Hot Indian Bitch Sheena.

Closing her eyes, she steadies her breathing, keeping her body tense, aware of her surroundings, aware of him. Walking behind her, he unties her arms, telling her to place her hands palm facing upward, on her thighs. She does so, meeting his searing gaze. Removing the bar from between her legs and untying the ropes attached to her ankles, he tells her to get on her knees on the floor and to not take her eyes from his, or there will be consequences. Sliding forward on the chair, she lowers herself to the ground, placing her hands on the floor as well. Not breaking eye contact, she begins to crawl towards the mattress in the far corner. His breathing speeds up and she tenses once more, realizing what she has done. Stopping in her tracks, she sits back and once more places her hands palm up on her thighs. She looks up at him shyly, shoulders slumping when she sees the disappointment and anger in his eyes. Craning her neck she waits. He pulls his hands from behind his back, collar in. I wasn’t going to start his job for him. I lotioned my legs and feet, sparingly, so they were silken, not slick. He loves to watch me rub in my lotion and quite often participates in the ritual, but that night I just wanted to be ready. I applied eyeliner and extra layers of mascara. I ran the brush through my hair and dabbed on a little of the cologne that he likes; the one that I won’t wear out of the house. I was ready. The bedroom light was off and he was on his side facing the middle. I smiled at him for that; he always faces me when we go to sleep. Sleep. Funny guy, my man, pretending to be asleep. I held the top of the towel wrapped around me and sang out, ever-so seductively, “Huh-nee, you’re going to miss the un-vay-iing.” I counted to one and opened the towel with a flourish. I even said, “Ta-da!” in my head. No response. I let my towel fall and listened as he breathed. “Honey?” I was not in the shower that long. “You’re not being funny. I want you to look at me.” He.
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