Pure Indian Desi Nude Dance

“Isn’t your prostate somewhere in here?” My cock jumped as a claw scratched across something sensitive inside. “Sorry.” “Please.” I didn’t care that I was begging. There was a new kind of tightness gripping my balls as Justine finger-fucked my arse. She kept spitting into the slippery pit of my anus as she pumped her finger slowly in and out. My muscles loosened and then tightened, straining to push me over the edge. Suddenly the willingness of my hole to be fucked translated into movement of my hips. I found myself thrusting back on Justine’s fingers. “You want more?” “Yes. God damn it. I want your cock.” Justine sniggered. “I know how that feels. Just a sec.” The bed lurched as Justine shifted away. I watched the bounce of her breasts and the silhouette of her cock swaying as she passed the window. “I’m not going to bother to tell you not to look. I think we’re passed that stage.” Justine pulled a battered cardboard box off the top of her wardrobe, opened it up and removed a stack. Not far up it, she turned off onto a rocky track and pulled up outside a simple little concrete house that looked as if someone had got bored or run out of money and just stopped building it once it was wind- and watertight.We sat in the kitchen and Miranda got some beers out of the fridge. I declined because I was working, which seemed to surprise her, and Lita said no because she was going out soon, although I suspected she was just in anti-parent mode and anything the so-called adults were going to do was a corny idea. So Miranda sat alone outside while her daughter and I ran through some elementary English. Miranda had spent a year in England in her 20s, working as an au pair, hence her command of the language, but Lita had only had the sort of tuition Spanish youngsters get at school. Her knowledge of grammar was sketchy and her accent was terrible. But she wanted to learn and with the maternal presence out of the room she even smiled once or twice. We just did half an hour,.
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