I Am Indian

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She’d never been into the really buff, oiled up guys she saw at the gym, she wanted a strong guy who could wrap her in his arms and make her feel safe. Rick fit the description. Gina kissed Rick’s chest and shuddered a little as she felt his fingers glide over the bare skin of her sides, feeling goosebumps appear. Suddenly she realized that his hands were moving towards the waist of her jeans again, slowly reaching for the button. Again, she froze inside but this time she gently ran her finger nails down Rick’s back, making him sigh as he popped the button on her jeans. Rick began to slide her jeans down over her firm butt, exposing the soft material of her panties. She felt his fingers gently brush the cheeks of her ass and she knew he was checking to see if she was wearing a thong. She felt his cock move again through his jeans before she stepped back, wiggling her hips to let her jeans slide down her slim legs and pool on the floor at her ankles. She stepped out of them, giving. She knew that the naughtiness of the situation must be the reason why she was so thrilled, but she didn’t give a damn what the reason was, anyway. She began to stroke Carol’s slim flanks. Carol arched her back and pressed her firm tits against Jennifer’s big, soft globes. They moved together, bellies grinding, thighs intertwining. Their hot nipples shifted over their counterparts, branding each other with the glowing mark of lust. Sinuous, sensuous, they wrapped around each other. Jennifer moved her hands over Carol’s hips and cupped her pert ass, drawing the girl’s loins tight to her own so that their bushy mounds were pressed together, the hairy triangles fitting like adjacent pieces of a carnal jigsaw puzzle; Carol cupped Jennifer’s big mounds, holding them up and pushing them together. Her lips slid away from Jennifer’s mouth and, dipping her head, she began to lick Jennifer’s nipples, then took them in her mouth and sucked adoringly on the hard nuggets, her curly head switching.
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Where the hell are my clothes? She sat up, clutching one of those sheets to herself—not that it did her much good, as it turned out, the sheets were sheer. Cypress folded herself up, trying to cover herself, and took a look around the room. Although it was a place most extraordinary, with its gauzy drapes hanging everywhere and lamps made of faintly glowing crystal, it was hard to take her eyes off the woman sitting on a divan not too far away. Ephasia, she remembered suddenly. What on earth…? Except Cypress was beginning to doubt that this place was anywhere on the earth she knew. Ephasia was still dressed in that Disney-ized harem outfit. Whoever she’d been talking to a moment before was gone, but Cypress imagined they’d be back. What is going on, anyway? Cypress wondered, watching Ephasia rise from the divan. There was no doubt in her mind that this woman, who had claimed to be her sister, was not your average human being. While she liked to consider herself the skeptical sort, it.

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