Desi Girl Dance

I wore black knickers, transparent, without a cotton gusset, so my pussy lips visibly kissed the nylon. The black calf length boots were heeled. My makeup, was as requested heavy. Heavy black mascara, black eye liner, also thick. The eye shadow, equally black, and heavily applied. Alex had the same makeup. It had become our trade mark look. Our tart look. We looked hot. Ready. Sexy. Wanton. We looked like sisters. She wore a black watch kilt, tiny, short, tight. Her knickers were from the same multi pack mine had come from. I could see all her young pussy through the material, from her clit, to her anus. That puckered little hole. Her white cropped blouse, was knotted under her bust line. Her nipples visible through the thin cotton. She too wore calf length boots. Fmb’s. Fuck me boots, Alex called them. Well we’d see. Jack drove us to Charlie’s bar. A sleazy place on the edge of town. Not a place a son should take his sister, let alone his mother. We walked in. It looked the same as. ‘Know what I’d do now? I’d call Pete Davis and see what’s going on from his end.’ Pete Davis was a cop. A pretty cool one, who would at least listen to me before doing anything dumb. . I dug out my cell phone and dialed Pete’s number. Damian went inside to get a couple of tall glasses of iced tea. He didn’t drink alcohol, but he always had plenty of tea. . Mike answered the phone. ‘Sergeant Davis.’ ‘Hey Pete. How’s it hanging?’ ‘Call me back at my cell number in about 5 minutes,’ he said in a casual voice. I shut off the phone. If he wanted me to call his cell phone, he didn’t want the call going through the switchboard and being recorded. This could NOT be good news for me. Damian was handing the girl a glass of tea, having coaxed her up from the floorboards and the seat. He came around and handed me a glass. ‘What’s the news man?’ I took a big swallow of the tea. ‘Pete wants me to call him back on his cell phone in a few minutes. I have to figure that the cops know me and my car by.
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