Desi Girl Talking Dirty 2 - I Want You In Me

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The answer was all too obvious, really. Did any activity arranged by Bart DeBonnet ever not end up a wild, disorganized mess?The waiter set down a plastic container of pure evil in the middle of the small table. "Another pitcher of Cajun margaritas," he announced, in a voice full of bonhomie.We all looked up at him in befuddled surprise. Smiling cheerfully, the waiter picked up our second pitcher of Cajun margaritas, which was at half-full and holding steady, and emptied it into our glasses, topping up all four with the reddish orange liquid."Did we order this?" asked Cindy finally.The waiter smiled at my wife, in the admiring way that waiters often do, and said "I was told that this table needed another pitcher. Did y'all want me to take it back?"I opened my mouth to jump on this blessed opportunity, but I was too slow."Hell no, we don't want to send it back!" My buddy Bart glared at the waiter as if his manhood had been questioned, and the chastened server shrugged and disappeared. His hairy balls swung with each stroke and bounced off her ass. I could even see her asshole!I was almost hypnotized as I watched and my hand was rubbing my rod in time with them. When he pushed hard I figured he was cumming and I quietly withdrew to my bathroom and rubbed out my own load into the toilet. The sound of my toilet flushing got my sister’s attention and she showed up dressed in my bedroom a few minutes later. I was back in bed like I’d been there all along.“What are you doing home?”“I didn’t feel good so I didn’t stay after. Leave me alone. I need to sleep.” She closed my door. My hand went back to my dick that was hard again already. My mind replayed what I’d witnessed. Damn!A couple of days later I hurried home and hid out in the basement where I did some hobby stuff. Sure enough, Sis checked my room to see if I was there. I could tell that by her footsteps. When I heard the bed creaking I sneaked upstairs and tried to get a peek again. This time she was riding reverse.
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When she was a tween it wasn’t a big deal. Mostly it was washing off the dirt and sweat from whatever sport she had been playing with the neighborhood kids after they got out of school. The trouble began when she started puberty.With her schoolwork unable to challenge her any longer she became a wrench monkey. Most of her days were spent demanding the various mechanics teach her how to work on her family’s boats, cars, planes and pretty much anything else mechanical she could find. If she didn’t have to work on getting clean from the oil and grease than it was all the grime on her from climbing around inside the walls and crawl spaces for their house. She was a complete handywoman before she ever got her first period. Even that was a mere annoyance because when she was so bloated that she couldn’t get into some of the tight spaces anymore. Her father demanded her to wear gloves at one formal dinner because her hands and knuckles were really scraped up from overhauling the engine in.

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