My Indian Girlfriend Dances

Naturally, being so well-informed about the area, Joan made all thearrangements for both of you. And at first, it seemed to work outgreat. Your Guide, a friend of hers from the Internet, was nothing lessthan a handsome, full-blooded Sheik named Omar, whose house was a smallbut lavish palace-in the heart of Morocco, complete with marble bathsand a gaggle of obliging servant girls--some of whom were also hiswives, Joan informed you!A week or so into the visit, however, You began to get bored. Joanloved this country and everything about it (Including Omar, youwondered?) but you got restless, rattling around places you never heardof, filled with people talking some language you couldn't understand.Then Omar suggested taking you to see some places off the beaten path.Place Tourists never go. Like the Slave Market!Now this was more like it! You stood in the crowd with Joan and Omar,watching as the slaves danced, flexed their muscles or otherwise showedthemselves off to raise the prices. I fell back onto the dresser and made no attempt to stop him. Within a minute, I was gripping the back of his head and grinding his face harder into my cunt. He slurped hungrily, taking care to massage my thighs and lap at my dripping hole. After about five minutes he stood up, his mouth and nose glistening with love. He wiped his face on a sleeve that hung next to us in the closet. We stared face to face into each others eyes for a moment, then he hugged me. We walked out of that closet that day hand in hand and in love with each other. When we came out, one of the boys smelled Bert’s breath to make sure we really did it. Everyone nearly died with laughter when the boy loudly proclaimed, “Bert has pussy lips!” We continued to hold hands all that evening not passing up a single chance to go in the closet or perform sexual favors for one another during the game of spin the bottle dare.Now as we sat in the car, I was dying to get his pussy lips all over me. “I’m hungry,” grunted a.
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