My name is Ali as you might have remembered me from my previous story forbidden fruit. And I belong to Islamabad capital of Pakistan. This is story of...a moment that I and my sister share. The one we promised ourselves to never speak of again.This is the second part of my story, the continuation, so if you haven’t read first part of my story please read it first and then you should continue reading. Plus I want to thank all ISS reader for their emails and wonderful comments and encouraged me to. It was snug fitting around my neck, feeling a lot likea choker. I selected a pair of black high heel shoes and slipped themon. I picked up the jacket and slipped it on as I moved to the mirrorfor a final check. It was an interesting mixed image. The miniskirtsaid "trashy" but the rest said "but with class" and I loved it. With myeyes focused on the suit, I felt that something more was needed. Lookingat the wall with the racks and drawers, I spotted a wide red belt. Itwas the perfect. The little rush of alarm shoots off through me, the nerves crying out before they stop and realize how much they want this. It doesn’t take them long to figure out now. Oh god. It stays there a few moments and I just keep my backdoor passive, let it adjust and be entered. Let Oliver take possession how he pleases.I let my little muffles of idiotic protest sink around the pole inside my throat, while Oliver’s hands take my hips firmly and he sinks himself, oh so sweet, inside, down to the hilt.. The head was slightly larger than the shaft, and had more give to it.Hunter guided her hand in a stoking motion, beginning under the head, and moving down to the base, then traveling back up. He helped her for a few passes before he let go, leaving her to continue, on her own. She soon found a good rhythm, if his moans and thrusting was any indication.“Hey Baby Girl, stop a moment,” he said.She stopped her stoking, looking over at him. He lifted his hips, and shucked the boxers off, tossing.