Desi Cute Girl Open Her Dress

Trailing your kisses down to my shoulder I softly moan your name. With a final kiss to my shoulder I can feel your smirk, you know just what you've done to me. Turning with a cheeky grin of my own I tell you to strip and sit on the far back of your bed. You look at me with wide eyes and eyebrows raised, this vocal side of me catching you by surprise. Striding beside you I lean up and peck you on the cheek "Hurry up or you'll get none..." I sing-song to you. As I watch you strip I take a deep breath to relax. Tonight I want to give you all of me to let you taste and feel every inch. You sit at the far end of your bed, your back against the wall. The hungry look in your eyes give me the drive to move forward. I struggle with my next move to ask... no tell you to keep your hands to yourself. Teasingly I joke that I don't think you can hold out from caressing my body longer then a few minutes. Your growl in response is all I need as an answer. Flipping on a playlist I move to. It was only then that I realised I was still clutching his cotton hankie, smeared with my make-up. Checking the coast was relatively clear in the corridor, I made a dash for the nearby female teachers’ loo. Standing in front of the mirror I looked in horror at the Impressionist’s pallet my tear-smudged make-up had turned my face into, and started to repair the damage. As I did so I gazed at my face, thinking about the disaster my marriage had become. I was still young, and still attractive. I had inherited Mum’s dusky complexion, her round face, big dark eyes, full lips and dramatic cheekbones. My jet black hair was cut fashionably short, curled around my small delicate ears. I was slim and athletic, with a small but nicely rounded set of boobs, a cute bum and shapely legs. I had had my own set of admirers at uni, and at least two of my male colleagues at the school would have dropped their pants for me in an instant. How did I manage to end up with a self-satisfied shit with the.
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