I felt relief when he plunged two of his fingers deep inside me suddenly during my arousal. “Ahhhh……Mmmmmmmmm….FFFuuckk.” I moaned loudly, feeling his thick fingers moving inside my tight passage. I forgot my pain of leaning against the railing.He took out his fingers and sucked them. He knelt down with his face at my genital. I watched with my heavy-lidded eyes consumed with lust. He placed his hands at the hem of the nighty. Keeping eye contact with me, he lifted my nighty up bunching it up around my waist. My skin burned setting the fire in me at every spot he touched. He leaned forward and began to kiss sporadically around my thighs as he gripped the top of my nighty. I leaned back clutching the railing for support as I bent my knees and pushed my ass up a little so that he could pull my panty down.I jumped when a thunder strike roared in the sky. Kalyan laughed sliding his hand on my wet mount with his fingers moving over my slit. He sucked my inner thigh biting down a little. They were hounds, it is true, but not foxhounds; the Emir's kennels contained the largest pack of pure-bred Irish Wolfhounds anywhere in the world. The chances of a fox against these pursuers would be slim indeed, but there were no foxes in Kobekistan. If our hypothetical Englishman were to follow the hunt until he caught a glimpse of the quarry, he would be even more surprised to see that it was some five feet at the shoulder, had little or no fur, except the great mane on its head, and used only two legs. It would be difficult to discern any other details against the rough country through which they hunted as its markings were an almost perfect camouflage. The dogs, of course, hunted more by scent than by sight, but men do not have that privilege.If our man actually arrived in time to see the 'kill' he would discover that it could take two hours to deal with the quarry, once it was cornered. The protective camouflage would first be torn off, by the hunters not by the dogs. This.
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