The Maine Event

Ohhhh, ohhhhh, ahhhhhhhh. He's still erupting. Every time he pulls out another gob splatters my pussy.

My toes are curling and my cunt's gripping that huge head. Out of the corner of my eye I see city boy standing in the firelight, madly jerking at his still-hard cock.

I shake uncontrollably. Spasms wrack my body as I push up with my hips and belly.

NOW!

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!

Ohhhhhh ... City boy jerks a few splatters out of his cock as thick trails of semen run out of his ass. I feel the crazed hermit's swollen head battering my cervix, still spouting hot jizz. Fireworks blaze behind my eyelids as I cum again, hard.

I've lost count of the times I've climaxed.

+++

The fire's just embers now.

I must've passed out. Sticky hair. Sore cunt. Aching jaws. Aftershocks still rumble through my belly, making my clit swell and my G-spot throb.

I sit up painfully. Squint around the circle of firelight: nobody.

Exhausted, I crawl to the tent.

City boy's inside. Curled in a fetal position on the sleeping bag. Shivering.

I spoon behind him. He doesn't move. I pull a blanket over us against the damp night air.

+++

Morning sun wakes me. I look at her. Naked, her pussy red and swollen, its hair matted with cum. My dick stays soft.

Outside for a shit in the woods. My asshole aches horribly.

She's up, dressed, when I get back. I can't look her in the eye. The humiliation ...

We tighten the ropes holding the canoe to the SUV. Take down the rain flap. Pack up the tent.

The woods are still, silent. Far off, the faint rumble of surf. Neither of us speaks. We pack up, get in the car. She drives. I stare out the window.

Just before we get to the highway, there's a hardscrabble farm. Woman in a long peasant dress, hanging laundry in the sunshine. Smiling. Two toddlers, maybe twins, play at her feet.

My gut clenches as I remember the hermit's boast.

+++

I'm focused. On the Interstate I head toward the city. Not a word passes between us.

Only thing on my mind: Plan B or RU486. I'll head straight to the emergency clinic when I get back.

Last thing I want is a squealing, boob-sucking reminder of last night, nine months from now. No idea how much therapy it'll take to come to terms with what happened. With how much I ached for that maniac's cock once he'd raped me.

Long, silent drive. Fast. Saturday: traffic's going the other way.

In the city, first cab he sees, he hails. Grabs his bag. Dashes. Gone.

I park. Keep the car till Monday to drop off the canoe. Don't want to explain why we're back two days early.

Clinic. Morning-after pill. Done.

Long, long, long hot shower. Fall asleep in my own bed.

Dream. Wake up wet. Touch my throbbing pussy, my clit hard.

City life.