Indian Aunty

With all those marvelous clothes in my closet, I could not stand to put on another pair of shorts and t-shirt. Still, most of my new clothes seemed far too fancy to wear to eat fried chicken in.I chuckled at the image of me, sitting at the table in a formal ball-gown with elbow-length gloves on, daintily holding a drumstick. That was the old me, afraid to wear something nice, something special. Who would be seeing me? Only the people who meant the most to me. Weren't they worth wearing nice clothes for? If not them, who, for goodness sake?I took a page from Mrs. Reynolds book and put on a buttonless gold shirt with a matching chain-mail belt. The front hung open all the way down below my navel. The belt held the tails closed at the tops of my thighs and the back hung down just below my read end. The sides were slit up above my waist and the filmy gold fabric was sheer. If I had tan-lines, they would have been visible. As it was, the shirt appeared opaque because my skin tone. "Oh, I'm just hanging out, he said. "Those real?" he asked, pointing at my breasts. I pulled them out of my bikini top; "Take a look," I said. He bowed his head and kissed them, and as he did this, I reached forward and squeezed his package. "You suck cock?" Yeah," I whispered huskily in his ear, as he slavered over my tits."How much?" he asked."Sixty bucks," I said."Wish I had it," he said"How much you got," I asked him"Twenty eight bucks," he answered."Ok," I said, "Come on inside." I stepped into the booth and waited as he entered, then I locked the door. As he was feeding the video machine with paper tokens, I removed my bikini and went nude to just high heels. He looked at me."Ohhh, SHIT, baby! You are fuckin fine as fuck!" He said, running his big calloused hands allover my bare body, and pressing his sandpapery jaw into my tits, nuzzling on them, as I squeezed his jock! His big strong hands cupped my bare buttocks and he said, "That ass does NOT belong on a dude!"He was about.
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