Phir mere pas beth gaye aur unhone apne hatho se mere muh ko apni taraf gumaya aur mere lal hotho ko unke kale rakhakar unhone mere hotho se ras chusn... chalu kar diya, mere hotho ko chuste chuste unhone apna hath mere ball pe rakha aur dabana chalu kar diya me please please kaheti rahi aur unhone mera blause fad dala aur mari bra utarkar mare nipple chusna chalu kar diya. Me jor jor se siskiya le rahi…’please chachaji mat karo please mere pati ko pata chal jayega aaahhhh… Please chacha. The French Quarter smells of old perfume,warm bodies and liquor hung thickly in the humid air, reminding the sensesof its erotic history. Sounds of New Orleans jazz and Southern blues floatout of each doorway, a woman cryin the blues about a man doin her wrong andbreakin her heart, achin for a touch and love. They peek in each doorway andwindow exploring the Quarter as they spent the night exploring each other.Tasting each other and finding secrets still unknown to lovers. They stoppedin an. More

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