Losing grip every second signifies failure on some level, my conscience tumbling away despite the mental gymnastics as She emerges. I want this to cel...brate love, not cloaked lust. The blurred distinction between the two may be semantics, but to my inner bitch it’s all about torrid execution. As I wither and She blossoms, the fractured mirror between my worlds affords glimpses of my body being besieged like a virus through a hapless host. Nipple tweaks turn to pinches. My 36Cs begin to feel. I can see the white bra laces on her shoulder.We do not have any regrets for what we were doing, instead we are enjoying. I can see the pleasure in her eyes. I fell on her shoulder and kissing on her collar bones licking them madly. Kala was responding me by moving her face to give me more access. While my hands are busy in massaging her breast. Her soft moans “hhhmmmm mmmmm aaaaahhhh” made me go crazy. I bite her shoulder and made her cry “sssshhhh aaaaaaaahhh bhaiyya…” then I dropped her. More

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