I know a lot of you enjoyed my “Making a Mess” story. I decided to go a different route with that and make it a series.
But I also know many of you enjoy how naughty my stories are. This isn’t necessarily a continuation of the first making a mess story, but it starts when we’ve already been nasty and just picks up, so it’s just sex, hot messy sex. There’s no anal and no water sports, so if you’re not into that, but still like how hard I go, this one is for you. I’ve also been working with a writing coach for my normal fictional writing, and I hope you can tell. Anyway, enjoy “Still Dripping”!

Cal watches me with that feral fire in his eyes, cock still glistening, heavy and swollen even after the last mess he painted across my body. I’m on my knees again, hair matted, my skin slick with his cum, my own wetness, sweat, spit—everything a girl is told to be ashamed to drip with, but a woman wears with confidence.
He grips my jaw, fingers pressing into the flushed heat of my face, lifting my chin until I’m forced to stare up at him. My mouth opens without needing to be told, tongue stretched out in invitation, a low moan escaping from deep inside as he strokes the head of his cock across my lips like he’s thinking about painting me again.
“You’re not allowed to clean yet,” he growls, dragging his slick head over my cheeks, nose, mouth, even my eyelashes. “Still so fucking messy.”
I hum with approval, sucking the tip in again. Just the tip, because that’s all he gives me now. I can’t tell if he’s edging me via my mouth, or if he’s still too sensitive after his last eruption. Either way, he keeps me hungry—teases me. His hand fists in my hair and he pulls me off him with a wet pop just as I start to inch deeper.
“Turn around. Palms flat against the tub wall.”
I obey without hesitation, knees squeaking against the porcelain of the hotel bathroom. I twist, arching my back until my beautiful round ass juts out. I don’t even wait for his touch—my hand snakes back between my thighs and I spread myself for him, offering everything.
The cold air makes my soaked skin prickle. He slaps my ass, loud and sharp. Once. Then again. A third time, open palm leaving heat behind. I flinch, but the moan I give him is practically a purr. He doesn’t say a word. He just steps in behind me and presses the thick length of his cock between my ass cheeks, grinding, sliding it down to nudge between my folds. His cock is still slick with my wetness. And I’m so wet, I’m dripping nonstop.
He pushes in slowly, so slow I nearly cry from the tension, the stretch. He groans, deep and guttural, like every inch sliding into me is exactly what he needed. His hands are rough on my hips. My nails claw the tile. He starts to move. Not fast. Not hard. Just steady. Intentional.
“You feel that?” he mutters, voice ragged. “That slick little pussy of yours just milking me? You that desperate for it again?”
“Yesss,” I whimper, pushing back into him, needing more. Always more. “Use me, Daddy. Fuck me ‘til you paint my whole body white.”
“I love how slutty your mouth gets when you’re this wet,” he mutters, and grabs the back of my neck, forcing my face lower. Cum and spit reverses direction and starts to drip back up my face. I’m folded in half, my breath fogging the tile.
“You’ll be a canvas for me tonight,” he growls.
Then he lets loose.
The rhythm goes brutal. Perfect. Skin slapping. My tits swinging under me. I can’t form words. Just sound. Just the sharp whine of a woman used hard and needing it harder. He grabs my wrists behind me and pulls me back onto him, impaling me, making me take him deeper. Each thrust lifts my knees. I’m barely even kneeling anymore—he’s lifting me with every savage plunge.
When he lets go, I collapse forward, gasping. My pussy is clenching around nothing. Empty. Desperate. Before I can beg, he flips me again. My back hits the cold tub. He hovers over me, eyes blazing, cock slick and throbbing between us.
Then he slides two fingers deep into my drenched pussy and curls them wickedly.
“Cum,” he orders, and just the sound of it sends me spasming. I cry out, my slick hands failing to grab the edge of the tub, legs shaking as I ride the wave. I cum so hard I nearly black out.
And he’s still not done.
He grabs my ankles, hooks them over his shoulders, and slams back into me. My soaked body slides against porcelain. He doesn’t care. He just holds me in place and pounds into me like the whole fucking hotel belongs to his cock—and I’m just decoration for him to ruin. I scream, I shake, I claw at him. He grabs both my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head. His free hand? It wraps around my throat.
“Look at you,” he growls. “You begged for this, you always beg for this—now you’re just a pussy full of cum.” He slides his thumb through cum on my face. “Guess it’s more than just your pussy.”
I can’t argue. Can’t speak. I just fucking moan.
He presses harder on my throat as he gets close again, the veins in his neck standing out, sweat dripping onto me, some on my tongue, God he’s just delicious—all of him. I arch. I want to cum again. I need it. I try to grind against him.
“Don’t cum unless I say so,” he snaps.
I sob and nod. He lets go of my throat and grabs my ass with both hands, using me like a toy.
“I love you,” I manage to say.
He leans over and kisses me. The position change did something to his fucking cock, and I feel it. Then grabbing a tit, he pushes himself back up. His thrusts get erratic. Sharp. Hard. He’s about to—
“Cum for me, Daddy,” I gasp, and he roars.
He pulls out and erupts all over my stomach and tits again, cock flexing, a hot mess splashing against my skin, and I rub it in, smear it all over like I’m bathing in his pleasure. He strokes the last few drops out onto my face and I lap them up greedily.
Still not enough.
I sit up, grabbing his cock, still pulsing in my hand. “Don’t you dare go soft yet. You said you just started with me.”
And oh… he wasn’t lying. A little bit of me deepthroating him and he was hard again in seconds.