Forbidden Dance Ritual From India While Making Fun

It had enough phone-numbers to make up a phonebook. 'Suck this' read one of the graffitied texts with arrows pointing at the glory hole - pointing to where the enormous black horsecock had poked its head through. Up against the opposite wall of the trough were a few guys casually leaning against the wall. As if they were waiting in line. One of them got a blowjob by a grubby punk with a wide mohawk. Wearing nothing but a yellowish rubber shirt, dingy piss-stained yellow jocks, and a leather dog collar with 3-inch pointed spikes. His bleached skinhead jeans lay in the trough. Getting soaked in all kinds of manly fluids. And although this was not Kevin's scene, he got sort of turned on by the debauchery of the things he saw happening around him. Kev casually stepped away from the entrance door. Gravitating toward one of the cubicles. But still watching the other guys in the bathroom. He saw the punk on his knees going down the line. Groping a cock left and right. Sucking the prick in. ‘You’re a beautiful young woman, very sexy, and you have about everything she has lost’, was his honest reply. I glanced back into the rear view mirror to make sure daddy was still sl**ping, the sexual feeling was becoming unbearable, ‘You think your wife will believe I fucked you’, it was out before I thought I could control it? He leant across the gear stick and central column, and put his hand on my bared thigh, and slid all the way up until he touched my moist labia, and began fingering my pussy. I gasped at the incredible feeling of a man’s fingers inside my vagina, and I could feel myself involuntarily squeezing him, ‘God you girls are so fucking tight’, he gasped into my ear, as I indicated and turned off the main road into a side lane. I drove down to the end of the lane and stopped and turned off the engine. Neither of us spoke as we undressed, and began fucking naked, with me now lying on the passenger front seat, and him thrusting in through the open door. My head was just.
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