My Name Is Zaawaadi Sc.2: BBCs + More

Sun glared off water so blue it almost looked fake. Tiffany, long legs in a scrap of bikini, pulled Zaawaadi into a lazy float. Mouths met, tongues hot. Martina slid up behind them, tits pressed to slick skin, hands already down where silk stuck to cunts. They fingered each other hard, splashing, laughing, biting at wet lips. Then the doors opened. Three black guys stepped onto the tiles. Martina went with them fast, grabbed by the hips, half-lifted, half-carried inside. The remaining two left Tiffany and Zaawaadi alone, gasping, smirking, already thumbing lotion into swollen clits.