Indian Lady - Aghori Part 3

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They grabbed me one from the other, trying to capture my spurts in their mouths -- some success, but both laughing faces had plentiful white decorations with a couple on their chests. I didn't bruise their butts with my squeezing but not by much.When my fall from grace was complete, they sucked and stroked again, milking every drop from my softening shaft.I watched my ladies on their knees sharing their captured prizes on their tongues with laughing, happy kisses while their slick hard nipples and breasts dueled with each other, their hands explored each other's hard butts, and gold and black pubic hair tangled together. They licked each other's faces and bodies clean with giggles, laughs and happy sighs.They toppled slowly on their sides, and we moved together until Bellana lay on her back, her legs spread wide, with Janet atop her kissing her tawny chest. Bellana and I traded the taste with hard, tongue-filled kisses until our saliva washed it away.Janet moved down further, tonguing. “Give me the damn shit or I’ll scream!”Terry sneered and stepped into the hall, away from me. “Scream and you won’t get shit.” He pointed down the stairs. “Get the fuck out, or get in that toilet room.” He pointed at the door beside me.Then I said the stupidest thing of all. “You said it would be for free.”He lurched forward and grabbed me again. “Open the fucking door.”Nearly pressed against it, I turned the handle. The door swung inward. He pushed us through. “Take down your damn pants.”Tears made their way down my face as I unclasp my pants and pushed them down. “At least close the door.”“Fuck no. If the old fart decides to watch, maybe he’ll give me a discount for using this toilet.” He let go of my coat and tugged my panties over my ass.I looked over the filthy room while he fumbled with his trousers. The sink was red with rust, the toilet brown from having never been brushed. Spiders watched with all eight of their eyes from the corners of the ceiling. A moldy curtain had been.
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Where’s Sarah? Let’s all eat together.’ ‘I fed her already Vincent, it’s almost eight. Try the chicken, tell me if you want me to warm it up.’ Jessica, Vincent’s wife of six years replied while grabbing a soda from the refrigerator. ‘What about you? Did you eat already too?’ ‘I ate with Sarah, put your plate in the dishwasher when you’re done I’m gonna go shower and get ready for bed,’ Jessica’s last few words barely audible as she made her way down the hallway. Vincent stared at his overcooked piece of chicken and peas for several minutes before dumping it in the trash and putting his plate in the dishwasher. He grabbed his briefcase and headed toward the front door. He walked out to his large front porch, sat in his favorite creaky wicker chair and lit up a cigarette. God I love these cool October nights… He took a long slow drag off his Marlboro light and leaned back. Would it kill you to at least look at me when you talk to me… To at least join me at the table when I eat….

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