Dominant on Dusty Naga trail
tle of her riding pants hitting the ground, followed by the shuffle of her feet kicking them aside. The heat of the day radiated against his exposed skin, but his focus was entirely on the sounds of undressing occurring just out of reach. He expected the tear of camouflage fabric, perhaps the rough sound of military-style gear being shed, matching the outfit she had been wearing when they first cornered him. Instead, the silence stretched, filled only by the heavy anticipation of his own heartbeat.
"Open your eyes, Christopher. Well, pretend to," she teased.
He felt the air shift as she stepped closer, the warmth of her body radiating against his side. He could smell her now—a mix of dust, donkey leather, and a sweet, floral musk that was entirely Clementine. She pressed her hips against his thigh, and through the thin fabric of his blindfold, he could sense the proximity of her body.
"Guess what I'm wearing," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.
Christopher swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Jungle... camouflage? To match the shirt?"
Clementine laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated against his chest. "Wrong. Look closer."
She reached up and untied the knot of the blindfold at the back of his head. The fabric fell away, and Christopher blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the harsh, bright sunlight. The world came into focus in a wash of color and shadow. Clementine stood before him, wearing only her boots and a pair of panties.
They weren't the utilitarian camouflage he had expected. The fabric was a rich, earthy brown, but the print was vivid and wild. A black leopard, sleek and predatory, was perched on a yellowish-brown tree branch surrounded by lush green leaves. The leopard’s eyes seemed to stare right at him, its tail curling around the branch, while the rest of the print stretched across her hips.
"Like what you see?" Clementine asked, turning slowly to give him the full view.
Christopher’s gaze traced the curve of her waist down to her hips. The leopard print clung to her skin, highlighting the roundness of her ass. He felt a familiar twitch in his groin, his body responding despite the exhaustion. He nodded, unable to find his voice.
"Good," she said, hooking her thumbs into the waistband. "Because I want you to see everything."
She slowly slid the panties down, peeling the fabric away from her skin. The leopard print descended, revealing the smooth, dark expanse of her buttocks. She bent over as she pushed them to her ankles, giving him an unobstructed view of her ass, the cheeks full and firm, glistening slightly with a sheen of sweat in the heat.
She stepped out of the panties and stood up straight, turning back to face him completely naked. Prairie, who had been watching from the side with a smirk on her face, walked over to join her. The two women stood side by side, their contrasting bodies on display—Prairie tall and pale, Clementine shorter and curvier, both radiating confidence and raw sexuality.
"Now, be honest," Clementine said, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up. "Who has the sexier butt? Me or Prairie?"
Christopher’s eyes darted between them. Prairie’s ass was tight and muscular, shaped like an upside-down heart, while Clementine’s was softer, wider, with a delicious jiggle to it. He knew this was a trap, a question with no correct answer, only consequences.
"I... I'm afraid to answer," Christopher stammered, his voice cracking.
Clementine threw her head back and laughed, and Prairie joined in, their laughter echoing through the clearing. "Smart boy," Prairie said, stepping closer. "But we'll make you choose eventually."
They moved in unison, flanking him on either side. Clementine pressed her naked body against his left side, her breasts flattening against his ribs, while Prairie molded herself to his right. Four hands began to roam over his torso, tracing the lines of his abs, fingernails scraping lightly against his sensitive nipples.
Christopher gasped, his head falling back against the rough bark of the baobab as they teased him. Their touches were maddeningly light, barely there, yet enough to send jolts of electricity straight to his cock. He felt himself hardening rapidly, the blood rushing south despite his recent release.
"Look at that," Clement murmured, her hand sliding down to grip his half-hard shaft. "He's ready for more."
"Let's see if we can make him explode again," Prairie replied, her hand joining Clementine’s between his legs.
They stroked him in tandem, their fingers interlacing around his thickening length. Christopher groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily into their grip. The sensation of two different hands, two different rhythms, was overwhelming. Just as he felt he might tip over the edge again, they stopped.
"Not yet," Clementine said, dropping to her knees in the dirt.
Prairie followed suit, sinking down until they were both eye-level with his jutting cock. It stood proud and angry, the tip glistening with pre-cum.
"I'll go first," Clementine claimed, leaning forward.
She opened her mouth wide and engulfed him, taking him deep into her throat in one smooth motion. Christopher cried out, his hands clenching into fists above his head as he felt the wet, tight heat of her mouth surround him. She bobbed her head, her tongue swirling around the shaft, her hands gripping his ass for leverage.
After a few vigorous bobs, she pulled back with a wet pop, leaving his cock coated in saliva. "Your turn," she said to Prairie, wiping her mouth.
Prairie didn't hesitate. She took him into her mouth, her technique different—slower, more deliberate. She focused on the head, sucking hard and using her hand to pump the base, while her other hand rolled his balls between her fingers.
The competition was on. They passed him back and forth like a prized possession, each trying to outdo the other. Clementine would deepthroat him, fighting her gag reflex to take him to the hilt, her nose buried in his pubic hair, while Prairie would use her tongue to trace the sensitive vein on the underside, driving him wild with precision.
Christopher’s mind was a blur of sensation. The heat of the sun beat down on him, mixing with the heat generated by the two women worshipping his cock. He could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of their mouths, the slurping and gagging, mixed with their own moans of pleasure.
"Make him cum, Clementine," Prairie urged, watching her friend work.
"I will," Clementine mumbled around a mouthful of dick.
She redoubled her efforts, taking him deep and humming, the vibration traveling through his shaft and straight to his core. Christopher’s legs trembled, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was close, so close, the pressure building at the base of his spine like a coiled spring.
Prairie, not to be outdone, reached up and pinched his nipple hard, sending a shockwave through his system. "Cum for us, Christopher. Let it all out."
With a guttural roar, Christopher felt his orgasm tear through him. His hips jerked forward, driving his cock deep into Clementine’s mouth as he spurted wave after wave of hot cum. She swallowed greedily, her throat working to milk every drop, but Prairie pulled her back at the last moment, wanting her share.
The final spurt landed across Prairie’s cheek and lips, marking her with his release. They both looked up at him, panting, their faces flushed and glistening with sweat and saliva, a wild, triumphant look in their eyes.
Christopher slumped against the ropes, his chest heaving, utterly spent and drained, wondering how much more he could possibly take.
Chapter Seven.
Clementine pulled back, wiping a stray glisten from her chin with the back of her hand. She glanced around the open savannah, the baobab tree offering little concealment from the distant horizon. "We should go somewhere else," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "Being out in the open like this... even if nobody is around, we might get caught."
Prairie nodded, already reaching for the knot at Christopher’s wrist. "Agreed."
Christopher let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders slumping as the ropes fell away. Prairie scrambled up the rough bark of the baobab, her boots finding purchase in the crevices, and untied the rope from the high branch. She dropped the coil to the ground with a soft thud. Instead of coiling it, she used it to lash her canvas bag, Clementine’s satchel, and Christopher’s rucksack together into a cumbersome bundle.
Clementine snatched Christopher’s sketchbook from his pile of discarded clothes. She flipped it open to a blank page and tore a stub of pencil from her pocket. "Tic-tac-toe," she announced, drawing the grid. "Winner rides with the boy toy."
They played quickly, Xs and Os scrawling across the paper. Clementine slammed a final mark in the center square. "Three in a row. I win."
Prairie pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Lucky break."
Clementine crooked a finger at Christopher, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Come here."
Heat rose to Christopher’s cheeks, and he stepped forward, feeling like a moth drawn to a flame. The girls moved with agonizing slowness, dressing him as if he were a doll. They buttoned his faded green khaki shirt, their fingers brushing against his skin, and pulled up his matching pants, lingering over the buckle. Then they dressed themselves, the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet air.
Clementine hefted the rope-bound bags and threw them over her horse’s flank. She patted the spot behind her on the saddle. "Hop on."
Christopher swung his leg over the animal, settling in. "Wrap your arms around my stomach," she commanded. "And smell my hair. Tell me what it smells like."
He leaned in, burying his face in the strands at the nape of her neck. The scent was sweet and artificial, clashing with the earthy smell of the savannah. "Watermelon and grapes," he murmured against her skin.
"Good nose," Clementine said playfully. "That’s the shampoo."
Prairie mounted her donkey nearby. "Once we find someplace less open, he’s smelling my hair."
They kicked their animals into a gallop. The wind whipped past Christopher’s ears as they raced across the plains, the rhythm of the horse’s gait forcing him to press tight against Clementine’s back. After twenty-five minutes of hard riding, punctuated by a brief walk to let the beasts catch their breath, the landscape shifted. An abandoned missionary hut emerged from the heat haze, a solitary square of white sandstone brick.
They reined in the animals and dismounted. The hut was small, perhaps fifteen feet by fifteen feet, with a roof constructed from chocolate brown branches. Inside, the air was still and smelled of old dust. Red-brown wooden pews lined the room, facing a silver-painted wooden podium at the north end. On the podium sat a golden altar, flanked by paintings of the Archangel Michael—blue background, red tunic—and Gabriel in blue with a green background. Behind it loomed a giant gold crucifix, watching over shelves of statues that stared blankly into the nave.
Prairie turned to Christopher, her expression serious. "You’re a Catholic. Are you okay playing naughty games in here?"
Christopher looked at the crucifix, then at the two women. His throat felt dry. "I know it’s wrong," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But I can’t resist the temptation. It’s like... forbidden fruit. You look so ripe, I couldn’t avoid you even if I wanted to."
The women cackled, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Very few boys or girls can resist us," Clementine said smugly.
They led him to the altar. With practiced efficiency, they stripped him nude again, their hands roaming over his chest and thighs as they peeled the clothes away. "Wait here," Prairie said.
They ran back outside to the horse and donkey, just three yards away, their shadows stretching across the hut's threshold. Christopher stood naked and exposed before the altar, his heart hammering against his ribs. Moments later, they returned. Clementine held a pair of dice, while Prairie fanned a deck of cards.
"Dice first," Clementine said. "Faster."
Prairie shook the dice in her cupped hand and tossed them onto the altar. They clattered against the gold, settling as two sixes. She looked at Clementine, a competitive glint in her eyes. "Hard to beat."
Clementine didn’t complain. She hopped up to sit on the edge of the podium, positioning herself sideways to keep an eye on the entrance. "He’s all yours."
Prairie stepped into Christopher’s space, backing him up until his calves hit the altar steps. She pushed him down so he sat on the edge of the dais, then squatted over him, her knees on either side of his hips. She hovered her slit over the tip of his cock, rubbing it back and forth without letting him enter.
Christopher whined, his head falling back. "Please..."
Prairie laughed, a low, throaty sound. She slid her wet folds along the length of his shaft, coating him in her arousal. His whines turned to loud groans, his hips bucking instinctively to find purchase. Finally, she positioned him at her entrance and sank down, taking him fully inside.
They both arched their necks back, a synchronized gasp filling the small room. Christopher cried out as Prairie squeezed her vaginal muscles around him, a tight, rhythmic grip that made his toes curl. She giggled at the contorted expression on his face, then began to bounce.
She rode him with a steady cadence—not aggressively hard, but firm and deep. Every time his tip poked against her cervix, a jolt shot through her, sharp and electrifying. She looked up at the crucifix, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
"Oh God," she moaned, her voice rising. "Give me the strength to fuck him good. Give him pleasure... make us scream your name to the heavens!"
Christopher gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he met her thrusts. The sacrilege of the words mixed with the visual of the golden altar sent a wave of dark heat through him.
"Let him fill my loins with fire!" Prairie cried out, her movements becoming frantic. "Let my juices flow like a river!"
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the holy place. They struggled, bodies slick with sweat, trying to prolong the inevitable. But the tension was too high, the setting too taboo. With a final, guttural shout, Christopher exploded inside her, his body jerking violently. Prairie slammed down on him, her own orgasm crashing over her as she milked him dry, her inner walls pulsing around his throbbing dick. They collapsed against each other, panting heavily in the shadow of the cross.
Chapter Eight.
Prairie’s chest heaved as she pushed herself up, the slick sound of their parting echoing in the quiet hut. She swung her leg over Christopher’s body and climbed down from the altar, her knees wobbling slightly. She steadied herself against the rough wood, then stumbled toward the entrance where her Shetland pony waited, reaching for her canteen.
Left alone on the eight-foot-long, meter-wide altar, Christopher stared at the dust motes dancing in the shafts of light. Before he could catch his breath, Clementine stepped up. She stood on the altar, her boots thudding dully against the wood, and looked down at him with a predatory grin. Her fingers moved to the buttons of her shirt, peeling it away to reveal her skin, then unhooked her bra, letting it fall. She shimmied out of her shorts and panties, tossing the pile of clothes onto the dusty carpet below.
Naked, Clementine placed her hands behind her head, arching her back to accentuate her curves, then spread her legs wide. She lowered herself into a squat, hovering her slick pussy just inches from Christopher’s face.
"Time to work my legs, Christopher," she murmured, her voice dripping with intent. "I’m going to do squats... and impale myself on you."
She shifted her hips back, aligning her opening with the head of his cock, and then sank down. A guttural moan tore from her throat as she took him inside, stretching to accommodate his girth. She began to move, rising and falling in a rhythmic squatting motion, her thigh muscles trembling with the exertion. It was a difficult position, balancing on the altar while riding him, but she powered through, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
Every time she bottomed out, taking him to the hilt, she clenched her inner walls around his shaft, milking him. She watched his face, a giggle escaping her lips at the mix of agony and ecstasy twisting his features. His eyes rolled back, his mouth open in a silent scream as she worked him over.
About a minute in, Prairie returned from outside, having relieved her bladder. She squeezed a dollop of hand sanitizer into her palms and rubbed them together vigorously as she walked back in.
"Legs and pelvis, right?" Prairie called out, leaning against a pew to watch.
"Just like a Prairie Clementine session."
Clementine didn't answer, too focused on the rhythm. She continued for another two minutes, her pace relentless, until Christopher’s body arched off the altar. He let out a strangled cry, his hips bucking as he emptied himself inside her. Clementine slowed, milking him for every last drop before finally lifting herself off. His cum trickled out of her as she stood, running down her inner thigh.
She climbed down from the altar and walked over to Prairie, holding out her hand for the sanitizer. After cleaning up, she jogged back to her donkey to drink more water and relieve herself again. When she returned, she held a deck of 52 cards.
The two women huddled together for a moment, whispering and glancing back at Christopher with smirks playing on their lips.
"Get dressed, Christopher," Clementine commanded. "Then come sit with us."
He pulled himself up, his limbs heavy, and reached for his discarded clothes. As he dressed, Clementine and Prairie slipped their own garments back on. Once he was seated on the carpeted floor between them, Clementine leaned in close.
"You remember what you agreed to, don't you?" she asked. "If we played, we’d be your mistresses, and you’d submit to our wins."
Christopher nodded slowly. "I remember."
"Good," Prairie said, shuffling the deck. "We’re playing a variation. Strip poker meets spanking poker. Each round, everyone gets six cards. Do you know the values?"
"Yes," Christopher whispered.
"Lowest hand loses," Clementine explained. "The loser removes one piece of clothing—socks count—and receives a slap. Lose two rounds, two slaps. And so on. If you end up completely naked, the winner gets to give you a full spanking, for as long as they decide."
Christopher’s eyes widened. "Wait, but that means if you lose... I get to..."
Clementine grabbed his arm, her grip tight. "Yes, that’s exactly what it means!"
Prairie smirked. "If you’re not man enough to spank us, I understand."
The challenge hit its mark. Christopher frowned, his pride stinging. "I am man enough."
Both women laughed. "Pick your cards," Prairie said, dealing.
Christopher looked at his hand: a two of clubs, a three of spades, and a four of diamonds. A garbage hand.
Clementine fanned her cards out. "King, Queen, Jack, ten of spades, and a four of hearts."
Prairie laid hers down with a flourish. "Royal flush. Two jacks, two kings, two queens."
"Looks like you lose, honey," Clementine purred.
Prairie walked over to one of the wooden pews and sat down, patting her lap. "Bare feet and socks first. Come here."
Begrudgingly, Christopher pulled off his socks and laid himself across Prairie’s lap. The wood of the pew armrest dug into his stomach. Prairie pulled her arm back, high over her shoulder, holding the tension for ten agonizing seconds.
*Smack.*
Her hand came d
"Open your eyes, Christopher. Well, pretend to," she teased.
He felt the air shift as she stepped closer, the warmth of her body radiating against his side. He could smell her now—a mix of dust, donkey leather, and a sweet, floral musk that was entirely Clementine. She pressed her hips against his thigh, and through the thin fabric of his blindfold, he could sense the proximity of her body.
"Guess what I'm wearing," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.
Christopher swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Jungle... camouflage? To match the shirt?"
Clementine laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated against his chest. "Wrong. Look closer."
She reached up and untied the knot of the blindfold at the back of his head. The fabric fell away, and Christopher blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the harsh, bright sunlight. The world came into focus in a wash of color and shadow. Clementine stood before him, wearing only her boots and a pair of panties.
They weren't the utilitarian camouflage he had expected. The fabric was a rich, earthy brown, but the print was vivid and wild. A black leopard, sleek and predatory, was perched on a yellowish-brown tree branch surrounded by lush green leaves. The leopard’s eyes seemed to stare right at him, its tail curling around the branch, while the rest of the print stretched across her hips.
"Like what you see?" Clementine asked, turning slowly to give him the full view.
Christopher’s gaze traced the curve of her waist down to her hips. The leopard print clung to her skin, highlighting the roundness of her ass. He felt a familiar twitch in his groin, his body responding despite the exhaustion. He nodded, unable to find his voice.
"Good," she said, hooking her thumbs into the waistband. "Because I want you to see everything."
She slowly slid the panties down, peeling the fabric away from her skin. The leopard print descended, revealing the smooth, dark expanse of her buttocks. She bent over as she pushed them to her ankles, giving him an unobstructed view of her ass, the cheeks full and firm, glistening slightly with a sheen of sweat in the heat.
She stepped out of the panties and stood up straight, turning back to face him completely naked. Prairie, who had been watching from the side with a smirk on her face, walked over to join her. The two women stood side by side, their contrasting bodies on display—Prairie tall and pale, Clementine shorter and curvier, both radiating confidence and raw sexuality.
"Now, be honest," Clementine said, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up. "Who has the sexier butt? Me or Prairie?"
Christopher’s eyes darted between them. Prairie’s ass was tight and muscular, shaped like an upside-down heart, while Clementine’s was softer, wider, with a delicious jiggle to it. He knew this was a trap, a question with no correct answer, only consequences.
"I... I'm afraid to answer," Christopher stammered, his voice cracking.
Clementine threw her head back and laughed, and Prairie joined in, their laughter echoing through the clearing. "Smart boy," Prairie said, stepping closer. "But we'll make you choose eventually."
They moved in unison, flanking him on either side. Clementine pressed her naked body against his left side, her breasts flattening against his ribs, while Prairie molded herself to his right. Four hands began to roam over his torso, tracing the lines of his abs, fingernails scraping lightly against his sensitive nipples.
Christopher gasped, his head falling back against the rough bark of the baobab as they teased him. Their touches were maddeningly light, barely there, yet enough to send jolts of electricity straight to his cock. He felt himself hardening rapidly, the blood rushing south despite his recent release.
"Look at that," Clement murmured, her hand sliding down to grip his half-hard shaft. "He's ready for more."
"Let's see if we can make him explode again," Prairie replied, her hand joining Clementine’s between his legs.
They stroked him in tandem, their fingers interlacing around his thickening length. Christopher groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily into their grip. The sensation of two different hands, two different rhythms, was overwhelming. Just as he felt he might tip over the edge again, they stopped.
"Not yet," Clementine said, dropping to her knees in the dirt.
Prairie followed suit, sinking down until they were both eye-level with his jutting cock. It stood proud and angry, the tip glistening with pre-cum.
"I'll go first," Clementine claimed, leaning forward.
She opened her mouth wide and engulfed him, taking him deep into her throat in one smooth motion. Christopher cried out, his hands clenching into fists above his head as he felt the wet, tight heat of her mouth surround him. She bobbed her head, her tongue swirling around the shaft, her hands gripping his ass for leverage.
After a few vigorous bobs, she pulled back with a wet pop, leaving his cock coated in saliva. "Your turn," she said to Prairie, wiping her mouth.
Prairie didn't hesitate. She took him into her mouth, her technique different—slower, more deliberate. She focused on the head, sucking hard and using her hand to pump the base, while her other hand rolled his balls between her fingers.
The competition was on. They passed him back and forth like a prized possession, each trying to outdo the other. Clementine would deepthroat him, fighting her gag reflex to take him to the hilt, her nose buried in his pubic hair, while Prairie would use her tongue to trace the sensitive vein on the underside, driving him wild with precision.
Christopher’s mind was a blur of sensation. The heat of the sun beat down on him, mixing with the heat generated by the two women worshipping his cock. He could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of their mouths, the slurping and gagging, mixed with their own moans of pleasure.
"Make him cum, Clementine," Prairie urged, watching her friend work.
"I will," Clementine mumbled around a mouthful of dick.
She redoubled her efforts, taking him deep and humming, the vibration traveling through his shaft and straight to his core. Christopher’s legs trembled, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was close, so close, the pressure building at the base of his spine like a coiled spring.
Prairie, not to be outdone, reached up and pinched his nipple hard, sending a shockwave through his system. "Cum for us, Christopher. Let it all out."
With a guttural roar, Christopher felt his orgasm tear through him. His hips jerked forward, driving his cock deep into Clementine’s mouth as he spurted wave after wave of hot cum. She swallowed greedily, her throat working to milk every drop, but Prairie pulled her back at the last moment, wanting her share.
The final spurt landed across Prairie’s cheek and lips, marking her with his release. They both looked up at him, panting, their faces flushed and glistening with sweat and saliva, a wild, triumphant look in their eyes.
Christopher slumped against the ropes, his chest heaving, utterly spent and drained, wondering how much more he could possibly take.
Chapter Seven.
Clementine pulled back, wiping a stray glisten from her chin with the back of her hand. She glanced around the open savannah, the baobab tree offering little concealment from the distant horizon. "We should go somewhere else," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "Being out in the open like this... even if nobody is around, we might get caught."
Prairie nodded, already reaching for the knot at Christopher’s wrist. "Agreed."
Christopher let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders slumping as the ropes fell away. Prairie scrambled up the rough bark of the baobab, her boots finding purchase in the crevices, and untied the rope from the high branch. She dropped the coil to the ground with a soft thud. Instead of coiling it, she used it to lash her canvas bag, Clementine’s satchel, and Christopher’s rucksack together into a cumbersome bundle.
Clementine snatched Christopher’s sketchbook from his pile of discarded clothes. She flipped it open to a blank page and tore a stub of pencil from her pocket. "Tic-tac-toe," she announced, drawing the grid. "Winner rides with the boy toy."
They played quickly, Xs and Os scrawling across the paper. Clementine slammed a final mark in the center square. "Three in a row. I win."
Prairie pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Lucky break."
Clementine crooked a finger at Christopher, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Come here."
Heat rose to Christopher’s cheeks, and he stepped forward, feeling like a moth drawn to a flame. The girls moved with agonizing slowness, dressing him as if he were a doll. They buttoned his faded green khaki shirt, their fingers brushing against his skin, and pulled up his matching pants, lingering over the buckle. Then they dressed themselves, the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet air.
Clementine hefted the rope-bound bags and threw them over her horse’s flank. She patted the spot behind her on the saddle. "Hop on."
Christopher swung his leg over the animal, settling in. "Wrap your arms around my stomach," she commanded. "And smell my hair. Tell me what it smells like."
He leaned in, burying his face in the strands at the nape of her neck. The scent was sweet and artificial, clashing with the earthy smell of the savannah. "Watermelon and grapes," he murmured against her skin.
"Good nose," Clementine said playfully. "That’s the shampoo."
Prairie mounted her donkey nearby. "Once we find someplace less open, he’s smelling my hair."
They kicked their animals into a gallop. The wind whipped past Christopher’s ears as they raced across the plains, the rhythm of the horse’s gait forcing him to press tight against Clementine’s back. After twenty-five minutes of hard riding, punctuated by a brief walk to let the beasts catch their breath, the landscape shifted. An abandoned missionary hut emerged from the heat haze, a solitary square of white sandstone brick.
They reined in the animals and dismounted. The hut was small, perhaps fifteen feet by fifteen feet, with a roof constructed from chocolate brown branches. Inside, the air was still and smelled of old dust. Red-brown wooden pews lined the room, facing a silver-painted wooden podium at the north end. On the podium sat a golden altar, flanked by paintings of the Archangel Michael—blue background, red tunic—and Gabriel in blue with a green background. Behind it loomed a giant gold crucifix, watching over shelves of statues that stared blankly into the nave.
Prairie turned to Christopher, her expression serious. "You’re a Catholic. Are you okay playing naughty games in here?"
Christopher looked at the crucifix, then at the two women. His throat felt dry. "I know it’s wrong," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But I can’t resist the temptation. It’s like... forbidden fruit. You look so ripe, I couldn’t avoid you even if I wanted to."
The women cackled, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Very few boys or girls can resist us," Clementine said smugly.
They led him to the altar. With practiced efficiency, they stripped him nude again, their hands roaming over his chest and thighs as they peeled the clothes away. "Wait here," Prairie said.
They ran back outside to the horse and donkey, just three yards away, their shadows stretching across the hut's threshold. Christopher stood naked and exposed before the altar, his heart hammering against his ribs. Moments later, they returned. Clementine held a pair of dice, while Prairie fanned a deck of cards.
"Dice first," Clementine said. "Faster."
Prairie shook the dice in her cupped hand and tossed them onto the altar. They clattered against the gold, settling as two sixes. She looked at Clementine, a competitive glint in her eyes. "Hard to beat."
Clementine didn’t complain. She hopped up to sit on the edge of the podium, positioning herself sideways to keep an eye on the entrance. "He’s all yours."
Prairie stepped into Christopher’s space, backing him up until his calves hit the altar steps. She pushed him down so he sat on the edge of the dais, then squatted over him, her knees on either side of his hips. She hovered her slit over the tip of his cock, rubbing it back and forth without letting him enter.
Christopher whined, his head falling back. "Please..."
Prairie laughed, a low, throaty sound. She slid her wet folds along the length of his shaft, coating him in her arousal. His whines turned to loud groans, his hips bucking instinctively to find purchase. Finally, she positioned him at her entrance and sank down, taking him fully inside.
They both arched their necks back, a synchronized gasp filling the small room. Christopher cried out as Prairie squeezed her vaginal muscles around him, a tight, rhythmic grip that made his toes curl. She giggled at the contorted expression on his face, then began to bounce.
She rode him with a steady cadence—not aggressively hard, but firm and deep. Every time his tip poked against her cervix, a jolt shot through her, sharp and electrifying. She looked up at the crucifix, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
"Oh God," she moaned, her voice rising. "Give me the strength to fuck him good. Give him pleasure... make us scream your name to the heavens!"
Christopher gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he met her thrusts. The sacrilege of the words mixed with the visual of the golden altar sent a wave of dark heat through him.
"Let him fill my loins with fire!" Prairie cried out, her movements becoming frantic. "Let my juices flow like a river!"
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the holy place. They struggled, bodies slick with sweat, trying to prolong the inevitable. But the tension was too high, the setting too taboo. With a final, guttural shout, Christopher exploded inside her, his body jerking violently. Prairie slammed down on him, her own orgasm crashing over her as she milked him dry, her inner walls pulsing around his throbbing dick. They collapsed against each other, panting heavily in the shadow of the cross.
Chapter Eight.
Prairie’s chest heaved as she pushed herself up, the slick sound of their parting echoing in the quiet hut. She swung her leg over Christopher’s body and climbed down from the altar, her knees wobbling slightly. She steadied herself against the rough wood, then stumbled toward the entrance where her Shetland pony waited, reaching for her canteen.
Left alone on the eight-foot-long, meter-wide altar, Christopher stared at the dust motes dancing in the shafts of light. Before he could catch his breath, Clementine stepped up. She stood on the altar, her boots thudding dully against the wood, and looked down at him with a predatory grin. Her fingers moved to the buttons of her shirt, peeling it away to reveal her skin, then unhooked her bra, letting it fall. She shimmied out of her shorts and panties, tossing the pile of clothes onto the dusty carpet below.
Naked, Clementine placed her hands behind her head, arching her back to accentuate her curves, then spread her legs wide. She lowered herself into a squat, hovering her slick pussy just inches from Christopher’s face.
"Time to work my legs, Christopher," she murmured, her voice dripping with intent. "I’m going to do squats... and impale myself on you."
She shifted her hips back, aligning her opening with the head of his cock, and then sank down. A guttural moan tore from her throat as she took him inside, stretching to accommodate his girth. She began to move, rising and falling in a rhythmic squatting motion, her thigh muscles trembling with the exertion. It was a difficult position, balancing on the altar while riding him, but she powered through, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
Every time she bottomed out, taking him to the hilt, she clenched her inner walls around his shaft, milking him. She watched his face, a giggle escaping her lips at the mix of agony and ecstasy twisting his features. His eyes rolled back, his mouth open in a silent scream as she worked him over.
About a minute in, Prairie returned from outside, having relieved her bladder. She squeezed a dollop of hand sanitizer into her palms and rubbed them together vigorously as she walked back in.
"Legs and pelvis, right?" Prairie called out, leaning against a pew to watch.
"Just like a Prairie Clementine session."
Clementine didn't answer, too focused on the rhythm. She continued for another two minutes, her pace relentless, until Christopher’s body arched off the altar. He let out a strangled cry, his hips bucking as he emptied himself inside her. Clementine slowed, milking him for every last drop before finally lifting herself off. His cum trickled out of her as she stood, running down her inner thigh.
She climbed down from the altar and walked over to Prairie, holding out her hand for the sanitizer. After cleaning up, she jogged back to her donkey to drink more water and relieve herself again. When she returned, she held a deck of 52 cards.
The two women huddled together for a moment, whispering and glancing back at Christopher with smirks playing on their lips.
"Get dressed, Christopher," Clementine commanded. "Then come sit with us."
He pulled himself up, his limbs heavy, and reached for his discarded clothes. As he dressed, Clementine and Prairie slipped their own garments back on. Once he was seated on the carpeted floor between them, Clementine leaned in close.
"You remember what you agreed to, don't you?" she asked. "If we played, we’d be your mistresses, and you’d submit to our wins."
Christopher nodded slowly. "I remember."
"Good," Prairie said, shuffling the deck. "We’re playing a variation. Strip poker meets spanking poker. Each round, everyone gets six cards. Do you know the values?"
"Yes," Christopher whispered.
"Lowest hand loses," Clementine explained. "The loser removes one piece of clothing—socks count—and receives a slap. Lose two rounds, two slaps. And so on. If you end up completely naked, the winner gets to give you a full spanking, for as long as they decide."
Christopher’s eyes widened. "Wait, but that means if you lose... I get to..."
Clementine grabbed his arm, her grip tight. "Yes, that’s exactly what it means!"
Prairie smirked. "If you’re not man enough to spank us, I understand."
The challenge hit its mark. Christopher frowned, his pride stinging. "I am man enough."
Both women laughed. "Pick your cards," Prairie said, dealing.
Christopher looked at his hand: a two of clubs, a three of spades, and a four of diamonds. A garbage hand.
Clementine fanned her cards out. "King, Queen, Jack, ten of spades, and a four of hearts."
Prairie laid hers down with a flourish. "Royal flush. Two jacks, two kings, two queens."
"Looks like you lose, honey," Clementine purred.
Prairie walked over to one of the wooden pews and sat down, patting her lap. "Bare feet and socks first. Come here."
Begrudgingly, Christopher pulled off his socks and laid himself across Prairie’s lap. The wood of the pew armrest dug into his stomach. Prairie pulled her arm back, high over her shoulder, holding the tension for ten agonizing seconds.
*Smack.*
Her hand came d
31-35, M