Desi Indian Village Girl Masturbating

Flashing eyes defiantly sweep over the crowd that watches, their roars of approval serving to straighten her bared spine even more. With a haughty shake of crimson-hued locks that shimmer down her back in a lewd display of molten fire beneath the brightness of the lights that illuminate the high platform upon which she stands, the girl momentarily defies the crowd with the simple proud stance that only a slave girl of Gor can possess. She can feel their approval, the widening of their smiles, and the settling of their resolve to see how she performs in comparison to the slaver’s boasts. Even as the crowd begins it’s chanting, the slaver’s voice fading into the booming depths of the roaring of the masses stretched before her, she breathes evenly and deeply, trying to calm that inane need to flee. The earth girl in her burns to scream out her defiance to those that look upon the bared form of what they see … just a simple slave girl. She can see the hunger in the men’s eyes that move. How could anyone know Kevin was in here? Like a scene from a movie – a frightening, perverse, and darkly comic movie – the crowd parted and there he was, an impossible reality that my brain couldn’t begin to process, it was Kevin stepping through the gap, smiling shyly with every face turned towards him. Thinking back, I don’t believe I understood the truth of what I was seeing until the thick manhood between my pussy lips breached my entrance and slowly pushed inside the hot, silken cavern of my sex. Ironically, if Kevin had appeared a few moments later it would have made no difference at all, because there could be no mistaking the fact that the cock that was now sliding inexorably into my womanhood was most certainly not his. We don’t use toys, and before Kevin I owned only a small collection of modestly sized vibrators. Certainly I had no experience with anything remotely like the monster gently forcing its way into my pussy. Oh my goodness, it felt like five cocks! I couldn’t.
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