She, too, had had a bath, washed her hair that was still wet. It smelled sweet in a delicate feminine perfume. She was dressed in a white cotton saree...with large maroon printed flowers and a maroon blouse.She wore a bindi and no jewelry other than her Mangalsutra, which married Indian women always wear as a sacred symbol of marital fidelity to their husbands. That was another of my mother’s interesting quirks, wearing her marital status prominently even as her son was fucking her cunt off.It. The pressure increases as does the pain andI try to climb up the hood of the car but you have a grip on my hip bonesand pull me down impaling your exquisite piece of manhood deep inside mywarm tight hole. You hold still and ask if I am ok but all I can do is pantlike a dog. It slowly starts to feel less painfull, then ok as you startmoving just a bit, then better as you start the full strokes. Then morebetter, until I'm rocking back trying to get you deeper inside me as youballs are slapping my. More

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