Desi Bhabi Bed Time Fun.

I was standing on one side of the creek and he was on the other a little bit further up but still close enough for me to see him clearly. I didn’t know then what prompted the meeting, I was out walking, and all of a sudden he was just there. He was skipping rocks across this muddy water hole that formed when part of the west bank caved into the creek creating a little side body of water about a foot deep and fifteen feet across. His flat rocks seemed to glide uneasily across the surface of the water for what seemed to be a very unnatural period of time. I looked at him closely and came to realize a few things about old Lucifer. You know the Devil doesn’t look anything like I had always imagined he would. There’s no blood red skin, no forked tail with a fiery pitch fork, no there’s none of that. Actually the Devil looks like a normal guy. He was kind of tall, and slim. He wore faded blue jeans and a white cotton shirt. You would think the Devil’s hair would be black, but actually it. Her hips were broad and rounded and her waist impossibly narrow in relation to them. A glass tube filled with sand that had her proportions would be better suited to marking the passage of an afternoon than an hour. Her thighs were full and soft, thick near the top, thin near the knees. The heads of her quadriceps were faintly visible. Her calves were sharply curved, her ankles far more delicate and her feet more slender than one would expect after looking at her thighs. Thick as they were, those thighs should have invited comparison to cottage cheese rather than marble, but her skin was impossibly smooth and fair, entirely free of dimpling, cellulite, shaving nicks, birth marks, or any imperfection. Then there were her breasts. They hung past the bottom of her ribcage, but they were still reasonably firm. They were round, the sides of them pressing against the insides of her elbows and the lower part of her biceps, rather than droopy, as breasts that large often were. Her nipples.
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