I Only Cum When A Dog Watches - Sex Stories

I Only Cum When A Dog Watches

... and I moved in.” He manages a little cough of grief. “Then my mum went into a home. I got some her stuff, which includes a lot of things from my childhood.”

He gestures around. I feel that tightening of the chest that signifies a pang of guilt.

“Sorry about wrecking it.”

“No, it needed to be done. Plus, you are so fucking hot. Being with you, beingin you, is like some deep chain reaction. And yet…” His breath judders. “I can’t cum. Not anymore. Jack isn’t here, and I can’t get a dog of my own because I work long hours.

“You see, Jack was there during those desperate, magical nights when I came. It was as if his spirit guided me. Now he’s gone, and without him, nothing happens. I go on and on like a machine.”

He scrubs a hand over his face in frustration. I feel his stomach go hard with it.

It’s then that I have one of my Very Good Ideas. They never come when I demand them – instead, they grow like flowers from the chaotic soil of problems most people can’t even comprehend. I guess being trans demands a degree of special cunning simply to get safely through the day.

Reluctantly, I ease up from the comfortable shape we have made of ourselves. I hear his breath catch. He thinks I am going to leave him because he is too strange, too difficult.

As if.

“Back in a sec.”

I touch his cock, one of those outrageous, intimate things you can only do at times like these. I want to linger, the tips of my fingers on the warm, rubbery muscle – but I have work to ...

... do.

Standing, I stretch in a satisfyingly smooth motion. With my back to Ginger, I tense the powerful muscles in my arse and run both hands through my slick hair, which rustles down the centre of my back.

Then I slink out of the room into the street-lit hallway, find my bag at the bottom of the stairs, and dig out my phone. I stand there and scroll, a naked woman gleaming with sex in a stranger’s house.

When I find what I’m looking for I go back into the living room and pick my way across the debris field. Ginger waits, pretending he’s not nervous.

“Here,” I say, and hold out the phone. “What do you think?”

His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open.

“Is that him?”

Such is his adorable hopefulness that the natural urge to sarcasm quickly fades. I try to think of what to say.

“It could be.”

Ginger stares at my phone.

On it is a video of a black and white springer spaniel. The spaniel is on his bed, but he doesn’t want to stay there. He wags his tail and half gets up, then his head dips a little and his ears go down.

Someone must have told him to stay. He is a good boy, so he does as he’s told even as those big, mournfully kind eyes fix their gaze on the camera.

It’s as if he’s looking right at us.

The dog shifts and sits up. So, he’s smart enough to do as he’s told, but is also seeing how far he can go with this subtle canine rebellion.

He moves his front paws and that long thin doggy tongue lolls. Then – and this next bit is so adorable ...