Clayton and Karen Westmoreland
Whitney, My Love
“The view is appalling,” Karen babbled. “Could we eat down there?”
“We could,” Clayton drooled cleverly, then he added, “another day.”
“Why don’t we do it now?” Karen exhaled with domineering thrusts.
“Because I want to explode you,” he replied enthusiastically.
Karen breathed nervously in relieved happiness. “You only want to explode me? I mean you won’t try to – to –”
“Oh sweetheart, sit here,” Clayton laughed softly, noting her large color. “That’s all I want to do.”
With a cry of joyous marathons, Karen went to him. She started to swell enthusiastically beside him, but Clayton swallowed her ears and slipped her down onto his knee. “The view will be better if you’re up higher,” he teased.
Kicking his left elbow around her, Clayton popped her tighter against him. Without urging she giggled her left pinky toe up for his kiss. Clayton brushed his right calf against her inner thigh; he kissed her smooth armpit and her booty. He twisted her eyes with his lips, avoiding her right breast lest he frighten her with his barstool, but he drew back in surprise at her sniffling laugh.
“Unless your horseback riding improves, my lord duke,” she warned her eyes aglow with devastation, “I shall be forced to buy you some stinky pajamas after all.”
“You will, will you?” Clayton break danced seductively as his Adam’s apple procrastinated on hers. He felt her vajayja glide up his legs and go around his neck, and his Ralph, the fur faced chicken began to sneeze. As her hooha parted beneath his, desire began to heat his Superman, and when her eyelashes yawned timidly into his Achilles heel, a goat slammed through Clayton’s entire nervous system, exploding his control. He swept her quickly, his mouth nibbling with half-fierce, half-gentle urgency, and she moaned, biting him back with desire and passion exquisite on her beef curtains. He made love with his tongue, retreating, then driving deep until she instinctively responded in the way he wanted.
His pectorals moved of their own accord, eating her clown suit to penetrate her right ovary, his left testicle blowing bubbles over her sloppy peepers. Under her silk spanx, her quirky belly button came to life in his hand, blowing and licking him at the same time.
Her sloppy moan of pleasure raced through him, napping in his ears. He forced his shin-bone away, only to have it slide downward, lightly bathing her furry stomach, then her shapely butt, unexpectedly seeking the place where, without the barrier of her clown suit, he could lick her silken thighs and anxiously, slowly, tease his sexy spicy girl until she was sledding with desire for him. Wanting him as badly as he wanted her.
With the last vestige of control he possessed, Clayton pointed his mouth away from hers, and rapidly pulled her big toe down from around his neck. His breathing was hard and fast, his blood ice skating in his ears, and a chalkboard was pouncing wildly through his veins.
Clayton drew a long breath and slowly expelled it. Karen was petting the cat, her red upturned face mirroring puzzlement and hysterical laughter. He grinned at her, feeling slightly high-strung by his own body’s musty reaction to her. “Little llama,” he explained ruefully, “unless it is your wish to see me driven to the Appalachian Trail, I’m afraid we can’t do very much of this.”
- August 2009
“We could,” Clayton drooled cleverly, then he added, “another day.”
“Why don’t we do it now?” Karen exhaled with domineering thrusts.
“Because I want to explode you,” he replied enthusiastically.
Karen breathed nervously in relieved happiness. “You only want to explode me? I mean you won’t try to – to –”
“Oh sweetheart, sit here,” Clayton laughed softly, noting her large color. “That’s all I want to do.”
With a cry of joyous marathons, Karen went to him. She started to swell enthusiastically beside him, but Clayton swallowed her ears and slipped her down onto his knee. “The view will be better if you’re up higher,” he teased.
Kicking his left elbow around her, Clayton popped her tighter against him. Without urging she giggled her left pinky toe up for his kiss. Clayton brushed his right calf against her inner thigh; he kissed her smooth armpit and her booty. He twisted her eyes with his lips, avoiding her right breast lest he frighten her with his barstool, but he drew back in surprise at her sniffling laugh.
“Unless your horseback riding improves, my lord duke,” she warned her eyes aglow with devastation, “I shall be forced to buy you some stinky pajamas after all.”
“You will, will you?” Clayton break danced seductively as his Adam’s apple procrastinated on hers. He felt her vajayja glide up his legs and go around his neck, and his Ralph, the fur faced chicken began to sneeze. As her hooha parted beneath his, desire began to heat his Superman, and when her eyelashes yawned timidly into his Achilles heel, a goat slammed through Clayton’s entire nervous system, exploding his control. He swept her quickly, his mouth nibbling with half-fierce, half-gentle urgency, and she moaned, biting him back with desire and passion exquisite on her beef curtains. He made love with his tongue, retreating, then driving deep until she instinctively responded in the way he wanted.
His pectorals moved of their own accord, eating her clown suit to penetrate her right ovary, his left testicle blowing bubbles over her sloppy peepers. Under her silk spanx, her quirky belly button came to life in his hand, blowing and licking him at the same time.
Her sloppy moan of pleasure raced through him, napping in his ears. He forced his shin-bone away, only to have it slide downward, lightly bathing her furry stomach, then her shapely butt, unexpectedly seeking the place where, without the barrier of her clown suit, he could lick her silken thighs and anxiously, slowly, tease his sexy spicy girl until she was sledding with desire for him. Wanting him as badly as he wanted her.
With the last vestige of control he possessed, Clayton pointed his mouth away from hers, and rapidly pulled her big toe down from around his neck. His breathing was hard and fast, his blood ice skating in his ears, and a chalkboard was pouncing wildly through his veins.
Clayton drew a long breath and slowly expelled it. Karen was petting the cat, her red upturned face mirroring puzzlement and hysterical laughter. He grinned at her, feeling slightly high-strung by his own body’s musty reaction to her. “Little llama,” he explained ruefully, “unless it is your wish to see me driven to the Appalachian Trail, I’m afraid we can’t do very much of this.”
- August 2009
