My Indian Girlfriend Teaches Me How To Fuck Her indian porn

This was all too much. Even the fact that I was deep-throating this man would be enough to make me cum, with him touching me, it was guaranteed. He let go of my cock, and "I'm going to....I'm....I'm cumming!" I exclaimed. I felt my prostate contract, and my cum shot out of me in long, exquisite streams. One, two, three, four, five, I took my mouth from his shaft, and concentrated on my cock. I couldn't stop cumming, the contractions sent rope after rope of slippery sperm into my belly. "Oh no, what have I done!" I thought, I can't cum like this. We just got started, and I shoot off right away. I'm so embarrassed. "I'm sorry." I said while looking down at his hard cock. The veins prominent along the shaft, the tip drooling pre-cum on his belly. "I didn't mean to..." Sorry?" Heinz said "why would you be sorry? it's the most natural thing in the world."I didn't want to finish so quickly, and this is all about me making you cum, not the other way around" I said in between feverish. As she was guiding herself along the walls relying on her touch alone, a flower-like entity popped up on the wall, although still budded, and reached all the way between her breasts. She decided to ignore it and keep going, but the bud started to flower now. An intense musky smell struck her nose, when she looked, she saw that the flower had a phallic shaped pistil, which in fact looked very much just like a penis. She breathed in the strong odour, it filled her lungs and made her vagina feel all tingly, but it also made her dizzier. As if the narrow place wasn’t making her dizzy enough, she couldn’t stop thinking about penises for some reason, she missed her boyfriend’s familiar shape and touch. This made her even hornier, so she tried concentrating on moving along. It was getting increasingly difficult to move as the corridor seemed to get more and more narrow. Parts of her body were brushing against it, and on each occasion she touched the wall a flower just like the first one.
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