Indian Wife Jill Fucked In Doggy Style

Daniel reveled in the feel of her weight on top of him, the way her perfect breasts felt pressed against his chest, and before he could help himself, his hands began to wander, wanting to trace every curve of her body and finally complete his mental picture of what she looked like. Sure, he knew she had curves from hugging her and dancing with her before, but they had just been friends then. Now he wanted to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands, wanted to feel over the scars he knew she must have from all the roughhousing they had done as kids, slide his hands over her ass and squeeze what he was sure was perfection (he had heard the other guys discuss Sophie and her shapely behind before) and know for himself what others had had the privilege of knowing all along. However, as his hands began to make their way down her back, tantalizingly close to the dip of her lower back, he felt her freeze, if only momentarily. Acutely conscious of her discomfort even through his. ‘I sing,’ she said. ‘Uh-huh,’ I nodded, ‘In the shower?’ ‘Sometimes,’ she grinned, ‘No seriously. I’ve taken voice lessons. I sing at school. I’m hoping I can make it in the school musical.’ ‘Nice,’ I said. I could picture her on the stage. She may have been small but her energy would probably radiate to the back row. I added, ‘Maybe you could sing for us sometime.’ ‘Uhh, no,’ she grinned, ‘Don’t think so.’ ‘You want to sing in front of an auditorium full of people but you won’t sing for our department?’ I scoffed. Amelia shrugged playfully, ‘It’s not the size of the audience. It’s who’s in it.’ Her eyebrows knitted and suddenly she reached towards me. I leaned back slightly in my chair taken aback as her hand seemed to reach for my face. Instead it went past it and down to my neck. I rolled my eyes downward with a puzzled expression. I felt her adjust my collar, pull it out from beneath my shirt and then flatten it out. ‘Your collar is always a mess,’ she said. ‘Um, don’t change.
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