Indian Girl Private Show

. My father was dead. It hurt more than I thought it should. All the hatred, the disgust, I felt for the man dwindled. He was gone. It was hard to loathe him any longer when memories of the gentler man he used to be rose in my mind.I remembered my time from my childhood when my mother still lived. He was warm then, loving. Something died in him with Mother. What filled him was cold ambition. It drove him to such terrible acts, twisted him long before he became that insectoid thing lying dead down the hill.I stumbled up to the Altar of Souls. I glanced down at the amulet in my hand. The phylactery quivered in my grip, smeared with Kora’s blood. Her life blended into the ruby’s scarlet hue. I felt the soul of a wicked man held in the matrix of crystal.I set the amulet on the adamant anvil, the smallest part of the vast machine extending down into the hill beneath our feet. Krab, my divine ancestor, had constructed something amazing beneath my feet. A vast network of conduits focused on. Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to remember any details about the dream. Where was the strange castle Sayuri had walked through? And why did all the courtiers look at the shrine maiden for help, including Mitsuko-hime?Why did I see shadows of tentacles through the rice paper door? And it sounded like a girl was squealing like she was being fucked.An itch shivered through her pussy. Yoshiko groaned, her thoughts going back to the hot spring memory. She had interfered, joining in the fun and haunting Mitsuko as a ghost, popping her cherry with her girl-dick.Yoshiko’s clit throbbed in memory of the sweet embrace of hot, tight pussy. The fluttering of delight across her snatch swelled. She squirmed, her legs parting a bit while her clit ached, threatening to grow into a girl cock. The fluttering grew. She blinked.It felt like someone licked her pussy.“Sayuri-chan,” groaned Yoshiko out loud, yanking back the covers. She couldn’t see the ghost, but she could feel the tongue.
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