Indian Babe Gets Fucked From Behind

The ghostly words of Finger Eleven’s song seducing my mind and heating my body. I close my eyes and imagine my husband, Tommy, lying on the bed. His eyes hooded with desire, his manhood standing tall with respect, as I move around before him. Feeling giddy at the thought of being watched, I smile to myself and cup my breasts - for Tommy’s benefit. Feeling the music flow through me, I welcome the way my muscles burn as they bunch and stretch, twisting and turning my body. My nipples harden beneath the heat of my palms as I tenderly handle the soft skin of my plump breasts. My head lulls back. Wet hair tickles the top of my swaying heiney. A quiet, contented breath escapes my parted lips. Warmth spreads from my core as my hands travel up my chest to the hollow of my throat. I wrap my fingers around the base of my elongated neck, squeezing gently. A quick thrill at the strength they bare. The song ends. I open my eyes to darkness. The silence is euphoric. Suddenly struck by the fact. Mouth sweats beneath duct tape. A muted scream escapes the new victim’s breath. Water tickles the thin bridge of a nose. All she can do is give into the waiting. Heavy boots clomp down breaking branches. The wait is over. She knows he is just beyond her now. Pulled tape marks flesh, yanks hair, and leaves a mouth open for screams. “No!” she yells trying to kick out with her feet. “Where is Susan?” The man grabs her muscular legs wrapping his self around her flesh. Honey smells float to his nostrils as her golden hair flicks forward and backwards. “Stop!” she yells voice tight. Breath heavy he pulls her from the cramped car. He can see it in her eyes just how much she wants to be special to him. Her crystalline eyes shake with her tears, her throat chokes in passionate breaths. Her throat chokes on clumps of salt and fear. “Susan!” She tries again in vain. Frantically he places a slick liquid hand over her swollen mouth. His other hand goes to the thickness of her neck. She nips at.
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