The Jawa Girl

For my own sake, I didn't want to stop, and I was rubbing her thighs warmly as she recovered. It was like I was coaxing her through it. I had long since came in my own pants, and as she stood there so intimately exposed to me, holding herself up, I just didn't want to stop. I leaned back in and continued to lick her, and she shuddered with a small little gasp of pleasure as my mouth slurped on her sensitive, wet lips. She was talking again, hesitant, in a slightly heavier, almost drunk tone, and when I insistently sucked on her pussy, she giggled again and said something that was obviously a question. I ignored her. We had been in here less than twenty minutes. I just didn't want to stop. All I could do was nod as I lapped at her sex, licking her clean over and over.

I barely registered her resting her hand on top of my head, running her fingers through my hair and purring, followed by another question I didn't hear. I kept right on licking. Tasting it for as long as I could. Then, almost gently, flexing out her sex a little for me, something else happened.

She pushed up against my mouth and then a new flow began, a trickle at first, that grew in strength once it commenced, and as she positioned herself in my mouth and gently balanced there, I realized what she was doing. My first reaction was to pull away, in shock, but something overpowered me in that moment and I cast away all inhibition. I felt my mouth buried up inside this flawless, wet, warm desert pussy, and I was eye to eye with her flat, sexy toned stomach and cute little belly button, so in that moment I hardly cared anymore, and enjoyed the rampant, taboo abandonment of it as she peed in my mouth, giving me moisture in what was perhaps a time offered fashion among her people.

Two, then three times, a smooth, bitter-sweet little urine filled up my mouth, and she giggled as I made to swallow each mouthful, small trickles escaping at the corner of my mouth and joining the wetness on my shirt. It wasn't unpleasant. Just the opposite. She reminded me of lemon tea, hot in a clean, intoxicating way, considering the circumstances. Those circumstances were the realization I was drinking from her body in what was the most intimate way I possibly could. That, and she was allowing it. She wanted me to do it. To drink her desert 'water'. And feeling that, I was surprised to find I wanted to.

I never knew I had such reaches of abandon in me. She had shown them to me.

When we finally broke contact, I slumped back on my knees, lowering my hands from her hips and licking my lips with my eyes closed. I opened them when I heard her giggle down at me once again. Her skirt was back in place. She was standing there straight and true, with only a drop or two of liquid evidence on the creamy skin of her thighs. I, on the other hand, was wetted down not only with her earlier spurting, but now also with traces of her urine that was soaking into my tunic as I knelt there in front of her. There was also no hiding the dark wet stain of my own orgasm soaking through my crotch, either.

I smelled like sex. I smelled like her sex. Her sex and her piss, and this seem to delight her as she still chittered away at me happily. Fussing with her clothes, making herself presentable, she left me on my knees as she turned to go, my coins having long disappeared in to some hidden pocket, and she paused long enough to pluck two cans of lubricating oil from off a work shelf next to my tool box.

"Don't go." I found myself gulping at her. "Don't leave. I can't..."

I didn't know what I was trying to say, all I knew was that I wanted to keep her with me.

"You have no idea what this means to me." I managed to get out.

She turned and gave me another giggle, but then, for just a moment, she stopped and stared at me with those glowing amber eyes, made oh so more appealing by the low light in here. She blinked at me slowly, like she wanted to say something more as well. Then she turned without a word and went up the steps to go back out into the light, the cans clutched to her chest almost protectively. Perhaps she was a little shaken at what we had done, once she had stopped and thought about it.

As I stood up, on shaking knees, I was just beginning to wonder myself at what had happened. I was hardly sorry about it, nor did I really care about the price in coin and oil. It was no loss considering how amazing and intoxicated I felt. She was almost back to her sister when I reached a vantage point on the steps to give a cautious look back outside myself. To my further surprise, my Jawa girl actually restrained herself once she was back near her sister, and if I was any student of body language, she seemed intent on keeping the matter to herself. Indeed, she all but ignored the obvious whispered questions of her sibling, and she thrust the oil cans into her arms, shooing her off back up and into the Sandcrawler a moment later. The other protested, of course, but didn't really persist very hard. It was this that spoke of how at some point, our little exchange here in the garage had become more than just a business transaction. It had become something private.

If it had been just business, she would never have dismissed her disappointed sibling. She never would have shooed her away. She would have just went back to standing around, lording over the oil she had procured and waiting for her old man, the young moisture farmer already forgotten. She never would have stood there with her hands on her hips, her back to me, as if trying to convince herself it was just business as usual. She never would have looked back over her shoulder at the dark rectangle of shadow coming from the door leading down to our subterranean garage. She never would have seen me standing there looking out at her.

We never would have stared at each other for that long moment, before voices were raised and given back in answer. As far as anyone knew, nothing had happened. Everything was bought and paid for. Wasn't it? She looked from my uncle and her father, back at my doorway one last time, before she turned away and ran quickly up the steps into her father's Sandcrawler, leaving behind the touch, taste and scent...the cooling heat of her all over me, around me, and on my lips.

I sighed deeply, lost in thought, and went to get cleaned up.