Curvy Indian Housewife

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Hinds. “You’ve been begging for this since the first day of class.”
Mike’s hand moved to his waistband, and Jenny’s breath caught in her throat. Her breasts were small, delicate, the nipples hardening under the chill. “No, I’m not okay.”
Tiffany didn’t say anything. She stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed on the grimy wall of the bathroom, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. Jenny’s nails dug into her palms, her fists clenched so tight they ached. She knelt down, her knees brushing against the cold tile, and sat next to Jenny, her small frame barely taking up any space. “Or what? She glanced at Tiffany, her voice barely a whisper. The door creaked open, and Jenny looked up just as Mike and Matt sauntered in, their backpacks slung carelessly over one shoulder. She slide her gaze to Tiffany, forgetting she was there, the girl’s presence blending into the haze of her thoughts. She could feel him pulsing inside her, the heat of him spreading as he pushed deeper, his cock twitching with every thrust.

Curvy Indian Housewife

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