Fucking My Indian Wife

I always loved watching her come home from work. Her high-heeled tanned legs stretched out from under her tailor-made business suit as they planted firmly on the concrete of her driveway. Often times, she would be on her cell and I could hear the sweet tones of her voice echo softly from across the road. I was in awe of how the suit hugged all of her curves as she walked to her front door.One day, she smiled at me as I watched her. There was something in that smile. I actually blushed and felt the heat in my face as she did. I read something into that smile. I knew what it was; I was not stupid. I could tell what she needed. Under those suits she wore was a roaring mature kitty waiting to be unleashed.And now, I found myself waiting on her bed for her to emerge from her bathroom and my penis was as floppy as a wet sponge behind my boxers. It should have already been standing and ready to plunge into her pussy. I was nineteen for God's sake and was always able to rise instantly when I. I slid on a tiny pair of white cotton panties and pulled a tight fitting halter top over my bra less tits and shaped them seductively in the lycra top so that their small round shape was pressed into a delicious cleavage that showed just the right amount of flesh peering over the hot pink low cut top. The blue and gold hipster skirt slung loosely around my hips and covered my panties enough to make it worth looking at.I applied my makeup sparingly, while getting use to the new angelic youthful features as I smeared pink eye shadow and eyeliner onto the entrancing eyes that seemed to be the only familiar thing. The warm wetness between my thighs grew as I began to think about my last lover. How tender he was, how he had filled every sweet orifice with his abundant cum. My fingers slid beneath the hem of my skirt and caressed the damp cotton gusset. The thrill of first touch sent shivers through me and I continued to fantasize about his hugeness pressed against my hot wet pussy. My.
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