top of page
Search

morning prayer

“The air is my clothes. The ground is my shoes.”

Her soft words linger quietly in the dawn chill, up here on the crest. A glint of sun appears down past the pond, where there is a gap in the pines. As she spreads her legs, her butt supported by her elbows, the first rays enter her opened vagina, then with a little flex of her internal muscles, into the little gape of her anus. She is filled with sunlight. Her toes spread as if grabbing the sky, little spots of dry dirt falling off her toughened soles.

She lies back on the grass and uses the wooden lingam she created last week on their foot-driven lathe. The gentle bumps turned out to be just right, not too little and not too big, to work her clitoris, inside and outside. It takes the sun three minutes to clear the horizon. She is ready well before that, but holds back until her squinting eyes see the object of her worship in full glory, a stronger orgasm.

It takes a couple of minutes to come back to earth. Then she hops back to the house, a naked sprite, light on her feet, breasts jiggling.

52 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

a guy in the mailgirls’ “dorm”

The “penthouse” is actually a roof covered by a skylight, and it is breathtaking.  The girls keep the lights dim and the stars are out tonight, thousands of them, despite the light pollution from the

housewife in supermarket, 1962

She is pushing the carriage through the vegetable aisle, pumps on both breasts, bottles gently swaying, tugging on her already swollen nipples, as she reaches around them to pick out the heads of lett

nude, female version of Indiana Jones

For now, she had to, in a subtle way, let people know she had changed.  She worked this into the conversation when Mayree said, “Tam, what did you do all summer?  You seem so different.” After all I’v

Comments


bottom of page