Peter was sat on a watching his goats milling around, busy doing ovine things. It wasn’t yet time to take them up or down, he forgets which, to new pasture. His thoughts understandably turned to Heidi, sweet, sexy, curvy Heidi.
It was only since she’d come of age (just clarifying for Ava’s benefit) and they’d consummated their relationship, that he’d appreciated just how holey she was. Blessed with a trio of orifices all ready to accommodate him. Each in it’s own way warm, moist and welcoming, and yet each having it’s own particular attractions.
But there was more. She wasn’t just holey; she was buttony too. Equally blessed with a trio of magic buttons, each capable of turning her into … it was hard to describe.
But this was fickle fey magic. One day the slightest breath or gentlest touch could transform his companion into a facsimile of a farmyard in the midst of a wolf attack. Braying and bawling; begging and bleating; crying and caterwauling; grunting and groaning; honking and howling; moaning and mewling; shrieking and squealing.
And yet there were times when, despite his best ministrations, there was barely a whisper; left with his tongue feeling raw and fingers aching, and apparently all for nothing, or so it seemed. Give her her due but Heidi always did her best to reassure him; that it wasn’t his fault; it was her. Maybe she wasn’t in the mood; it just wasn’t clicking for her this time; she was thinking about bread rolls; even something incomprehensible involving the moon.
He was confused. The female body, and female pleasure in particular, was truly a mystery. It was easy for him, a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, a curl of the toes, maybe even a cursory grunt or sigh and, Bob’s your proverbial, he’d serve up a generous portion of ‘homebrew pancake batter’, job done. He particularly enjoyed spaffing it across dem tiddies, as the pair liked to refer to her oh-so pert breasts.