Aftermath

Hours go by. You cum in this young lady's mouth, and she diligently drinks it up. You ask her name, Sandra Lee Bryan, and her phone number, 757-515-6798, all of which she quickly supplies. Yet she seems very, very scared of you. Everyone does. Maybe because they saw you kill that man. Or... the ruler thing.

The body remains. A rainstorm obscures the sight, but no police come. Your truck sits abandoned in the middle of a usually busy street, but no tow trucks come. No one enters the bar. No one leaves. It's dark now, and Sandra's shift should be over, but she continues to stand behind the bar, giving you drink after drink, as you open up with your life story.

"I was the sixth child out of seven... my father was a jerk with a second family... My wife is divorcing me... my kids hate me now..."

Your story isn't new, or particularly unique. She doesn't offer words of wisdom or comfort, and you don't feel like forcing sex from her again. Right now.

"How about you, Sandy, you have a family?"

"Yes, sir. I have a fiancee, and we have a two-year-old daughter."

"Smart kid. Don't get married too soon. I married my Betty as soon as she claimed to be pregnant. But she wasn't pregnant. She says it was a miscarriage, but I was in the Navy at the time and never saw a doctor report. I don't even think my first kid is mine."

You kept drinking, and sharing, and looking at the unattended crime scene out the window. "Betty," you say to the bartender, forgetting her name, "take me to your house. I want to make love to you."

And with that, you passed out on the counter.

You awake some time later to an unbelievable sight. Betty, er, Sandra, is naked, riding your dick. You have a headache, but she got you rock hard. You look at the walls, the nightstand. This is her apartment, that she must share with her fiancee and kid.

She has large breasts, and a nice snake tattoo twirls from her belly button to almost biting her left nipple. Both nipples are pierced, as is her nose. Her hair is short and red, and its vibrant, natural color matches her landing strip that you can see as she rides up and down on your cock.

"Is this what you wanted, sir?" She asks, between heavy breaths. You say nothing, gripping her sides as you unload in her, at that point gaining enough of your faculties to realize you had no condom or protection.

She removes herself from your lap, and sets herself next to you, spooning you and, you suppose, awaiting any further lovemaking you wish for. You drift back to sleep.