Desi Home Made mp4

An older man, sipping a Cosmopolitan, perhaps (I'm no Mr. Boston!) puffing a cigar, appraises me meditatively, almost appreciatively, but nonetheless with blank unseeing eyes, as if he were thinking of something else entirely (which, quite naturally, he is), which would mean he wasn't appraising me at all now wouldn't it? for crissakes you're not the goddamned center of the universe, you fucking egomaniac, you!), that he was merely looking, absently, because I am absent; occasionally someone (is it Cyn?) quiets my groans by thrusting a sponge between my teeth; it's soaked, I think, with a lemon-flavored tranquilizer; the older man gets bored, resurfaces from his private meditation, gets tapped on the shoulder, knocks the ash off his cigar and extinguishes it, off-handedly, against the inside of my left thigh, and so it goes. My ribcage, exposed below my pink polka-dot halter (yes, I'm now wearing a polka-dot halter and pink short-shorts, don't ask me how this is possible) is slashed. I’m heading home now.”“Are you through with fun on the water?” she laughed.“No,” he answered as he reached under her shirt to pull the string on her bikini bottom. “I plan to finish what we started in the boat, but in the safety of your little marina.”Betts reached across him, turned the power on the GPS unit, and pointed to a button. “This unit has the marina marked as home. All you have to do is follow the line on the screen, and it will lead you to the slip. You could find it with your eyes closed. According to the GPS, we’re about fifteen minutes from home. She dropped her hand between his legs and felt his member was still quite stiff. “You thinking about giving me some more of this?”“I think there’s a strong possibility.”“Can you keep this thing hard till we get back?”“Nope,” he said with a wicked grin, “but you can.”Betts grinned back at him as she stuffed her hand inside his shorts. Finding his member, she wrapped her fingers around it. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather.
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