Desi Mms Sex Affair Of Indian Wife Recorded On Hidden Cam porn video

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" The slender, tautly-muscled young man taps on a keyboard before a monitor for a few moments, then says, "Yep, here we are. Your masseuse will be Jennifer; she'll be with you very shortly." Thank you." I smile at the boy once more, then join Michael on a sofa. We talk in low voices for a few minutes, then are interrupted with, "Mrs. Miller?"I look up. The young woman standing before me is striking: early 20s; medium height; deeply tanned; lustrous, wavy dark hair tied loosely on her head, falling around her narrow, small-mouthed, green-eyed face; slim build with well-defined arms, small breasts held in a sports bra under a white tank top, and gently-curving hips; emanating a faint, pleasant scent of massage oil and sweat.As Michael and I stand up, she holds out her hand and says, "I'm Jennifer, your masseuse. If you prefer a masseur, Brian will be available in a few minutes."Taking her soft-skinned, firm-muscled hand, I say, "No, no, Jennifer; I'm sure you'll be just what the doctor. He pulled his dick out of me and grabbed my hips. Flipping me on my back, he pulled my feet up on his shoulders. Guiding his dick to my hole he started fucking me again. He said, do you know how sexy you look getting fucked. All I could do was smile. Pushing deep in me he held my waist as he ravaged my young butt hole. My dick was so hard it hurt and actually looked like it was turning purple. My eyes rolled back into my head when he took my dick and stroked it. I was amazed when I felt my butt squeezing and releasing Tom's dick as he fucked me harder. Feels like you're enjoying it Tom said softly. I felt the urge to pre and knew I was about to cum. Tom must have felt it to as he released my dick and pressed his thumb against my scrotum behind my ball sack. Not yet baby he said. Slowly his pace he said he wanted us to cum together.I gasped as I felt a sting on my chest. Looking he pinched my nipple. Looking down I could see liquid covering my dick as precum poured out of it. Sweat.
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He looks at her perfect round bottom in her white denim shorts and her perfect thighs and legs. He looks at her hand. An index finger moves, ever so slowly. It points discreetly to him, then herself then to the side along one of the streets. As the market winds up late in the night, Ouan stands where the busker’s finger had pointed. Then the white statue approaches from the darkness, walking slowly, carry her top hand, heavy with coins and notes. She looks at him and points to her mouth. “You can’t speak?,” he asks. She shakes her head. “Come with me? You must be very tired,” he asks. She nods. He carries her top hat. They walk slowly to his house not far off in the silence of the night. He gives her a big glass of Coke with ice. She rests awhile in his armchair then points to the bathroom. Ouan hears her running the bath tub then the sound of her getting in. Soon she knocks on the inside of the door. “You want something?,” he speaks into the door. Silence.

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