Punjabi Girl Getting Fucked By Her Lover At Home

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Wanda changed my mind. She opened my heart up and made me care about her. She'd been hurt, too - she caught her husband in bed with a friend of hers. How's that for low-down ?Our sex life was incredible. We made love nearly every night. She's got wonderful round curves. I loved touching her and making her cum over and over several times. But after awhile, I realized I had this fantasy I just couldn't ignore any longer . . . I wanted to watch her do the dirty with another guy. More precisely, I wanted to watch a big black cock disappear into her cunt over and over again real damn hard. Just the thought if it gave me a boner the size of a Louisville Slugger. One night we were laying in bed drinking wine, fooling around and watching a porn flick - a handsome, well-muscled black policeman stopped a bottle blonde slut in a speeding red convertible and demanded a blow job in lieu of giving her a ticket. Of course she willingly complied. The bottle blonde looked a lot like Wanda. I couldn't. He was ripped. His shorts hung low and I thought that guy would be well-hung.He was what I wanted; what I really needed... I walked past him, making certain my high heels rang loudly on the floor. I saw him turn and stare at me. Then I dropped my wallet and bent down to pick it from the floor. I could feel my skirt rode up high on my ass and I knew I was showing him my garter covered ass and the tops of my stockings. I risked a glance and saw him staring at my ass. As I stood up, I looked at him and smiled. I could see a bulge in the front of his pants. Stopping just before I went into the store; I turned and smiled. He was standing there staring after me. His right hand was rubbing a significant bulge inside his trousers…But he did not dare to follow me into the store. So I made a quick purchase of some pairs of thong panties and walked back outside. The black guy was still standing there; waiting for me…He smiled as I stopped in front of him.“If you are man enough to make me.
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After an eternity, the goggles finally came off and my fingers and toes were freed from their respective slots. ‘Alright,’ said the biker/tech, ‘You’re done.’ I stood up slowly. I could already feel lengths of hair on my shoulders and back, which was not a good sign. I looked down at my fingers and toes and shook my head, sighing. My fingernails were a good half-inch or so past my fingertips now. And, along with my toes, a bright, metallic hot pink. It was the sort of color a high-school girl would wear. ‘Dammit,’ I said, ‘This is too fucking embarrassing.’ ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that, honey,’ said the tech. ‘You haven’t seen your hair yet.’ Oh, that really didn’t sound good. My jaw tightened. I looked at the tech. ‘Do I want to see it, hair dresser guy?’ ‘My name is Roadkill. And I doubt you want to see it,’ he said cheerfully. He pressed a button. ‘I’m moving the mirror into place for you.’ A full-length mirror slid out from the station and rotated into place directly in front.

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