She bent forward and pressed her lips to his, their tongues dancing with practiced ease as she slowly slid him in and out of her tight box. As they ki...sed, he squeezed and kneaded her bouncing tits, and tweaked her rock hard nipples. When he felt himself starting to get close, he slid his hands over her sides and grabbed her jiggling ass cheeks. Spreading her as wide as he could, he started to pick up the rhythm until they could hear their sweaty flesh slapping together.When he suddenly let out. “No, no, no. Turn around, let your son see how you look while I fuck you,” he said. I felt very ashamed, never been this ashamed in my whole life. But as soon as he started fucking me. The slut in me took over and started moaning loudly. I even said stuff like, “Fuck me harder, fuck this slut.”He suddenly pushed me away and got up from the sofa. He held my hair, dragged me. He made me lean towards the sofa facing my son. Since Sunil was standing, my face was inches away from him, his crotch to. Last week, my parents had to go for a marriage. They asked me to come along but I refused. My mother said all right and asked me to go for lunch to the flat opposite. I did not know anyone but everybody in my apartments knows me well as I am studying in such a good institute. My mother took me to the flat opposite before she left. She introduced me to Rajeshwari Aunty. Her husband works in merchant navy. She has a daughter who is studying in tenth class. She was very free and teased me that I. They’re just better at putting on a false image of happiness than Black couples. Black couples are too real to pretend to be happy with one another when deep down they’re not feeling each other anymore. Can Black male and Black female relationships be saved? Lord, I hope so. When I look at Samantha Vaudeville, I know the answer to that question. She’s in her final year in Emerson College’s business program. Soon she will graduate, then head to Suffolk University for her MBA. She intends to take.