Shakeela Indian Hot Aunty

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Your breath escapes in a hiss. Your back arches again. Your hips press against my fingers and you don’t move. Pushing, pushing against my fingers, wanting them deeper. Slowly I withdraw my fingers but your hips arch upwards again, straining against my fingers. Again my fingers thrust into you. Your hips begin a rhythm, thrusting again and again against my fingers. I continue to lick your tummy as you take pleasure from my hand. Suddenly you push my head downwards. Your legs open wider. “Taste the wet.” My tongue replaces my fingers and I slowly lick upwards. A taste like sweet wine. I find the little button and the tip of my tongue flutters across it. Your body spasms. You cry out. Words in a language that I do not understand. But the words don’t mean “stop”. Your body speaks in a language that I understand. As my tongue thrusts inside, your juices flow. And I drink from the very centre of you. More sounds from your throat. No longer words. Your head thrashes from side to side as. Malcolm was getting his cock slick against mine and moved his tip to her sphincter, I slid out of her ass and he slid in. We took turns back n forth, pressing our cocks all the way up her ass each time. Our position was totally awkward, even if pleasurable. Amber wriggled up between us, rolled me on to my back and mounted my shaft, then pulled Malcolm by his penis to get behind her. She pressed his tip against my shaft and in past her sphincter. He slowly slid up my length, burying his cock in Amber’s ass, next to mine.Amber rocked forward and back sliding her tight ass along our combined shafts in her. We found a mutual rhythm and almost in unison climaxed together, with Malcolm unloading first, then my cock let cum loose, inducing Amber’s climax all over my stomach. She pulled her ass off of us and we collapsed onto the bed in a cuddled heap, as Matt woke up, groggy mumbling incoherent things, then saying hello and crashing back to sleep.We quietly left the bed, and tucked Matt in,.
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And he listened. And he stood to leave and reminded me, as he always did, that if I ever needed to talk he was there for me. But this time he touched my hand as he said it. He touched my hand…little more than a handshake, but…it was more than a handshake. It left me weak in the knees — and wet in the crotch. And the next time we met — the next time he came over, it was all very different. There was electrical tension in the room as we cooked together, throwing some stir-fry into a wok and warming up some bread from the local bakery. We studiously avoided bumping into each other, with mumbled apologies accompanying each failure. We ate in near silence, our topics of conversation being how our day had been, and how good the food tasted. After dinner we sat in the living room, he on the sofa and I in an easy chair, and this time HE talked. He talked about his hopes, his ambitions, the way he wanted to make the world a better place, the way his political career was an extension of his.

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