Fucking My Best Friend Indian Wife
I prayed to God he wasn’t considering the disgusting lavatory with its smell of vomit and other putrid odors.I needn’t have worried; my mystery man had no intention of moving anywhere. He nibbled on my earlobe and whispered, “I’m not a psycho killer, so you’ve no need to fear me.”Then I heard a switchblade open and felt myself tremble. He lifted the back of my dress and pressed the cool blade against the back of my left thigh. When he felt me flinch, he made soothing noises in my ear and said, “Trust me.”Before I could respond, I felt him use the knife to liberate the black lacy thong from my body. He closed the knife and stuffed it, along with my panties, into the left front pocket of his trousers. “A souvenir for me,” he laughed.I held onto the pole and tried to see his reflection in it, but the chrome was dull from years of wear and dirty hands. When the train stopped, I should have gotten off and walked away. But I was too entranced by the idea of what he would do next.He waited. Keep the change for yourself. Buy another drink later.’ I’m acting it out without a sign on my face to indicate that, for her, there’s not likely to be a ‘later’. I don’t know what Sid does with them, but I know it can’t be pleasant. In response to my generosity she laughs and shows perfect white teeth. She’s in the booth next to me and I see her eyeing Sid, the vulnerable throat exposed, life pulsing in that big vein. There’s another deep pang of regret at what I’m party to. It’s an odd feeling, that twinge of conscience. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like it one little bit. ‘Don’t you want a drink?’ she asks Sid. ‘He’s working,’ I say, interjecting quickly. She looks at Sid and then swivels to regard me. God, she really is divine. ‘Working?’ she asks, her accent foreign to my ears. ‘He looks after me,’ I tell her, wondering at her accent. In an effort to change the subject and to satisfy my curiosity, I ask, ‘Where are you from? What’s your name?’ ‘The Czech Republic,’ the.
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