Dusty on the Kenya Trail part seven
While Prairie focused on the friction, Clementine claimed the upper territory. She pivoted and lowered herself, her soft, wet buttocks descending upon Christopher’s face. For five seconds, he was enveloped in the warmth of her cheeks, the scent of soap and skin filling his senses. Then, she shifted upward, her backside sliding across his mouth, nose, and eyes, momentarily blinding him with her weight and warmth.
Prairie, after a minute had passed, finally ended the foreplay and sank down, swallowing him whole in a wet, sliding grip that drew a strangled cry from his throat. She began to bounce, her hips moving in a frantic, rhythmic blur that hammered against his prostate. Christopher let out a guttural groan, the sound muffled and distorted by the weight of Clementine’s backside pressing firmly against his face.
Clementine didn't just sit; she performed a slow, undulating dance, shaking her glutes from side to side with a hypnotic, heavy friction. The movement jerked Christopher’s head back and forth, rattling his skull and leaving him dizzy, his senses swirling in a cocktail of steam and scent. just like when she been rubbing her butt in his face, can I make sure that Either his mouth or nose were uncovered at all times, so she wouldn’t have struck his breathing. He groaned, a muffled, guttural sound that vibrated against her skin, his voice lost in the wet heat of her hold.
As the steam continued to swirl around them, Clementine shifted her weight, her movements becoming more deliberate. She began to clench and release her glutes in a rhythmic, pulsing sequence, squeezing Christopher’s face between the muscular walls of her backside.
"You know, Prairie," she gasped, her voice vibrating through her skin and directly into Christopher’s skull, "his eyebrows, his temples, his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and his chin are so bony. They’re actually great for exercising my glutes!"
She treated his face like a living massage tool, grinding the bony ridges of his forehead and jaw into her flesh with a focused, athletic intensity that left Christopher dazed and breathless.
For three more minutes, he existed in a state of sensory oblivion, crushed between the wet heat of Clementine’s backside and the relentless, bouncing friction of Prairie’s hips. The world had narrowed down to the sound of splashing water and the heavy thrum of his own heart. Suddenly, Prairie let out a sharp, triumphant holler that echoed off the tiles, her back arching as she felt his seed erupt deep within her, filling her up in a series of powerful, involuntary surges.
"Reach down," Clementine commanded, her voice a playful snap. "Scratch his balls against your thighs. It'll make the orgasm last longer."
Prairie complied instantly, shifting her angle to ensure the most sensitive parts of him were being teased and rubbed against her slick skin. For one full minute, she maintained this agonizingly perfect pressure, prolonging the peak of his release until every nerve ending in Christopher’s body felt as though it had been set on fire. It took another thirty seconds for the tension to finally break and for him to go completely limp inside her, his muscles giving out in a total, blissful collapse.
The three of them stood there for a moment, the only sound the drumming of the water and their synchronized, heavy breathing. They were utterly exhausted, a trio of soap-slicked bodies steaming in the humid air. With a collective effort, the girls hauled him out of the shower. They treated him with a surprising, warm tenderness, wrapping him in a plush, oversized red towel and scrubbing his skin dry with a focused efficiency that felt almost maternal after the chaos of the last hour.
Once Christopher was dry, the girls reached for to ocean reef – designed towels in dried off themselves. Then, still naked and glowing from the shower, they ushered him back into the lemon-honey bedroom. The contrast of the bright, surreal walls and the deep, plush emerald of the carpet seemed even more vivid now, as if the room itself were vibrating with the lingering energy of their encounter. They didn't let him stand for long; they guided him toward the center of the bed, pushing him back onto the soft linens.
The air in the room was still heavy with the scent of their various soaps, a floral and fruity haze that clung to their skin. They stood over him, their eyes twinkling with a competitive spark. Without a word, they squared off for the third and final time. Their hands blurred in the air, a rhythmic snap of fingers and palms.
Clementine’s hand landed flat—paper—covering Prairie’s rock.
A triumphant shriek escaped Clementine as she claimed her prize. She didn't waste a second, launching herself forward with a graceful, athletic leap. She landed squarely on Christopher’s chest, her weight pressing him deep into the plush mattress. Simultaneously, Prairie dove beneath him, sliding her slick, warm body under his back and hips, hoisting his torso upward as she locked her legs around his.
Prairie, after a minute had passed, finally ended the foreplay and sank down, swallowing him whole in a wet, sliding grip that drew a strangled cry from his throat. She began to bounce, her hips moving in a frantic, rhythmic blur that hammered against his prostate. Christopher let out a guttural groan, the sound muffled and distorted by the weight of Clementine’s backside pressing firmly against his face.
Clementine didn't just sit; she performed a slow, undulating dance, shaking her glutes from side to side with a hypnotic, heavy friction. The movement jerked Christopher’s head back and forth, rattling his skull and leaving him dizzy, his senses swirling in a cocktail of steam and scent. just like when she been rubbing her butt in his face, can I make sure that Either his mouth or nose were uncovered at all times, so she wouldn’t have struck his breathing. He groaned, a muffled, guttural sound that vibrated against her skin, his voice lost in the wet heat of her hold.
As the steam continued to swirl around them, Clementine shifted her weight, her movements becoming more deliberate. She began to clench and release her glutes in a rhythmic, pulsing sequence, squeezing Christopher’s face between the muscular walls of her backside.
"You know, Prairie," she gasped, her voice vibrating through her skin and directly into Christopher’s skull, "his eyebrows, his temples, his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and his chin are so bony. They’re actually great for exercising my glutes!"
She treated his face like a living massage tool, grinding the bony ridges of his forehead and jaw into her flesh with a focused, athletic intensity that left Christopher dazed and breathless.
For three more minutes, he existed in a state of sensory oblivion, crushed between the wet heat of Clementine’s backside and the relentless, bouncing friction of Prairie’s hips. The world had narrowed down to the sound of splashing water and the heavy thrum of his own heart. Suddenly, Prairie let out a sharp, triumphant holler that echoed off the tiles, her back arching as she felt his seed erupt deep within her, filling her up in a series of powerful, involuntary surges.
"Reach down," Clementine commanded, her voice a playful snap. "Scratch his balls against your thighs. It'll make the orgasm last longer."
Prairie complied instantly, shifting her angle to ensure the most sensitive parts of him were being teased and rubbed against her slick skin. For one full minute, she maintained this agonizingly perfect pressure, prolonging the peak of his release until every nerve ending in Christopher’s body felt as though it had been set on fire. It took another thirty seconds for the tension to finally break and for him to go completely limp inside her, his muscles giving out in a total, blissful collapse.
The three of them stood there for a moment, the only sound the drumming of the water and their synchronized, heavy breathing. They were utterly exhausted, a trio of soap-slicked bodies steaming in the humid air. With a collective effort, the girls hauled him out of the shower. They treated him with a surprising, warm tenderness, wrapping him in a plush, oversized red towel and scrubbing his skin dry with a focused efficiency that felt almost maternal after the chaos of the last hour.
Once Christopher was dry, the girls reached for to ocean reef – designed towels in dried off themselves. Then, still naked and glowing from the shower, they ushered him back into the lemon-honey bedroom. The contrast of the bright, surreal walls and the deep, plush emerald of the carpet seemed even more vivid now, as if the room itself were vibrating with the lingering energy of their encounter. They didn't let him stand for long; they guided him toward the center of the bed, pushing him back onto the soft linens.
The air in the room was still heavy with the scent of their various soaps, a floral and fruity haze that clung to their skin. They stood over him, their eyes twinkling with a competitive spark. Without a word, they squared off for the third and final time. Their hands blurred in the air, a rhythmic snap of fingers and palms.
Clementine’s hand landed flat—paper—covering Prairie’s rock.
A triumphant shriek escaped Clementine as she claimed her prize. She didn't waste a second, launching herself forward with a graceful, athletic leap. She landed squarely on Christopher’s chest, her weight pressing him deep into the plush mattress. Simultaneously, Prairie dove beneath him, sliding her slick, warm body under his back and hips, hoisting his torso upward as she locked her legs around his.
31-35, M
