Horny Indian Wife Masturebates Till She Comes Feels Shy

I rubbed the lotion onto the backs of her thighs, letting my fingers go a little bit between her legs, but I couldn’t get too far because her legs weren’t open. As I was rubbing, she slowly opened her legs, allowing me to rub farther up, and I noticed that she was beginning to breathe heavily. I began to get more daring, and let my hands wander up towards her butt, massaging more, and she was actually pushing back just a little bit. Her bikini bottoms were in the way, but I didn’t want to push my luck, so I went back down to her upper thighs, not wanting to stop yet. By this time her legs were apart a good deal, giving me a glimpse of her bikini covered pussy, the outlines just barely visible. As I was rubbing, I let my fingers lightly brush her pussy, and she began to breathe more heavily. By now I was getting more desperate, and was no longer concerned with trying to be sly. I just wanted to see and feel what she had under those bikini bottoms! I began rubbing her pussy. I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry. Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic poop -molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky poop/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it.
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