Twistys - (Cassie Laine) Starring At Horny Indian Girl

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It was the quietest orgasm I have ever heard a woman have. It was damned near silent.Her body relaxed and I lowered her slowly to the ground.I lowered my body down on hers, my cock still inside.I pulled her hair back and whispered in her ear, “When I fuck a slut, I don’t stop until I have had my fill. And I am not done with you yet. Are you sure you want to be my slut?”She answered in a mumbled fashion with her cheek mashed into the carpet, “Make me your slut.”I resumed fucking her. Her moans returned louder than ever. I think she was still pretty sensitive after her last orgasm.I grabbed both of her shoulders and forced her into me with every thrust. She made a loud “huhm!” with every slap of skin.After a couple of minutes, I leaned in and whispered, “If your boyfriend can’t fuck you like this, maybe I should be your boyfriend. This is how I will fuck you every night when you are mine. Do you think that you can handle that? Or do you need to go back to your boyfriend?”“I am yours. Daddy’s still moist cum touched my nose and lips and I groaned as I tasted his salty sweet seed mixed with mom’s tangy sweet juices. Then I felt more panic as I realized it was Saturday morning and I would have to face mom and dad down stairs. I then thought about my sexy mom and sexy dad naked fucking and my pussy tingled. My hormones took over and I got out of bed and stood naked looking at myself in the mirror. I caressed my perky small tits and ran my fingers through my dark patch of pubic hair. I smiled as myself in the mirror as I decided to skip my morning shower and I slide on my dirty cum soaked panties mom borrowed. The feeling of their moist cum touching my skin made me sigh. The damp crotch of my panties crushed up against my hairy mound and it felt amazing. My tits hardened as I slipped on a T shirt and I walked to my door. My legs were weak as I descended the stairs. I could hear my parents talking from the kitchen as I rounded the corner. The both froze when they saw.
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She did not have the orgasm she wanted because of her uneasiness masturbating in the laundromat. The thought of being watched did excite her somewhat.She looked down at the number posted on the washing machine.Ashley saw the number eighteen and thought that would be easy. That was Peyton Manning's number. Her favorite football player. She was glad it was not number twelve, as did not like the player who wore that number. Even that dreamy Tom Brady.The next Saturday morning came, and it was the same story, all alone because her boyfriend had to work. Ashley wiped the sleep from her eyes as she awoke. She jumped out of bed and thought this is Saturday I need to huddle with good ole number eighteen at the laundromat.Driving there as quickly as she could and thinking to herself this week, I am going to enjoy myself even more.Her thoughts turned to despair as she thought, what if they fixed number eighteen?What if someone is using it?What if the place is busy?She pushed the gas pedal to.

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