Indian bhabhi in parking

He got out, paid his fare, and then turned and walked through the glass doorway into the joint. The interior was dark looked kind of haunting with its...wavering lights. So much of the bar had changed since last time he was he here — thirty-five years to the exact date — but it still was the place. A couple of autographed photos of memorable Hollywood stars who’d been here before still hung on the walls. And he was delighted to see the bar still had a jukebox, just as it had been his first night. Holding back his come, he grabbed the hair on the back of my head and pulled me forcefully off of his cock. I smiled. This was the roughness I missed. The roughness I craved. He pushed me down on the floor. He dropped his pants to his knees and kneeled over me, yanking my bothersome jeans and white lace panties off. ‘Why the hell didn’t you wear a skirt, slut?!’ he said in frustration. I moaned in my heat, barely comprehending the question. ‘I’m so sorry, Master. I will never do it again,’ I. More

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