Sunday Morning Cream Pie

The back of my head bumps against the bark of the trunk, shocking me back into full awareness as you press your crotch against my face, and my nose is squidged into your slit for an exotic moment. My legs are shaking, trembling, and sweat pours down my breasts and thighs. reality kings full porn There is a small towel in our golf bags, normally used to dry the grips of the drivers and of your hands, whether of sweat on hot days or rain on wet ones. With an impatient grunt at my stupidity, you take a fistful of my skirt in one hand and a clump of my hair in the other, and you push me against the tree and also down onto my knees. The fingers of your left hand prise my labia apart and reveal the moist pink target, and then you push the handle of the club up into me, like a huge dildo. There is a small towel in our golf bags, normally used to dry the grips of the drivers and of your hands, whether of sweat on hot days or rain on wet ones. We each use these to wipe around between our legs and over our thighs and torsos, and then we shuffle back into our discarded clothes. I see you glance at the woods, but I think nothing of it. Incredibly, only about twenty minutes has passed whilst we were in the woods, and no one will remark our slightly later than average return to the clubhouse – after all, it is partly a tuition round, and bound to take