to shame.

Leaning forward he get good distance with his cum launch and Ronnie’s cum paints my face like a Jackson Pollock abstract expressionist painting.


I like the idea that this is actually Jackson Pollock’s real legacy and claim to fame. :relieved:


Wow, I barely remember making that comparison! I’m almost surprised, I don’t use it in my current stories. I’m not mad at myself for doing it, it’s just weird to see a decision I made years ago and not remember making it. But I did write Unintended Consequences of Time Travel in a fugue state…