Desi Hor Bhabi With Lover In Room

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I couldn’t believe what just happened. I kissed my sister! Did I just ruin the relationship we had? What would she think of me? Would she tell mom and dad? I had so many questions and was quickly regretting what I did. How could I look her in the eye again? I stayed in my room the rest of day, not even coming out to eat and use the bathroom. I did have a great masturbating session before I went to sleep though; I came 3 times at the thought of her.The next day was even more awkward. At breakfast I kept my head down and said nothing. I could tell she was a little mad, but still I said nothing. Our parents immediately knew something was up since they didn’t hear us laughing or playing with each other. I told them everything was fine (which was a HUGE lie) and they thought nothing of it. I finally worked up the courage to confront Rita of our “encounter"."Rita can I please talk to you?" I guess so, but keep your distance." Fair enough, Rita I’m so sorry I kissed you." Why did you do. I can’t believe I can not stop this intrusion. I am paralyzed within my own body. I know I am able to move, nothing is broken, yet I am unable to do so. You have me trapped in a spell unbreakable. Your silky dress feels smooth to the touch as I trace my hands over your body. I look in your eyes and see the confliction in your core. Your mind not being able to break free of my enchantment but the feeling of my hands keep you wanting. Your nipples stiffen under my touch, a supple hardness that brings a smile to my face. I know I have all the time in the world but I need to act now. My passion is building as my hands continue to caress your lovely frame. I can feel your cool hands on my breasts, I don’t want to like it but my need takes over. I suffer hardness in my nipples as you pull them roughly between your fingers. Wetness starts to form beneath my lace panties. A moan escapes my lips surprising not only my taker but myself. I can sense his knowing, I have given myself over to his.
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He was dressed after the fashion of the Old West: dungarees, worn boots, plain cotton shirt covered by a leather vest, beat-up hat and a holster with a shiny revolver inside. Still not saying a word, he pulled the cork out of the bottle, poured some of the amber liquor into each glass, then replaced the cork and picked up his glass. He seemed to be waiting for me to pick mine up, so I did. He nodded to me and we each drank. Being a true-blue Texan, I know my way around liquor, but the stuff that came out of that bottle was serious business indeed. It was tart and had a kick like moonshine, which I had tasted a few times during my college days at SMU. ‘I suppose yer wonderin’ why you been brought here,’ the man spoke finally. ‘Pretty vivid dream, I have to say,’ I said, trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice. ‘Ain’t no dream,’ the man said. ‘You been brought here so’s you can hear a story. See, my name’s Martin Claymore, but folks always knew me as Marty.’ ‘Pleased to meet you… I.

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