Indian Wife Boob Pressing

And in that instant I could smell how wet and hot she was. I became rock hard. “Sit down!” I said loudly. She ran her hand up and down between her crack. “Sit down and buckle up!” I said firmly. “Fine!” she said. She sat down and buckled up. But I could still smell her pussy. She had always been a wet one, and soon after she sat down I could smell her wetness as it seeped through her dress, ran down her crack and soaked her asshole. My hand instinctively pressed my crotch. Finally we get to her apartment. She gets out and slams the door, I watch her—admittedly almost hoping for another slip of the skirt—telling myself that it’s because I want to make sure she gets inside. Ironically enough this is a reasonable worry. She stood at the door for some minutes before beginning to bend and look around the door and in the bushes along the path. I turned off the engine, locked the doors and walked up to her. “Do you have your keys?” “YES!” she said vehemently. “Where are they?” “I don’t. " Pardon the cliche, but what in the hell are you talking about," Rob asked, disgruntled by a greeting that was a riddle.Her clothing vanished, and his muddied suit disappeared in an instant, leaving them both naked. Her femininity was more than pristine, it was almost too perfect especially when compared to his overfed body that reeked and sagged in a tribute to times ravages. Her silken flowing hair continued to drift gently in the still air accentuating her almond shaped face and long delicious neck crowning the most perfect torso he had ever laid eyes on. Her firm snow white breasts rode her chest majestically and were crowned with delicate pink nipples. The soft skin that covered her tapered tummy and almost invisible navel had nary a wrinkle and her hips blossomed invitingly around the peach fuzz that barely hid the lips of her femininity. They, too, were pink and firm, barely separated enough for the inner petals to protrude in their engorged state of arousal. Her legs were.
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