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She wanted to just sit on his face and catch her breath but she worried about suffocating him. She got off his face; he scooted down and sat up. She said, "Miguel, that was incredible. What I felt I can't believe. Your mouth on my bottom made me climax."
He grinned eating up the praise.
"I have one more risk for you to take. Would you go get the towel? I am soaked and so is your face."
He exited the car, quietly opened the trunk, retrieved the towel, closed the trunk and reentered the car. He felt like a soldier making his way through an obstacle course. She wiped between her legs then handed him the towel. It reeked of her juices. He inhaled deeply filling his lungs with her presence. He wiped his face dry.
She tried to sound upbeat but told him it was time for him to go. She walked him to his car. They hugged and kissed a few minutes before he got in. They promised to write. He told her he would be back in a few weeks and he would call when he had the chance. His car's radio worked, but someone had snapped the antenna off. It wasn't until he stopped at a truck stop to get gas he discovered it was nearly midnight.
He felt energized but still bought a coffee for the road. He went into the restroom and noticed the bottom of his shirt and front of his pants were still wet. He saw the dampness as a badge of honor. He was proud he made Jean so wet. The clerk's funny look didn't bother him nor the question, "Spilled something?"
He smiled, "Something like that."
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