Fuck My Wife When She Work

As I pass them on the sofa I hear her let out a little gasp as my husband slips his long fingers inside her no-doubt dripping cleft. I am almost to the door when he calls out to me. Not my name, just 'hey', like he owns me. Like I want him to own me. I turn. She's leaning into him. His hand is on her, his fingers inside her. The skirts of her dress have ridden up and I can see her lacy black thong. My husband has slipped it to one side to expose her clit and bare lips. His thumb caressing her. . I slowly started giving slow strokes, slowly and slowly in and out i.e. shoving my piston in her hot furnace with feeling the tight pussy walls against my dick. She asked me to increase my pace. I was rubbing her boobs with one hand and started increasing my speed. Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhh we both were moaning and I was now moving like a horse.After few minutes I was now on the verge of cumming. I told her that I was cumming. She said that she was also ready to release her. They would naturally take even the most benign thing for granted, something Suresh had never gotten to experience.“I just want that freedom,” he tried to explain, “Where you don’t have to look over your shoulders every two seconds to see if someone you know, which is everyone, is nearby. Or where you don’t have to cross state lines to drink beer. Or every girl you meet is somehow your distant cousin. It is so suffocating living like that. I hated it there. Home.” Suresh stopped.Again, he had.
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