Daisy likes the music that is playing and crooning out loud. It is sweet and beautiful; gentle and winning. With each sluggish, tortoise-like tempo and rhythm, she can feel her pulse gait and punch build and strengthen up. Blood upsurges and gushes more faster and rapid inside her veins. All as she awaits for him to take off his clothes or strip one hundred per cent naked. He seems to be biding his time ably and conscientiously.
Preston Dick; the man she is wed and espoused to now as both his bitch and whore of a loving wife. He is erect and straightened up on his feet right here before her very face and eyes, robed and geared in a black suit that looks as neat as a new pin and impeccable and spotless as an angel’s vestment. His shoes, just like his neck tie and wrist watch, are dusky and dark in color and shade. He is nice-looking and highly attractive to the extent that Daisy cannot help but let saliva trickle and slobber steadily and gradually out of her mouth. She later on laps and brushes it all back with her lustily, horny, and sexual-craving tongue. She can even picture and think herself brushing and pecking at his charming, enjoyable nipples all the way farther down to his chest to his dick to his penis beneath there.
Preston’s eyes are leveled and unswerving away from her. He glances and stares at her mildly as she lies down there on their matrimonial bed, stripped fully nude and uncovered. She makes a slight, delicate and yet fragile movement—one that has her large, chunky buttocks and goodly-sized breasts jig and wiggle about carelessly. This is as enough and sufficient as is needed to whip up his dick from its day-long and hours-stretched form of sleep. He can feel it get up and jump its way steadily and by degrees in his underwear—where an itchy, edgy-like feeling starts to haunt and afflict him. He must dance and spin to the music now. He must do it for sure.
First, he pitches and chucks his right foot ahead of him. Hurriedly and at a flying, winged-like style of pace. This is in divergence and contrariety to the slow-moving, dawdling-like tune of music. The rhythm is still lazy and lagging in its pace and motion. Next; his sound, healthy, and fit as a fiddle hand races and tears to the collar of his shirt so that it seizes and takes hold of his pitch-black tie; which, upon being clutched and clung on to; gets all of a sudden and straight away snatched and snapped up straight away. With a renting-akin and shredding-alike sound, the tie ghosts and slips off the collar, heading on to swirl and whirl and twirl its way freely and liberally in the slack, untethered, and unconfined air.
While he wheels and spins himself around on his two staid and stabilized feet, Preston tosses and pitches the tie away so he can briskly and speedily commence to untie and unbridle the buttons of his jacket. Having slung and lobbed it down to the floor, he breaks off from swinging round-about and persistently switching his position. For a skimpy, scant while, he glances and stares straight there at Daisy, clothed in nothing but a white Spartan shirt that embraces and cuddles to his skin and chest tightly and snugly. Yummy! He is whence powerful-built and mouthwatering-formed at the same time. Just this sighting alone makes Daisy’s vagina tingle and tickle with grand and excruciating sexual pain and twinge. She is getting soaked and moist down there already, even without him placing or stroking or sticking his finger down there. She swallows and swigs down hard at imagining just this.
Preston’s dance and swinging changes when the jingle of music fluctuates; its beat and throb hastens and gees up. A thundering, blaring-like thud and thump surfaces and materializes in, shaking and rocking Preston up, jiggling and vibrating the entire room itself. While the beat is this accelerated and mercurial, Preston’s dance becomes tortoise-like and sluggardly. With one easy and deliberate grip and cradle of the extremity or pinnacle of his shirt, he hauls and wrests his hands apart so that his shirt’s buttons are all displaced and ripped apart, scattering and strewing their way helplessly in the threadlike, dense air. One by one, they tick and clack onto the floor, clanging callously like the tumultuous piece of music, chiming and tolling what’s more.
With his head straightening and getting high up into the air, Preston tugs and pulls the shirt off him. Absolutely appetizing! His denuded and unclad hairy chest is tremendously tasty and thrilling to stare at. Its delectable view makes Daisy’s nipples stiffen and surge in downright sexual arousal at the same time. Lush, gauzy fluid or juice drips and begins to seep out of her vagina, down to her sex-prepared and fuck in-readiness legs. She pants and gasps out seriously and feelingly. Even the air running and sweeping direct into her nostrils is favorably sweetened and honeyed too. Oh gosh!
“I am going to fuck you hard tonight, my sweet nasty beautiful bitch, Daisy,” Preston murmurs and purrs out in a soft, low, and sotto-sounding voice. Daisy’s body hisses and rustles with libido and sexual desire of him at just overhearing and listening to this.
At a snail’s pace, in his own good time and ploddingly, Preston hauls and drags his pants down so she can sight and note the brand and tainted style of underwear he is wearing. Even his underwear and manly undies are pitch-black too! Goodness! His macho swell and bulge bag is filled and loaded to the last full. Daisy cannot trust or credit her very own eyes. He is charming and lovely and handsome in his well-nigh nakedness. The show is not over yet. Now he is about to take off and pull away his dark, dusky-like underwear so that she can eye and discern his glorious, gorgeous king and prince in all his monarchial and royal praise and prestige. His Majesty—Preston Dick Junior! With a mischievous and wicked-alike and Machiavellian smile, Daisy Bitch twinkles and smirks back at Preston, hauling and towing her legs apart for the celebrated king to make his indomitable conquest.
