Desi Girl Mustrabuting And Talking Dirty

Peter's gaze returned to Clara's face. She was smiling demurely, and her color was high. * Peter and Clara saw a lot of each other. Their awkward touches became hand holding, the hand holding became arms around shoulders or waist. In private, their tentative kisses and touches graduated to hot, wet lip locks and intoxicating caresses. One night a couple weeks later, they found themselves at Peter's basement apartment. It was in his parents' house, on a side street a half mile off campus. His parents had decided to fix up the basement so he'd have some privacy. It had its own separate entry. That way after he'd left for wherever, they could rent it. That night on the couch, their making out had become heavier than ever before. Clara's top was open, her bra loose, and Peter was at her breasts like a famished four-month-old. Clara knew it was time. The bedroom door was ajar. The bed within was calling to her, louder every time Peter gathered her breasts together. She moaned and. I ran my thumbs over Stacy’s nipples which were hard, a combination of lust and the cold night air. She moaned into my mouth as I rolled her stiff, aching nipples between my fingers as my other hand moved quickly down her body, over the garter belt around her flat stomach to her wet, open pussy. I slipped two fingers inside with ease; her lips still open with arousal form being in the elevator. Suddenly Stacy’s hands left the back of my head and for a moment I thought she was going to push me away, telling me that we couldn’t do this here but instead they moved down to the belt on my jeans, pulling at it in frenzied lust as my fingers continued to move inside her. Stacy struggled with the buckle on my belt. “Shit!” She exclaimed, “I can’t get this fucking thing undone.” Suddenly she froze, her eyes wide. “Did you hear that? I think someone is heading this way, I heard a voice”. I listened for a second, my aching hard on pressing against my jeans but the only sounds I could hear.
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