Shoveled and Plowed

"Holy shit! Sarah? You under there?!" Devon cackled, calling for me through the layers of cum.

"She's buried under a motherfuckin' jizz-alanche!" Trey hollered.

"Damn, girl, you look like your boyfriend's car!" Terrance laughed as his fingers tickled fondly up the inside of my thigh.

"Yeah, you better find someone to dig you out, cause we've gotta get to our next job..." Devon replied with a laugh, clapping the other man on the shoulder then leaving the bedroom.

I hadn't tried to move yet, afraid of disturbing the congealing sheets of cum on my face and tits. "Here, you can try to wipe up with these..." Trey joked, tossing my tiny lace thong onto my spunk-dotted stomach.

"These might help, too..." Quincy lay a cat-faced pink sock on each of my cum-marbled tits. Trey slapped five with Quincy, the two men laughed as they headed for the front door.

Terrance lingered as the others filtered out. As he towered over my naked, cum streaked body, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Next time it snows, baby, give us a call and we'll help you out again." He winked, then pressed the card to my forehead. The cardstock plastered to my skin as it soaked through with cum. With a final chuckle and a last glance at my jizz-soaked body, he walked out of the room. My front door banged shut as he joined the rest of the team in the hall, leaving me to dig myself out of this second heavy accumulation.

Two days later, Thursday night's forecast ended on an ominous note. The station's meteorologist, obviously unwilling to be caught flatfooted for a second time in a week, warned of intense snow bands overnight and the potential for additional accumulation of up to a foot.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table as the forecast ended. Before I looked at the screen, I knew what the message would be.

"Hey, baby, don't know if you've paid attention to the weather, but we could get another big snowstorm tonight." I rolled my eyes reading John's message; he knew I hated when he called me 'baby'. And for all the begging urgency the last time he asked, he hadn't visited his car -- or me -- in the two days since.

"Uh huh." I texted back, not willing to meet him even halfway on his looming request.

"I know you just had to do this on Tuesday and you're amazing for doing it." I bit my lip impishly as I got up from the couch. More messages arrived as I stood at the dining room table, already opening my wallet to find the relevant card.

"If it snows again tonight, can you please shovel my car out?" "I swear I'll make it up to you!" He texted back-to-back in his desperate pleading. I smirked at the second one, picturing for a moment how I had 'made it up' to myself on Tuesday afternoon.

I retrieved the contractors' business card from my wallet. The paper was cockled and warped with dry jizz, but the number was legible. "No problem, John." I replied. "I know exactly who to call to handle it."