.to fir tumhe mere ghar ka address pata hai , mene bola ha par me aapke najdik ke station aake call karunga pls muje rasta dikhana wo boli ok. fir me ...tation se bahar nikalate hi call kiya usne muje bola ya darling mene bola me aa gaya hu station pe…fir usne rasta bataya me uske bataye huye raste jo follow karte uske ghar ke door takPahunch gaya..mene door knock kiya..thodi hi der me door khula..me usse dekhta hi reh gaya..kya lag rahi thi wo..proper indian dress me thi…usne muje smile dete hi. It was only natural that I followed their footsteps. Flatbush belonged to my father and my uncle. If a nickel bag of weed was sold in that part of Brooklyn I guarantee you that my family was getting a cut. That's just the way shit was. My father wasn't the flashy type of dealer. He always kept a low profile. He was more of the management type. My uncle Rayquon on the other had was a stone cold ruthless killer. He didn't give a fuck about anyone. Cross him and you paid a price. The family. Tiny gasps and moans escaped her as he continued driving deeper and harder within her, "Oh God! Fuck me, Ryan. Harder, please...Yes. Yes. Yesssss....," she screamed out.She softly bit her bottom lip as he pulled her hair, moaning under her breath. Hearing him taunt her with his words was alluring her to please him more. "Cum for me Ryan," she cried out as she began flexing her inner walls, achingly waiting, and wanting.Her fingers moved faster as she began feeling another wave of lust flush. We need to deal with that jungle. Sit on the table.”When she turned around, she found Sarah still rooted to the spot just inside the door.“I said on the table,” she commanded, “what do you think Lady P will say when I tell her you refused? Now get up there before I put this down as a demerit in my book.”Shyly Sarah crept forward and sat herself on the edge of the table. She looked terrified.“Now lie back and lift your legs in the air.”“But what if someone …” she pleaded, looking at the.