Indian Girl Fingering Her Widened Pussy
"Because, let me tell you, it's a bad idea. You don't want to mess with Lessa Cerova."The larger one just stared at Sean, confused, a condition that was probably his natural state. The brown haired lanky man, though, whipped to face Lessa. His eyes almost seemed to bug out as he took a step backwards, legs hitting the crates. Lessa frowned, arms still crossed across her chest. The man tried unsuccessfully to phase through the crates and hide behind them. His companion just looked between the two, still confused."Pete? What the hell's going on?" It's HER!." When no comprehension was forthcoming, Pete actually walked forward, fear forgotten, and whacked the man on the arm. "HER! Lessa the Butcher!"Sean could feel Lessa glowering at him, and he couldn't blame her. This was not something to be proud of. Still, it got the job done, and she had earned that name, and others, honestly. He nodded to the adults amiably."So, we have an understanding, I take it?"Sean felt tired as he stepped off. You lean over, mouth close to my ear, and breathe ‘shhhh’ into my ear. I shiver from your warm whisper. I bite my lip as you kiss my neck…over and over again. The sensations are driving me crazy. I can’t focus. You lick my delicate skin and the whorl of my ear, and I writhe. The only reason I don’t collapse into you is because of my rigid grip on your arms. As you continue to kiss and stroke my neck, your hands tug my dress up — oh the wonders of stretchy knits and A-line skirts — you slide it up my knees. You kiss me, and I pant against your mouth, trying to tell you that I won’t be able to keep quiet — that we need to stop or I will come — that we need to stop someone will see — please, we need to be discreet — please, please, please… I no longer know what I am asking for… You urge me to lift up and you bunch the skirt at my waist. I sit on the seat in my baby pink thong, drenched with my cream. You pull the dress neckline down, so the fabric rests under my breasts, exposing the.
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