Muslim Girl With Hindu Boyfriend

Oh my God! He was still here. "Miss, I need the company stamp on the line here," and he handed her the clipboard. "Oh, I don't usually work here. Where is it?" "It's in that top drawer there," he pointed. She froze. In that top drawer was the pair of panties she removed this morning. Long forgotten, but surely still slightly damp and smelling of her earthy musk. There was nothing to be done about it. She opened the drawer, making no effort to hide her panties - or her shame - and looked for the stamp. His eyes widened as he noticed what was in the drawer. She decided that the harm was already done, so she pulled them from the drawer with a flourish, set them directly on the desk and gave him a sly smile. She got him the stamp he needed and pressed it onto the line. When she did she leaned forward and let him look down her shirt at her pert breasts. After he practically skipped from the office with a grin Janey locked the door behind him with relief. The vibrator was still on full. I look to you for approval, and you nod, smiling at my parents. Joining the four of us for dinner are my aunt, uncle and four cousins. My aunt is my mother’s sister, a nose on legs with a voice akin to nails scratching a chalkboard. Her husband, Bernard’s personality isn’t at all palatable for anyone without hard liquor involved. His skin is the color of distressed leather, his teeth abnormally bleached-white. He is the type that tans in a salon until he can be described as “extra crispy”. His obsession with remaining “hip” quickly tires most people around him. His job revolves around business, a subject which doesn’t offer much interest to me. I pick at my food as he launches into a story that I can’t be bothered to listen to. My aunt interrupts every couple of minutes to make sure her painfully shrill voice gets heard. I glance at my cousins, who seem to understand what their father is talking about. I nudge one of them, Marie. Of all my cousins, she is closest to my age. She gets.
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