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What could I say. I got wet. I was soaked. As she came down from her high she began to relax her tense position and lowered her legs. Her feet gently lowered to the floor and became one with the puddle of our filth. She was damp with passionate sweat and had to brush the clinging hairs away from her face. A calm satisfaction blushed against her swollen eyes when she saw my face dripping with her cum. All was silent and calm except for our efforts to steady our breathing and the stray drips cascading down from her seat. Without words she relaxed and I observed all of her plumpness relax from the tension of her orgasm. She rose from her seat dropping that heavy soaked dress of hers that clung to her chunky curves and she helped me up too. We avoided any heavy commenting or interaction because the tension was so thick anything could set us of on a marathon of rabid fucking. She offered me a towel and I declined. I wanted to soak in her. I’d need her scent on me when I. The agreed to meet at Carlucci’s for drinks, and if they each liked what they saw, they would stay for dinner. Stan arrived first, and tipped the waiter an extra twenty for the perfect table: not too central, but not hidden in some corner by the kitchen. He wanted Casey’s first impression of him to be one of comfort, not fear that she’d be jumped by a raving sex maniac at the first opportunity. As Casey walked in the door, Stan knew her immediately. It wasn’t by what she was wearing, which she’d told him the night before, but by the way she looked across the room directly at him. Both of them had recognized the other instantly, that’s how honestly they’d been with each other. Casey knew in her heart that no other relationship would ever be the same. Stan greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, and helped her to her seat. ‘I ordered for us already. I hope you don’t mind,’ he said softly. He was suddenly worried that she might take offense at his small streak of chauvinism. ‘No, I don’t.
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