I am fucking her from behind when she squirts for the first time. Just a little spurt. She contorts, curves her back. Reaches back to put a hand on my hip. Grips my skin and, with a shudder, releases. The liquid is surprisingly hot. A warm spray of it, direct and close into my thighs and groin. Her voice pitches up into silence as she squirts. I hear drops of her liquid pattering onto the mattress.
Afterwards she is mortified. Blushing, she chews her lip. We lie, naked, on either side of the blot on the sheets. “That’s never happened before,” she says.
“It felt good?”
“Well… yeah. But…”
Her blush deepens. “But… isn’t it… you know…”
“Isn’t it what?”
She sighs. “Isn’t it piss?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Does it matter?”
“Doesn’t it matter?”
I think about this for a moment. And then, on a momentary impulse, I push myself down the bed, bury my face in the wet patch and lick the mattress cover. It tastes cottony, still warm, hot wet and a little sweet and there’s the smell of her, a hot girl smell half sweat and half skin. I look up at her. She looks shocked for a moment, then giggles.
The second time she squirts I am underneath her, fucking up roughly into her while she squeezes her own breasts. This time, unrestrained, she comes copiously – three long, wet gushes that drench me completely.