Mandal moans, grips and re grips her fists, arches her back, raises her butt as she spreads her legs, rises on her knees, back bent, on her elbows, head bowed. She moans, seething lumps of air, as she is tattooed by the Hispanic girl’s fist, not moving, just there, pushing back each time.
Her alabaster body begins to roam against Pilar’s fist, which now is driving and matching each lunge with one of her own. I watch sweat pouring off their bodies for minutes, maybe more time, as Murong bites the sheets, her lips, as she wails into them, her body shattering as she Orgasms, but this does not stop her, she is insatiable.
Then as quickly as she was inside of her, Pilar pulls out, leans over and touches something, then raises it to her eyes. She bends, layering her teak skin and body breasts
