She parted her mouth wider.

The come inside hung momentarily in strands from her lips and teeth. Babette breathed deeply and applied her mouth organ.

The sperm flew right down her throat.

She began to gloat.

And the next shot of jizz was the biggest one yet. Pressuring her facecheeks from inside. Filling the spaces between her teeth. Clogging her nose and choking her throat.

"Unh-unh-nh."

Babette shook her head.

Hogged more of the cream from his honker. Slid her hands in jacking action.

Bent her head back. Popped the pecker from her mouth. Dropped her chin.

One of the last blasts of choadmucus traced a line over her face.

Squiggling on her cheek.

Dappling her jabbering jaw.

Babette reached and took hold of the prick once more. Milked it like-not a cow, silly, she observed to herself.

She couldn't milk a dick.

One couldn't milk a bull.

But the thought gave her a chance to brace herself. To savor the imagined taste.

So that the last gasp would not be a waste. She held the spurting member close.

Pumped the final roundelay of come.

The anticipation of warmth.

Dankness.

Yeasty ferment.

And then it came.

Once more.

Prick spattering gore.

Splat!

That was it.

Between the tits.

He bent.

Kissed her.

Twanged her titties.

Gnarled them in his fists.

Massaged his shot rotgut into her flesh. Jamming the knots of come into the pinkness that surrounded each nipple.

"The best, Babette."

"Oh. Channing. That was great."

As Babette spoke, she pulsed residue of come and sputum from the sides of her mouth.

She felt the spermjuice seep to the point of her chin and hang.

The trains of jissom and spittle sparkled in the light like silvery threads.

The lengths of jissomy twine broke. Swung against her chest.