Indian Cum

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I love the moans you make. I want more. I reach down and pull your shirt over your head and toss it to the side as I step back. I turn and undo my pants and I feel you behind me.. You are on your knees, pulling down my tight jeans to my knees. Before I can even release my legs, you have my panties down and have both ass cheeks grasped in your hands. I bend forward and spread my trapped legs the best I can as you bite and kiss my bum, spreading me open. Your tongue flicks over my rosebud, swirling and twisting... it feels amazing. I wiggle my legs free and jump onto the bed.. I am on all fours as I look over my shoulder at you, watching you take off your pants. You kneel behind me, and reach between my legs. I am very much ready for you. You line up and slowly slide all the way inside of me. Oh god yes.... that feels so good, my fingers grasp the sheets as I exhale loudly. You pause a moment before moving back and forth, slowly, steadily. I can’t stop moaning, it feels like it’s been. Given the choice, she’d opt to do this without drawing attention. However, someone else had other ideas. After another few minutes of browsing, she heard a familiar voice singing loudly behind her— ‘Love, love me do!/You know I love you!/I’ll always be true!/So plee-ee-ease…love me do!…’ Halfway through the performance, Jessie turned around, even though she already knew this was clearly Annabella. They may have only spoken on the phone the one time, but aside from more evidence of that glittering persona, that voice would be hard for Jessie to forget. She turned around, and her eyebrows jumped at what she saw. In the initial moment they met face-to-face, Jessie could’ve sworn she’d stepped into a time machine and dropped off somewhere in the middle of 1958. Annabella was wearing—Jessie had to blink a few times to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her—a knee-length red and white polka dot dress, white gloves, and saddle shoes. And that was chestnut brown hair, all right,.
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Two hours later, they staggered back toward the restaurant while I frantically struggled into my clothes in the back of my small SUV. I had crawled out and started to straighten out the back of the car when raised voices caught my attention. My erstwhile companions stood at the corner of the building in a heated exchange with a guy in a shirt and tie who gestured repeatedly toward me. I caught only a few words: “kids,” “complaints,” “family place,” “police.” I took just long enough to wad up the stadium blanket we had all used as a towel and to throw it over the snow bank. Then I jumped into the car, and in an instant was off and around the building, leaving them to deal with the fall out. It’s only a ten minute drive, but by the time I pull into a spot in the parking garage I am shivering. Worse yet, even after driving with all the windows open, it seems that the aroma of beer and sex still fills the car or clings to me. Or both. I can only hope that it is not as noticeable as it.

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