Birthday Cake
The rain hammered against the canvas like it was trying to fuck the tent itself. Outside, the lake was dark and choppy, trees swaying hard in the wind. Inside, it was all heat and wet skin.
She was on her back on the slick black tarp, legs spread wide and trembling, that green-streaked hair plastered to her face. Her huge tits were shiny with oil and rain and cum, nipples stiff and dark. Thick white ropes already painted her stomach, her ribs, one long strand sliding down between her breasts. More of it leaked out of her swollen pussy every time he moved.
He had two thick fingers buried inside her, slowly pumping, pushing his own load deeper while his thumb rubbed her clit in lazy circles. His other hand gripped the back of her thigh, holding her open so he could watch everything drip.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he growled, voice low and rough. “You wanted cake? This is your fucking cake.”
She moaned loud, back arching, one hand gripping the tarp while the other reached down to spread her pussy lips wider for him. More cum oozed out around his fingers, creamy and thick, running down over her asshole and onto the tarp.
“Fuck… it’s so much,” she gasped, eyes half-lidded, mouth open. “You came so deep… it’s still coming out.”
He pulled his fingers free, watching the mess pour out of her, then dragged the head of his still-hard cock through the cum on her stomach, smearing it over her skin before slapping the heavy length against her clit.
“Gonna give you seconds,” he said, lining up and pushing back inside her with one slow, filthy thrust. The wet sound was obscene. More cum squelched out around his shaft as he bottomed out.
She cried out, legs shaking, tits bouncing with every deep stroke. The rain kept falling. The tent smelled like sex and sweat and cum. And she just kept taking it — moaning, dripping, getting her birthday “cake” fucked into her over and over while the storm raged outside.