English My Young Indian Lover

ChotiBaj · May 27, 2024

Part 2

After the first time, I made love with my young Indian gardener, I couldn’t wait for his next visit. I thought about him all the time, how his skin and muscles felt under my hands. The smell of sweat on his body after he’d been working hard. The taste of his cock, and how good it felt when he penetrated me deep.

But I knew he was still shy, and a beginner. So I had an idea. He had texted me almost as soon as he got home. He was really worried because he had cummed inside me without any protection. I reassured him that I used something to stop me from getting pregnant and that there was no risk.

But I thought it was so sweet and considerate of him to worry about that. When of course it was me who had made it happen. I felt very tender toward the gardener and wanted him even more. In bed at night I caressed myself, remembering his lovely dark body, and how it looked between my legs.

He came round again not many days later. When he arrived, he was very shy and could hardly look me in the eye. But he was smiling and I could tell he was happy to be back.

“What shall I get on with today, madam?” he asked.

I smiled back.

“Today, we are doing something a bit different,” I replied. “I am going to teach you some new gardening techniques.”

He looked at me with a question in his big brown eyes.

“Come with me,” I told him.

I led him through into the conservatory. It was another sunny day, and although I had the blinds drawn to make it completely private, it was very warm. I had prepared it.

There were soft cushions on the couch, iced water and glasses, and a tray with some things on it. He looked around and I saw the pulse already beating in his throat.

The gardener was in a t-shirt and shorts. I was wearing a very thin fitted top with nothing underneath, and a loose skirt that stopped above my knees. Then I put my hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly in his mouth. He smiled, nervously, and rather tentatively rested his hands on my waist. I could already feel the desire in him. But we were going to take it slowly.

Then I moved my hands down to his chest and found his nipples under his t-shirt. As I began to play with them between my fingers and thumbs, I said –

“I think you are very beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last time. You can have me again today, I promise – everything, like last time. But I want to teach you some things first.”

“Oh, thank you, madam. I have been thinking about you too. So much.”

“When I was a very young woman,” I told him, “I lost my virginity to a much older man. He was more than twice my age – older than I am now. I was with him for quite a long time and he taught me so much, and I’d like to do the same for you.”

“Oh yes,” he replied – “Oh, please.”

“Do you like me touching you like this?”

“It feels so sexy.”

I could tell it was exciting for him. Men often don’t realize how much pleasure their own nipples can give them – if their women know what they are doing.

“Don’t you want to touch mine?” I asked, “Just like I am touching yours?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d been looking down at my breasts where they swelled under my top. Of course, my nipples were hard and showing through the tight fabric. Then he laid his hands on my chest and began to pinch and tease them. He seemed to know just how much pressure to use to give me that sensation that women love – almost, but not quite, pain, a delicious thrill.

The hotline from my nipples to my clit was live and firing and I could already feel myself getting wet between my legs. Then I gently lifted his t-shirt and he raised his arms for me to take it off. Ah, his skin!

Then he did the same for me. My breasts longed for his hands, and his hands went straight to them and started to caress them. I could easily have stripped the rest of my things off and just spread my legs for him and begged for it. But I had planned something else first.

“Do you know what the sexiest things are about a man?” I asked him.

“Tell me,” he breathed.

“His kindness. His gentleness. The way he cares for his woman. You already have all that. You won’t ever have much trouble getting women to give you sex, believe me.”

“Thank you, madam. I don’t want another woman. I want to learn how to look after your garden. I’ve never had such a good teacher.”

I laughed, very lovingly.

“Look what I’ve got here,” I said.

On the tray was a small bowl with some thick sugar syrup I’d made, and I’d mixed food coloring into it. Very deep red – almost black. Beside it, is a small artist’s paintbrush.

“Paint my nipples,” I said.

Then I handed him the brush and the bowl. He looked at me, and then he dipped the brush in the syrup and carefully, delicately, painted one nipple. I swear the nipple throbbed, and I felt a rush of desire. Then he did the other one.

I stood there like some kind of tart with my breasts out on show to the world. I felt twice as naked, with my whore-red nipples standing up, so erect. He looked at them, his eyes shining.

“Suck them,” I told him.

Then he put the things down, knelt in front of me, and took a breast in one hand. Then, ever so gently and lightly, he touched the tip of his tongue to the nipple and began delicately licking the syrup off it. The second one, he took into his mouth, sucking and tonguing it. My breasts had never felt sexier. My heart was racing and everything below my waist wanted me to lay down there and then beg for his cock, and I had to tell myself, “Not yet.”

He painted me, and mouthed me, several times more, my heart hammering – he must have felt it – until I said, “I want something sweet too. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

Then he stripped off his shorts and stood there, naked. Of course, his cock was erect, hard and dark and beautiful. And there was already a drop glistening at the tip. Then I peeled his foreskin right down, exposing the head, and took the brush and the bowl. I watched how his cock throbbed as I slowly spread syrup all over it.

I started to touch it delicately with the tip of my tongue, here and there, light as a butterfly, sometimes on the shaft, sometimes on the bare head. And then I licked it very slowly up and down, and around and around, tasting the salt of him through the sweetness; and he shuddered and breathed deep and caressed my hair.

“Lie back on the couch,” I told him.

I took more syrup and anointed his cock again. This time, I made my lips into a tight round hole and pushed it through them into my mouth. Slowly and luxuriantly, I moved my mouth up and down. My tongue was pressing into his rod, salivating with the sweetness of the syrup. He was breathing fast now. He was almost on the edge. But I took his cock out of my mouth again and put more syrup on it.

“What I’d really like,” I told him, “Is some cream to go with my syrup. Do you think you have some for me?”

He was moaning as I bowed my head to take him in my mouth again. Now I was ready to take him deep. I lowered down onto him, came up again, did it again, and again, each time taking in a little more of his beautiful dark Indian sex until the head was pressing against the back of my mouth.

I kept it there, letting him feel the pressure on his rod. And then I went down even more and he slipped right into my throat. The whole of his cock was in my mouth now, right up to the base, as I sucked and mouthed and dribbled saliva. Then his body tensed, and his hips lifted to meet me. He was fucking my throat, the whole bare head of his cock pressing into it.

Gasping, I came up for air, went down on him again, and let him thrust into my throat. Twice more I had to come up, dribbling all over him. And then, as his cock slid in one more time, he cried out, and his cream came spurting. I managed to keep him in there until he’d finished. And then I came up gasping and choking, coughing everything out of my mouth and throat all over him.

I can’t tell you all the things we said to one another then. He was dazed, amazed at what I’d done. But I was still unsatisfied, and desperate, starving for his young dark body. Then I invited him to take my skirt off. He needed to learn how to undress a woman, and it seemed like a good place to start.

After it had fallen to the floor, all I had left on was a very, very narrow thong that didn’t so much cover the lips of my sex as separate them. It was my turn to lay back on the couch.

“Give me the brush and bowl,” I told him.

It was quite difficult to write on your own skin, upside down. But I managed to use the brush and the syrup to write below my navel: “This way in” – with an arrow pointing down. Then I handed them to him.

“What are you going to write on me?” I asked.

He grinned shyly at me and took the brush. First, he painted my nipples again, and my navel. And then above what I’d written, he put, “Gardener.”

I made that into “Indian Gardener’s cock.”

So the writing, below my tart-red nipples and navel, said, ‘Indian Gardener’s cock This way in ↓’

He was hard again – very hard – and I desperately wanted him. But first, I pulled off my thong, opened my legs, and told him to look at what I was showing him.

What I was showing him was everything. Then I took his finger and touched it to each part of my wet and swollen sex, showing him just how I liked to be touched and caressed. He looked, and he touched, and I just knew he was going to be able to tend my garden really well.

I asked for one more thing. He took the brush again, dipped it in the syrup, and very carefully painted my clit. Ohhhh, the rasp of the brush on it! And his eyes, and his delicate dark hands.

“Lick it off,” I begged – and he did, slowly and tenderly. And again, and again, and again, until I just couldn’t bear it for a second longer.

“Darling, please, please, fuck me now. I need you so much.”

I spread my pale legs as wide as I possibly could, offering my lovely Indian boy everything. Then he came to me, his cock hard and pulsing, and I saw it point at my flesh and then slid in and I felt it penetrate me, deeply, all of it.

My muscles clamped onto it. He pushed hard into me. I lay back with my arms above my head, just looking at that dark-skinned teenager thrusting again and again between my thighs and feeling his rod in me, seeing that dark sex fucking, fucking mine.

Then my thighs caught fire and the fire ran all through me and I was coming and coming all over him, and he came too and emptied all his warm sperm into my belly.

ChotiBaj · May 27, 2024

Part 2

Whenever my teenage Indian gardener came around, we didn’t get our clothes off straight away. We still got on with the gardening, though only for as long as we could keep our hands off one another.

I remember one time. We were working in the greenhouse. It was a very hot, still, sultry day, and the greenhouse was like a sauna. He was stripped down to his shorts and I was in a very thin, strappy, low-cut dress that was clinging to my curves.

As we worked, we chatted. That was one of the really lovely things about him. It wasn’t just about the sex, he was really nice to be with and to talk to. He was telling me about his family, and especially about his grandmother. She seemed to dote on him and used to tell him what a lovely young man he was going to be, and how they’d have to find him a nice girl to marry so he could start his own family.

I said, “I bet you know some nice Indian girls already. I see them around. There are some real beauties.”

“But, madam,” he answered, “I don’t want a nice Indian girl. None of them have beautiful white bodies like yours.”

He was losing his shyness with me, which wasn’t surprising, after what had already happened between us.

I said, “I wonder what your grandmother would say about me if she knew I was spreading my legs for you?”

He looked at me, a bit nervously. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he’d thought of something.

“You know, don’t you?”

I said. “Tell me. Tell me what she’d say?”

“Oh, madam”, he said, “I don’t want to offend you.”

I put down what I was doing and went over to him. I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

“Darling,” I said, “Just tell me. I won’t be offended. Promise. Tell me. I want to know.”

He hesitated. Then I leaned into him, pressing a breast against him. I felt his heart beating fast.

“Tell me.”

Then he said, very shyly, “She would say you are a bitch, madam, for doing the things you do with me.”

When he spoke that word, it set something off inside me. A thrill went through me. ‘Enough gardening for today,’ I thought.

I could tell he was aroused, too. I thought, “It excites you to say that to me, doesn’t it?”

Then I started to run my hands over his chest and shoulders.

“A bitch?” I said.

“Me, a bitch? Well, perhaps my husband would say the same. And tell me the truth, haven’t you ever thought of me that way?”

He didn’t reply. I went on.

“I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve thought of myself like that. And you know what? I like it. It excites me. Aren’t you a lucky young man, having your own hot, willing bitch to play with?”

He was breathing faster now, and his heart was pounding. I put my arms around him, pressing my breasts against his chest.

“Your bitch. Say it.”

He didn’t reply, but his fingers dug into my back. Then I bit him on the shoulder quite hard.

“Say it.”

He whispered, very low, urgently, “My bitch.”

“Your white bitch.” (Bite)

“Oh, madam. My white bitch.”

“Your hot white bitch.” (Bite. Bite.)

“My hot white bitch.”

And then he kissed me hard, one hand behind my head, forcing my mouth onto his. The other hand was on my bottom, pressing my belly into his groin, onto the swelling of his already hard sex. I was suddenly desperate. Then I pulled away from him, knelt down, tore his shorts open, dragged them down his legs, and forced his long, dark rod deep into my mouth. At the first taste of it, sweaty, and salty, I started to salivate, I was dribbling all over him.

I could hardly believe it. I, a married white woman, kneeling in the dirt, my mouth stuffed full of a teenage Indian boy’s dark cock. Then I thought to myself, “You bitch. You cock-hungry, cock-sucking bitch.”

Then I sucked and mouthed him as hard as I could for a few seconds. Then I let go and stood up. I pulled one arm out of its shoulder strap and pulled the top of the dress down to expose one bare breast, the same on the other side. The dress was clinging to me, soaked in sweat, and I had to pull and tug to get it down over my hips. I heard a seam rip, got it off, and kicked it aside.

I wore nothing underneath. His eyes were burning with lust. Naked, I stood in front of him. Naked, I turned my back to him and got down on my knees and elbows, my breasts down in the dirt of the floor. My thighs were wide, my hips raised, everything wide open for him.

“Please,” I begged, “Please, this bitch is in heat. She needs to be mounted. Mount her, now. Fuck her. Fuck the bitch.”

“Yes,” he gasped, hoarsely. “Yes, yes.”

He came down over me, his hands in the dirt on either side, his chest and belly against my back. For a moment, I felt the end of his rod sliding around my lips, and then it found my wet hole, and Ahhhh! It was in me, thrusting deep, pushing through my tight muscles, driving and driving into me again and again.

We were dog and bitch, joined at the sex, he was mounting me, fast and hard, over and over, with no stopping, and no mercy. Then he drove in one more time and stayed deep, crying out, as he emptied himself, so far that surely he was filling my womb. He came out of me, gasping, and knelt behind me. I started to get up but he put a hand on my back, pushing me down again.

“Stay there, bitch,” he said. “I haven’t finished yet.”

Rough fingers ran over my back and shoulders, down under my belly, smearing the sweat with dirt. He groped at my chest, pressing and squeezing my dirty breasts in his dirty, beautiful hands. Something trickled down my thigh.

Then he was on me again, and I braced myself as his cock speared me once more. He fucked me strongly again, calling me his bitch, his white bitch, his fuck-bitch. I knew this was just for him. Now he was using me, fucking his bitch’s body just to slake his own lust. I was trembling with the raw sex of it, with my own desperate hunger.

Then he came into me again, making deep, rough animal noises. When it was over, he rocked back on his heels and watched as his semen leaked out of me.

He stood up. I was shaking. I hadn’t been able to come like that and I was ready to burst. Somehow, I got to my feet. I leaned back against the bench, planted my feet wide, and pushed my chest forward. My thighs were streaked with his seed.

“Please,” I sobbed, “Please, this bitch needs to come. Please do it to her again. Make her come.”

His rod was still standing up. He stood between my legs, all his slim, dark, Indian body, hard with muscle, glowing with pleasure, wickedly beautiful against my flushed white skin. Then he rubbed the end of his dusky cock over my lips, teasing them, teasing my clit, as I gasped and strained with my needs.

Then it slid slowly inside me, my teenage Indian lover’s cock. He rocked to and fro, pressing his body into me. The rasp of his hair on my clit was a lovely torture. Little flashes of electricity began around the tops of my thighs. They grew, spread, and joined up until everything was one storm of sex.

I held onto him tight because I couldn’t stand up on my own anymore. Then I was coming and coming, over and over, squeezing him tight inside me, until at last it was done. I collapsed into the dirt, shaking and sobbing.

He crouched down beside me, talking to me very gently, caressing me. When I could look it up, I saw that he was crying too. Then we kissed away each other’s tears.

And then, it sounds mad I know, we just started to laugh, and once we’d started, we couldn’t stop, until we were aching with it.

It had grown very dark while we were doing all this. Suddenly, there was a flash and a loud crash of thunder. Then the patter of rain on the roof quickly grew to a roar. It was a real downpour.

He pulled me to my feet and dragged me outside, onto the lawn in the pouring rain. In seconds, my hair was plastered to my skin and we were both drenched. Still laughing, we danced together in the rain, clutching each other. Fortunately, no one can see into the garden, they’d have thought we were crazy.

It only lasted a couple of minutes. When it was over, we grabbed our clothes from the greenhouse and ran up to the kitchen where we toweled each other dry.

I thought we’d finished, but he dropped his towel, put his hand on my chest, and pushed me down on my back on the table. As he lifted and parted my legs, I saw he had an erection again. Well, I was pretty much helpless and happy to be, so there wasn’t much to be done as his dark rod found my hole again.

Then he fucked me, slower and much more gently this time. His eyes were warm and loving and his face full of joy. Me, a bitch? I thought. Oh, yes… I’ll be your bitch, my darling, for as long as you want me.

He finished with a long, shuddering orgasm. Then he knelt down, and with my legs over his shoulders, he brought his mouth to my sex, mouthing, tonguing, pressing his lips to mine. His tongue slipped in and out of me, round and round over my lips, caressing my clit. And yes, I came, gently, beautifully, completely, all over my lovely dark-skinned lover’s face.

I wrote this story on behalf of a female reader. Any girls interested in some steamy online or real fun where I make you cum thrice without any doubt until your spine shivers with pleasure, are free to message me here.

Feedback on the story is most welcome.

AssLover · Jun 2, 2024

Part 3

This is part 3 of my story.

Whenever my teenage Indian gardener came around, we didn’t get our clothes off straight away. We still got on with the gardening, though only for as long as we could keep our hands off one another.

I remember one time. We were working in the greenhouse. It was a very hot, still, sultry day, and the greenhouse was like a sauna. He was stripped down to his shorts and I was in a very thin, strappy, low-cut dress that was clinging to my curves.

As we worked, we chatted. That was one of the really lovely things about him. It wasn’t just about the sex, he was really nice to be with and to talk to. He was telling me about his family, and especially about his grandmother. She seemed to dote on him and used to tell him what a lovely young man he was going to be, and how they’d have to find him a nice girl to marry so he could start his own family.

I said, “I bet you know some nice Indian girls already. I see them around. There are some real beauties.”

“But, madam,” he answered, “I don’t want a nice Indian girl. None of them have beautiful white bodies like yours.”

He was losing his shyness with me, which wasn’t surprising, after what had already happened between us.

I said, “I wonder what your grandmother would say about me if she knew I was spreading my legs for you?”

He looked at me, a bit nervously. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he’d thought of something.

“You know, don’t you?”

I said. “Tell me. Tell me what she’d say?”

“Oh, madam”, he said, “I don’t want to offend you.”

I put down what I was doing and went over to him. I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

“Darling,” I said, “Just tell me. I won’t be offended. Promise. Tell me. I want to know.”

He hesitated. Then I leaned into him, pressing a breast against him. I felt his heart beating fast.

“Tell me.”

Then he said, very shyly, “She would say you are a bitch, madam, for doing the things you do with me.”

When he spoke that word, it set something off inside me. A thrill went through me. ‘Enough gardening for today,’ I thought.

I could tell he was aroused, too. I thought, “It excites you to say that to me, doesn’t it?”

Then I started to run my hands over his chest and shoulders.

“A bitch?” I said.

“Me, a bitch? Well, perhaps my husband would say the same. And tell me the truth, haven’t you ever thought of me that way?”

He didn’t reply. I went on.

“I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve thought of myself like that. And you know what? I like it. It excites me. Aren’t you a lucky young man, having your own hot, willing bitch to play with?”

He was breathing faster now, and his heart was pounding. I put my arms around him, pressing my breasts against his chest.

“Your bitch. Say it.”

He didn’t reply, but his fingers dug into my back. Then I bit him on the shoulder quite hard.

“Say it.”

He whispered, very low, urgently, “My bitch.”

“Your white bitch.” (Bite)

“Oh, madam. My white bitch.”

“Your hot white bitch.” (Bite. Bite.)

“My hot white bitch.”

And then he kissed me hard, one hand behind my head, forcing my mouth onto his. The other hand was on my bottom, pressing my belly into his groin, onto the swelling of his already hard sex. I was suddenly desperate. Then I pulled away from him, knelt down, tore his shorts open, dragged them down his legs, and forced his long, dark rod deep into my mouth. At the first taste of it, sweaty, and salty, I started to salivate, I was dribbling all over him.

I could hardly believe it. I, a married white woman, kneeling in the dirt, my mouth stuffed full of a teenage Indian boy’s dark cock. Then I thought to myself, “You bitch. You cock-hungry, cock-sucking bitch.”

Then I sucked and mouthed him as hard as I could for a few seconds. Then I let go and stood up. I pulled one arm out of its shoulder strap and pulled the top of the dress down to expose one bare breast, the same on the other side. The dress was clinging to me, soaked in sweat, and I had to pull and tug to get it down over my hips. I heard a seam rip, got it off, and kicked it aside.

I wore nothing underneath. His eyes were burning with lust. Naked, I stood in front of him. Naked, I turned my back to him and got down on my knees and elbows, my breasts down in the dirt of the floor. My thighs were wide, my hips raised, everything wide open for him.

“Please,” I begged, “Please, this bitch is in heat. She needs to be mounted. Mount her, now. Fuck her. Fuck the bitch.”

“Yes,” he gasped, hoarsely. “Yes, yes.”

He came down over me, his hands in the dirt on either side, his chest and belly against my back. For a moment, I felt the end of his rod sliding around my lips, and then it found my wet hole, and Ahhhh! It was in me, thrusting deep, pushing through my tight muscles, driving and driving into me again and again.

We were dog and bitch, joined at the sex, he was mounting me, fast and hard, over and over, with no stopping, and no mercy. Then he drove in one more time and stayed deep, crying out, as he emptied himself, so far that surely he was filling my womb. He came out of me, gasping, and knelt behind me. I started to get up but he put a hand on my back, pushing me down again.

“Stay there, bitch,” he said. “I haven’t finished yet.”

Rough fingers ran over my back and shoulders, down under my belly, smearing the sweat with dirt. He groped at my chest, pressing and squeezing my dirty breasts in his dirty, beautiful hands. Something trickled down my thigh.

Then he was on me again, and I braced myself as his cock speared me once more. He fucked me strongly again, calling me his bitch, his white bitch, his fuck-bitch. I knew this was just for him. Now he was using me, fucking his bitch’s body just to slake his own lust. I was trembling with the raw sex of it, with my own desperate hunger.

Then he came into me again, making deep, rough animal noises. When it was over, he rocked back on his heels and watched as his semen leaked out of me.

He stood up. I was shaking. I hadn’t been able to come like that and I was ready to burst. Somehow, I got to my feet. I leaned back against the bench, planted my feet wide, and pushed my chest forward. My thighs were streaked with his seed.

“Please,” I sobbed, “Please, this bitch needs to come. Please do it to her again. Make her come.”

His rod was still standing up. He stood between my legs, all his slim, dark, Indian body, hard with muscle, glowing with pleasure, wickedly beautiful against my flushed white skin. Then he rubbed the end of his dusky cock over my lips, teasing them, teasing my clit, as I gasped and strained with my needs.

Then it slid slowly inside me, my teenage Indian lover’s cock. He rocked to and fro, pressing his body into me. The rasp of his hair on my clit was a lovely torture. Little flashes of electricity began around the tops of my thighs. They grew, spread, and joined up until everything was one storm of sex.

I held onto him tight because I couldn’t stand up on my own anymore. Then I was coming and coming, over and over, squeezing him tight inside me, until at last it was done. I collapsed into the dirt, shaking and sobbing.

He crouched down beside me, talking to me very gently, caressing me. When I could look it up, I saw that he was crying too. Then we kissed away each other’s tears.

And then, it sounds mad I know, we just started to laugh, and once we’d started, we couldn’t stop, until we were aching with it.

It had grown very dark while we were doing all this. Suddenly, there was a flash and a loud crash of thunder. Then the patter of rain on the roof quickly grew to a roar. It was a real downpour.

He pulled me to my feet and dragged me outside, onto the lawn in the pouring rain. In seconds, my hair was plastered to my skin and we were both drenched. Still laughing, we danced together in the rain, clutching each other. Fortunately, no one can see into the garden, they’d have thought we were crazy.

It only lasted a couple of minutes. When it was over, we grabbed our clothes from the greenhouse and ran up to the kitchen where we toweled each other dry.

I thought we’d finished, but he dropped his towel, put his hand on my chest, and pushed me down on my back on the table. As he lifted and parted my legs, I saw he had an erection again. Well, I was pretty much helpless and happy to be, so there wasn’t much to be done as his dark rod found my hole again.

Then he fucked me, slower and much more gently this time. His eyes were warm and loving and his face full of joy. Me, a bitch? I thought. Oh, yes… I’ll be your bitch, my darling, for as long as you want me.

He finished with a long, shuddering orgasm. Then he knelt down, and with my legs over his shoulders, he brought his mouth to my sex, mouthing, tonguing, pressing his lips to mine. His tongue slipped in and out of me, round and round over my lips, caressing my clit. And yes, I came, gently, beautifully, completely, all over my lovely dark-skinned lover’s face.

I wrote this story on behalf of a female reader. Any girls interested in some steamy online or real fun where I make you cum thrice without any doubt until your spine shivers with pleasure, are free to message me –

raghavsharma10022001@gmail.com

Feedback on the story is most welcome.

18upchoti !

English My Young Indian Lover

Part 1

ChotiBaj

Administrator

Part 2

ChotiBaj

Administrator

Part 2

AssLover

Administrator

Part 3

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18upchoti !

English My Young Indian Lover

Part 1​

ChotiBaj

Administrator

Part 2​

ChotiBaj

Administrator

Part 2​

AssLover

Administrator

Part 3​

Similar Stories

Latest Story Threads

About Us

Newest Story

Important Links

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 2

Part 3