Indian Bhabhi Fucked From Behind

‘You really don’t think I can eat that entire breakfast do you?’ was her first question. ‘Who says it’s all for you,’ he replied with a grin. She liked his grin. It was warm and childlike while showing a hint of trouble. When she moved to sit up and enjoy the wonderful meal, she realized she wasn’t wearing any clothes. As if he read her mind, he asked, ‘Would you like to borrow a shirt?’ He handed her a soft flannel work shirt and then said with a wink, ‘I forgot the forks, be right back.’ She held his shirt to her face and breathed in his aroma…a mixture of smells, something like tree bark with a hint of motor oil. She thought it was wonderful. She quickly put it on and sat at the table. She picked up her fork and…fork, ‘but he…’ He walked back in the room, empty handed…that shy smile still on his lips, ‘Thought you might like some privacy.’ He joined her at the table and they began to eat in silence. Suddenly she was hit with panic. What should she say? What should she do?. _________________________________________________ Betsy had collapsed onto my chest after her orgasm. Her breathing slowed, her small breasts were flattened between us and the only movement I felt was the occasional post orgasmic tremor. While she seemed totally sated, I was dealing with my cock being harder than it had ever been and a rapidly approaching case of blue balls. It was torture for me lying there with the smooth dripping pussy of one of my wife’s best friends smothering my cock I had been explicitly instructed to resist. She slowly lifted her head from my chest and leaned forward so her lips tenderly brushed my neck before pressing them against leather covered ear. ‘I am going to get your number from Jennifer,’ she whispered, ‘My husband and I will be inviting you over for a more private session. You have no idea how much it would mean to us both.’ She emphasized her last sentence by grinding her drenched pussy against the swollen head of my cock. With just the slightest.
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