I Only Cum When A Dog Watches - Sex Stories

I Only Cum When A Dog Watches

... used to feel this worried.

Ginger goes to speak, swallows, then looks away again. I remember my clothes are out of reach, and my bag is lost in the hallway.

Best deal with this head-on, then.

“Dog?”

He sighs.

“I thought it would be different with you.”

He strokes my hair, which is sweaty and tangled. Ginger busies himself trying to sort it out, as if it is the 3D model of a polymer sequence that he has been commissioned to make sense of. There is no menace in him, just that weird sadness and strange, haunting regret.

Should I go? This feels so nice, so relaxing, and the sex was very good. Will I regret going? Will I regret staying?

I try to decide what I would be running from. It’s a toss-up between a man who had sex with me the way I like and is now stroking my hair, and paranoia brought about by fascists and religious loons.

And despite everything, I must know the answer to the dog riddle. It is almost a point of principle.

His hands are gentle as his head tilts to one side, and he works at my hair with intense focus. Unexpectedly, he kisses my mouth, then blinks as if surprised at himself. Then he goes back to my hair, which – incredibly – he has smoothed out. He runs his palms down it, mixing its oils with the oils of his hands, smoothing and smoothing until I can feel it slick and slightly stiff against the contours of my head.

My sex twitches. He notices, and a slight pressure under my ears inclines me to stand. My legs appreciate the ...

... chance to stretch, which I do, raising my arms up until I am a pale and naked streak in front of the kneeling man.

Who takes my sex in his mouth.

By now I am past worry and into confusion. It’s not bad exactly – it’s just, well, confusion.

My body heat rises again, and my chest tightens. My mind still races for answers, but the process has a slow, delirious undertone of deep pleasure, the kind that’s only experienced when someone who really wants to eat your sex tucks in.

If he was going to do something bad, wouldn’t he have done it by now? And –

He grips my arse hard, bruising it with lust. I shift and gasp, but he doesn’t let go. Pleasure and pain echo each other, reverberating from my back to my front. Confusion is a wildness now, amplifying everything.

What the hell is wrong with me? Is it sex I’m addicted to, or risk?

Do I like fear?

I don’t want to cum, but – oh hell, he’s even better with his tongue than he is with his cock.

His grip reaches the end of its strength and sensation rushes through my centre as if a tourniquet has been loosened. I move my hips from side to side but keep my bare feet planted on the worn carpet.

Ginger strokes the tingling wet area he penetrated before. I expect him to slip his fingers in, but instead he strokes the slick, intimate surface either side.

I hear him rub his fingertips together. He grunts with pleasure, then pauses his mouth action to smell his fingers. His eyes roll up and flicker – it’s as if he ...