Dominant on Dusty Naga trail part 2
She didn't hesitate. She yanked them down, exposing him completely to the harsh sunlight and the prairie air.
Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' of surprise, and her eyebrows shot up as she took in the sight of him. Prairie looked down, her eyes widening as well. The smirk returned to Clementine's face, sharper than before.
"You’re a big boy, aren’t you?" she purred.
"Like the old saying goes, Clementine," Prairie chimed in, her voice deep and amused against Christopher's ear. "He’s packing some serious equipment!"
The violet flush on Christopher's face deepened until he looked nearly purple. He pursed his lips tight, letting out a mortified, high-pitched moan as he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head as far away from them as he could. The women burst into another fit of giggles, the sound echoing around the base of the baobab.
Clementine gripped Christopher’s shaft, her fingers wrapping around the heated, hard flesh. The touch made him gasp, his hips bucking involuntarily. The reaction seemed to please her immensely.
"I hope you’re ready for a wild ride, baby!" she exclaimed.
She leaned in and extended her tongue. Starting at his perineum, she licked a long, slow, wet stripe along the bottom of his scrotum, up the length of his cock, and over the sensitive tip. She did this repeatedly, tracing the long, thick vein on the underside, coating every inch of his genitals with her saliva until he glistened in the sun.
Then, she took a deep breath and blew a steady stream of cool air directly onto his wet skin for ten long seconds. The evaporative cooling made his cock feel cold and sent intense tingles racing through his nervous system. He shuddered violently in Prairie’s grip.
Clementine winked at him, then stiffened her tongue and wiggled the tip directly against his urethra. Christopher squealed, a sound like a lamb or a pig being slaughtered, high and desperate. The vibration of his voice made Clementine giggle, the sensation transferring to his cock. Prairie joined in, pressing her mouth against Christopher's shoulder, laughing and letting the vibration travel through his chest.
Clementine settled into a rhythm, her tongue lashing against him for twenty seconds. Christopher grew louder, groaning Clementine’s name over and over, the sound raw and uncontrolled. The noise made her shudder with pleasure, her smile widening as she wiggled her tongue against him faster, spurred on by his vocalizations.
Finally, she opened her mouth wide and went down on him. Her nose pressed against his pubic bone as she took a quarter of his penis into her throat, the head hitting the back of her mouth. He groaned her name even louder, a plea that only drove her on. She began to bob her head, gradually finding a rhythm. She lashed her tongue against the shaft, scraped him gently with her teeth, and scratched her fingernails lightly against his balls. She sucked so hard that her cheeks hollowed out, lewd slurping noises filling the quiet landscape.
Christopher looked down at her, locking eyes with her. He realized her intention immediately; she was determined to make him orgasm as soon as possible, aiming to finish him in record time. He clenched his teeth, tensing every muscle in his body to fight the rising tide. He thrust his waist forward, hoping the movement would stave off the inevitable, but it only pushed him deeper into the wet heat of her mouth.
He thought desperately that if Prairie wasn't holding his arms, he could push Clementine away, slow her down, regain some control. He tried to pull his arms free, testing Prairie's grip, but she held him fast, her strength unyielding.
He managed to last sixty seconds. Then, his resistance shattered. He exploded inside her mouth like a volcano, his body seizing up as he came hard.
Clementine moaned in pleasure as she tasted his seed. She bobbed her head faster, if that was even possible, and scratched her nails against his inner thighs. She was careful not to dig too deep into his sensitive testicles, causing a manageable, sharp pain that mixed with the overwhelming pleasure. Christopher was incredibly aroused, watching her throat work as she gulped down his semen.
She kept her eyes open for only a few seconds, savoring the taste, then locked them back onto his with a look of triumph. Even when the flow stopped, she didn't stop sucking. Her movements became gentler, milking him for every last drop, continuing to stimulate him until he was completely limp in her mouth.
Only then did she pull off him. She wasn't done, though. She positioned her mouth beneath his softening cock, arching her head back. She pinched the shaft between her index fingers and thumbs at the base, then slid her grip upward—not too fast, not too slow. Five more spurts of semen leaked out, which she caught on her tongue. She stopped at five; at six, nothing was left. She had drained him dry.
Standing up, she smiled at Christopher, cradling his sweaty cheek in her hand. "Time to see how delicious you are, baby!"
She leaned in and kissed him passionately. It wasn't too hard, but it wasn't soft either—a claiming. The kiss lasted a long time, both of them turning their heads slightly to allow their nostrils to breathe properly. He could taste himself on her lips, mixing with the dust and the heat.
When she finally pulled back, she asked, her voice husky, "How does it taste, sweetheart?"
Christopher swallowed hard, catching his breath. "Like salty pasta," he whispered, "or ramen noodles."
Chapter Four.
Clementine’s grip on Christopher’s ankles tightened, her fingers digging into his skin as she signaled to Prairie. Prairie, still holding his arms pinned against the earth, nodded. Together, they shifted their weight, maneuvering the exhausted young man until he lay flat on his back in the coarse, sun-dried grass. Christopher offered no resistance, his chest heaving as he stared up at the brilliant blue sky, the afterglow of his forced orgasm leaving his limbs heavy and unresponsive.
Clementine released his ankles and crawled over to Christopher’s backpack. She unzipped the main compartment and rummaged through his supplies until she found the four pint bottles of water. She cracked the seal on one, the plastic crinkling sharply in the quiet air, and then moved back to Christopher’s head. Sliding one arm under his neck, she cradled his head against her chest with maternal firmness.
"Open up," she commanded, tilting the bottle to his lips.
Christopher parted his lips instinctively. Clementine tipped the bottle, pouring a quarter of the contents into his mouth. He swallowed greedily, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.
"Need to keep you hydrated," she said, wiping a stray droplet from his chin with her thumb. "Can't have our toy breaking on us yet."
She capped the bottle and set it aside before standing up to retrieve her own water. Both women moved to their respective bags. Prairie unslung a backpack emblazoned with a British Union Jack, while Clementine grabbed hers, which featured the American flag. They drank deeply, the silence stretching between them, broken only by the sound of swallowing and the rustle of the wind in the acacia trees.
For the next seven minutes—about the time it took to cook the ramen noodles Clementine had teasingly compared his taste to—they sat in the shade. They spoke in low, conspiratorial tones about farm life, mutual friends from school, and other conquests they had shared and separated. Christopher lay still on the grass, listening to them dissect his fate and swap stories, feeling entirely like an object in their possession.
Eventually, Clementine turned her gaze back to him. "I think I’ve milked him dry for now," she said, glancing at Prairie. "He’s all yours, Prairie. You want a hand holding him up?"
Prairie shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "No. I’ve got him."
She stood up and dusted off her hands, then strutted toward Christopher, her boots crunching on the dry earth. She stopped at his feet and looked down at him.
"Do you have any rope, baby?"
Christopher’s heart skipped a beat. A mix of trepidation and dark excitement curled in his stomach. He simply nodded, unable to find his voice.
"Where is it?" she pressed.
"In the... in the big rectangular pocket on the front of my backpack," Christopher croaked, pointing weakly toward the burnt green khaki bag lying nearby. "It’s the same color as my clothes."
Prairie patted his cheek condescendingly. "Good boy."
She walked over to his bag, unzipped the golden zipper, and pulled out a coil of double-braided nylon rope. She turned back to him, the rope dangling from her hand like a snake.
"Remember what you promised?" she asked, walking back to stand over him. "If you agreed, we would be your mistresses. You’d do whatever we say, ignore your own pleasure, and take whatever we give you."
Christopher swallowed hard. "I remember."
Prairie smiled, rubbing her hand over his bald head. "That's a good boy."
She reached down and grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbled slightly, his legs still shaky, but she steadied him, leading him toward the massive baobab tree nearby. He looked up at the sprawling branches, the same tree where the vulture had perched earlier.
Prairie selected a sturdy, high branch. She tossed the rope over it, the coarse fibers sliding against the bark. With a quick, practiced motion—she must have done this on the farm—she tied a secure loop. She grabbed Christopher’s wrists and pulled them together above his head.
"Arms up," she ordered.
He complied. She wrapped the rope around his wrists, binding them tightly, then hauled on the free end until Christopher was standing on his tiptoes, his arms stretched taut toward the branch. He was facing Clementine, who had settled down on the grass to watch the show, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Prairie slid down from the tree trunk and landed softly behind him. her arms wrapped around his waist possessively, and she pressed her bosom him against his back.
“You’re all tied up, baby, and you’re all mine!" she exclaimed, pressing her cheek against his.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good."
She slid and around him and walked backwards, putting a few feet of distance between them. The music of her own internal rhythm seemed to take over; she began to bob her shoulders and shake her hips, a slow, hypnotic dance. She moved to the side, positioning herself so Clementine, sitting safely away from the blind spot of the horses, had a perfect view.
Prairie began to twirl, her body spinning slowly for six seconds. As she rotated, her hands roamed over her own curves, caressing her breasts and hips. She stopped and began to unbutton her khaki shirt. One button popped free, then another, then the last. With a dramatic flourish, she flung the shirt off, throwing her hands back so the fabric caught on her wrists before she sent it flying through the air.
Christopher’s mouth fell open. Underneath the drab khaki, she was wearing a pink leopard-print bra, the hot pink vibrant against her skin. She spun again, three full rotations, building momentum, and then hurled the shirt directly at him. It landed over his face, the scent of her sweat and dust filling his nose. He inhaled deeply before shaking his head to let the shirt fall to the ground.
He looked up just in time to see her hands on the button of her matching khaki shorts. She unbuttoned and unzipped them, shimmying her hips as she slid them down her legs. She kicked them aside, then bent to pick them up, swinging them around her head like a lasso before throwing them at his face. Christopher ducked his head, letting the shorts hit his chest and slide off, his eyes locked on her body.
She twirled again, giving him a full view of her matching pink leopard-print panties hugging her hips. Six seconds later, she slowed her spin. Her hands moved behind her back, and with a deft movement, she unhooked her bra. She slid the straps down her arms and let the pink leopard-print fabric fall away.
Christopher’s eyes bulged. Her breasts were bare, pale and firm in the sunlight. Prairie grabbed them with both hands, squeezing them together.
"If you think these are good, baby," she purred, "just wait till you see my butt cheeks!"
She began her final twirl, her body blurring as she spun. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties. Inch by inch, she slid them down, revealing the smooth curve of her ass. As she completed the rotation, she stepped out of the underwear, standing completely naked before him.
Christopher gasped. Her ass was magnificent, round and full like succulent peaches, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Even her shaved pussy, visible as she turned, couldn't compete with the perfection of her naked bum.
Prairie dropped to all fours and stalked toward him like a lioness closing in on prey. She crawled between his legs and rose up, pressing her body against his. She grabbed the discarded panties and pressed them firmly against his nose and mouth.
"Inhale me," she commanded.
Christopher took a deep breath, the musky, sweet scent of her arousal flooding his senses. His cock twitched against his will, beginning to harden again despite the exhaustion.
Prairie pulled the panties away and replaced them with her bra, pressing the fabric against his face.
"Again," she ordered.
He inhaled the scent from the bra cups, his head spinning with the mixture of her perfume and natural smell. She pulled the bra away and then dashed over to where his own khaki shirt lay in the dirt. She snatched it up and ran back to him.
"Now," she said, bunching the fabric of his shirt and tying it securely around his eyes, plunging him into darkness. "You can only hear and feel me, baby. Not see me."
Chapter Five.
The darkness behind the green khaki fabric was absolute, amplifying every rustle of wind and every shift of dry earth. Christopher stood on his tiptoes, the rope biting into his wrists, his breath hitching as he waited. The first sensation was a sharp, pinch-like nibble on his earlobe, followed immediately by a stream of cool air blown against the damp skin of his neck. He shivered, his muscles tensing against the bindings. Before he could adjust to the chill, a wave of hot breath washed over his collarbone, the drastic temperature change making his skin prickle.
Prairie moved without sound, her presence known only through the erratic contact she made. A wet tongue traced the vein in his bicep, lingering there before fingernails raked lightly down his ribs, just hard enough to leave white trails. Her hair whipped across his face, the strands tangling briefly in his eyelashes and brushing against his lips like silk. She slid her hands down his flanks, palms flat and pressing firmly, mapping the topography of his muscles. Her fingers dug into his hips, squeezing with possessive strength, forcing him to arch his back slightly.
She maneuvered closer, her body heat radiating against him. She pressed her lips to his shoulder, a soft, lingering kiss that contrasted with the rough scratch of her nails against his lower back. Snuggling her face into the crook of his neck, she inhaled deeply, her nose brushing his pulse. Then she pulled away, only to return with more force. Her legs rubbed against his, smooth skin sliding over the hair of his calves. She pressed her chest against his arm, the softness of her breasts yielding against his hard muscle, while her ground her hips into his thigh.
Her knee slid up, pressing between his legs to rub against his crotch, applying maddening pressure to his testicles and the base of his shaft. The top of her head bumped his chin as she stood, then she lowered herself, dragging her body down his until she was kneeling at his feet. She used her feet now, sliding them up over his shins, tracing the lines of his hamstrings with her toes. She shifted, balancing on her hands as she lifted her legs, placing her soles flat against his stomach and chest, pushing off him as if he were a wall.
Suddenly, the weight on the rope shifted. The branch creaked but held. Prairie wrapped her legs around his neck, her thighs clamping tight on either side of his head. His chin was pressed right against her mound, the scent of her arousal overwhelming in the heat. She wrapped her arms around his waist, locking her hands behind his back, and hung there, her full weight suspended from his body. Christopher felt her breath on his stomach. He groaned under the strain, his neck muscles burning, but he held her up, trapped in the humid darkness of her thighs.
She adjusted her grip, facing outward now. Prairie started sliding her head up and down from side to side across his lower stomach. The back of her head rubbed against him with every motion, a steady, grinding pressure that kept him acutely aware of her presence.
The seconds blurred into a haze of tactile overload. One hundred and eight seconds of endurance—his heart hammering against his ribs, his breath coming in ragged gasps through the fabric blindfold. The combination of the physical strain, the scent of sex, and the friction of Prairie’s body against his own pushed him to the edge. His cock throbbed, trapped between his stomach and the friction of her movements, desperate for release.
Prairie released her hold on his neck and slid down his body, her breasts dragging over his thighs, calves, and feet, leaving a trail of heat. She noticed the frantic pulsing of his penis, the desperate twitching that signaled his imminent climax. Without a word, she engulfed him. Her mouth was hot and wet, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his shaft as she swallowed him whole. She took a quarter of his length down her throat, the muscles constricting around him.
He cried out, the sound muffled by the shirt, as his orgasm tore through him. Semen burst from him, and she consumed it instantly, making loud, wet slurping noises that echoed in the clearing. Her tongue worked furiously against the underside of his head while her hands scratched at his balls and inner thighs, intensifying the spasms. He bucked his hips, his toes curling in the dirt, riding out the waves of pleasure that seemed to last an eternity.
It took ninety seconds for the convulsions to subside. His body went limp, hanging from the ropes, his chest heaving. Prairie didn't let go immediately. She squeezed the base of his cock with her thumb and index finger, milking the shaft upward in rhythmic pulses. She did this six times, extracting every last drop of fluid until nothing remained. Only then did she release him, sliding her mouth off with a final, audible pop, leaving him gasping and spent in the darkness.
Chapter Six.
The air hung heavy and still around the baobab, the only sound the ragged inhale and exhale of Christopher’s chest as he fought to steady his breathing. The blindfold of his own shirt remained snug against his eyes, keeping him in a world of darkness defined by the lingering scent of Prairie’s skin and the taste of his own release. His arms ached, stretched high above his head, the rope biting into his wrists, while his legs felt like jelly beneath him. He hung limp, waiting for the next sensation, his mind racing with possibilities of what the two women might do next.
A soft rustle of fabric broke the silence, coming from a few feet away. It wasn’t the sound of Prairie moving, but someone else shifting their weight. Christopher recognized the cadence of Clementine’s step, the crunch of dry earth under her boots. He heard the distinct, heavy slide of a zipper being lowered, followed by the whisper of cotton sliding over skin.
"My turn," Clementine’s voice purred from the darkness, laced with a mischievous edge that made Christopher’s skin prickle.
He heard the rus
Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' of surprise, and her eyebrows shot up as she took in the sight of him. Prairie looked down, her eyes widening as well. The smirk returned to Clementine's face, sharper than before.
"You’re a big boy, aren’t you?" she purred.
"Like the old saying goes, Clementine," Prairie chimed in, her voice deep and amused against Christopher's ear. "He’s packing some serious equipment!"
The violet flush on Christopher's face deepened until he looked nearly purple. He pursed his lips tight, letting out a mortified, high-pitched moan as he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head as far away from them as he could. The women burst into another fit of giggles, the sound echoing around the base of the baobab.
Clementine gripped Christopher’s shaft, her fingers wrapping around the heated, hard flesh. The touch made him gasp, his hips bucking involuntarily. The reaction seemed to please her immensely.
"I hope you’re ready for a wild ride, baby!" she exclaimed.
She leaned in and extended her tongue. Starting at his perineum, she licked a long, slow, wet stripe along the bottom of his scrotum, up the length of his cock, and over the sensitive tip. She did this repeatedly, tracing the long, thick vein on the underside, coating every inch of his genitals with her saliva until he glistened in the sun.
Then, she took a deep breath and blew a steady stream of cool air directly onto his wet skin for ten long seconds. The evaporative cooling made his cock feel cold and sent intense tingles racing through his nervous system. He shuddered violently in Prairie’s grip.
Clementine winked at him, then stiffened her tongue and wiggled the tip directly against his urethra. Christopher squealed, a sound like a lamb or a pig being slaughtered, high and desperate. The vibration of his voice made Clementine giggle, the sensation transferring to his cock. Prairie joined in, pressing her mouth against Christopher's shoulder, laughing and letting the vibration travel through his chest.
Clementine settled into a rhythm, her tongue lashing against him for twenty seconds. Christopher grew louder, groaning Clementine’s name over and over, the sound raw and uncontrolled. The noise made her shudder with pleasure, her smile widening as she wiggled her tongue against him faster, spurred on by his vocalizations.
Finally, she opened her mouth wide and went down on him. Her nose pressed against his pubic bone as she took a quarter of his penis into her throat, the head hitting the back of her mouth. He groaned her name even louder, a plea that only drove her on. She began to bob her head, gradually finding a rhythm. She lashed her tongue against the shaft, scraped him gently with her teeth, and scratched her fingernails lightly against his balls. She sucked so hard that her cheeks hollowed out, lewd slurping noises filling the quiet landscape.
Christopher looked down at her, locking eyes with her. He realized her intention immediately; she was determined to make him orgasm as soon as possible, aiming to finish him in record time. He clenched his teeth, tensing every muscle in his body to fight the rising tide. He thrust his waist forward, hoping the movement would stave off the inevitable, but it only pushed him deeper into the wet heat of her mouth.
He thought desperately that if Prairie wasn't holding his arms, he could push Clementine away, slow her down, regain some control. He tried to pull his arms free, testing Prairie's grip, but she held him fast, her strength unyielding.
He managed to last sixty seconds. Then, his resistance shattered. He exploded inside her mouth like a volcano, his body seizing up as he came hard.
Clementine moaned in pleasure as she tasted his seed. She bobbed her head faster, if that was even possible, and scratched her nails against his inner thighs. She was careful not to dig too deep into his sensitive testicles, causing a manageable, sharp pain that mixed with the overwhelming pleasure. Christopher was incredibly aroused, watching her throat work as she gulped down his semen.
She kept her eyes open for only a few seconds, savoring the taste, then locked them back onto his with a look of triumph. Even when the flow stopped, she didn't stop sucking. Her movements became gentler, milking him for every last drop, continuing to stimulate him until he was completely limp in her mouth.
Only then did she pull off him. She wasn't done, though. She positioned her mouth beneath his softening cock, arching her head back. She pinched the shaft between her index fingers and thumbs at the base, then slid her grip upward—not too fast, not too slow. Five more spurts of semen leaked out, which she caught on her tongue. She stopped at five; at six, nothing was left. She had drained him dry.
Standing up, she smiled at Christopher, cradling his sweaty cheek in her hand. "Time to see how delicious you are, baby!"
She leaned in and kissed him passionately. It wasn't too hard, but it wasn't soft either—a claiming. The kiss lasted a long time, both of them turning their heads slightly to allow their nostrils to breathe properly. He could taste himself on her lips, mixing with the dust and the heat.
When she finally pulled back, she asked, her voice husky, "How does it taste, sweetheart?"
Christopher swallowed hard, catching his breath. "Like salty pasta," he whispered, "or ramen noodles."
Chapter Four.
Clementine’s grip on Christopher’s ankles tightened, her fingers digging into his skin as she signaled to Prairie. Prairie, still holding his arms pinned against the earth, nodded. Together, they shifted their weight, maneuvering the exhausted young man until he lay flat on his back in the coarse, sun-dried grass. Christopher offered no resistance, his chest heaving as he stared up at the brilliant blue sky, the afterglow of his forced orgasm leaving his limbs heavy and unresponsive.
Clementine released his ankles and crawled over to Christopher’s backpack. She unzipped the main compartment and rummaged through his supplies until she found the four pint bottles of water. She cracked the seal on one, the plastic crinkling sharply in the quiet air, and then moved back to Christopher’s head. Sliding one arm under his neck, she cradled his head against her chest with maternal firmness.
"Open up," she commanded, tilting the bottle to his lips.
Christopher parted his lips instinctively. Clementine tipped the bottle, pouring a quarter of the contents into his mouth. He swallowed greedily, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.
"Need to keep you hydrated," she said, wiping a stray droplet from his chin with her thumb. "Can't have our toy breaking on us yet."
She capped the bottle and set it aside before standing up to retrieve her own water. Both women moved to their respective bags. Prairie unslung a backpack emblazoned with a British Union Jack, while Clementine grabbed hers, which featured the American flag. They drank deeply, the silence stretching between them, broken only by the sound of swallowing and the rustle of the wind in the acacia trees.
For the next seven minutes—about the time it took to cook the ramen noodles Clementine had teasingly compared his taste to—they sat in the shade. They spoke in low, conspiratorial tones about farm life, mutual friends from school, and other conquests they had shared and separated. Christopher lay still on the grass, listening to them dissect his fate and swap stories, feeling entirely like an object in their possession.
Eventually, Clementine turned her gaze back to him. "I think I’ve milked him dry for now," she said, glancing at Prairie. "He’s all yours, Prairie. You want a hand holding him up?"
Prairie shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "No. I’ve got him."
She stood up and dusted off her hands, then strutted toward Christopher, her boots crunching on the dry earth. She stopped at his feet and looked down at him.
"Do you have any rope, baby?"
Christopher’s heart skipped a beat. A mix of trepidation and dark excitement curled in his stomach. He simply nodded, unable to find his voice.
"Where is it?" she pressed.
"In the... in the big rectangular pocket on the front of my backpack," Christopher croaked, pointing weakly toward the burnt green khaki bag lying nearby. "It’s the same color as my clothes."
Prairie patted his cheek condescendingly. "Good boy."
She walked over to his bag, unzipped the golden zipper, and pulled out a coil of double-braided nylon rope. She turned back to him, the rope dangling from her hand like a snake.
"Remember what you promised?" she asked, walking back to stand over him. "If you agreed, we would be your mistresses. You’d do whatever we say, ignore your own pleasure, and take whatever we give you."
Christopher swallowed hard. "I remember."
Prairie smiled, rubbing her hand over his bald head. "That's a good boy."
She reached down and grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbled slightly, his legs still shaky, but she steadied him, leading him toward the massive baobab tree nearby. He looked up at the sprawling branches, the same tree where the vulture had perched earlier.
Prairie selected a sturdy, high branch. She tossed the rope over it, the coarse fibers sliding against the bark. With a quick, practiced motion—she must have done this on the farm—she tied a secure loop. She grabbed Christopher’s wrists and pulled them together above his head.
"Arms up," she ordered.
He complied. She wrapped the rope around his wrists, binding them tightly, then hauled on the free end until Christopher was standing on his tiptoes, his arms stretched taut toward the branch. He was facing Clementine, who had settled down on the grass to watch the show, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Prairie slid down from the tree trunk and landed softly behind him. her arms wrapped around his waist possessively, and she pressed her bosom him against his back.
“You’re all tied up, baby, and you’re all mine!" she exclaimed, pressing her cheek against his.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good."
She slid and around him and walked backwards, putting a few feet of distance between them. The music of her own internal rhythm seemed to take over; she began to bob her shoulders and shake her hips, a slow, hypnotic dance. She moved to the side, positioning herself so Clementine, sitting safely away from the blind spot of the horses, had a perfect view.
Prairie began to twirl, her body spinning slowly for six seconds. As she rotated, her hands roamed over her own curves, caressing her breasts and hips. She stopped and began to unbutton her khaki shirt. One button popped free, then another, then the last. With a dramatic flourish, she flung the shirt off, throwing her hands back so the fabric caught on her wrists before she sent it flying through the air.
Christopher’s mouth fell open. Underneath the drab khaki, she was wearing a pink leopard-print bra, the hot pink vibrant against her skin. She spun again, three full rotations, building momentum, and then hurled the shirt directly at him. It landed over his face, the scent of her sweat and dust filling his nose. He inhaled deeply before shaking his head to let the shirt fall to the ground.
He looked up just in time to see her hands on the button of her matching khaki shorts. She unbuttoned and unzipped them, shimmying her hips as she slid them down her legs. She kicked them aside, then bent to pick them up, swinging them around her head like a lasso before throwing them at his face. Christopher ducked his head, letting the shorts hit his chest and slide off, his eyes locked on her body.
She twirled again, giving him a full view of her matching pink leopard-print panties hugging her hips. Six seconds later, she slowed her spin. Her hands moved behind her back, and with a deft movement, she unhooked her bra. She slid the straps down her arms and let the pink leopard-print fabric fall away.
Christopher’s eyes bulged. Her breasts were bare, pale and firm in the sunlight. Prairie grabbed them with both hands, squeezing them together.
"If you think these are good, baby," she purred, "just wait till you see my butt cheeks!"
She began her final twirl, her body blurring as she spun. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties. Inch by inch, she slid them down, revealing the smooth curve of her ass. As she completed the rotation, she stepped out of the underwear, standing completely naked before him.
Christopher gasped. Her ass was magnificent, round and full like succulent peaches, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Even her shaved pussy, visible as she turned, couldn't compete with the perfection of her naked bum.
Prairie dropped to all fours and stalked toward him like a lioness closing in on prey. She crawled between his legs and rose up, pressing her body against his. She grabbed the discarded panties and pressed them firmly against his nose and mouth.
"Inhale me," she commanded.
Christopher took a deep breath, the musky, sweet scent of her arousal flooding his senses. His cock twitched against his will, beginning to harden again despite the exhaustion.
Prairie pulled the panties away and replaced them with her bra, pressing the fabric against his face.
"Again," she ordered.
He inhaled the scent from the bra cups, his head spinning with the mixture of her perfume and natural smell. She pulled the bra away and then dashed over to where his own khaki shirt lay in the dirt. She snatched it up and ran back to him.
"Now," she said, bunching the fabric of his shirt and tying it securely around his eyes, plunging him into darkness. "You can only hear and feel me, baby. Not see me."
Chapter Five.
The darkness behind the green khaki fabric was absolute, amplifying every rustle of wind and every shift of dry earth. Christopher stood on his tiptoes, the rope biting into his wrists, his breath hitching as he waited. The first sensation was a sharp, pinch-like nibble on his earlobe, followed immediately by a stream of cool air blown against the damp skin of his neck. He shivered, his muscles tensing against the bindings. Before he could adjust to the chill, a wave of hot breath washed over his collarbone, the drastic temperature change making his skin prickle.
Prairie moved without sound, her presence known only through the erratic contact she made. A wet tongue traced the vein in his bicep, lingering there before fingernails raked lightly down his ribs, just hard enough to leave white trails. Her hair whipped across his face, the strands tangling briefly in his eyelashes and brushing against his lips like silk. She slid her hands down his flanks, palms flat and pressing firmly, mapping the topography of his muscles. Her fingers dug into his hips, squeezing with possessive strength, forcing him to arch his back slightly.
She maneuvered closer, her body heat radiating against him. She pressed her lips to his shoulder, a soft, lingering kiss that contrasted with the rough scratch of her nails against his lower back. Snuggling her face into the crook of his neck, she inhaled deeply, her nose brushing his pulse. Then she pulled away, only to return with more force. Her legs rubbed against his, smooth skin sliding over the hair of his calves. She pressed her chest against his arm, the softness of her breasts yielding against his hard muscle, while her ground her hips into his thigh.
Her knee slid up, pressing between his legs to rub against his crotch, applying maddening pressure to his testicles and the base of his shaft. The top of her head bumped his chin as she stood, then she lowered herself, dragging her body down his until she was kneeling at his feet. She used her feet now, sliding them up over his shins, tracing the lines of his hamstrings with her toes. She shifted, balancing on her hands as she lifted her legs, placing her soles flat against his stomach and chest, pushing off him as if he were a wall.
Suddenly, the weight on the rope shifted. The branch creaked but held. Prairie wrapped her legs around his neck, her thighs clamping tight on either side of his head. His chin was pressed right against her mound, the scent of her arousal overwhelming in the heat. She wrapped her arms around his waist, locking her hands behind his back, and hung there, her full weight suspended from his body. Christopher felt her breath on his stomach. He groaned under the strain, his neck muscles burning, but he held her up, trapped in the humid darkness of her thighs.
She adjusted her grip, facing outward now. Prairie started sliding her head up and down from side to side across his lower stomach. The back of her head rubbed against him with every motion, a steady, grinding pressure that kept him acutely aware of her presence.
The seconds blurred into a haze of tactile overload. One hundred and eight seconds of endurance—his heart hammering against his ribs, his breath coming in ragged gasps through the fabric blindfold. The combination of the physical strain, the scent of sex, and the friction of Prairie’s body against his own pushed him to the edge. His cock throbbed, trapped between his stomach and the friction of her movements, desperate for release.
Prairie released her hold on his neck and slid down his body, her breasts dragging over his thighs, calves, and feet, leaving a trail of heat. She noticed the frantic pulsing of his penis, the desperate twitching that signaled his imminent climax. Without a word, she engulfed him. Her mouth was hot and wet, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his shaft as she swallowed him whole. She took a quarter of his length down her throat, the muscles constricting around him.
He cried out, the sound muffled by the shirt, as his orgasm tore through him. Semen burst from him, and she consumed it instantly, making loud, wet slurping noises that echoed in the clearing. Her tongue worked furiously against the underside of his head while her hands scratched at his balls and inner thighs, intensifying the spasms. He bucked his hips, his toes curling in the dirt, riding out the waves of pleasure that seemed to last an eternity.
It took ninety seconds for the convulsions to subside. His body went limp, hanging from the ropes, his chest heaving. Prairie didn't let go immediately. She squeezed the base of his cock with her thumb and index finger, milking the shaft upward in rhythmic pulses. She did this six times, extracting every last drop of fluid until nothing remained. Only then did she release him, sliding her mouth off with a final, audible pop, leaving him gasping and spent in the darkness.
Chapter Six.
The air hung heavy and still around the baobab, the only sound the ragged inhale and exhale of Christopher’s chest as he fought to steady his breathing. The blindfold of his own shirt remained snug against his eyes, keeping him in a world of darkness defined by the lingering scent of Prairie’s skin and the taste of his own release. His arms ached, stretched high above his head, the rope biting into his wrists, while his legs felt like jelly beneath him. He hung limp, waiting for the next sensation, his mind racing with possibilities of what the two women might do next.
A soft rustle of fabric broke the silence, coming from a few feet away. It wasn’t the sound of Prairie moving, but someone else shifting their weight. Christopher recognized the cadence of Clementine’s step, the crunch of dry earth under her boots. He heard the distinct, heavy slide of a zipper being lowered, followed by the whisper of cotton sliding over skin.
"My turn," Clementine’s voice purred from the darkness, laced with a mischievous edge that made Christopher’s skin prickle.
He heard the rus
31-35, M