Filling Inside With A Creampie

Shafts of sunlight poked through the canopy to create spots of light on the forest floor. It was delicious. I stepped out of the shorts, and they fell to the ground in a sodden heap. With renewed hope, I pushed forward and soon came across the river. I took a bite, the tender flesh almost melting in my mouth. I was following a rough trail, the work of some unknown creature, perhaps a tapir or a peccary. The sun was getting lower in the sky, it would be setting fairly soon. I gasped, my hand moving to the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his thick, black hair. The firelight illuminated a figure sitting cross-legged before the blaze. His skin was firm and weathered, and he had hard lines and bumps over his forehead and around his eyes, probably the result of scarification or something similar. Sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down the back of my neck as I hacked away at the relentless underbrush with my machete.