Indian Girl Riding

The man had made an impression, she did her best to avoid him at all cost, when she was at the shelter…she wasn’t scared of him or anything even related to that emotion group, but he did make her feel on edge and nervous and as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she found him to be the most remarkably attractive man she had ever encountered. At six two, he towered over her petite stature, making her feel more feminine than any other man ever had…everything about him was over the top, brimming with arrogant heat and masculine dominance that seemed to radiate from him each time he walked into a room, giving one the impression that his hazel, gold flaked eyes missed nothing. He was a powerful built man, a solid construction of defined muscles that rippled with an energy Callie found fascinating each time she managed to steal a look at him, finding herself oddly drawn to that energy. He never said much, he watched and observed more than interacted, but it was obvious that he. At the top of the slit sat a delicate, pale pink hood…very soft and sensitive to the touch…and nestled inside that fleshy sheath was an even more sensitive and succulently ripe little love bud, a glorious pink pearl capable of blossoming with her growing excitement into a rigid, throbbing…sometimes even demanding…miniature little shaft of pure pleasure. She had another inviting opening…smaller, tighter, and in its own way more inviting…which she couldn’t see in her reflection at the moment due to her precarious position, but she was aware of it just the same. Her eyes were drawn once again to her crotch and she looked from the mirror down over the swell of her breasts to gaze at it directly. A roughly triangular patch of soft, curly blonde hair rested atop her young slit. It was just shy of being unruly and a few errant hairs were starting to work their way further down. This was why she was here now…helpless and waiting…a periodic ritual of cleansing which she feared and loved in.
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