Free Cameltoe High Quality Porn

More than fresh air can be had on a dude ranch.

Taking a seat in the old rocker next to his bride's dressing table, he leaned forward, resting his elbows just slightly behind his kneecaps. His head tilted just slightly to his right, his mouth forming an agape smile, but one comfortable to the shape of his mouth. She always slept with a hand next to her face, breathing gently upon her thin, long fingertips that felt so wonderful rubbing his shoulders. Especially when accompanied by a cool kiss to his neck.

He loved her from the first second he saw her. She was petite, like a porcelain doll. Her face had cheekbones that spread swiftly down to slightly oversized lips and a soft, gentle chin. Her eyes, Lord, her eyes were hypnotizing. Milky green was the only way he could describe them. Her mother and father called them cat eyes, which led to a childhood nickname of Kitty. She still answered to it, maybe for their sake.

There were a constellation of tiny moles all along her body, most of them barely felt beneath the sweep of fingertips. They amazed him and and his daughter equally. They had a personality, somehow. He memorized the letter written to him about a night in the winter when she shared a bath with their daughter and she first noticed them. And she was the only person he knew who had an outtie belly button. That too was passed along to their daughter. A year's time had made him forget about all of the little things. Her delicate wheeze matched everything about her.

Crawling in to bed, he crept closely against her, his hand sweeping across her jutting pelvic bone and up to her midsection. He risked placing a peck of a kiss on her chilled shoulder and slowly she turned, her eyes still looking green, even in the sea of blue.

Her eyes fell upon an almost unrecognizable remnant of her husband. His baby face was now separated with lines and hung close to the bones beneath. She didn't even know him when she saw him at first. His mouth seemed out of place on this face, his blue eyes sunken and hollow. His face was weathered and the slender scar beneath his left eye threw everything out of proportion. Still, she rubbed her soft hand across him, afraid he was a dream, like the ones which filled her head every night he was gone.

This time, her hand made contact against warm flesh.

"Are you all right?" Her voice was scratchy.

He nodded, but she sat up anyway, feeling his face with the back of her hand. The skin on his neck was cold and his eyes wide, as though he had been up for too long in the darkness.

"Do you want me to turn a light on?" She asked, a slight nervousness in her voice.

"No," his voice was quiet. "I can see everything."

"Is something wrong?"

She had become a good mother and it put a relaxed smirk across his face again.

"I was just watching you," he confessed.

She nodded and swept her legs beneath her tail, rising up and tugging at her nightgown. The sweet smell of her hair fell from her body as she removed the gown and her undergarments. She didn't want anything to inhibit his view of her. Leaning forward, she kissed her husband of five years, her lip having to conform to the scar running across his mouth. For every day he was gone, she remained completely faithful. Two of her friends' husbands didn't come home. Every night, she held her daughter to her breast, crying and clinging to a photograph of her husband in uniform.

Her skin was as soft as cotton. White and smooth. He was almost ashamed to look upon her for fear of corrupting such beauty. Her fingers were cold against his chin, her eyes asking him to look upon her.

Her shoulders were perfect, blending in to gentle breasts, fallen with time and womanly. Her nipples were dark, she thought too dark, and almost perfectly round and hard in the night air. Her stomach was soft and flat, trailing off to her narrow hips and a thick mound of dark hair. Her hands rested firmly on her legs, which she hated. Too thin, she always said.

She began undressing him, lifting his arms and pulling off his white tee shirt.

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