Bathing Bhabhi

I noticed she was wearing that green tie-dyed t-shirt that I had told her I liked the previous week week. ‘Hey, you,’ she said. She introduced me ...riefly to her friends. The first girl, Hong, was a short Asian girl with long dark hair. She was wearing a very tight black shirt, which hugged her impressive bust as if tempting me to stare at her chest, and a pair of equally tight jeans. She smiled at me, and as she greeted me, I noticed that she didn’t have any accent at all. Obviously she had. “No, you are an artist. Jeez! I’m not exaggerating. I think you are very good. Can I give you a commission? Could you draw the four of you? Something to remember a shitty holiday that became a perfect one”“Yes, what was it you were saying as you met us on the cliff top?”“Well, my Grandad was wrong. Life is shit, and then it gets better” I replied.“No, I’m sure it will get worse again. Shall we?” We had arranged shifts now to go and call about Gramps and for me to call my mum. Dad too, of. Her heaving chest threw off little droplets of sweat, and some part of her noted purple at the edge of her vision with alarm. That part was lost to the haze of building pleasure as the feeling of hot wax altered to an impossibly cold pair of lips on each nipple. She cried out through the gag, weakly thrashing as she neared the edge. The anal toy stopped vibrating, slowing her ascent to the peak. At least, until it began thrusting in time with its companion, their dual, forceful thrusts. That friendship was put to the test when you entered the military a month after he did. You seemed to break every record he did and showed him up at almost everything you did. You may have been blessed by the Earth Mother with your towering height, but not the strength. At the time Thunder was indeed stronger than you and decided to assert his dominance over you by publicly stripping you, bending you over table in the mess hall during evening dinner and take your virginity in front of everyone.
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