Desi Randi Fucked

He knew her. He wasn’t quite sure how or from where, but her hair and the eyes that had looked out through her mask triggered some shred of recognition. He knew her. But he knew she must have had her reasons for not revealing herself. Maybe she was famous or disfigured somehow. Maybe she was only playing games with his simmering imagination. Otherwise, they could’ve been any other naked couple on the planet, walking each other home through antiquated streets at dawn’s end of The Carnival. The knuckles of her spine moved with a durable yet delicate kind of precision, as if she were all sinew, bone and lace. Her ass held the shape of inflated tear drops, flexing wearily as she navigated. Slow. Sure of the way. She was completely anonymous from behind, and boldly exposed ahead. Her palm tacky and hot as his own. She moved as if she were guiding them through oncoming currents of air, as if they were swimming toward daylight. But the dawn was still, and the further they got from the. When the first blast hit her, her body jerked rigid and her hands underneath me clutched my back fiercely. My African lioness literally roared forth her pleasure, again and again as each spurt exploded. And then it was all over and she seemed suddenly very small and weak again, lying utterly limp and helpless on top of me. I too was exhausted, what finally prompted me to move was a sensation of wetness on the bed beneath me. When I got out from underneath her and looked at the sheet I saw marks of bright red. She had drawn blood. I had to struggle to the bathroom and find Fran’s medicine cabinet for emergency repairs on my back before I could get dressed and return to work. I had no idea how long her trance would last, judging by the elemental nature of her orgasms, probably some hours. Before leaving, I arranged her comfortably and whispered to her that she should have a shower and leave as soon as she could, but I promised I should be in touch. In the event, Fran and Connie,.
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