CALL OF THE DAY: Extreme Top’s Extreme Universe
I’m gonna have to drink all that HOW quickly?
As much as I hate Extreme Top (see here. Or here. Or here.), I have to admire his almost hentai-like disregard for math and anatomy and the flow of time and, really, all the laws of the known physical universe when it comes to him and me and his little fantasies.
I mean, I have always said that it is not the content of his calls that I hate so much, it is his attitude. But I cannot really fault the man’s attitude toward how the world works; he just fucking sails right through it, with measurements and expectations and actions that have everything to do with how angry he is or how much I need some “funishment”, and nothing to do with how things actually happen. Nearly every call there is something he says or demands that makes me go “brwh?” for a Scooby-Doo-noise moment, but he doesn’t hear my split-second disconnect, he is already way ahead, I am the one who forgets that this is fantasy. I can still learn something from his sublime disregard for mere conventions.
I think it’s because he seems like the sort of person who would expect that a young woman with huge tits should be able to keep those tits up to the fucking sky without any structural support, or that a submissive under his charge should just keep awake for a week at a time if she’s getting fucked solid. I could see him getting really irritated and, in fact, violently pissed that someone he’s bossing around for sexual purposes is just NOT FOLLOWING HIS DIRECTIONS, regardless of whether or not they are safe or sane.
But strictly within the confines of the call, not really knowing anything else about him… I applaud his verve. If nothing else, I always end up with a few thoughts to ponder, along the lines of “Is <sex act> actually possible?” (Think of this as the phone-sex version of xkcd’s What If? feature.)
Like today. Toward the end of today’s 66-minute long shit show, Extreme Top told me that he wouldn’t fuck me until I had collected—and deposited, for him to measure!—a gallon of cum. The question for the class, then, is: How long would that be until I could stop fucking teachers and the high school football team and strangers off the street on my way home from school, and get properly fucked by my extreme-top daddy?
This question involves tiny amounts of fluids of varying viscosities and membranes that are permeable. Anything that lands on skin needs to get scraped into the zippy bag, or however I’m transporting it, so there will be bits that I miss. My point is, this is a ballpark estimate, in a seriously large ballpark. However, thanks to Extreme Top’s thing for Lots of Cum (see a previous infographic on the subject), I already have looked into some important measurements, and the math is very simple. The average load of cum is 3ml. If one gallon is 3785.41 milliliters, then that gives us approximately 1262 loads for me to dump out in Daddy’s Little Measuring Bucket before I get the sweet treat of Daddy’s physical affection (?).
Now, based on recent activity depicted in recent calls, he is having me pull in between 15 and 25 loads a day—we’re going to leave out the thrice-yearly school assemblies—let’s say, 20 loads a day average. Or 63 days, no breaks for weekends or holidays.
However, he said during this particular call: “That would take you a week, at least!”
A week?
That would require taking 181 loads of cum a day, or about eight loads of cum an hour.
Um.
I’ll just leave this crusty little measuring cup here and back away slowly.