A stream—no, an erratic spray of clear liquid burst out of my urethra over and over, soaking the hem of Rowdy’s Henley just before he dropped to his knees, gripped the back of my thighs, and wrapped his lips around my clit and the imperceptible opening just below it. Horrified, I tried to back away, but he tightened his grip, keeping me in place while he…drank.
