Athalon (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} athalon) wrote,@ 2006-03-04 20:41:00 |
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Romantic Ferret Novelism
Trina slipped one hand into the waistband of her jeans. The leather belt with her name on the back was tight, yet her need was even tighter. Sam stood bent over in the stock pen castrating a steer, the sun-red crack of his meaty, manly ass winking enticingly from the back of his own denim work-wear. His buns were firm yet tender, as her best Sunday chicken-fry, which fact Trina knew from fantasy, with the conviction of Bible Belt faith. The handyman was leading her on, the young prairie widow was sure. She found her clitoris ready and wet as an Oklahoma summer afternoon.
