Nellie did not answer right away. She was still draped across the table with her face turned away from him, and he could not see it.
But he heard her breath hitch, and then a small, soft, helpless sound that was almost a laugh.
She was smiling. He couldn’t see it. He only heard her say, quietly, "Thank you."
"No." He lifted a lazy hand and waved it at the ceiling. "Thank you. Really."
He slumped lower on the bench and stared up at the paper lamp with a slack, satisfied smile.
It had been a long time since he had felt this empty and this good.
The moss-light outside the lattice shimmered softly across the ceiling, and he watched it without thinking of anything at all.
His cock rested soft against his thigh.
The air in the cabin was warm and thick with the smell of sex and her.
"Lor," she said, low and shy, after a while.
"Is the Light satisfied?"
"Very satisfied," he said. "Very, very satisfied, Nellie."
They were quiet again.
A minute passed, maybe two.
Somewhere beyond the walls a distant door opened and closed. The only close sound was her breathing, slowing, and his.
"Lor."
He lowered his head, and every thought in it stopped.
Nellie had turned over, and Lor’s mouth went dry.
She lay on her back on the low table with her pleated skirt bunched at her waist.
Her stockings were sagging.
Her blouse was gone and her bra hung crooked.
Her legs were drawn up and spread wide, her heels hooked on the edge of the wood, and she held her pussy open with two fingers of one hand, showing him everything.
Below her, her ass was still open and shining, and a thick, pearly line of his cum ran from it down onto the table and over the edge, drip by drip, to the floor.
Her glasses lay beside her head where she had left them, folded and neat in the middle of all of it.
He had never once pictured this. His heart gave a hard, startled thud, and every drop of blood in his body seemed to drop straight to his groin.
She looked at him, flushed and glassy-eyed and unashamed.
Then, slowly, so he could not miss a single second of it, she slid her free hand down her stomach, dragged two fingers through the cum leaking out of her ass, and carried it up to her pussy. She rubbed it in.
She pushed her fingers inside herself with a wet, filthy sound, and a shiver ran up her whole body.
"If the Light is done," she said, "will you take over?"
Lor gulped.
He felt himself tighten without any say in the matter.
The heaviness in his legs vanished.
His cock, which had been softening against his thigh, twitched hard and began to rise again, and he stared at her with his mouth slightly open.
This was Nellie.
She was the quiet girl in the back of the classroom, who wore her glasses and her braid and sat with her hands folded and didn’t speak unless she was called on.
No one remembered her name until the grades came out and people see who came last.
And she lay there on a restaurant table, spread open and dripping with his seed, looking at him with her whole attention.
He had no idea she could be like this. She was the most erotic thing he had ever seen in a long time.
"Yes," he said, and his voice cracked. He nodded. "Yes. I’ll take over."
He stood up. He was fully hard again by the time he reached the table.
He did not go in right away.
He stood at the edge of the table and looked at her for a long moment.
Her thighs were open, her skin was flushed, and she watched him from under half-lowered lashes.
Then he took himself in his hand, drew back his hips, and slapped the head of his cock against her wet pussy.
Wet, soft, and loud.
Nellie jumped.
He did it again, harder, slapping the tip over her swollen lips and up against her clit, and each smack drew a sharp gasp out of her. Her hips jerked up to meet him.
"L-Lor," she whimpered. Her hands came up, caught his shirt, and tugged him forward, timid and desperate. "Please. Don’t make me wait."
"Tell me what you want," he said, and rubbed the head of his cock slowly against her clit.
"You," she whispered. "J-just you, Lor. Please—"
He eased her thighs apart, drew her to the edge of the table, and pushed into her slowly, an inch at a time.
Nellie moaned, long and low.
Her pussy was still soaked from before, hot and slick and swollen, and it took him in slowly, stretching around every inch.
Her back bowed off the table, and she clamped down around him, soft and burning and clinging. He sank in to the root, and Lor groaned between his teeth.
"Lor—"
"Fuck, you’re tight." He was breathing hard. "Does it feel good?"
"Yes," she gasped. "It’s good. It’s so good. Please... move."
He held her thighs in both hands and drew back slowly.
Then he started to move, deep and steady.
He did not stay slow for long.
He built into hard, rolling thrusts that rocked the table and made the paper lamp sway, and Nellie met every thrust, hips lifting, fingers digging into his forearms, a cry tearing out of her each time.
Her stockinged legs locked around his waist and dragged him in deeper.
He pulled the lace down, and her breasts shook free, full and bouncing with each hard push, and he bent his head, caught one nipple between his teeth, and bit down gently, and she nearly screamed.
"More— more— Lor, please, more—"
He gave her more.
Then, shyly, she began to move with him. She locked her ankles behind him, curled a hand around the back of his neck, and rolled her hips up into every thrust, grinding against him until he was the one gasping.