I stood and watched them. My pulse was pounding and my breath was shallow and panting. I started caressing myself. I ran my hands over my chest, along...my arms, up my thighs and briefly grazed my pulsing cock. I was afraid that if I even touched my cock I would explode immediately. My emotions were all over the place: love, lust, jealousy and fear of losing Carol. I had made love, fucked Carol thousands of times but I had never been able to watch her in the throes of passion. I had never. I could barely focus daydreaming my days away; even pilates was more of a damp squib than a drippy quim. Would the weekend never cum? Would I ever stop cumming cum the weekend? Saturday morning and there was a lovely package sitting waiting for me on the breakfast bar. My fingers trembled awfully as, with him smilingly watching on, I carefully peeled off the cellotape and pulled the paper apart to reveal. Ohhh I can barely bring myself to utter the words. No sheer stockings, no delicate tiny. So I stayed near the bar, and watched. I couldn't help but hear David Attenborough narrating the action before me. "Here is a typical urban male. He has spent many hours on his appearance in order to attract a female. Like the bower birds of New Guinea his intricate dance moves are designed to baffle and confuse the female long enough to separate her from her friends and accept some refreshment from the bar. Oh dear, unfortunately, she doesn't seem to appreciate his advances and has moved on to. I said fine and went to her home. Her son was sleeping in the room. She got to freshen up and put on her red gown (don’t know, red gown seems to be lucky for me ).She came up with 2 cups of coffee. We were sipping coffee. She sat next to me. I sensed something was gonna happen. She started weeping and suddenly hugged me . I asked her what happened. She told she left her husband on that day . It was a year for that day. She told she was totally depressed by it. Now she is happy because of me and.
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