Indian Girl Riding On Her Husband's Face

My brain would prefer that the reciprocity be delayed so that I can get home without raising suspicions tonight. My body is drawn to this guy and it wants to be as close as it can to him as as soon as possible. The evening is slipping into night. My fuddled brain notices city stoplights, the triangular hats of taxicabs, neon advertisements. My abductor drives confidently with one hand. The other hand is stroking my upper thigh under my skirt. It feels very good. My body wants him to slip his big hand between my legs and...oh, I can't stop thinking about it. The sensation of the leather seat against my bare ass feels very inappropriate. Does cunt juice stain leather? Better his seat than my skirt. I have given up pleading with him to take me home. I am genuinely conflicted about this situation. It's entirely out of control. I am usually so much in control. I have a responsible job, an orderly home. This is what I get for seeking that adrenalin rush. We've stopped. This is a very nice. His cock slides in and out of her, the veins glistening every time a pair of headlights infiltrates their bedroom. Marilyn had been waiting for this all day, and she rubs on her clit furiously, itching to yell out his name but keeping quiet. She smiled at the silence, it reminded her of the times he sneaked in her bedroom at night when they were in high school. The tall man grabs on Marilyn's long red hair and an inadvertent moan escapes as he climaxes deep inside of her, ropes of cum spraying deep into her pussy. She buckles and jerks in a quiet orgasm before they both slowly rock to sleep...I open my eyes against the window and the tall man is long gone. A group of girls in heels and skirts walk by and I imagine them hitting the club, drinking and dancing uncontrollably. Grinding and twerking against a stiff, young cock before taking him home and getting her brains fucked out. I exhaled in arousal and stretch my arm high against the glass wall as my nipples stiffened. I jumped back.
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