Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel) by J.E. Keep, M. Keep Page A

painful to hold him there then like
that, the added heft of his impending orgasm causing her jaw to have
to widen even further.
    It wasn’t long before she felt it, the thick rush of seed
blasting out of that large crown of his, rich and creamy. That heavy
sac of his had so much of it for her in reward for her expert
siphoning, and it kept coming.
    She was an expert at collecting cum, but he wasn’t making it
easy. As her tongue worked around the tip she tried to gather it all,
but some escaped from around her lips, drooling down the length of
his heavy cock. Still, as soon as he finally finished, her tongue
chased after it, trying to collect every last bit of his virile seed.
    The seasoned mercenary looked like an army couldn’t fell
him, but her nimble tongue and expert lips managed it. Slumped down
to the bed, breathing heavily, she had drained him. With a weary
motion, he lifted his head up and looked down at her, watching her
clean up the last of his thick seed. He stroked her hair so tenderly.
Such a strange turn, for until she professed her virginity in the
stairwell, he seemed primed to aggressively seduce her, yet her
perceived innocence had brought something out in him.
    "That was amazing," he said in his gravelly voice,
weariness lacing his words. "I’ve never had one so good as
that."
    Her lips were numb, and she crawled up alongside him. She wasn’t
a cuddler, not by a long stretch, but her hand rested on his chest,
her head settling against his bicep. It was different with him.
"That’s because most people are lazy," she murred
quietly. She was right next to his face, and he could feel the warmth
of her voice across his ear.
    She had no clue what his day had been like prior to her running
into him, but having drained his balls of his cum, leaving his cock
slowly softening against his thighs, she could hear and feel the
weariness on the man.
    All the same, he put his strong arm around her, welcoming her
against him only too comfortably, giving her a place to rest against
his hard body. Leaning in he kissed her lips fully and without any
reservation, not troubled by the taste of his own seed on her lips
and breath as others might be.
    Bringing his free hand over to stroke along her hip he said in his
husky, low voice, "I wanna return the favour," and gently,
but firmly he began to press her back towards the bed. Not even the
exhaustion the powerful man felt deterred him from his generosity.
    She looked about to argue, but that throbbing need between her own
legs finally silenced her objections and her fingers were already
working at the buttons on her jeans, shimmying out of them with some
trouble, trying to get the tight material over the round swell of her
ass. She was practiced, however, and they finally gave way, resting
mid-thigh.
    The way she looked at him was so desirous, and so grateful at the
same time.
    Having shifted her onto her back, Grent brought his strong hands
to her thighs, curling his fingers into her panties and jeans then
pulling them down off her legs with an ease of strength only he could
manage. Laying them aside he then stroked his rough touch over her
two legs, and she could see the deep appreciation on his face for her
smooth, unblemished flesh as he felt them out.
    It was like every part of her was some new, magnificent discovery
for the man, and as he parted her two legs he kissed along her soft
inner thighs, he–like her–didn’t tease over long.
She was so slick, so ridiculously wet from a day of denied desire,
that the scent of her womanhood was like a drug to him. It
invigorated him even as the man’s post-coital weariness fought
to make his eyelids droop.
    Pressing her thighs back, Grent brought his mouth to her at last,
his broad tongue lapping over her slit and tasting her femininity as
he coaxed her needy clit to pleasure.
    That sudden, heated spark caused her to shift, her breath catching
in her throat. Her t-shirt and bra felt suddenly so constricting, and
her