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Indian hot house wife pornvideos of a sexy maid and her owner in his home. This sexy woman wanted to earn more in her free time and so she approaches her owner and shows off her hot assets. He too becomes horny on hearing his offer and he takes her to the guest house secretly. She soon takes off her clothes and lies beside him with just a pajamas. He keeps jerking his cock and rubs her hot tits. Then, he comes on top of her and bangs her pussy with his rod. Finally, she comes on top and begins to ride his penis in the cowgirl position.
He opened them again and roughly grabbed my one of my breasts, his thumb making a circle around my nipple and then kneading the flesh. “Ask me... ask me,” he panted, stroking faster, sweat running from his forehead. “Tell me you want to me to come all over you.” “Please,” I begged, in just the tone he liked, breathy and low and not too whiny, “Come for me. I want you to spray it all over me. Please.” He moaned, almost at the point of no return. I tried to anticipate where it would land first, whether he would shoot so his salty tang would hit my lips and drip onto my chin (I wouldn't open my mouth unless he ordered me to), or if he would paint my tits with his warm streaks of white, and then order me to rub it into my skin. Marking me as his. Either was fine with me. Whatever he wanted. It was almost disconcerting how much joy I felt at being little more than his cum rag, and how much it made my pussy ache with need for him. I didn't have to wait long to find out where on my body his. Oh damn, I thought to myself, now I’ve gone and broken my neck. Once again, I attempted to open my eyes, and found that it was too bright. Seconds later I heard a small click and saw the light fade from behind my eyelids. ‘Is that better, Miss Connelly?’ It was that voice again, sending shivers up my spine as it rumbled into my ears. I opened my eyes hesitantly, and then fully, noting that I was most definitely in a hospital room. I looked over to my side, and sure enough my mother was sitting there, with her brows fixed downwards, the very picture of worry. Her eyes looked sunken and were accompanied by large dark circles underneath, she was obviously wearing no makeup. It alarmed me to see her in such a state of disarray. Her clothes were rumpled and her chestnut hair was greasy and unwashed, pulled back into the simplest of ponytails. My eyes strayed around the room, to avoid the picture my mother presented. And there he was, the owner of that voice, the only voice I recalled.
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