Kissing With Best Friend Hot Wife Part1 indian porn
Incredibly smart if a little naive at times; she was everything you’ve ever wanted in a woman and with limitless financial resources, you knew your life’s goal was to one day make her yours no matter the cost and turn her into the perfect nerdy sex goddess that you’ve always known she could be. Maybe she already was, behind closed doors and you were just going to bring that side of her out onto the surface. You went over all the minute facts that you had stored away in your memory, willing to use everything and anything to your advantage during the game to come. Most notably; you reminded yourself that she is rather famously helpless without those glasses of hers. You couldn’t imagine just how bad her eyesight must be to need those thick rimmed television screens, but sooner or later you planned to take full advantage of that particular handicap. Besides, she was all the cuter with them.You observed your target with hunger, your erection grew in your pants as you watched her get out. I feel scared and horny and exhausted all rolled into one. If I stand up, I will probably fall down. My legs are tingling and my pussy is throbbing to the thumping of my heart."What did I do?" Why did I do that?"Sandy, "Sandy" is my name. He called me slut. Slut Sandy, no Slut Slave Sandy. Why did I allow this to happen? I am not a Slut, certainly not someone's Slave. Slowly I turned my head and saw the pictures of me fucking the deliveryman. All this trouble because my fucking husband is out of town so much and masturbating is just not doing it. I need a dick, a big old cock in me. The damn deliveryman had not even let me cum. "Fucker."Man, how was I gonna get out of this? What was I going to do? Staring at the clock I had 10 minutes left to sit here. I wanted to get cleaned up and "Why am I still sitting here?" It took me a few minutes to get myself oriented, a few minutes to think. "SHIT", if I get up?" If my husband get those pictures. NO, no, no, that can't happen."The letter!".
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