Slim Figured Indian Girl Making Her Bathing Selfie

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The hands released, leaving her legs wide. She was prone; body open and aching, legs taut and spread as her core trembled with anticipation. “Are you ready, ladies?”A feminine voice sounded now, sultry and dominant. She could hear the quirk in her lips as she spoke. “Here they come for you. Enjoy.”She felt the vibrations as they moved through the floor. The low mumble of voice and the rumble of pleasure. She closed her eyes, her toes curling, as she waited for the first touch; wondering who it might be, where it might be, did glory holes have any rules?Fingertips grazed the underside of her foot, tickling down over her heel and tracing an invisible line down towards her knee. She moaned at the softness, her hands subconsciously already moving to the twin bars beside her head. She could feel her pussy clenching, weeping with the need to be filled, even with only the barest touch. “Patience, little one. I’m just getting started.”She could not place his accent but it was the most. As usual, Keira stepped out the front door before I climbed the steps. She was gorgeous, beautiful enough that I forgot about the Norton. She'd collected her pale red hair into a ponytail. Tendrils had escaped to brush her cheeks. Her soft brown eyes studied me, a lovely smile on her mouth. She wore a thin, olive green camisole that suited her and tight dark blue narrow-leg jeans, pink sneakers. The outfit emphasized her slender youth, her petite breasts, her narrow hips."You look incredible," I announced.She gave me a pleased smile before asking, "What are you smiling about." You," I answered."No you're not. You look like a kid in a candy store with a black AmEx."I chuckled. "True. I've been naughty." How so?" she asked, reaching to accept my proffered hand. Our fingers intertwined without thought.Leading her away, I said, "I have a surprise." What?" If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise."Keira countered with, "Tell me! I don't like surprises." Liar," I accused.Before she could.
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Christine obediently followed him up the ladder to the loft. She'd been anxiously waiting for him to finally declare it "time," but she didn't rush him. Partly because it wasn't her place to, and partly so she could savour the anticipation. It wasn't just that she might finally be permitted to have an orgasm. It was the thrill more than anything else. The adrenaline rush. For an hour each week, she was freed from her identity and reputation, freed from social expectations. This freedom was attained through anonymity and, paradoxically, slavery. When equally anonymous strangers commanded her to do something degrading, it wasn't her fault; she had to obey, or she would be punished. Although she had to go along with every reasonable demand made by a total stranger, it didn't necessarily mean that she enjoyed doing each individual thing they made her do. A lot of the things she did, she wouldn't have done by herself for the sake of doing them. It's not like she was a slut or anything. She.

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