Usne shayad sabko humare mssg dikha diye phir mai kya bolta mainay kha sorry mujhe nahi bolna chiye tha phir tum to fattu ho isliye virgin ho mujhe sharm ayi phir wo mujhse gande comments karne lagi kbhi asli chut dekhi hai mainay keh diya nahi sab hasne lage phir ek lardki boli muth marte ho mainay kha ha … Wo phir hasne lage phir ek lardki boli asli chut dekhi hai mainay bola ha wo boli sirf dekhoge mainay bola ha dosto mere sath kya ho raha tha mai kuch nahi janta tha phir ek lardki ne apna jeans utar diya mai hairan ho gaya usne kha meri panty utar mainay utari uski chut me bohat baal the aur wo boht lambi thi mujhse raha nahi gaya mainay touch kar diya uski chut ko wo ghussa ho gayi wo boli bina bole kaisay chua tu ab humari har baat manega barna tu fasega meri fatt gayi aur pata nahi mujhe bohat maja bhi aa raha tha phir usne bola let ja bed pe pith ke bal tab tak mainay dekha sari lardikiya kapre utar rahi thi phir wo lardki mere mu pe beth gayi aur apni gandi gand mere nak muh. Well, not really, but she told me off in a fond kind of way. She had pitifully few things, barely one load of a minivan, but she soon put her own touch on the place. With just a few little details, Carole made the place special. It felt like her. It was hers. We established a routine. Carole’s days off were Sunday and Monday. On those days, we’d cook supper together in my kitchen or hers or on the natural gas barbecue on the patio. This went on for several weeks. Until one Saturday. Chapter 4 Carole had the day off. She was looking forward to a three-day weekend. We were going to celebrate. I’d bought steaks and all the fixings, including a nice bottle of wine. She was going to make desert. I put the steaks in the fridge and went in search of Carole. I knocked on her door. It was open, so I went in. I heard soft sobbing sounds coming from the bedroom. I carefully went in. Carole was lying on the bed crying. I went over and put my arm around her. “What’s the matter, dear heart?” “Oh.
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