A Curious Incident

Laughter is the best anti-depressant, but semen is also good.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

The dog is silent: he’s in a huff because we’ve stolen his style.

I’ve had an audience before, and usually it adds excitement, but I haven’t been watched with such profound disappointment since that day my mother came home early and stood shell-shocked in the living room doorway while I bounced on the neighbour boy. The dog reminds me of her, slack-jawed and drooling. I don’t blame her: that boy was hung like a mule.

Milo is a wee terrier, tiny but tenacious. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants. So all poor Rover can do is stare in from the garden and try to shame me into stopping. It won’t work: if I had any shame I would have drawn the curtains; hell, if I was capable of embarrassment at all I wouldn’t be fucking Milo.

Not that I’ll tell anyone about this. I have a reputation as a size queen to maintain, and Milo’s own reputation as a tiddler doesn’t fit well with that. He might brag about me, but no one would believe him, and the dog is sworn to secrecy.

Milo does fit well, though. He’s never going to hit my A-spot, and he’d have to wrap his fist round his cock to stretch me, but he knows his limitations, and he’s compensating. He’s got a thumb hooked in my ass, a good slow, grinding thrust, and his…