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Indian Immigrants do it Better
During my quest to further broaden my repertoire of miscegenation, I came across
a nice Indian specimen while attending a business convention for local professionals. Before I met Mina, the majority of my interactions with Indian persons (dot, not feather) took place at gas stations. The most that I had ever exchanged words with a Hindi-speaking hooch was to tell her how many lottery tickets that I wanted to purchase or what gas pump my car was parked next to while I was filling up. This is not to say that I enjoyed talking with Mina because there really wasn’t a whole lot of conversation that took place between us either—especially when she had my dick in her mouth. But prior to my interracial romp with my Indian mistress, I had never before spent much time with someone who didn’t believe in consuming cow flesh, much less had I had sweaty sex with a Hindu.

Mina probably had the biggest rack of hooters that I have ever laid my grubby hands on. They were so lovely that I would have probably bumped uglies with her regardless of any other physical attribute that she may have lacked. I’m certain that I would have had sex with Mina had she been morbidly obese or grotesquely ugly just from the shear virtue of her massive mammary glands alone. But as the scrumping gods would have it, my Indian concubine was quite Rubenesque in accordance with her large melons. And although my Hindu mistress was at least fifteen years older than me, she gave me enough wood that I could have made a boat. A really nice boat.

After I exchanged telephone numbers with Mina at the business convention, I called her about a week later. I limited the extent of our verbal exchange to sexual topics only. I was a busy man in my late twenties and I didn’t have time for any bullshit. Either a woman was down for some slipping and sliding or she wasn’t. Due to Mina’s keen business sense, she was not appreciative of wasting time either. So we got straight to the sex rather quickly.

When I first showed up at Mina’s spacious house, I found her living quarters to be quite impressive. She had divorced a wealthy investor and did rather well for herself after parting ways with her ex-husband. Mina was not involved in a current relationship that I was aware of but she did maintain custody of a teenage daughter from her previous union. With her daughter visiting a friend for the evening, we had the home all to ourselves.

While entertaining sparse amounts of small talk, Mina walked me into her front room and sat down upon her couch. I sat across from her on a foot cushion with my eyes fixated upon the huge mounds beneath her shirt. Without any further ado, Mina crossed her arms, pulled up the bottom of her shirt, and removed the unneeded attire from off her body. Her tits were far more marvelous bare than they were concealed. Despite the incredible weight of her breasts, Mina’s jugs rested relatively even across her chest with little sag. Mina’s olive-shaded complexion was lightened around the bulk of each tit, as her flesh was stretched and strained to contain the engorged sebaceous glands. Terminating in darkened, delicious-looking nipples that were the size of fifty cent pieces, Mina’s fun bags were so huge that networks of blue capillaries easily showed through her skin. I became instantly hard.

As the blood drained from my upper body to fill the cavernous sponge tissue inside my wanton wang, my eyes did not move from Mina’s meat rack. I stripped my clothes off without averting my gaze. Once naked, I went to my knees and hobbled the short distance across the floor to Mina’s awaiting body. I barely noticed that the Hindu hussy spread her legs open to reveal her stench trench. I was on a mission with no distractions. My palms reached out and groped handfuls of the luscious Indian knockers. After I stuffed a cacao nipple into my mouth I swore to never again make fun of the Desi dick gobblers who manned the counter at the convenience store down the street.

I don’t know how long I fondled, groped, and sucked on Mina’s bra busters during our initial encounter. But however long it was, it wasn’t long enough. At some point during my drowning inside Mina’s succulent cleavage, she lifted my head and removed herself from the couch. Mina lied down upon the front room floor and began to rhythmically rub the insides of her thighs with her hands. Still on my knees, I traversed the carpet toward the Hindu whore and gave her yoni a kiss. Surprisingly, Mina’s meat sandwich tasted an awful lot like curry. After entertaining her clit for a few seconds, I hunched over the top of her body and prodded her gaping gash with my womb stretcher. Mina easily accepted my thick erection into her dong funnel and began issuing out moans in a foreign dialect.

Throughout the course of our banging session, Mina had full control over me. She positioned me how she wanted and controlled the rhythm of my gyrations like a symphonic orchestrator. Whenever I attempted to move away from an impending cramp, Mina wrapped her legs tighter around me and pulled me into her. Within the hour, my knees were reddened with rug burns and my back was sore. I lost track of Mina’s contractions and it seemed to me that she had one continual wave of pleasure from the moment that I pushed my meat inside her until her vagina spat out my tuna abuser like a bone that had its meat nibbled completely away.

From that initial night forward, I was hooked. Mina was a little rough and domineering for my liking but she had huge cones. And big breasts go a long way with me. I was interested in doing anything that she wanted, short of having a zucchini shoved up my ass and my shaved body getting drenched in Ben Gay. Coincidentally, Mina was not into any kinky shit. But she loved my jock. For this reason, I was able to manipulate her into having sex whenever the hell I wanted. I would literally call Mina at any hour of the night for a booty call, no matter how late, without any notice whatsoever. Our telephone exchanges usually went something like:

“... Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Keaton.”

“Oh, hi, baby.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“I was sleeping.”

“Just stay in bed then. I’ll be right over.”

By repeatedly visiting Mina’s home at odd hours of the night, I had to implement certain tactics to avoid detection from her teenage daughter who roomed right next door to the master bedroom and usually slept while I boned her mother. Upon my approach to the Hindu house of whoredoms, I turned off my car engine and killed the lights about a block down the street, allowing my car to coast into Mina’s driveway. I then crept up to her front door and let myself inside her house. After I made sure that her daughter had not stirred awake, I inched down the hallway toward Mina’s bedroom and found the curry-eating slut waiting inside her bed, always naked and usually fingering herself to prepare her vile twat for my phallus of fury. I would then disrobe, jump in bed with her, and then pound the pink off of Mina’s fuck hole. After I finished coating her stomach with my whitish man glaze, I would pull up my pants and go home. Half the time that I did the nasty with Mina I wouldn’t say more than two words to her. Never did I turn the lights on inside her bedroom and never did Mina leave her bed during my service. Our business relationship was great and quite convenient for both parties involved. Well, for me at least.

After maintaining a strict booty call relationship with Mina for several months, we began to explore different types of fluid exchange. This exploration was not out of boredom but because we had such cheap access to each others’ bodies that the opportunity was well worth optimizing. For the most part, Mina demanded just regular intercourse with me between her legs while she lied on her back. This was just fine with me because I enjoyed watching her huge tits jiggle and waggle as I drilled into her. But occasionally, Mina tossed me around like a rag doll and rode my saddle. This was also perfectly acceptable to me, because I had even better access to her utters from such a vantage point.

During the course of one of the few times that Mina was riding my pole she uncharacteristically interrupted our fucking with conversation.

“I want to do something different,” Mina announced in between her pants of pleasure. “But I don’t want you to think I’m dirty.”

I raised a suspicious eyebrow to this statement. “What did you have in mind?” I asked, while palming her gorgeous breasts.

“I want to take you in my mouth.”

Then it occurred to me. Throughout the entire sexual exchange that I had with Mina up to that point, she had not once gave up the face. My orifice probe had not entered her mouth. Not one time. This was entirely unacceptable but somehow slipped my cognition. I blamed the mishap upon her highly distracting lungs.

“Do whatever you want,” I said to Mina. “Just don’t scrape.”

Mina dismounted me and began working her way down to my sultry schlong. “My husband never let me take him in my mouth,” she mumbled. “He said it was dirty.”

I grinned. “So you don’t eat cows but you’ll suck cock, eh?”

“I like giving oral pleasure, yes.”

“Well, if you think your jaw can handle it, do your best,” I said.

Mina slowly leaned up on her knees and tossed the length of her black hair behind her back. Her gargantuan melons swayed and jiggled with the movement of her torso, causing my udder amazement to grow. She briefly smiled at me and then reached into her mouth with her fingers. I thought for a moment that she may have had a strand of her coarse hair stuck between her teeth, or maybe one of my wiry pubes. But instead of yanking out a wisp of hair from her mouth, Mina gently extricated an entire top row of dentured teeth. My shock was unfathomable, exacerbated only by the subsequent removal of her bottom row of teeth. The woman had a complete set of dentures without one natural tooth remaining inside her mouth.

Mina placed her denture set on the nightstand while my capacious cucumber quickly began to drain from immediate disinterest and lack of arousal. I quivered somewhat and slightly twitched when Mina next touched my sack. But when I felt the warmth of her moist mouth, my meat flute perked right up. I then received the best skull of my life as Mina greedily devoured my pole of potency. She imbibed on my shaft like she was sucking on a milkshake with a strawberry globule stuck to the bottom of the straw that had cut off the flow of ice cream. Within seconds, Mina had swilled my balls dry and had a mouthful of my salty cream. I nearly fell asleep in her bed from the relaxing aftermath of having been gummed by the Hindu whore. Moments later though, I still managed to roll out of Mina’s bed, jerk my pants back on, and drive home.

During the many late night house calls that followed my introduction to Mina’s jaw piece, I fed my stiffy to her on a regular basis. My booty call sessions with Mina developed into a solid pattern of me mauling her luscious lumps for several minutes before she offered up some quality brain. Over the course of the several months that I exploited my Indian concubine, she must have consumed over a gallon of eggnog from slobbing my knob. But, as with most intense fluid exchanges, the good sex just didn’t last.

Over time, Mina wanted more from me than just my midnight rendezvous inside her bedroom under the cover of darkness. While I had been draining my yogurt down her throat, the jizz guzzler had somehow caught feelings for me. Mina wanted a relationship and told me that she “wanted to be treated like she was some delicious treat instead of just fast food.” She wanted to go out, or at least see me during the daylight hours at some point. Mina attempted to extend my nightly visits by anyway she could. She showed me nude pictures of herself that her husband had previously taken of her. Mina told me about her family, her daughter, and about her previous relationship, all between the brief moments that it took for me to pull up my pants and exit her front door. I never bothered to listen to her or entertain much conversation. But when Mina started asking me personal questions about my life, I knew that it was time to flee. Soon after my interactions with Mina turned from straight sex to talk of feelings and relationships, I terminated my affair with her.

As it turned out, throughout the entire span of my genital communion with Mina, I never once met her outside of her home. Or in daylight for that matter. I never took Mina anywhere or spent one dime on her. Our relationship was purely sexual. Also, other than me poking her pussy and fondling her huge chest dumplings, I never reciprocated oral sex with Mina. We often dined in but I never ate her out. In the end, my mutually profitable exchange with Mina furthered my belief in the firm work ethic and business prowess of Indian immigrants, at least those who have gargantuan-sized tits and have the ability to feed upon my love lollipop with their gums.
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