It used to be that I would get home from school whenever, depending on the day, and he'd either be there or not. In the kitchen or the living room. Or, on those rare days when he was feeling submissive, already in the bedroom with his finger under his tail. While technically not the most arousing days, any day when he wanted my three-incher in him made me feel that much closer to him.
The routine went that, if he had his pipe lit before I got to jump his bones, I had to sit still until he'd smoked the bowl and filled whatever room we were in with that wonderful sweet smell. Only after he'd snuffed it out could I get my paws on him. Most of the time he would let me do what I wanted, but if he was in a mood he'd ask me to do things, never telling. I always loved how he would ask permission, especially if he was the one on the leash and playing puppy.
But today I'd been squirming in my seat at school, my tailhole itching for something to occupy it. You ever have one of those days?
He was just about to put match to pipe when I burst in the door. I saw him and dropped my backpack, running across the hallway and jumping like the action hero does in front of an explosion in a movie. The match went flying, landing on the carpet, only smoking by then (thankfully). Dad looked at me with a mix of consternation and guile.
"You got me, this time. Bedroom?"
I picked myself up from the floor and padded over to him, my tail raised and wagging, and planted both paws between his legs. He was already hard. "I'll be waiting." I was pretty incorrigible as a kid.
He asked me a lot of questions that afternoon. Of course, I was already on all fours, indicating my need for that particular day. But I didn't mind his questions about the ball gag and rope. Like I was going to escape from that which I craved?
It took a couple of fingers, as usual, but he eventually took me doggy-style. And still the questions came, was I alright, did it hurt, like we hadn't been doing it since, like, ever. And i couldn't even reach back to pull him in! He took my grunts and moans as a yes, and soon the long tentative strokes gave way to faster and deeper stuff, until he was slamming his knot up against me, begging for entrance.
Today was one of those tying days. He got it in before he swelled up too much, and then it was all over. Bent over my back, hips flying, he drooled on my neck while he loaded me up, great hot spurts of seed I never got tired of feeling deep down there. It was a surprise when he turned around, though, but if you've ever had a knot rotated inside you, you know what I mean. It's the good kind of weird.
And then he rolled us over and propped himself up. "Your turn."
I was too horned up to care, by this point, and in any case he only got eight strokes in before I blew. In those few seconds the only think I cared about was his climax pulsing away, tugging at my ring. The second load, as always, flew past my shoulder and landed on the floor. I never saw it, but Dad's muttered "Oh, my" always let me know I'd shot far. The rest landed on me, a wave of musk following the splatters.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew was him slipping out of me with the usual pop. Then I heard his lighter, and that smell came to my nose to punctuate my afterglow.
And then it was time for homework.
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