INDIAN SEX 4 Part 1

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Living with three young, virile males between the ages of twenty-six and thirty was a nymphomaniac's dream come true and Angel was living it. When she rented a room from the guys three years earlier, it was purely platonic. But, within a year, she was fucking all three — and loving it. Angel had one, two, or three cocks at her beck and call.Angel — aged 24, was a BBW and she sure knew how to use her assets. She was only 5’4” but put her in four-inch heels, thigh high stockings and a garter belt, her legs seemed to go on forever. She had a mop of curly auburn hair in a pixie cut, brown eyes, and a dusting of freckles across her nose. Her prize possessions were her 40C knockers. The brothers also loved her thick thighs and the way she used them to hold their heads to her cunt when eating her out. She worked part-time as a law clerk for the local college.The oldest brother was Colin — aged 30. He owned and operated a motorcycle repair shop that specialized in Harley Davidson’s. He loved. I knew that there would still be times we he would choose tofuck me up the ass but for tonight he was only interested in one thing!He gave my pussy one long last loving lick and then positioned himselfbetween my open knees with his cock rubbing against my clit. This sent mewild with desire I could feel my moist pussy tingling with excitement,trembling with a need for his seed."Tell me you want me, tell me you want me to take your virginitydarling."He had taken everything else from me, my freedom, my identity, mydignity, everything! It was only natural that he should now take from methe only thing that I still possessed the only thing he was yet to own."Please, Sir, please Master, please Andrew please I am ready, please makeme your woman and your wife."His body lowered on mine and faces touched, he kissed me passionately andentered me smoothly for the first time, my legs wrapping around his backto allow him to penetrate me fully. If being caressed by his tongue downthere was a hundred.
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Stepping behind me, he looped the rope around my arm just above the opposite elbow, pulled my hand up tight against the opposite arm. “Hey,” I said, “what are you doing? Get that splinter out.”“Give me a second,” he smiled, “This is for your own good. We are going to have to operate without anesthesia, and we can’t have you moving around too much.”He took a second turn around my biceps, and then looped the rope around my other arm and knotted it around my other wrist, snugging everything up tight with the last knot. I felt curiously passive. I remembered the look in his eye when I had his thumb in my mouth, and he said, “We’ll get to that.” I asked myself, “Get to what, exactly?” and was surprised to find I didn’t really care. He put his hands on my hips and gently pushed me across the room to his desk, a big oak table, old, mission style. With the tops of my thighs against the table, he pressed into me from behind. I could feel his hard-on through his jeans and he gently put a hand.

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