After Marriage In India With First Night hindi porn
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The woman has slipped into her own little world. The people she passes are like fleeting images. The buildings, the cars, the sights are all a blur. Without thinking about it, without having it as a destination in mind, Yulia is heading back to that dark alley where it had happened. She thinks about how she takes the simple pleasure of having a fully erect cock pressing against her, of having his. It is a simple joy, taking in the warmth of one as it presses against her inner thigh. And the homeless man had a nice long and thick one. Her pussy tingles with just a touch of sexual excitement. At the same time though, she finds it utterly disgusting, and yet Yulia is still heading for that place.As she steps into the alley, the mental perversity in her mind opens the floodgates to her snatch. She thinks of the dirty man straddling her face, wrapping her mouth around his balls while he jacks off. And while she watches him stroke his stiff prick, her tongue writhes on his balls ... maybe. And then explain her the self-service policy of the café as Kiran wouldn’t want the lady to suffer the consequences for Kiran’s mistakes the next time she comes to the café. Kiran came out from behind the counter, clad in the skimpy Apron that was her uniform, and picked the cup and went to the lady’s table. There she stood waiting for the lady to acknowledge, as on the table there were papers cluttered over. The lady noticed and looked at her, with a smile, and took the cup from Kiran’s hand directly, saying, “Thanks, Kiran.” Then she turned back to her papers sipping the coffee. Kiran stood there, unable to say anything more. The lady turned to her again, and said it in a firm voice, still with a smile, “Could you not disturb me for… say… next fifteen minutes?” Kiran nodded. And turned to move away. Kiran’s legs were shaking slightly. What was happening to her? Why she couldn’t tell that lady anything? Kiran was already getting late, and the host of the café would be arriving soon.
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