Bangla Masala Song

  • 1
  • 1:08
  • 5 years ago

I left work at noon and we were on the road by one. The ride to the hotel was a very quiet, awkward one. All I could think was my wife might be fuckin... another man in a matter of hours. Not just any man, but an adult star, black, with a huge cock. And while this had been my fantasy, I felt like I had a rock in my stomach. We barely spoke the whole drive and when we did, it was random small talk, neither of us wanting to mention the elephant in the room.We were staying at the same Hotel as James. I will put on that music you danced to last time.”Not surprised that her brother wanted more, whatever this was, Kirstin moved to a spot in front of the couch while he fiddled with his phone before casting a music video onto the screen behind her. As the music began to play, she began to move, her feet much less wobbly than even a week ago. The heels were high, but she was getting better at moving in them, and her ankles were definitely getting stronger.Brian leaned back, his casual shirt. I couldn’t stop. I never knew that it was so pleasurable to have a hard throbbing dick in your mouth. I thought only the one getting a blowjob was the lucky one, but now I knew differently. Jack’s precum was starting to taste stronger and I could tell he was getting ready to blow. I just wanted to feel that now, feel him exploding in my mouth and tasting his sweet cum. But Jack pulled out and climbed onto the bed himself pushing me down on my back. He started kissing my tits as his hands were. “We’ll pay you, we’ll let you have the money” Tiffany pleaded as she began to become fully conscious“What, the money you left in my truck? That’s my money? I don’t see any more for you to let me have” “We sto.. We stole” Mercedes stammered as she struggled to understand her ordeal “We stole that... money fair and square”.“And I stole you fair and square” Peter quipped back. “While I sat in a truck eating chicken wings, you delivered me my own personal mountain of dirty money. It’s hard to spend.
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