Desi Girl Torture

‘She’s not here, Ms. Zenellis. She left for lunch.’ ‘Oh, she did?’ Saroya growled. ‘When she returns, tell her she’s on permanent lunch. We’ll send her personal effects.’ She paced the length of the room, glancing at me, then the mirror to my right, then back at me. Saroya made no move to straighten her clothes or adjust a misplaced lock of hair. Not that her coiffeur was anything but perfect. Saroya stopped at her desk and tapped the intercom again. ‘Letti, get in here!’ The small receptionist came in. She was exceptionally well built for a small person, great body in a small package. For the first time, I saw her standing. In profile, she had a nice ass, too. She was almost like a version of Saroya that had been washing too many times in hot water. ‘Letti, this is Mr. Marcus. He is here for product testing,’ said Saroya. ‘Natasha was going to work with Mr. Marcus, but since she decided to fill her stomach instead of her – well – you’ll have to substitute.’ ‘Whatever you need, Ms.. And can you comfortably maintain that position for a little while?, I think so, Linda replied. Peter, reach down with both your hands and spread your wifes buttocks, please. Yes, just so. I do enjoy contemplating and enjoying a woman in this position. It touches the sublimated animal nature in a man, and is more primitive than face to face coupling. The spiked heels, long sculpted legs rising to creamy tight buttocks, the pink rosebud asshole, nearly hairless, topping a small and luscious cunt. Ah, yes. The cunt. That alter of adolescent dreams and adult passion. How much semen in our long history has been spilled as an offering to the cunt dreams and obsessions of young boys? And even as grown men, having just received the satisfaction of its sacrament, how often does the lust, desire and even pain remind us that we LACK a cunt around our prick, or at the end of our fingers or tongue, and that, by god, its time to worship again? Linda, you have a cunt of great beauty. If it could.
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