India Summer’s Soaked Surrender: A Hotwife’s Torrential Tribute To Her Bull

It didn’t take long until the beauty of her sweaty and naked body and the sounds of her grunts at being fucked brought forth within me a thunderous orgasm that rocked my body. Indian Sex The dress now fell completely open and hung from her shoulders, revealing her full, frontal body clad only in the black bra and panties. Was it sweat or tears—or both—that trickled from her chin and fell to her chest just above the push-up bra? Therefore, since she had no physical option, her only recourse was to plead for mercy from her masked attacker, a man who was driving the stretch limo that was to have taken her to a red carpet affair but which instead diverted course while she was absent mindedly thumbing through her test messages and ended up inside an abandoned warehouse. I took my hand from her chin and slapped her hard, causing her head to jerk sharply to one side. She looked up at me again, eyes teary, pleading. If looks could have killed, I would have been dead and buried on the spot. I pulled the limo out of the warehouse and drove around for a while until coming to a dark, residential side street about two blocks from a well lite gas

India Summer’s Soaked Surrender: A Hotwife’s Torrential Tribute To Her Bull

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