Leave her here

After that long moment where you behold Jessica and Jessica behold you, Jessica opens her mouth to say something.

“Oh fuck!” She grunts out, cut off as you pull out of her all the way. Jessica unsurreptitiously falls to the floor underneath you, legs splayed out to either side. A thick strand of love juices hangs from her pussy up to your cock, before it sags and then breaks. You stand up, over her. Emotions flash across her face: confusion, hurt, and then anger.

“You bastard!” She yowls as she starts furiously masturbating, both her hands going down to her wet and inflamed cunt and working it over. You wipe as much of the love juices off your member as you can, and then wipe that off on your leg. You stagger groggily to your feet, exceptionally aware of how shaky your legs are. Your knees knock together as you waddle over and pick up your shirt, briefs, pants, and shoes. You dress as quickly as you can. You look over and watch Jessica roll over onto her chest, her fingers digging into her cunny, humping down against her hand and making her fat little ass and toned thighs jiggle.

You ignore the sounds of Jessica grunting desperately for the finish that you denied her as you finish up getting dressed. You put your shoes on and walk on weak knees to the door. You take one last look at Jessica as you open the door. She’s face down on top of her dress, cursing you out, still violently humping her hand in desperation. You slip out and into the night.

It’s cold out. Really cold out. You rub your arms for warmth and twitch your burning nose. You can see your breath in what little light the stars give off as you walk across the abandoned yard. You walk up to the garden gate on the side of the house and try to open it. Locked. Damn. You double back and climb the stairs to the back door and try the handle. It opens with a glorious click. There’s music playing inside, the air thick with the smell of sweat, smoke, and weed. You step over some poor bastard sprawled out on the floor, snoring. You hear the water running in the kitchen and see another guy rinsing vomit out his shoes. You make eye contact with him, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

“Don’t ask.” He says pointedly, and goes back to what he was doing. You walk through the light from the open bathroom door. Inside, you see a girl sitting on the vanity, bawling her eyes out and holding another girl’s hair up with one hand as she hurls wet chunks into the toilet bowl. You scoot past hopefully unnoticed. You walk into the living room turned dance floor and observe that it looks like a bomb went off in here. Multi-colored silly string hangs from the ceiling. Red solo cups are all over the floor. Picture frames of various awards hang cockeyed on the wall. There’s some guy laying on the floor wrapped up in a rug. There’s also some girl laying on the couch, murmuring and drooling, a shoulder strap on her little red dress having fallen off, and letting her fat tit pop out. You squint, and tiptoe over to the couch. It’s Marcy. You click your tongue.

“Well at least she didn’t get too far” you tut.