Indian Village Bhabhi Ka Paani Nikal Diya

You bumped me back to start. Playing games at our holiday parties was a tradition we stayed true to, and Sorry! was always a good way to offset the holiday spirit. After all, what was better than seeing a face of terror when drawing a ‘Sorry!’ card? It was only a few more rounds until one of our friends won, and I quickly cleaned up the game and replaced it with silverware and napkins. You joined me in the kitchen as I began to fill our guests’ bowls, pressed up against my back. “Fuck, that smells good.” You murmured, dragging your hand down the side of my hip. “I know.” I smirked, ladling a spoonful of alfredo sauce onto a serving of pasta. “It’s a good holiday food. Plus, I know you like it, so.” I turned around, a bowl in each of my hands, and smiled up at you. “Now, give me a hand, yeah?” I requested, tilting my head up to plant a soft kiss on your lips. You kept your hands at my hips, holding me in place as you returned my gesture, half-grinding against me. I turned my head. That was the only invitation he needed. He moved his free hand up to the back of her neck to her bouncy soft curls, entwining her hair around his fingers and then tightening his grip. Her eyes reopened and she looked up at him. He tightened his grip even more and when he was content with the leverage of his grasp he held her head so that she was forced to look him directly in the eye. She was hungry for more and he could see it, he was going to give her everything she wanted and more, much more. Slowly he began grinding his pelvis against her, looking her in the eye, tightening his grips on her hands and her hair. His thrusting intensified and became more calculated, he was teasing her and himself. Deep hard strokes and rocking in circular rhythms followed purposeful successions of repeated forward thrusts, all the while she tried her damnedest not to break eye contact, but once in a while would slip in the bliss and he would tighten his grip on her hair forcing her to come back to.
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