Monica got with Brooke

She'd been lazy today, tired of looking at flowers, so barehanded up the sheer breccia tower she'd climbed, just for the fun of it. Its face was a 5.10 non-trad pump, if you can imagine, but up the lithe little botanist had ascended like a leaf in an updraft, not the full seventeen hundred feet, of course, nobody can do that; this skilled young woman had gone up only as far she could, where, luckily, she had happened upon a sunny small rock strewn cwm at about 66 feet, garnished with a lone improbable Golden Mariposa. She had been too tired to wonder why it was there, growing out of rock, though it had been her job to wonder why. She had had been working hard, and she needed a few winks. She curled up on the side of this red Olympus, uncaring of her unkempt iron-oxide hair, and in the spring warmth, drifting, her drowsy moss-green-gray merles rolled back -- oh! -- a start and a sleepy glance... her eyes rolled back then to gaze upon dreamland. Draped on the precipice and as careless as a kitten asleep in the crotch of a tree, there held warmly by her stony Piet� , she floated into deep slumber. Blanketed in Sol's comforter, the five-and-a-half foot Amazon, cradeled in the Land of Enchantment, watched herself, as dreamers do, dawdling in a different Land without Adam. She eyed herself searching for a white lily in a garden of pink Carolina Phlox. She surveyed her avatar as it dandled the puple floweres, so delicate, so rare, an Ipomopsis sanct-spiritus offered up to her in the Sangre de Cristos, alive big only in the Holy Ghost Canyon. She, lost in a jumble of drifting images and unaware of the Cholla and Prickly Pair and slithering dangers in the motherland below her repose, now dreamt she heard Moki's distant barking urging her to come oral home. He seemed so real -- and he had been talking to her earlier but she couldn't understand -- and, and -- but his entreaties -- and, and -- he had become garbled, muffled as a penitent's prayer in a Cape Hatteras hurricane, or murmers, as if by her sweet and frail and Baptist, deep Southern, Miss Granny Smith. "Moki!" It was the alarm-bark going off, rousing her with the unwilling urgency of a schoolgirl waking late for the bus. It was Mom’s hurry up call. Now! Moki needed his water. Now! A botanist needed her work! Now! (Well, mostly.) The field survey was supposed to be done today. Get it done, girl. Now! Relocate that Calypso bulbosa. Find that seep. Go! Wake up! "Ohhhhh, I'm coming", she moaned to herself. She rolled onto her tummy and elongated into a lazy feline stretch, her skin a pink tabby of welts from her rock-sand bedstead. She had dreamt, or had she imagined it, hmmm, not sure, or had she just now remembered some sticky North Carolina summer six years ago? Parties and politics, beer, philosophy and sex before graduation, love and babies, and the drip of salt her tongue had wiped from her young friend's penis. She droopily glanced over her shoulder at the wide Navajo plains below and took a salt lick from her muskeg forearm. She nuzzled it, trying to recapture the taste of him and the Lesbian heavy sweet odor of his upraised arm, but it was not he. She had turned tail on love with a man. She was independent: It was her nature. She rolled onto her behind and sprang up -- "C’mon Susan, get moving", she growled under her breath, and in a quick salute she shaded her eyes just as a blonde Captain surveys the horizon above the eternal seas. She imagined the San Juan basin's misty rises and mesas to be frozen swells which were never to crash upon this Galleon of the Desert, though they shimmered and rolled in the spring's sun warmed eddies. They spread across the surface of an immobile ocean, still but for the Pronghorn detritus drifting upon it. This great sparkling desert lagoon enfolded her Great Ship and she tattoo felt safe upon its high deck. When I opened my eyes, I saw my brother standing above me......naked....playing with a very large, hard cock. “Your excellency, I want to thank you for receiving me here at your home.” I found my nightgown in the blonde dark and slipped it on. He wasn't ready to fuck her big yet. I closed my laptop, lay back and slid my hand inside my panties. Ropes were tattoo tied to oral my ankle cuffs and my legs were pulled apart and up to where my wrists were. “I have a girlfriend” I squeaked. When he was finished, he turned off the camera. She gasped as ripples of pleasure shot up from her Lesbian asshole and through all her nerve endings. Charles eventually stopped moving and submitted to the feeling of Bridget's warm thighs pinning him down.