Rani The Indian Whore Part 1

I wondered if they weren’t Kylie’s typesetters. They weren’t typesetting. The redhead was bent at a full ninety degrees, her hands and elbows pressed to the brick wall. Her skirt was hiked up over her waist, and her panties were caught around her knees. Her slender boytoy had his hands on her hips, and was giving her an energetic pumping with that oddly thick member of his. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but his were fixed on her pale buttocks, the flesh of which rippled every time he pushed in.. He said he was sorry he was watching. He couldn't turn away for some reason. His wife had stopped fucking him a few years before and he only got relief by jacking off. He guessed I was in the same boat. I said I wasn't but this was something that I just felt an urge for from time to time.I invited him in to have a beer and talk about it further. He had a tent in his shorts from a hard cock. I kept looking at it. He sat on the couch and then asked if my wife knew I did this. I said not. But I digress. Samantha smelled really nice, and finally the time to taste her pussy came. She was wet. Very much so. She tasted so nice. Samantha was moaning louder now, especially when I would lick her the right way.On her own initiative she got up, and stood on all fours. Samantha pointed in the direction of her own asshole. I separated the huge cheeks, and dove in. I went to town, tossing her salad. It really turned her on. Me too actually, my face pushed hard against her ass. And it was so. As we ride up the elevator, we hold hands (sweaty from excitement) and lean against one another. He then pushes me against the elevator wall, no longer able to contain his urge to touch my lips. Our tongues intertwine and our lips caress one another’s. He slides his hands up and down my curves, inching his way down to the bottom of my dress, which he raises, and caresses my thighs. Just as we cannot handle the feelings anymore, the elevator door opens. We are met with giggling faces as a family.
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