Indian Girl Gets Fucked By Her Boyfriend In Dining Room

We both were.”“You don’t need to give me a blow job. Just let some saliva fall into your hand, and then rub it on my cock.”“But even then . . .”“I promised you I wouldn’t harm you or force to you have sex, and I meant it,” he repeated.Resistance seemed futile. I did as he asked, leaning over him with a palm-full of saliva, my long, wavy hair tumbling onto his abdomen, and my tits just barely grazing his chest. I carefully poured the saliva onto his cock, and spread it over him with my hand. By then I was more excited than ever, and felt as if I would come spontaneously.“Is that better?” I asked him.“Yeah, much better, thanks.”He resumed stroking, beginning with the same techniques as before, with apparently greater pleasure. He then switched to stroking his shaft with a full hand, using greater pressure, especially as his hand passed over the head of his staff. He varied the strokes, sometimes twisting his hand around its head, or even completely around the shaft.“Allie, look at my. Page realized she was afraid.She had dressed for the meeting. She knew what he liked and what would impress him. She had worn blood red thigh high boots with black stocking visible over the tops of the boots. She had on a red corset and opera gloves. Her slave collar and red lace across her eyes completed the outfit. There was meaning to her selection. Red had been her color when Shadow was training her. Green had been the color for Carol. By wearing red she hoped to honor Shadow's training and Carol's memory.She rang the bell at the front door of the rented condo and then knelt. Her palms were up, her back was straight, her knees were apart and her head was bowed. There she waited.After a few minutes the door abruptly opened and her former master and trainer was looking down on her, checking her posture and appearance. Page did not move."Come inside." Shadows voice was like a bolt of lightning through Page. It was a cocktail of fear, lust, comfort and dread blasting through her.
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