Indian Desi Aunty Pissing Hidden Spy Camera Part -4 mp4

GOD, I can't even stand up!" She said alarmed as I started to move to help her before I realized she was OK, just sapped.She struggled to her feet and carefully walked to the bathroom and came back with her shower towel from earlier. She wiped my cock and balls and dabbed the bed sheet before wiping her pussy and held the towel as she tried to squeeze out any more of me."There's no frank blood, just a little pink. It doesn't freak you out does it?" She asked with great concern."No, it happens sometimes but I have to tell you, you are just incredible, or should I say we. I felt like we had a connection to each other's electrics. We were charged." I said still catching my breath."Did you mean what you said?" She asked."Mean what?" What you said as you were pumping me full of cum. You growled in my ear." What did I growl? I must have been in another world." I asked, not remembering the moment except for the intense pleasure it brought.She blushed and turned a bit sullen, almost, saying,. It was one of the first really hot nights of the summer. Carmen waited for Matt on a park bench, watching the people walk by. Thunder cracked and a heavy downpour began. Carmen did not run for cover – in fact, she hardly even noticed the rain. She was thinking about Matt. Streams of water ran down her shoulder-length hair and onto her t-shirt, soaking it through and making it stick to her skin. Matt rode towards her on his bicycle, through the dark fog of the rain. Matt was tall, with dark brown hair. He had a strange handsomeness that did not immediately jump out. For most women, it took time to understand the intricacies of Matt’s face, but Carmen had felt an almost immediate spark. He pulled up in front of her. ‘What are you doing out here Carmen? Aren’t you cold? You’re soaking wet.’ Carmen looked up at Matt. He was also soaking wet. His thick hair stuck to his forehead. ‘You told me to wait here for you. So here I am, waiting.’ Matt looked down at his bike and then stared.
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