Hot South Indian House Wife Fucks Her Young Office Boss

Every 10 minutes, she would sarcastically say, “Re-calc-u-lating.” You would think that she could be nicer. It was like she could barely tolerate me. She would let go with a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next light. Then if I made a right turn instead. Well, it was not a good relationship ... When I get really lost now, I call my wife and tell her the name of the cross streets and while she is starting to develop the same tone as Gypsy, the GPS lady, at least she loves me.To be perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how to use the cordless phones in our house. We have had them for 4 years, but I still haven’t figured out how I lose three phones all at once and have to run around digging under chair cushions, checking bathrooms, and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone rings.The world is just getting too complex for me. They even mess me up every time I go to the grocery store. You would think they could settle on something themselves but this sudden. She tugged at them and rolled them down her legs; one hand holding onto Matt for stability as she stepped out of them.Picking them up, she handed them to him on the tip of her finger as he stepped closer to her. he scrunched them in his hand and felt their wetness coat his fingers. Matt stepped into her space as Melissa stepped backwards until she could step no further.At that moment, a couple of teenagers rounded the corner of the alleyway and giggled their way past them to the restaurant. Matt followed them until he was certain they would not turn back in their direction and then he stuffed Melissa’s knickers into her mouth, wet end first.His hand descended to her sex and he cupped it before sliding his fingers over her mound and between her lips. Melissa moaned and pushed her bottom towards him. Her earlier masturbatory session did little to dampen her need and when she felt his fingers enter her she moaned loudly into the knickers.“You like tasting your juices, don’t you?” Matt.
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