Anatomy of a Sneeze Fetishist


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Rumbled! Bloody rumbled! It wasn’t my fault either. I was just feeling horny that’s all.

What happened was…

My wife and I were doing the dishes and I was feeling horny. Merely because she was wearing a low-cut white T-Shirt and dark blue Levis jeans that looked like they’d been spray-painted onto her lush backside. I had however, with a show of willpower that made Britain great, managed to control myself. At least until the dishes were finished.

I had just put the last plate away and Dianne was drying her hands on the tea towel. She had her back to me and was facing the window in the face of the glorious summer sunshine. I approached her from behind and put my arms around her waist and began to kiss her neck when she said,

“Hang on... I… gonna... AH…TICH…EEEWWW!”

Then she turned to face me. She put her arms around my neck but she had a curious old-fashioned expression on her face. She looked at me with her head cocked to one side and one eye half-closed.

Why does my sneezing do that to you?” she asked.

I met her gaze and bit my lower lip thoughtfully.

“Come on, you young bugger,” she challenged, “out with it!”

(Actually, not only am I not young, but I’m older than her.)

“It’s a fetish,” I replied.

“You… what?”

“It’s a fetish,” I confessed. “Sneezing turns me on.”

“What, all sneezing?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “just female sneezing.”

She took me by the hand and led me to the living room and we sat on the couch.

“Come on,” she said. “This needs thrashing out. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I’ve been thinking about it from almost the first time we met,” I said.

“Well, that’s what, about fourteen years?” she said. “You should have some good answers by now.”

“I got some answers all right. I’m not sure they’re any good, though. Anyway, I never decided not to tell you about it – I just never decided to tell you about it.

“Same thing,” she said.

“No it isn’t,” I said. “Not really.”

“Well, you haven’t told me about it,” she challenged. “Not until now, anyway.”

“That’s true enough.”

“So, why not?” she asked, “Did you think it would turn me off?”

“No. Not now anyway,” I assured her, “not after all this time. I think I might be afraid that I would lose the spontaneity.”

“But if I’d known, I could have played on it for you. Let’s face it;” she said, “I don’t sneeze very often, do I? More often than not I go complete days without sneezing.”

“Yes, but, when you do, it’s the most incredible turn on!”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes, really,” I said. “Even after all this time we’ve been together, when you sneeze, it feels like some unseen creature punching into my back, trying to drag my spine out through the hole.”

“Mm, charming,” she said with a sly smile. “I’ve always been astounded by your gift for coming up with sexy metaphors.” Then she paused and her smile widened. “You really are all hot and bothered aren’t you? We’d better do something about this.”

She grabbed the waistline of my Diadora tracky bottoms and growled. “C’mon, gerremoff!”

She was bending in front of me and I got a sensual view of her wonderful cleavage.

But she only managed to pull my bottoms down to my thighs when she stopped. She rested her hands on my thighs and looked into my face with a decidedly mischievous expression. Another thing I like about Dianne is her sprightly sense of humour.

“You’ve got trouble, my lad,” she purred.

“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Why?”

She wiggled her nose.

“Dianne!” I pleaded.

“Well I can’t help it if I feel a bit schneezy,” she squeaked.

She looked at my cock and said, “He seems to be enjoying it!”

She was right. It was eagerly upstanding like a puppy dog waiting for its dinner.

Dianne bent down, her breasts straining against her blouse as she addressed the unruly member. She gave it a little kiss on the tip and said, “You wouldn’t mind if I schneezed would you?”

Then she looked back up at me.

“I am gonna sneeze as well,” she said, matter-of-fact.

Her mouth opened slightly and her eyelashes began to flutter.

“Oh, deary me today!” she gasped.

Her nose twitched again and she put her finger to it.

“Ah… Ahh…? Ntchh...  CHOOO!”

Then she ran a few little kisses up and down my gorged tool.

“Dianne, I can’t last much longer!” I yelped.

She put my cock in her mouth and began to suck hungrily, at which point I exploded like a volcano.

When I eventually got my breath back, she pursed her lips thoughtfully as I pulled my bottoms back up to salvage what little decorum I could. Yet I knew she wasn’t finished with me.

“My sneezing really affects you like that?” she asked.

“Oh yeah. And when it does, I find it almost impossible to resist you!” I said.

“But why would you want to resist me?” she demanded. “I don’t want you to be able to resist me. I’m your wife. Why would you want to resist me?”

“To stop from being arrested?”


“Well it happens in public too, y’know. Like last week, when we went to The Lime Tree.”

“I don’t remember us having sex in The Lime Tree last week.” Dianne thought for a moment. “I don’t think we’ve ever had sex in The Lime Tree, have we? I do remember us having sex in the woods last week though, on our way back home from The Lime Tree.”

“You don’t remember sneezing in the pub?” I asked her.

“No, I don’t.”

“Well I certainly do,” I said. “You had your arm through mine and I could feel your gorgeous breast rubbing against me. Can I have a drink of water please?”

“Shut up and get on with it!”

“You tried to stifle but you came out with four lovely squeaky sneezes.”


I remembered the incident vividly. As we were sat in the pub, Dianne already had her arm through mine. Dianne has very sensitive nipples and one of her favourite tricks is rubbing her breast against me while we’re arm in arm.

I felt her tense as she pulled me even closer to her. I looked at her. She had her finger to her nose. She opened her mouth very slightly and inhaled, but… nothing. A false alarm. She still had her finger to her nose when she inhaled again and… still nothing! Another false start. She inhaled deeply for a third time and then…

“Ntchh… chooo!”

The first part of the sneeze was a squeaky stifle and the second part was a near-silent whisper.

She still had her finger to her nose when she quickly sneezed a second time. Again, the first part of the sneeze was completely silent and the second part squeaked.

“Nnn... CHOO!”

When Dianne stifles her sneezes, she is more likely to sneeze in multiples. That was the case then. She was hovering between sneezes, but I had to wait a few seconds before she delivered two more.

“Ntch... CHOO! Ah… Ntch... CHOO!”

I blessed her, she thanked me, and then I pecked her on the lips.

“Let’s go home now,” she said.

I quickly agreed and we walked home with our arms round each other’s waists.

“Wait ‘til I get you home!” she growled.

“I can’t,” I gasped, “I want you now.”

“Stop it!” she panted.

I whispered into her ear, “ I want to be inside you.”

With that, she urgently grabbed hold of my hands and pulled me into the woods by the side of the road. We ended up having a desperate clothes-pulling knee-trembler against a tree. (Or should I just have called it a tree-knembler?)


“But why, on earth would sneezing affect you like that?” Dianne queried now. “Is it some sort of S&M thing?”

“Oh no,” I assured her. “I get no fun out of the suffering of my objects of desire, lust, fantasies - call them what you will. Especially not you. I feel as sorry for anyone suffering a cold or allergies as the next man. More, probably.”

“So what is it then?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that for a long time, too,” I said. “I think it’s because a sneeze can sound so much like an orgasm. Especially the way you do it.”

“Well, I’m proud of being a woman and of the way I sneeze. I think is a demonstration of my femininity,” she declared.

“Good for you! But you often try to stifle your sneezes in public, don’t you?” I asked. “Don’t you like sneezing in public?”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s just what the situation seems to call for.”

“Now, you’ve never refused me,” I said. “Sexually, I mean. Have you?”

“No, never,” she admitted after a short pause.

“And we’ve been together for, what, fourteen years?” I reminded her. “Not only did I have to leave that pub before last orders. There was more than enough time for another pint…”

Dianne gave a sarcastic: “Wow!”

“But I can’t even leave you alone long enough for us to get home!” I exclaimed. “And it’s only a twenty minute walk!”

“And there was I thinking that incident took place because I was feeling horny,” she said. “I’d been mad for it shortly after we’d got to the pub.”

“This kind of thing happens a lot doesn’t it?” I said. “How much did you pay for our bed?”

“Stop changing the subject,” she giggled.

“I’m not,” I said. “How much was it? “

“One thousand and fifty quid,” she replied.

“So we’ve got a bed that cost over a grand, yet we have sex out of it more often than not,” I said. “There are times when I want you so badly I can’t even wait to get you to bed.”

”I don’t mind sex out of bed,” she said.

”Nor do I. But even at our age, we’ve made love in every room in this house apart from the bog and, as far as I’m concerned that’s because I’m so turned on that I can’t wait long enough to get you into bed. Do you think our other married friends do that?” I asked. “I don’t think they do. I don’t talk to the blokes about sex. Do you talk to the girls?”

“Yeah. I don’t think our friends have sex at all,” she said.

I was amazed. I didn’t think things with our friends were that bad. “Blood and sand!” I exclaimed. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s just some of the things they tell me,” she said. “For instance, one time, not long ago, I was having coffee with Maureen at the Whistle Stop, and I started to feel a bit randy. Probably no reason; you know what I’m like! Anyway, I didn’t know it was that obvious and I was chatting to her normally about this and that when, out of the blue, she asks me if I’m cold. I told her I wasn’t, and asked her why she’d asked, and she said that my nipples were sticking out. I told her that I was just feeling horny and she was amazed. I didn’t think there was anything particularly remarkable about it at the time, but she said she hardly ever felt like that any more under any circumstances.”

“That’s very sad, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yeah, it is,” Dianne agreed. “I actually played on it. I told her that I was going to go home after coffee and rape you!!” We shared a laugh, and then she continued: “Are you saying, then, that we have such an active sex life because of my sneezing?”

“Oh no. Sneezing is just one aspect of it as far as I’m concerned,” I said. “I think we have an active sex life because I have two strong emotions battling for supremacy inside of me. For a start, I’m still in love with you and that makes me want to make love to you. Then there’s the physical attraction, which stirs the sexual desires within me, and sneezing is a part of that.

“To be honest, when we started off, I was physically attracted to you. After that, when I got to know you better, I fell in love with you and I still am. Just now, when you were at the sink, it was the physical thing that was what was attracting me to you. I didn’t know you were about to sneeze. Anyway, what made you mention it? How long have you been thinking about it?”

She smiled coyly and shrugged her shoulders, allowing her hair to fall over her face. “Oh, ‘bout three days. When I had that sneezing fit. Do you remember? We were watching ‘University Challenge’ on TV.”

I smiled at the memory. Dianne’s full-blown sneezing fits are quite rare. How could I not remember? She must have sneezed about ten times. Normally she only sneezes anywhere from one to four times in a row.

“You couldn’t keep your hands of me then, could you?” she grinned. “In fact, you couldn’t wait for me to stop!”

“I didn’t want you to stop,” I grinned.

“No, I mean, I was still sneezing while we were at it on the couch!”

The fit went on for about five minutes. There was no way I could have waited for her to stop.


It happened like this. I sat on the couch, waiting for the programme to start. Dianne was in the kitchen when she heard the familiar tune introducing ‘University Challenge’.

“Who’s playing?” she called.

“Hull and U.M.I.S.T,” I shouted back.

She came into the living room. I remember that she was wearing a tight red sweater paired with a luscious figure-hugging black miniskirt – hardly the attire to be watching such an august programme as University Challenge, but… who was I to argue?

She stood over me and asked, “What’s U.M.I.S.T. then, precious?”

“The University of Manchester Institute of Science and Technology,” I told her.

Then she shook her head and looked up at the living room light.

“Ho my God, “she announced, “I’m about to sneeze!”

She waved her hands in front of her face and did a cute little running on the spot motion, making her lovely breasts jump up and down. Then she turned her back to me and cupped her hands in front of her nose.


As she sneezed, she bent forward so that her skirt rose up and I got a delicious glimpse of her black, red lined panties. Then, having sneezed, she flopped down beside me. She pulled her legs onto the couch, causing her skirt to rise up again.

“Dear me, I don’t know where that came from,” she said. “Who’s winning?”

“Hull,” I replied. “They got the first starter for ten, and ten more bonus points.”

When Dianne didn’t respond, I looked at her. She was scrunching up her nose and she said, “My nose is still tickling.” Then she sat up straight and urgently added, “I deed to sdeeze agaid.” She put her finger under her nose. “I’m gonna sneeeeze!” She elongated the world, seeming to luxuriate in it.

Then she took her finger away and rapid-fired three quick sneezes.

“Itch-chew! Itch-chew! A... titch... cheeeww! Oh, I’ve got the sneezies tonight!”

This was more than I could stand. I put my arms around her shoulders and pulled her towards me. We began to kiss hungrily, but then Dianne pulled away.

“Listen, I’ve got the sneezes,” she warned.

“Don’t care,” I said.

“But if I sneeze while we’re kissing…”

“Yes?” I asked, thinking, “Be still my heart!”

“Well, it’ll blow all the wax out of your ears.”

“Do me good,” I said as I tried to pull her towards me again.

But Dianne was having none of it. She pushed away from me and put her finger back under her nose as she began to gasp.


I thought she was pulling my leg, so I grabbed hold of her. I put my hand up her skirt and set to work between her legs.

“I’m gonna sneeze, I’m gonna sneeze, I’m gonna… sn… sneeze!” she squealed. “A SHOO! ASHOO… A... TISH... OOO!”

I pulled her knickers down and she relieved me of my jeans and boxer shorts. As I entered her, I heard Jeremy Paxman on the TV ask, “Who first patented the flush toilet?”

“Thomas Crapper,” gasped Dianne.

“No it wasn’t. It was some guy called Twyford and I’m gonna come in a minute!”

“My nose... “ she squeaked. “ I have to sneeze again!”

“Don’t stop!” I pleaded.

“Don’t stop what? Snee... hee… AAHH. CHEEWW! Gonna come, gonna come! Gonna come…”


“Are the physical and emotional sides separate for you, then?” she asked.

“In many ways, yes, “ I said. “ But I think that part of the reason why I’m still in love with you is because it has to fight, if you like, with my finding you so physically attractive as well. Also, because I’m in love with you, I think the physical side is lasting too. Both things come together for me. I also think that’s why we’re so different from our friends.”

“Yes,” she admitted, “I’m sure that none of our male friends ever tell their partners that they are in love with them like you’ve just done to me.”

“I love our friends like bothers and sisters,” I confessed, “but they all seem so stead to me. Especially compared to us. And these are, I think, the reasons why. One of the effects that being in love has always had on me is that I have a problem seeing other women as women, if you see what I mean.”

“You mean as physically attractive?” she asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed, “but, even so, most of our female friends seem to have lost that ability or desire to be physically attractive, whereas you haven’t. It would take a good half-day’s work with some heavy machinery to stop you from being physically attractive.

“Take Sarah and Paul. They were originally your friends, but you’ve introduced them to me and I’m proud to know them. In fact, for a fun night out, I think I would choose them above anybody. But I can’t imagine being physically attracted to Sarah. I’m afraid I think she’s got a face like an elephant’s scrotum.”

“Hey!” Dianne protested. “That’s one of my friends you’re talking about! Anyway, what do you think about the way she sneezes?”

“Brilliant. Truly exceptional,” I enthused.

“Better than mine?” she asked.

“No. Not a chance,” I said.

“They’re that good, but not as good as mine?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“But how,” she asked, “if you find women sneezing physically attractive, can you not find the one that’s sneezing physically attractive? How can that work?”

“This is where the emotional and physical sides cross over,” I explained. “When I hear a sneeze that turns me on, it makes me want you.”

“When that happens, are you thinking about the woman who sneezed when it causes you to have sex with me?” she asked.

“Oh, no. I only ever think of you. I only ever see you,” I said. “But, as I said, the sneezing thing is just one part of it. I’m also physically attracted to you because you’ve got a forty-four inch bust, a narrow waist, and a heart-shaped arse, since we’re having this discussion… Now I don’t want to sound like I have an inferiority complex when it comes to you because I haven’t. I don’t think we’d have lasted five minutes if I had. I don’t think you’re the kind of woman who’d stand for that.”

“You’re dead right,” she confirmed. “I’ve had that problem many a time in past relationships. What I expect from a man is a little trust.”

“Exactly,” I said. “And if I didn’t trust you, I’d have probably eaten myself alive in the first week. But I have often wondered what a woman who looks like you is doing with a man like me. I get a kick out of it myself. It’s a kind of reflected glory. I get a kick out of being seen with you and having other blokes thinking, ‘What’s he doing with a bird like that?’ It’s better than being good looking myself!”

“Yes. You’re hardly Richard Gere are you? Not that I want to hurt your feelings of course,” she said.

“No, no; I see that.”

“If there’s anything more narcissistic than a good-looking woman, it’s a good looking man. I’ve no time for ‘em,” she said.

“Nor have I. But what do you see in me?” I asked.

“You get under a woman’s skin,” she said. “All you have to do is start talking, and that’s it. I’ve met a few of your exes and they’re all good-looking, so I know you can do it.”

“I still wonder about how you can find me physically attractive,” I said.

“It turns me on to turn you on,” she said. “And you’re the only man I’ve met who can keep up with my sexual demands.”

“Oh, God, I wouldn’t call them demands,” I said.

"OK. My sexual appetite,” said Dianne. “In fact, you’re the only man I’ve ever met who’s not so shagged out that he approaches me for sex. Does your fetish have something to do with this?”

“Probably, yes.”

“There are all sorts of reasons why I can feel turned on,” she said, “I tend to get randy when I’m tiddly, or if I’m feeling particularly cheerful. Like when I got my new car. I was looking at all the switches and dials and smelling the leather and listening to the sound of its straight-six engine and feeling the gear-knob... And it turned me on like an electric fan and I took it out on you!

“You know,” she continued, “ how sometimes talking about food can make you hungry?”


I thought she was going to say that our talking about sex was turning her on. I could tell she was becoming more than a little frisky. Her sensitive nipples were sticking out and, for the last couple of minutes, she had been squirming where she sat and she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“Well, all this talk about sneezing…”

She paused and pinched her nose. Then she let go but her nose was still twitching.

“… is making my nose.. ti-… tickle!”

I, of course, unravelled like a garden hose on a Sunday afternoon.

“I’m starting to feel a bit randy as well.” Then she pointed to the bulge in my joggers and said, “Plus you’re the only man I’ve ever met who can do that.”


“Recover so quickly. Come on, get those bloody things off!” she demanded.

I slid out of my jogging bottoms and jockey shorts and she relieved herself of her jeans and panties. She was now wearing her T-Shirt as a mini dress.

“Oooh!” she said, “Our little talk is getting to me! In more ways than one!”

She put her finger to her nose and rubbed it gently from her lip to the tip. “I’m gonna have to sneeze in a minute,” she announced.

Dianne sat back down by my side on the couch, staring at my cock. She rubbed the side of her nose with her fingers and then ran her fingernail up the shaft of my tool. Then she decided that her nose needed more attention and she rubbed the side of it again, making little circular motions with her fingers. Then she took her hand away from her face, and I think she was about to give my cock a little more consideration when she quickly brought her hand up again to pinch her nose.

She gasped desperately, her breasts rising and falling. “Huh... HUHH... HHUUHHH?”  Oh, nearly.... Dianne un-pinched her nose, but her index finger hovered underneath it.

“I’m gonna ‘tishoo’  ... Ahh... AHH… Ooh, any minute, I... AA... TISTCH! Ooh... bless me!”

“Bless you,” I echoed.

“I did ‘bless me... an’ I’m gonna b... b… bless me aga... huuhh... again as well! Ah... TISTCH!”

We lay down on the couch.

“C’mon, put it in,” she ordered. But before I could do so, she announced, “oh, it’s no good. I’m gonna have to sneeze again! Ah… TISTCH!”

“Dianne, I can’t wait any more!”

“It’s ok. I think I’ve finished now. Put it in, quick!” she ordered.

She was wringing wet and I slid into her easily. Soon we were both engulfed in our respective earth-shattering orgasms. It’s a good job we live in a detached house!

It seemed our little discussion wasn’t over, though.

“What did you mean,” she asked, “when you said you only ever ‘see’ me?”

“You’re the only woman I ever notice as a woman. There are men and there are people who aren’t men. I don’t know it I’m making any sense. You’re like all women to me. That reminds me, I have another little quirk.”

“Another one?” she queried.

“Yeah,” I said. “I often get aroused when you change.”

I slid my hand between her legs and massaged her sopping vagina.

“What do you mean ‘change’? And, mmm…” she purred, “you can keep on doing that as well. It’s nice.”

I continued with my ministrations and explained: “I mean, if you change your appearance. If you change your hair or your clothes, especially if you wear new clothes…”

“Wha-hay,” she cried, “I sense a new wardrobe!”

“… I often get turned on by that,” I continued.

“And I’m really getting turned on by what you’re doing!” she exclaimed. “I do enjoy dressing up, actually. I’ve always wanted to go to a fancy dress shop and hire something really saucy. Would you like to see me in some kind of uniform?”

“Yes, I would.  But it would have to be overtly sexual,” I said.

“Like a nurse or an air hostess with the half the blouse buttons undone? And, maybe a miniskirt...”

“That would be fantastic!” I enthused. “Or, maybe a medieval serving wench.”

“Right! We’ll do that some time,” she said.

I felt her body stiffen.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “just keep on doing that! Cos… I think I’m gonna come again! I am! I’m gonna... oohh… Come! Oooh… Oooohhhh!”

After I’d given her a few seconds to recover, Dianne smiled at me and said, “This is getting a bit fraught, isn’t it?”

“Suits me fine. This conversation’s going better than I thought it would. And I want to tell you about when sometimes, the quirks come together… like when we were going on holiday…”

“Yes, I remember that,” she confessed.

“Exactly. Now, I don’t care what you look like: it’s four a.m. I should be feeling tired, right? Excited at going on holiday?” I speculated.

”Weren’t you excited?” she asked.

”Yes, of course I was,” I said. “Until you started parading around the bedroom in suspenders and stockings while I was trying to get ready. Then you sneezed while putting your mascara on…”

“Yes, that happens to me quite often,” she mused. “ I wonder why.”

“You might be a bit photic,” I suggested.

”Photic? What’s that mean?” she asked.

“You may be a little sensitive to light,” I explained. “After all, you’re staring unblinking into a mirror with reflected light…”


We were going on the holiday of a lifetime to California; of course, one has to get up at some ungodly hour to get to the airport. I had been feeling pretty excited at the prospect but, as I say, Dianne had chosen to wander around the bedroom wearing a matching bra, panties and suspenders. I’d had problems enough keeping my eyes from her, and my problem had escalated when Dianne had faced the mirror to put on her mascara. Both of her hands were occupied. She had the mascara box thingy in her left hand and the brush in her right.

“Oh, no!” she’d exclaimed, “I’m going to sneeze!”

Dianne, always the drama queen when it comes to sneezing, had turned and given me a luscious profile.

“Oh… oh! HUP... CHOOO!”

With each sneeze she’d bent down at the waist.



“And, of course,” she jumped in, “there was no time to do anything about it because the taxi was due to come to take us to the airport.”

“Which is where you did do something about it,” I reminded her.

“Yes, well we had plenty of time once we were in the airport, didn’t we?” she pointed out.

“But how did you know?” I asked.

”For Chrissakes, you’re my husband. I can tell when you’re horny.”

“How?” I asked.

“Well, you’d gone quiet for a start,” she said, “and I could feel your erection through your jogging bottoms!”

“What surprised me was that no one in the airport gave us a second glance when we both came out of the ladies’!”