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Hands tightening around Daryl's waist, pressing your head and chest against his back, breathing in the smell of hot metal and worn jean fabric. The rumble of his bike under you, speeding down the empty road, back to his small encampment.
Wind whipping past you, cold air flowing through Daryl's hair, hitting the top of your forehead. Closing your eyes, avoiding the sharp strains from poking them, leaving you alone with the memories of the past hour. Cock shoved down your throat, struggling to breathe through your nose as it burrowed deeper.
Gagging on the floor of an abandoned gas station, Daryl's thick fingers holding up your skull, keeping it in place as he would with your hips. Spit dripping down your chin as he thrusted, fucking the softest parts of your throat.
Balls pressed against your lower lip, coughing, trying to swallow the rush of cum. Still clearing bits of white liquid from your throat, waiting with an impatient hold around Daryl's lower body to taste another warm liquid.
As if your roaring mind was heard, feeling as Daryl's bike slows, tilting to the side, a smile grows along your lips as his hips shift.
Gravel crunches underneath the tires of the bike as he stops off on the side of the road, hurrying to kick down the stand. As his thigh raises in the air in the motion of hopping off, your hand grabs ahold of his leather jacket.
Head turning back, confused at your objecting action, "What? I'll be right back," he explains, escaping your hold as he continues the motion.
"Let me go with you," you purr, knowing arousal and adrenaline still mix within him.
Witnessing as realization flashes in his mind, eyes flicking up and down the length of your body, remembering the last time you had said those words.
"That again?" he asks, almost breathy, receiving a slow nod from you. Holding out a calm hand towards you, taking it without hesitation, walking off without another word between you.
Reaching only a few feet into the dead forest before dropping to your knees. Gazing up at the tall man, noticing the hand gripping, palming at his bulge so as not to piss through his jeans.
Opening your mouth slowly, watching as Daryl starts to fumble with the metal zipper to his pants, eyes staring at your tongue that can't stay still. Bracing yourself as every second passes, something deep in your stomach blooms as his soft cock is pulled out.
Quickly as Daryl releases his cock from the confines of his dirty jeans, so does the golden stream pour out. Soaking your thighs, trailing up your body, soaking the clothes that cover it with warm liquid. Hurrying to find aim, finally touch your bottom lip, then pissing straight into your mouth, allowing the hot yellow liquid to pool, spilling over the rim of your lips and down the sides of your neck.
Tongue blocking the back of your throat, leaving no chance for a drop to be swallowed, never wanting to feel the consequences of it ever again.
Eyes gazing into each other, studying the relief, arousal, and awe that paints Daryl's face, holding his stiffening cock, watching on as you fountain his piss, almost bathing in it. Taking pleasure in the fact that now more than one of his body fluids had covered you that day.
As the stream of piss slows, Daryl's hand starts stroking his cock, gently at first, growing firmer with the sight of you gurgling what piss had not spilled over, then spitting it onto the forest floor. Hearing him groan, hand moving rapidly, eyes fixating on different parts of your body, building the warmth of cum within his balls.
Deciding to help a bit more, finding the hem of your soaked shirt, pulling it off to reveal your chest. Biting your lower lip, tasting the piss that lightly covers it, hearing the gasps that leave his lips, eyes never leaving the view of your bare chest.
Falling forward, Daryl's free hand landing atop your shoulder, thick fingers digging in. Hand slapping against the base of his cock, groaning loudly between feral strokes. Watching as his hips buckle down, knees spreading apart, bending to ensure every drop lands.
Lips bursting with loud breathless groans, fat ropes of cum shooting out from the head of his cock. Balls clench, cock twitching in Daryl's thick hand, fighting the rush of overstimulation with each pumping motion. Catching what your mouth, chest, and hands humming praises for him to mindlessly ride out his climax with.
Squeezing his tip, pushing the last drop out, wiping it on your cheek. Taking back his cock to smear the ropes of cum with his tip, pushing against your lips, asking for access. Opening up, tasting the mixture of piss and cum, feeling Daryl's hips shudder as your tongue laps around his softening cock, more to clean than to play on his recovering state.
Releasing with a soft pop, sticking your tongue out, showing the mess that decorates it. Responding only with a hoarse yet satisfied hum, catching his breath. Cupping your cheek, thumb pressing down onto your tongue, moving the mess around, then placing it onto his own, sucking off what coats his thumb.
Spitting what's left in your mouth, hearing Daryl's belt, putting away his cock. Feeling strong hands take hold of your arms, helping you up off the dirt floor. Shakily standing as blood floods back, bringing pain, Daryl holds you close, caring little for the reeking smell of his piss on you.
Limping back to the bike, not worried about the mess of cum on your face, wiping it away once seated on the leather seat. Knowing the next stop to be his encampment in the woods, dreaming of a change of clothes and washing away the liquids that cake your body. Licking your lips, imagining what meal Daryl would cook up for you while bathing, needing something to settle the cum bubbling within you.
As he drives down the empty road once again, you want nothing more than to be clean, cuddling Daryl close by a fire as the wet stains turn cold with the wind, finding it hard to stay warm even as you press against his broad back.