Desi Village Wife Fucking With Husband Best Friend

I’m sorry, I’ll make up an excuse to mom and dad why I had to leave, I won’t bother you anymore. Please forgive me”, I said in absolute embarrassment and despair.I stood up and took my hand off my still throbbing cock and was about to walk toward the door when she suddenly leaned against the vanity and pulled her nighty swiftly up and off and tossed it at me. “Fine. One look. I hope this helps, because it’s never happening again.” I knelt in front of her and looked up at the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. Her C-cup breasts capped with dark, silver dollar-sized areola and rock hard nipples gave way to her trim torso down to her prize. Her plump outer labia were spread just enough because of how she was positioned that the pink inner flower was partially visible, and appeared to be moist. She had neatly trimmed, fine, blonde pubic hair that looked almost like peach fuzz. I immediately started stroking myself again. I asked her to turn around and she reluctantly bent over the sink. It looked about the same as the rightbreast minus the dark red enraged area. I touched it gently and felt just aslight tingle, but when I pressed on it a little more it let me know in nouncertain terms that I'd made a mistake. I leaned forward trying to restthe cramp that was building in my back now. Oh crap that hurt!Now what? I took a deep breath and stood facing the sinks mirror to get abetter look, the body shaper now hugging my waist, its straps dangling.There was definition? I turned to the right get a side view. Besides thepuffy nipple and redness there wasn't much to see, but you could see slightdefinition in the left breast area. I turned to get a better look from theleft side and could see there was either something happening or I had apartially swollen left breast. God! The shots were actually working! Ifelt a tiny lump in my throat and for a second thought I was going toactually cry. Get a grip Rachel, this is great!I didn't bother touching the right breast, the red area.
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