The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the rolling hills and towering mountains. Nestled among the trees was a quaint cabin, smoke curling from its stone chimney. Inside, the air was thick with anticipation.
She stood at the window, watching the sunset, her silhouette framed by the glass. A vibrant saree clung to her curves, accentuating her generous hips and full, round ass. A brunette, with skin the color of cinnamon and eyes as dark as the night sky, she was a vision of beauty. She was an Indian woman, proud of her heritage, and she wore it like a crown.
He watched her from the corner of the room, his eyes taking in every curve, every inch of her exposed skin. His cock throbbed in his pants, eager to claim her, to make her his. He was a white man, rugged and tall, with a body carved from years of manual labor. He was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.
He approached her, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She leaned back into him, her ass pressing against his hard cock. She looked at him over her shoulder, her dark eyes sparkling with desire.
“You’re late,” she whispered, her voice husky with need.
He kissed her neck, nibbling at her earlobe. “I had to make sure everything was perfect,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to cup her ass.
She moaned, her head falling back onto his shoulder. “It is,” she breathed, her hands reaching behind her to stroke his thighs.
He slipped his hand under her saree, his fingers finding her wet pussy. She was ready for him, her juices coating his fingers. He stroked her clit, teasing her, making her moan louder.
She turned in his arms, her saree falling away to reveal her naked body. Her breasts were full and firm, her nipples hard with desire. She pushed him back onto the bed, her eyes never leaving his.
She straddled him, her pussy hovering over his cock. She teased him, rubbing her wet lips against his shaft. He groaned, his hands gripping her hips.
“Please,” he begged, his eyes pleading.
She smiled, her teeth biting her bottom lip. She positioned his cock at her entrance, then slowly lowered herself onto him. He filled her, stretching her, making her gasp.
She began to ride him, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. He watched her, his eyes devouring her. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her nipples hard and sensitive.
He reached up, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples. She moaned, her head falling back. He sat up, his mouth finding her nipple. He sucked and bit, making her moan louder.
She increased her pace, her hips moving faster. He met her thrust for thrust, their bodies slapping together. She was close, her moans becoming more frequent, more desperate.
He reached down, finding her clit. He rubbed circles around it, applying pressure. She screamed, her orgasm crashing over her. Her pussy clenched around his cock, milking him.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. He thrust up, his cock buried deep inside her. He came, his seed filling her. She collapsed onto him, her body spent.
They lay there, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one. The sun had set, the stars twinkling in the night sky. They had found their paradise, nestled among the mountains.
And there, in the quiet of the cabin, they whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one. Their lovemaking was a dance, a symphony, a prayer. And they were the dancers, the musicians, the worshippers. And the mountains, they were their witnesses, their silent guardians, their protectors.
And so, they lived, in their paradise, their love story etched into the fabric of the universe, their whispers carried by the wind, their moans echoing through the mountains, their love, a beacon of light, a testament to their connection, their bond, their unity. And they were happy, content, fulfilled.
But the end, it never came. For their love story, it was just the beginning.
