Super Hot Desi NRI Girl Stripping
Shame rolled in waves down my body, and I hated the delicious heat it stirred in my pussy. The thick, musky scent of arousal filled the elevator. I couldn’t believe that I let them do that. My black lace bra, mid-thigh stockings and thin-striped stiletto sandals were the only things I was wearing, and they covered little. My pussy was in plain view for the world to see, swollen and wet, and I could only pray that nobody would be outside the moment the elevator door opened. “I told you she would be perfect,” Monique whispered to Jeffrey while she folded my dress and stowed it in her large designer purse. “She is,” Jeffrey answered and ran his fingers teasingly under the seam of one bra cup. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling dizzy and hearing the blood rushing in my ears, free-falling into a depraved abyss. He pulled down the cup and my breast spilled over it. A drop of sweat trickled from my temple. He gently massaged it, and Monique’s fingernails caressed burning lines of need. Boogers, I thought, pretty damn close. Thunderstorms were common in the area and, this time of year, were prone to spawning tornadoes. I comforted myself with the fact that I at least ought to be able to get indoors before any twisters hit. A few second later, another lightning bolt struck—close, I thought, probably striking the stadium, and the accompanying thunder was atop me in a shuddering crush of sound. Clearly, this was not good–the heart of the damn storm was right on top of me. I worked through pretty much my entire vocabulary of four-letter words over the course of the next fifteen seconds, cursing my luck and lack of foresight and remedial cursing skills under my breath. Contrary to expectations—mine, anyway, the sky was strangely light. Boiling black thunderheads almost completely darkened perhaps two thirds of sky—the two thirds in front of and immediately around me–but the cloud cover directly to my rear was minimal and a fair amount of ambient illumination still was.
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