Rajasthani Aunty Showing

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Her ass still throbbing from the stinging blows of her fathers hard hand and the hard tool, her father's tool, that had slammed into her, again and again and again ... she cut off her thought with a start, aware how much she was enjoying the thought, the thought of her father ... fucking her ... fucking her ass ... fucking her cunt. Filling her with his seed.She rocked on the bed harder trying to refocus her thoughts on her life before she went to Maracas. Without consciously being aware, her thoughts began to drift to the gringos, Mark opening her unyielding legs, the way her vagina felt when his hard knee made contact with her wet triangle, Scott's face contorting as he plunged his hard cock deep within her ass coating her insides, John's thick tool hanging obscenely at the entrance to her vagina and how it felt buried deep within her.She shivered remembering her struggling to get out from under him and how he put his arms around her thin waist and pulled her in close to his chest. I didn't have too much cum left to squirt but it sure felt good after I sniffed them for a while.The next day Ms Stacy left to go home and when I went to my room that night I discovered she had left the red bra and blue panties under my covers. I must have jacked off 50 times with those.======CONFESSION 40I guess that I started sniffing panties from about the age of 11. My sister was 6 years older than me and I used to sneak into her bedroom and bury my head in her dirty panties. Trouble was she was a good girl and changed her panties often so they never really got very dirty.Then joy of joy we got a lodger, same age as sis but oh what a dirty girl she was. Kept her panties on for days on end and made such a mess of them. Just before laundry day they were thrown onto the bedroom floor (she shared a room with my sister).Sunday evening after the girls had gone out I would creep into their room, get down on my hands and knees and go through their laundry pile; sisters panties now took.
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The quiet overwhelmed her senses. And she waited. Then she heard it, the voice of him, he whom she had been summoned by, as he spoke but two words, ‘Enter, slave’. With trembling fingers, she pushed open the heavy wooden door. The room was dark after the moon-kissed lighting of the hall and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Then she saw him, sitting upon his chair, perched as it were before the fire, his eyes mesmerized by stories in the flames. She closed the door behind her and walked swiftly to his side, falling to her knees and bowing her head. ‘Before me,’ he ordered and she crawled about until her knees were but inches from his feet. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded and she lifted her eyes to meet his. They blazed with unspoken words and tales of heartbreak, triumph and pain. They flashed from the flames of the fire, and yet were cold and unsettling. She could not look away even if she dared, so deeply his eyes held hers, trapped and locked within his own. She knew without.

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