I Only Cum When a Dog Watches

"The only company I had was this dog, who was about six by then. And those nights helped me get through it all, once I stopped crying.

"I mean, I was under the duvet, it's not like he saw anything. But he knew something was going on as I looked at pictures of girls like you on my phone and wanked like a piston for hours."

"Good for you."

I sense him smile, and he strokes my chest.

"It got so that his company became part of it -- again, not physically, but... There's that kindness that dogs have, that beautiful wisdom in their eyes. We don't deserve them really."

"No, we don't..."

"A lot of my lost love ended up going on that furry goon with his silly floppy ears and his black and white coat. It felt as if I was radiating excess love, unwanted love, love I couldn't help making, and he was somehow soaking it up. It made what was essentially a lonely activity into something warm and comforting. I genuinely think that dog got me through it all."

He sighs again.

"Eventually, this place completed, 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, being in 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 my throat goes thick -- he yawns. It's as if his body is telling him to go to sleep, even though he wants to stay with whoever is filming him.

Love beams out of my phone, and although Ginger laughs his eyes are wet.

"You're very clever," he manages.

I smile at him and prop my phone on a couple of old electric toys in faded boxes -- Astro Wars and Merlin. A metre away, they won't get knocked over by any imminent thrashing.

Ginger is breathless as the video starts again. He rubs the back of his neck and blinks rapidly, his eyes flicking from me to the screen.

My skin feels sensitive -- even more so than before. I feel faint and my heart goes faster. We are both nervous, keen for Ginger to regain his power.

On the phone, Jack 2 wags his tail and dips his head. I mimic him, then go further and take Ginger in my mouth. I taste myself, which makes me suck harder.

Ginger moans and puts his hand on my head. The touch is pleasant, soothing even. He pushes down into my throat. His cock feels different this time -- impatient rather than efficient, almost out of his control.

He twitches and moans, winding his hand into my hair until he can use it like a handle. Then he moves my mouth up and down him at the rhythm he likes, ramming it deep enough for me to manage my gag reflex, which I don't mind doing at all.

Finally, impatience overwhelms him -- I can sense it in an increased rhythm that's bracingly, chokingly brutal. He yanks my mouth off his cock and lifts me so he can kiss me.

He forgets to breathe, gulps, then kisses me harder. I seem delicious to him, as if he must consume me. Despite how far he got his cock down my throat, he only kisses my lips, as if to push his tongue in would be too overwhelming.

My head gets light, and I shiver with pleasure. That beloved fluttering in my chest tells me I'm ready to go again -- yes, yes!

Ginger lays me on my side facing the phone, where Jack 2 is yawning. It isn't any less cute a second time.

"I feel this connection with you," he whispers as he licks my neck. "That you came up with..." He points at the phone. "That level of wit, that level of care..."

He is breathless and when he pushes against my back he is so hard that the length of him thrums with erotic frequency. My nerve endings tingle and my muscles lose tension. I am melting, becoming inarticulate as new heat rises through me.

"Fuck me." My voice is hoarse, desperate.

His hands are clumsy with desire, but he manages to rest the side of my head on his left arm. As Jack 2 wags his tail, Ginger pushes into me, seizing me tight to erase all distance between us.

His hand flutters down my shivering front and grips me between the legs. Gleaming veins snake along his arm as my sex is crushed until I squeak. For a breathless moment I wonder if he will do me damage and if I should move.

He lets go. I miss his brutal grip at once. Then he slaps me there, a stinging flick of the wrist that jerks me further onto his cock, driving it even deeper.

I picture my tight body held fast and used for pleasure, yearning for his touch no matter how violent. Hot and slippery, I can smell myself and him. When he grabs my sex again, he claps his hand over my mouth afterwards. We whoop in the scent. He strokes my hair, holds my face, and gasps, "You're beautiful."

Jack 2 is a smudge of kind light as Ginger kisses my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. He leans closer, but I never find out what he is about to do next because he jerks and screams, the piercing sound welcome. It chokes off as he starts to buck and thrash, his body convulsing as I'm stretched, the pain of it balanced with joy.

Thank you Jack 2, my sweet friend.

Ginger cries out -- astonished, triumphant, but tinged with climactic grief. However amazing he feels, he must withdraw soon and the unwanted space between us will reopen.

But he goes on, until I almost feel gallons of pumped cum in a scalding wanton rush.

At this rate he's going to manage the impossible and make me pregnant.

His hand grips me once more, the pressure somehow perfect. Brutal yet tender, it's enough to send another blast of hot wet electricity from my core out into his hand, then another, and oh God another --

Demented, he mashes and slaps and punches and I love it love it love it --

For I find I am the bridge of love, and he has crossed me once and for all.