I Only Cum When A Dog Watches - Sex Stories

I Only Cum When A Dog Watches

... has inhaled the most beautiful scent in the world. He takes his mouth away and I can’t stop myself huffing with indignation.

“Hydroxyethylcellulose,” he croons.

First dogs, now chemistry? I am right out of my wheelhouse with this guy.

And yet…

He strokes my wet backside again, using the edge of his finger the way he used the edge of his arm earlier, like a windscreen wiper. Soon he has got a glistening line along his forefinger. He inhales the scent of it again.

“Polyethylene oxide, polyglyceryl methacrylate…” He looks up at me. “Those are the nonionic polymers of sex-based lubricants.” He shivers with desire. “And the sex of a beautiful woman.”

I shake with lust and my lips part. I want to spread my legs. Instead, I press them together to enhance each pulse of delight. I feel my skin flush hot, and the beat of my heart feels close and loud. I let my held breath out with awhuff. I sound like a dog – the noise they make that’s not quite a bark.

We both freeze.

I’m too light-headed to work out what any of it means. Instead, there’s a shift near my heart, a pang like the call for resolution. Confusion melts in a tingle of nerve endings – I almost hear the cacophony of tiny bells ease into a sweet melody.

Before I can say anything, Ginger paints the length of my sex with his beloved polymers. The touch is ecstatic, absurd. Hair raises on my arms and on my nape. My mouth feels wet, as if I’m about to drool.

The memory of unease heightens my senses ...

... and drives them further. I feel like the willing sacrifice to a liquid, plastic-based goddess, born of the same hydrocarbons we foolishly burn…

“Mmmmm,” Ginger snarls.“Mmmmmm.”

My fingers ache and tingle with the need to touch. They find his hair and curl into it, the faintly slippery texture a perfect complement to my shaking wet hands. I gently pull his hair to set his scalp tingling.

The move distracts me from my approaching climax, which I don’t want yet. I want the delirious stroking to continue, as if Ginger is painting me with the blood of the world –

He takes the whole package into his mouth again and sets to, working me until I thrash like a whip cracked over and over. The gathering increases as the polymers reconnect in the scalding vortex of his mouth –

I am gone, gone, howling as the goddess pulls my soul up out of my hot wet lashing body –

#

I shift against something soft and warm. Slow with the deep rest of post-orgasmic collapse, I realise it’s Ginger. He holds me and I feel his face buried in my hair. I open my eyes.

I’m at the centre of a debris field made of scattered board games and junk. It’s late, but the room is brighter. Blearily, I focus on the lamp. At some point during my shattering climax, I yanked the blue sheet off. I think about apologising for the mess, but it’s time someone had a tidy-up. Besides, I have questions.

“Dog?” My voice is croaky, as if I have slept for a year.

Ginger sighs and holds me closer. His cock ...