Shortly after Phoebe’s door slammed, Renee said in a breathy voice—“Dennis, you’re gonna make me cum…” and trailed off and made a few other minor female noises, like she was trying to push her orgasm out of her mouth. (I've tallied this as the eighth time a girl has announced to me, mid-coitus, her oncoming orgasm. The first had been this freak who was eight years older than me who I was fucking my senior year in high school. There had been seven since her in probably the past eight months. Lots of eights and orgasms. But all of this is an estimate.)
I sped up. And I only realized when I sped up how I drunk I felt. I felt sweat forming around my hairline and I felt my cock sloshing around in her pussy. I felt a warm wet trickling on my balls. This. Bitch. Was. Squirting. On my nuts. How come I didn’t know until now? I started cumming and made a lot of noise while I did it, and it encouraged her to open her mouth wider and exercise her tenor a little louder, and my throbbing cock encouraged her vagina to squirt out more fluid, some of which got on my leg as I mistakenly pulled out and sprayed the rest of my load over the sheets, while my knee screeched to a halt against her leg. I guess I’m not sure if I had cum on her leg and was getting my own cum on my knee, or if she had squirted on her own leg, transferring it to my knee. Whatever, it was wet and it felt wonderful as I kneeled there and waited for my cock to pump out the rest. I fell on top of her and felt her heart rate slowing down with mine. I felt her pubic hair scrunched up below my waist and the tiny dampness of her pussy-lips a little lower on my waist. My cock was pressed to the sheets, making an I-was-here print. Then we both caught our breath, and realized the gravity of the situation. Renee scooched away from me, lightly pushing my head to the side. She was suddenly nervous and uptight. “Dennis, we have to clean up,” she said. “Oh God, we need to clean up.” There was an actual puddle below her crotch. A white distillation of squirt and cum that had formed on the sheets. My observation is that squirt (I know that isn’t what it’s called, but what the hell am I supposed to call it) is clearer and less milky than semen, so it looked like she’d contributed to the edges of the puddle while I’d filled in the center. It looked like a really demented birthday cake. I turned on the light to get a better look at it. The way it looked in the light makes my description sound even better. Looking at Renee sitting up, naked, just removed from this puddle, glancing down at it with a hint of red in her face, and glancing back up at me, I could tell that I was the first guy to make her aware that she had this particular ability. “Dennis,” she said. “Come on, help me get some paper towels.” I suddenly felt nauseous. “Hold on a sec,” I mumbled and dashed in to the bathroom. I threw myself on to the toilet and promptly puked my guts out. It was quick, but it was vicious. I kept my head on the bowl for a couple minutes, spitting and waiting to make sure there was only one load. I wiped off the toilet seat and was prepared to wipe off my cock, but I left it be this time. I flushed the toilet and walked back in to the living room. Renee sat there on the side of the bed. She had put a t-shirt and her panties on. She looked at me strangely. There was a hint of a smile on her face. Otherwise her eyes had the sort of look you have when you’ve become involved in something that’s really fun but also very wrong. She had cleaned up the puddle. There was only a faint dampness on the sheets. I felt, watching her sit there, while she looked at her buck-naked fuck-buddy newly emerged from the bathroom, like a sort of conqueror. I fell on the bed beside her and went to sleep. My dreams that night: I was teaching a Sex-Ed class to very young children. I was pointing at vague figures on a blackboard. A kid asked a question that began with “But Dennis…” I replied, “Well actually, when you’re older, it will also be possible to make a chick squirt!” The kids responded, “Woooowww!” In unison. Amelia sat at the back of the class. She had her hand raised and I didn’t call on her. I was the head of a penis (mine?) moving back and forth between bright pink walls. I realized I was inside a vagina (Renee’s?). A round, swelled G-spot rose up in front of me and started talking to me in a low female voice. I forget what was said. Then it turned to a male voice. Then nothing. I fell and fell in to a dark puddle. It became bigger and bigger until I realized it was a lake. I could not stop myself from falling. An enlongated female cry sounded in my ears as I plunged in to the water. The next day, Renee drove me home. She lived off campus, with her parents. She was my only access to a car (well, her and sometimes Jared). When she parked outside my dorm, she said to me, “why didn’t you help me clean up last night? I had been almost dozing off against the window. I felt like I’d gotten about three hours of sleep. “I dunno, Renee,” I said. “It was more you than me anyway.” “No, it was not more me than you, Dennis.” Renee laughed as she said it. I sat up. She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking out the windshield and shaking her head. I lay my hand on her leg. She wore her jeans with holes in them. “I’m sorry, baby,” I said. I squeezed her leg a few times and said, in a high voice, “I’m a real human beeiiinng now!” (It was an inside joke. Don’t ask.) That got Renee to smile. She looked at me and for a moment I hoped we would make out and she’d let me go down on her right then and there, like I’d done once before. And I hoped that, when the moment came, she would draw her legs together and scoop up my hair between them, because my head was upside down in this position, and she would fling herself against the steering wheel, causing it to beep. This is exactly what had happened the one time I’d eaten her pussy in her car. But she didn’t want me to do that this time. She kissed me quickly and pulled away, still smiling. “I wish I had you all to myself, you know?” she said. “I wish there weren’t so many other girls.” I didn’t know what to say. I got out of the car and went inside and took a nap.
When I woke, I felt so refreshed that I headed over to the photo lab. Nobody was there (it was a Sunday), but I was usually able to convince the janitor to let me in. I didn’t have to this time. The door was unlocked. I took out my prints. I didn’t expect to work very long. But I worked longer than I thought I would. I was developing an older print, from an outdated 35mm negative. It was an image with white light on the top edge and black blotches on the bottom; both parts where the negative had been exposed to the sun and elements. I mixed the print around in the bleach and, under the red lights, was able to see the middle of the print, the part I was looking for. Myself at six years old, walking out of grocery store, hand in hand with my Mother.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/2lfqrc/the_adventures_of_dennis_part_5_stains_part_2_of_2