Indian Neighbour Wife Fucking Self With Beer Bottle

It has no effect and just earns me a swift slap across the face.You stick two fingers up my ass as you **** my cunt, letting me feel the full assault, your cock still plunging in and out of my sluthole. Enjoying my screams of fear and discontent as you have your way with me. My tears simply getting you harder, making you **** me even more brutally.Once your unprotected cock shot deep inside me, you'd pull out and move toward my face full of dried tears and make me open my mouth, forcing me to taste myself on the cock that just ****d me. I resist but the more I express my discontent, the more turned on you become until your cock would be solid once again, and my mouth would be well on its way to bringing you off once again.Shoving your cock deep into my throat and holding it there, I begin to feel a warm trickle of liquid pouring down my throat which causes me to panic but you have a strong grip and I'm not going anywhere. That is, until you're nearly out of piss and decide the last. I felt his fingers once more, parting the lips of my sex, the thick stem of the flower sliding between. He stepped back to examine his work, coming back to fidget with the flower, which rubbed against my clit each time he moved it."Are you done yet?" I growled, hating the fact that this whole thing had gotten me turned on. I still had hours to lie on this tray while the alumni plucked the fruit off of my body. The thought made me even hotter. Was I a closet exhibitionist? Could that be why I was enjoying this so?"Yes, impatient one. We are finished. Now don't move, you'll spoil the effect." He stepped back and I saw a flash of white light."Wait a minute, no one said anything about pictures." Don't move!" Pierre snarled, reaching out and putting back the fruit that had fallen off of me. He took another picture and then moved around the long table, getting shots from every angle."Voila," he smirked when he was finished. He waved at his assistants and then lifted the tray, moving me to.
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