FoA S3 Chapter 4

The haze of weed smoke is so thick that you can’t believe it’s only coming from one person. She’s small, about Fang’s size, white, and her dark hair is curly and untamed, but short. She wears jean shorts and a tight tank top with no bra, lounging on top of a sleeping bag, puffing away and listening to music. Her little camp is in a clearing that lets her see the stars.

Actually, as you look at her, it seems like kind of a nice way to spend a night.

You and Vicky exchange a glance, then emerge.

“Whoa,” the girl says, sitting up. Her eyes are bloodshot. She is so fucked up that she’s not even alarmed by two naked, hung women coming out of the swamp into the glow of her electric lantern.

“We need help,” Vicky says frankly.

“Yeah,” the girl replies, staring. Her eyes go up and down your bodies several times. “Yeah. Yeah. Um. Do you want something to wear?”

“That would be amazing,” you say.

You’ve spent the whole day feeling shitty about yourself, so you aren’t sure where this good Karma came from, but this girl is a godsend. A godsend that smells like the first-floor bathroom in a public high school, but still.

Her clothes are too tight for you, and hilariously too tight for Vicky, but you still feel as modest as nuns when you’re wearing skimpy shorts and tops. Clothes are amazing. The girl, who calls herself Joey, has a cooler with drinks and snacks. You and Vicky gorge yourselves and chug bottled water. Miraculously quickly, you start to feel human again.

There’s just one wrinkle: the girl has no signal on her phone. She’s not streaming that music; it’s on her phone. She’s in no condition to go anywhere, and you and Vicky appreciate her too much to steal her phone. It’s already late. You’ll have to wait until morning.

You don’t care. Joey has no ****, so you and Vicky gratefully partake in the herb with her, but there’s not much conversation. This girl is barely clinging to consciousness. If you and Vicky hadn’t shown up, she’d have been snoring by now.

When she drifts off, you take the still-burning fatty from her and pass it to Vicky. The two of you finish it off, then help Joey into her sleeping bag before curling up together in a blanket nearby. Vicky, rather assertively, makes sure that she’s the big spoon.

Your thoughts and emotions don’t work normally when you’re this high, but you do eventually notice her erection against your butt.

“You OK?” you mutter.

“Weed makes me horny,” Vicky confesses.

You laugh stupidly. Vicky very clumsily attempts foreplay with some kissing on your neck and caressing, which she’s probably very good at under normal circumstances, and you quickly give in.

She pulls your borrowed shorts and panties down over your booty and you help her steer to get inside you. Her considerate reach-around is a bit halfassed, but her cock feels good enough to make up for it. You aren’t picky when you’re blazed, and it’s with a long, low, quiet, slutty moan that you spurt a thick load into the blankets as Vicky does the same inside you.

“Oh, baby. Prospect,” she mumbles into your ear as she jerkily thrusts, her cock throbbing.

Seconds later she’s snoring into your neck.

Your weed-choked mind goes back to Joey, who is sleeping soundly. Did she say what she was doing out here? Did you ask? You can’t remember. You need to rest.