Desi Indian Chut

"As Rose descended, she looked back at me. "She's huge!"I didn't know if she meant Harriett or Winifred. I guessed the latter. "My wife's assistant." I assumed the sway of Rose's ass was unintentional, but I could have been wrong. At the bottom of the stairs, Rose opened the door and stepped through. I followed and shut the door behind me. There was no lock or I would have latched it.Just around the corner, I'd set up the backdrop and lights I'd borrowed from Angie at the Underwuud Studio. While Harriett had been away, I scrounged a few wooden skids for a platform, and covered them with cheap plywood and remnants from a dumpster behind the discount carpet store. The backdrops flowed onto the platform, covering the patchwork of solids and patterns. My digital still camera, a point and shoot model, was mounted to a professional tripod. A maple stool sat in front of the dark brown backdrop.Rose faced me and drew an invisible circle on the floor with her pointed foot. "I'm sorry about my. No, her husband would wonder what was up. She looked for a plain white bra. She had a drawer full of them, but not today. It was laundry day. She settled for the only bra she had left, a black one with “sexy” lace trim that she rarely wore. Her strict upbringing usually didn’t allow for carnal thoughts and pleasures. She slipped on her jeans and grabbed an old, black fleece sweatshirt. It had a logo on it from a different hike in the mountains many years ago. She zipped it up to her neck. Then she felt a tingle, be wild she thought and lowered the zipper to just above her cleavage. She felt a twinge of wildness, Ahh; she yearned for her hike with Jim. She went to the kitchen and fixed a cup of coffee. He husband had set the timer so it was freshly brewed for her. He was so thoughtful. She sat on the stool contemplating the days schedule when the doorbell rang. She noticed the repair truck in the driveway. At least he’s early. Maybe I can get some holiday treats prepared. She opened.
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