What do you feel?
When you are laying on your stomach – completely naked and on a clump of leaves, what do you feel?
The leaves that have fallen in this time of Autumn, how do they feel against your skin? Against your bare breast?
Tell me my queen, what do you hear from where you lay in this clearing? What animal dares to break the stillness? Can you hear my own breathing? Can you feel my breath on your neck?
It’s a miraculous thing to look upon your cunt, trimmed and glistening, and think of how I was chosen to slide apart those beautiful lips.
When I take your body – when my hands grip your hips and move you back against me – I want to hear your sing. I want to hear you sing a song like the birds in the trees.
Your name, whatever you were back in civilisation, is irrelevant here. You’re an animal in the wilderness. So sing to me, my sweetness.
Sing to me as my cock fills you as much as it can, until your hands grip the dirt to hang on.
Tell me my queen, what will you do then?