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In a dimly lit room, an Indian matron, her dark eyes fierce, her body ripe with age, sits regally. Her servant enters, his gaze averted. She barks orders, her voice like a whip, commanding him to strip, to present himself. He complies, his cock hardening under her scrutiny. She stands, her sari whispering against her skin, and approaches him. She runs a critical eye over his body, her hand trailing, pinching, leaving red welts. She spits in her palm, lubricating his cock, and strokes him roughly. He groans, his hips bucking. She shoves him onto the bed, and he braces himself as she climbs atop, her pussy sliding down his length. She fucks him hard, her body slapping against his, her voice a constant stream of harsh commands, until he shudders, his cock pulsing as he fills her with his seed.