A slave to wanton desires

So, last night I experienced the classic conundrum that is to booty call or to not booty call. For a regular 9-5 job, I presume, this would be a no brainer; considering this particular booty call was 6 ft 5 inches of gorgeous, blonde, RIPPED hunk. However, being a slave for the NHS, aka a student nurse, I had to be up at 5:30 the next morning for a 12 and a half hour day. However, being a 20 year old student with the sex drive of a 17 year old boy I found it very difficult to turn the proposition of mouthwatering rugby sex god down. You can see my predicament? I eventually (and predictably) caved to my hormones and accepted his offer, he turned up at me door 45 minutes later looking ever so delectable. Needless to say I had my way with him quite a few times in a very short space of time. GOD, that boy knows how to use his tongue. He even breathes in the right places. Nevertheless I sent him packing after a solid ninety minutes of debauchery, leaving me with an acceptable 5 hours of shut eye. The next shift, with a fistful of orgasms under my belt, I felt like I could conquer the world; I was super (student) nurse... until about 20 minutes in when I ended up with excrement splattered all down my lovely white tunic. If you ever need a post-coital bubble bursting, that's the way to do it!