Desi Girl Fucking Boyfriend

This time with a little movement, though not a lot but at least I could see who was using me this time. The ape was first, using me urgently and powerfully, though hardly filling me with hope or seed. He was the first of many, tall short fat and thin they came one at a time, old men and young, and all I could do was grunt, some chewed on my nipples, others twisted them and enjoyed my muffled screams, one sadistic bastard followed that by chewing on my clitorise, I got my own back by pissing on him, it hit him in the face, and he loved it, it was not the effect I had hoped for. By the time there was a lull the sun was setting, it had been a long and exhausting day broken only by being hosed out twice, which froze my insides, and fed a mug of tea three or four times. Madam reappeared and fed me a bacon sandwich, saying in her best English that the evening folk would soon be here, god my crutch was sore, red and worn, my guts were bruised and cold, I felt like shite and this stupid. I didn’t know what to say. “What do you think, Rajit?” I asked, turning to face him so that he could see the whole thing front on. I held my arms out and did a slow turn; the dress rode up a little and as I turned past the mirror I glimpsed the tips of my smooth pussy lips peeking out before quickly lowering my arms and pulling the hem back down. “You look… amazing,” he husked, his eyes drinking in the sexy boots and my newly revealed curves. The bulge of his cock was now clearly visible in his trousers and it gave a startling jump as I beamed at him, wiggling my hips and clasping hands between my breasts, clearly flattered by the very welcome attention. “You should get a photo before you rip out all those staples and ruin my handiwork,” Belinda said. “Good idea,” I agreed, still watching Rajit watching me and feeling like a super model; albeit a super-model in a stapled up school dress and long, lace-up, come-fuck-me boots. Walking back to my bag to get my phone out for a photo, I.
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