Belly Torture indian porn

“Do it.” I obeyed my boss and positioned my cock at her trimmed pussy. It was not bald and the little hair that was there matched the red of her head. I sank my cock in, listening to her sigh in pleasure as I did this. I began pumping her. Her legs wrapped around me and I felt her heels digging into my back as I fucked her. She was moaning and I was grunting. “Fuck, Lindsey,” I said, grabbing her hips and pumping her faster. “No,” she said. “Stop.” I did as she said, slowing down my movements. She pulled my head down for a kiss and then made me roll over. I looked up at her as she began to ride my hard cock. “Yes!” I said, reaching up and touching her bouncing tits. She rode me hard and let out sighs and moans and little noises that sounded almost like whimpers. Her hands were on my chest and I could see the light of the lamp reflecting from her wedding ring and that made me even hornier. She cried out in pleasure as she came to an orgasm. Her sounds of pleasure were enough to drive. It was just like him to turn her own words back on her. But then again, he had every right to…her Mister Stability. She smiled as she remembered the other words that she had spoken that day to her daughter-inn-law…’It Is both sad and wonderful that the only ‘perfect’ man I have ever met is the one I raised.’ It was their turn then to begin that endless walk. Each step seemed frozen in time, a slow motion replay of the big play at the Super Bowl. She looked around the small Vegas wedding chapel at the smiling faces…her children, his, a scattering of friends. She looked to the raised dais at the front of the chapel. Damn, this Elvis was good. Not the fat, cheesy older one. Not the boyish man-child that had stepped on the world’s stage. The man…the mature one in black leather that had ruled this town as its top headliner for almost a decade in the seventies. He had that song down pat. How many times a day did he sing it, she wondered? How many of those were the disasters in the making.
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