Boisterous, wet slapping gives her an audible hint to the magnitude of the mess you’re helping her make. Her orgasm thus far had been dry, though only in the loosest sense. With each pull from her depths you withdraw a teaspoon worth of hot juice behind your crown; some of it runs down your busy shaft and spreads out to make stringy connections between your crotch and hers, the rest falls victim to gravity—tiny, glistening droplets lowered to the ground on thin ropes. 