Desi Village Bhabi Changing Dress In Room

Husband is a bit of a moron...and I told him so. But I wasn’t too concerned about flying into Portland, this place was known for being weird long before Hollyweird stole that moniker. I was fairly certain everyone in this town either regularly got shitfaced drunk... or stoned. Portland has more craft breweries per square mile than any city in the world. And they were one of the first to legalize the wacky weed.After an afternoon of flirtatious barroom banter, toking behind alleyway dumpsters, and half a pot brownie, it was time to prepare myself as an offering to the gods. Back at our room I choose a loose fitting sheer chiffon top. My unbridled and real tits stood firm, nipples fully erect. My tits were real...real expensive.I could see him giggling like a schoolgirl in the mirror. “I’m cold” I smiled back at him.“Yea it’s freezing in here,” he laughed.I finished off my outfit with white lacy panties, which I knew would make their way into some lucky guys pocket, white hot pants,. The night’s menu was written on a slate standing on an easel as you walked in the double doors of the room. I decided I’d opt for the steak and potatoes, with home made biscuits and a couple of cups of coffee. Believe it or not, the coffee excited me more than the steak, after a week of swilling down the bitter chicory brew Jose made on the trail.My butt had barely hit the seat of my chair, when a cute Mexican girl came scurrying over to my table. Her English, while accented, was very good. I ordered up my steak and asked her about the coffee. When she told me it was the real deal, I put in dibs on a cup. I flirted a little with the young woman and sent her back to the kitchen rosy cheeked. I guess a little flirting in the nineteenth century wasn’t a bad thing, as she kept returning to my table with the coffee pot, and my steak was big and juicy. As this century’s Ty McGuinn, I spoke to her only in English, even though I probably spoke her native language as well as she did. I don’t.
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