Indian Village Whore Fucked By Truck Driver On Camera
I have to get him inside of me again. I just have to! We got to the corn maze, and Colin grabbed Lindsay’s hand and rushed into the gigantic labyrinth. “I guess it’s me and you, kiddo.” Henry said as he patted me on the head. I roughly moved his hand away from my head. “Nobody puts their hand on my head unless I give them permission to. Understand?” I cut out sharply, and Henry put his hands up in submission. I didn’t mean to be a bitch; I was just horny as shit and I loved my hair being played with. So it was only frustrating me more. We headed into the maze and it was quite fun, I have to admit. It was dusk out now, so you couldn’t really see much. I held Henry’s hand, and we decided to make a run for the end. We got twisted up, and somehow I lost Henry. It was at this point that I was sure I was going to die in here. I wandered for who knows how long, looking for an exit, or other people. It was no use. I was lost. And everyone knows that when you’re in the dark alone, you have. I dwell upon the feeling of my hands, of your hair sliding between my fingers. In my head, I clutch at that hair. How hard do I have to pull it before I feel your submission? At what point does that moment of lust cross your face? When does that subtle pain become pleasure and take your mind away to carnal places? I dream of your body, of each and every curve. My fingers beg to trace the lines of that perfect flesh, to explore the angles and nuances of my Pet. I seek out the hidden places, the rises and the falls of a body that is, by a willing gift of your soul, mine to do with as I please. If I trace a line with one fingertip down your side, at what point does it finally reach your hip? How does my hand feel when gripped around that hip? What sounds fall from your lips when first I grasp it tight? Do your eyes fall closed against the wave of pleasure? Do you quiver? Do those hips press closer to meet me with the anticipation of what is to come? I wonder at the arc of your spine. I.
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