Indian Hidden Wife

“Oooooo” Joan murmured, rubbing at her own cunt and feeling of the girl’s cunt at the same time.“Nice, isn’t it, Jean?” the girl responded in a sultry voice.“You’re very wet,” Joan whispered, rubbing her palm back and forth until her hand was slippery with the juices of the girl’s cunt. “So very wet.” The girl stepped up on the plastic chairs, straddling Joan’s legs. Joan gazed with hot eyes at the bushy cunt now so close to her face. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. The girl ran her hands through Joan’s hair, gently urging Joan’s face closer to her face as the girl’s hips arched. She pulled her hands from the two cunts and placed them on the girl’s naked hips. The flesh seared her palms as she stroked up and down, feeling the slim thighs, the round hips, then around to cup the tightness of the girl’s rounded ass. She inhaled the sweet scent of the girl’s wet cunt. It had been many long years since she had smelled a cunt other than her own. The scent made her mind spin, and the. I will admit that we do have some bloody good scenery working around the office at the present time though.’ I replied and winked back at George. All right, I wouldn’t go near any of the girls in the office with a ten-foot barge pole, but there was no need for George or anyone else to go through life believing that I was too much of a goody-two-shoes. Christ, he’d probably construe that, as me being a hen-pecked husband or something. There’s a fine line that all married men tread, that retains ones social standing with the guys down the pub. You never say that you ‘do’, but then again, you leave all the guys under the impression that you might ‘do’, if the mood took you right. Or might even do ‘do’ anyway, but you keep it strictly to yourself. Sorry girls, it’s all to do with stupid male ego. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I’d just asked George to change the subject. ‘Where you been lately anyway, Doug? You ain’t been in here since last Friday, we almost came to the point of renting your.
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