Suddenly, I held her hand firmly. Our eyes met. She started to shiver.I took the glass from her and placed it back on the table. Then I stood up and held her other hand. I kissed on her lips. She did not respond. She loosened my grip and I broke the kiss.She stepped out and turned away.She: This is wrong, I am married.Me: Pallavi, I know you enjoyed it inside the bus and you want more now.She: That’s not true. I cannot do this with another person than my husband.I took her mangalsutra and came behind her. I turned her and put it on her neck over her head.Me: Now, we are married. I am your husband.She: What?! This is not a marriage and..I kissed her before she could complete her sentence. I put my hands on her hips and pulled her closer. After a minute, she responded and opened her mouth. Our tongues played with each other, salivas got exchanged.I put my right hand on the married girl’s breasts and pressed her left boob. She wasn’t wearing any inners. Her nipples were hard. I slid my. The sex just wasn’t the same. There wasn’t much interracial banter going back and fourth because we got into the whole pretending he was going impregnate me. I never was into condoms, I know the importance of them, but they had a habit of making me itch a little. I always liked the idea of a guy feeling the goodness of me, and not just a hole, even though most of us do thing our pussies are extremely unique. We probably do have a generic feeling for the most part, I’m not the tightest girl on the block, and probably the only woman who will admit that but I don’t think most guys can tell the difference. I never got hung up if I was tight or loose. I was bouncing up and down on Jack’s black cock, at least trying to. Generally Jack pounded me into submission, which opened me up to be able to do cowgirl, plus it was four months since his black penis graced my pussy. I thought it would be sexier if I did the work since my girlie goods were part of his present. Jack had the same.
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