Desi village wife fucking with her husband

I instinctively slid my hand under the hem of the long dress and ran it up to her crotch. Lisa spread her legs for me. My hand was met by a shaved bar..., soaking wet pussy. No panties. I slid a finger into her pussy and commented on how wet she was. “I always get wet just thinking about fucking. And I began thinking about fucking you as soon as we sat down at the bar.” With that, Lisa reclined the passenger seat and laid back half against the door and half against the seat back. She pulled her. If that included renting it out for the evening, well that was her prerogative.That a senior partner of the firm was availing himself of her services was also none of her concern, but rather a matter between himself and his wife. Then again, having met Mrs. Brown at various company functions, Jayne really couldn’t blame him. The woman was the original ice queen.In her view, Nathaniel’s plans for the evening weren’t all that different from her own. Of course society was okay with a woman giving. More

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