I Only Cum When A Dog Watches - Sex Stories

I Only Cum When A Dog Watches

... thoroughly I was tumbled. Perhaps it’s lingering self-doubt. Surgery still scares me after all these years, and I don’t take hormones (ditto). Maybe one day, but what’s the point when I feel this free?

Ginger – which is his real name or at least the one he likes using – makes little heartfelt moans as he pounds me. It’s as if he regrets having to treat me so robustly because despite being sleek and glossy, I am also a reprehensible slut. He also strokes me a lot – my thighs, my back. He then gets his small, adorably pudgy hands lost in my long, thick dark hair, which he pulls as if it’s reins. I love that because I am and always will be a total fuck-pony.

Boggle comes back into focus. I’m sweating now and drops that fly off Ginger splash on my heaving back. His breath is deep and booming. I wonder if he’s about to cum.

I don’t want to stop. Sex is always amazing to me, as if each thrust, each joyous cry, each rapturous orgasm is a scream of defiance at a world that pretends these things are wrong.

My adrenaline spikes then drops like a tide, as each thrust pushes me further –can I take more? Can I really? Yes! Yes, I can!

My skin tingles with astonishment, with slight oxygen deprivation, with heat changes inside and out. My knees are scuffed on this knackered carpet with its dusty old smell and fleur-de-lis design that is psychedelic enough to be seen in the hot gloom.

My breath gets short. I’m very fit, but we have been going at it hard and fast for… How ...

... long? My heartbeat races – it’s almost thrumming as I tense and accommodate, moving against every thrust.

Pain creeps up my thighs. I’ve been on my hands and knees for a while and all the amazement in the world isn’t going to stop physical indignation nibbling at my euphoric abandon. Ginger wipes the edge of his palm across my wet back like a windscreen wiper, and then flicks my sweat across the stack of board games. I watch my fluid soak into the cardboard, which is so old its edges are furred against the dim light.

That’s when he says it.

“I only cum when a dog watches.”

Every woman knows what I feel next.

It starts with a need to frown, coupled with reluctance to do it even though I’m facing away from him. Then there’s the slight chill and repressed shiver, followed by an urge to get away. Finally, the idiotic denial –there’s nothing wrong, stop overreacting.

The feeling every woman knows is sudden unease.

That’s when you remember you don’t know the guy you’re with. It’s when you’re forced to accept that the glorious freedom you inhabit comes with a degree of risk. The ways you manage that risk kick in fast – the sense of being on edge, the need to leave without always knowing why.

Although in this case, it’s obvious.

A dog?

Watching?

Even the cleanest dog-owning house can’t keep up with the constant drift of dog hair. I have been nose-to-carpet in here and there is no dog hair, and thus no dog either.

Is Ginger a furry? I thought he was ...