She said she was glad the first time was with her little brother. We sucked and fucked whenever or parents were out but loved to screw while watching ...hem. If we wanted to make sure they were going to fuck that night, sis would wear her thinnest panties and parade around dad. Sometimes she would even take off her bra in front of him making sure he got a good look at her tremendous tits. That would mean mom and dad would go to bed earlier than usual. We both would fantasies about sis fucking. He liked her looks. However every time he’d see her she was crying for some reason. Why, he didn’t know, but she was always in tears. She was a terrific looking woman he thought with her light brown eyes, her light brown hair, and what he thought was a body to “die for” or so he thought he told himself. Okay I’d do it with her he told himself, smiling on the inside. Not really, he also said knowing that she was a married woman. But why is she always crying? He wished he knew more. He wished he. All this was about to change when both my friend & Punjabi Daddi invited me to a Puja, a Hindu ritual taking place at a neighboring town. Me, my friend & the servant huddled up in a family van & rode there. So many people there, so many colors & smells, such a clash of senses. The Pujari, hindu priest was a mature man, no older than Daddi but he definitely works out. So this Pujari did his chants, blessed people & then for some reason my friends dragged me to be blessed by him. Don't know why. The man, or so she assumed, behind her grabbed hold of her blonde tail and yanked her head back so that she stared towards the heavens.“Going to cum all over those pretty little tits of yours, baby.”Feminine laughter, although not cruel, caught her ear as she was guided backward until her ass rested on her heels, gripped beneath her underarms.“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Unmistakable sound of someone coming hard drew her attention, followed by the faint sensation of something hitting her in the chest..