To Hell and Back Again

Ralph lay there, covered in my cum. It dripped down his slightly raised left shoulder and down his chest and stomach.  It dripped from his left cheek, where a large splotch had caught  him. It stuck in his shaggy brown hair and some of it clung to the wall beyond him.
"I had no idea you were a shooter."
It was an understatement.  I had just fired a week's load of cum at Ralph like he was the canvas of a Jackson Pollack painting.  I rolled off from where I had been straddling his legs and lay next to him as he mopped up my cum with my discarded shirt. "I'm still horny," I said. "I think I can do it again, want to see me try?"