Pisstory Pt. 03: Further on the Road

I spurted two or three more loads, which she swallowed greedily. Then she ran that hot, wide tongue over the tip of my cock. It felt exactly as I had imagined it would.

"That was good" I said, as we sat propped against each other, sticky with sweat, conscious that there was probably a viscous pool of combined fluids leaking from her crack onto the sleeping bag she sat on. I was so elated by the release I couldn't even feel guilty about Alana, though I was aware I'd probably wake up feeling like a heel.

"I love cocks" Marielle said. "My father keeps telling me I should settle down with some nice bloke who'll love me forever, but what I really want is cocks, tongues, fingers, spunk, in all my holes. I'd rather die with a well-used cunt than a well-mannered husband. What about you? He told me you'd had your heart broken?"

"Yes" I admitted, wondering where this was going.

"Never happens to me. Perhaps I don't have one. Still, I've made you feel better, haven't I?"

She finished her wine.

"There's a shower in there" she nodded in the direction of the ground floor bathroom. "Also, aspirins in the cupboard. I'd advise you take two of those with a litre of water. You'll sleep like a baby and wake without too much of a hangover. Have a good journey, and don't forget the knickers!"

She gathered up her clothes and strode naked out of the room. She hadn't kissed me goodbye. That seemed right, somehow.

I followed her advice, and by the time Georges woke me with coffee the following morning it was as though nothing had ever happened -- apart from the wet lace pants in my canvas bag, and a new stain added to the venerable sleeping bag's history.