South Indian Auntie Fucks Husband On Her Birthday mp4

" Ohhh myy Godd, I have butterflies in my stomach even thinking about it. I must be crazy to want to see you two again and do the things we did that night." What do you mean that's nothing compared to what we will do tomorrow. Ohhh you just mean we will have more time well that's right we will have all morning." No you can't stay all day." Ok nine oclock then." With that she hung up the phone and I could hear her talking to herself as I slipped back to my room. "What am I thinking of. This is crazy. But, I've never done any of those things before. It was unimaginably exciting. I have to, just this once and that will be the end of it." Tommy..." she called out."Yes Mom, what do you want?" Tomorrow is the day you graduates are going on that day trip, isn't it? Do you leave early?" Yes Mom. I told you we leave about 8:00 in the morning." And when do you expect to get back home?" Not until late...Probably about 6:30 or 7:00 tomorrow night." Ok, will you want dinner when you get back?" I. That’s when all the weird shit started. I’d open my window and see the same hoodied guy staring, watching me every night. When I first noticed him I was disgusted, ‘How many times have I gotten undressed with the window open’, I wondered, feeling violated. Nights went by as he continued to watch me. I was never quite sure when or where he came from. Just, every time I opened my window at night-there he was, standing. I couldn’t see his face but I knew he was looking at me and that was enough to make me take a step back. But one night was different; I had just gotten out of the shower and found him, once again standing in front of my window. Instead of calling the police (which I was originally going to do) I kind of suddenly felt bad for the guy. Poor thing had nothing better to do then try to sneak a peek at me. So, I pretended to not notice him as I rubbed lotion on my naked skin-still wet from the shower. I guess I was hoping that the sight of my oily tits being squeezed would.
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