Past her lower lip. Flat and wet and entirely without her direction, the muscle going slack as the voluntary systems vacated their posts one by one, her jaw hanging open, saliva running freely off the tip of her tongue onto the dustbin lid.
Her whole body flinched.
Not once. Continuously — the rapid, helpless, full-body twitch of a woman in the grip of an orgasm that was not building toward a peak but was already past the peak and refusing to end. Her spine arching and releasing. Her thighs slamming together and pulling apart. Her feet leaving the ground in short, involuntary hops.
The urine came.
