Desi Girlfriend Getting Fucked By White Friend

A few dollar bills were being tossed on stage. Standing with your back towards me, you moved your hands to the top and then bottom to unbutton the dress. Slowly doing a turn, you showed the audience what you did, and then you raised the hem of your garb to display a lot of bare hips. I’m thinking, is she naked under her outfit? No, she had to at least have her microkini on. As you continue to lift your skirt portion of your dress, just as it got near your pussy line, you let go of the material, dropping the hemline down. Exaggerated but loud sighs of disappointment rippled through the crowd. My cock was hard thinking of you naked underneath your clothing. You began to unbutton the on the top but stopped and undid the one in the middle. There was a collective groan from the audience, and then someone shouted, “Do the top, do the top.” The rest of the audience picked up the chant, and then you did something that told me you were really getting into it. You leaned on one side. A gun was an equalizer, the only one available to a small woman like me. “Blew a tire on the curve and almost ran off the road.” His voice was low and measured with a strong taste of Texas in it. I saw his brows crease and his tongue ruminatively push out his cheek, and he looked up and down the road and at the skid marks and the car and me as if he were visualizing what had happened. Glancing at the four white crosses, he seemed to come to a conclusion and nodded slightly to himself. “Yes, that’s what I said. So I guess that I’ve–” “Been waiting just for me?” he said, straightening up without even the ghost of a smile. “Come on, get out.” “W-what?” “Get out of the car, girl.” He rapped on the roof with a note of mild impatience. “Fancy set of wheels, but it’s not going anywhere right now. I’ll take you where you need to be.” Pointing his chin at his bike, he looked down at me. I didn’t move. How could I put myself into the hands of a man like him, a formidable stranger whose.
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