Village Bhabhi Getting Fucked By Her Husband’s Brother

She turned to see two large men, dressed in black boots, black jeans and black tight fitting sweaters, entering the garage. She gulped as one said, ”Well hello Sandra, I am Carl, I talked with you on the phone, about a prospective purchase.”She held out her hand to shake his, sensing something wasn’t right. The other man’s eyes moving up and down her body in a completely obvious, checking her out manner. The even bigger and leering man was carrying a duffle bag and had a growing smirk on his face that made her want to turn and run.She shook her head and decided it was all in her mind. Shaking Carl’s hand, she turned to pull her listing sheet out of her purse. Then there was a blur of motion and something covering her mouth. Her panicked sudden scream dying off in seconds as she inhaled through the cloth and her world went blank.…….Sandra’s cloudy tear filled eyes followed the feet in her near vision. She felt something tugging at her elbows and moaned into the tape gag so hideously. As Mrs. Thomas walked back into the room, she spotted that the television was back and screamed with sheer delight There was one thing more than that bloody dog which Harry hated and that was her, bloody screaming like that. It was virtually like someone dragging their nails down a black board. “Oh Harry you’ve saved the day again! How can I repay you?” “It wasn’t...” Before Harry could say anything Mrs. Thomas’s asked how much she owed him. A light bulb went fully on in Harry’s head. “Oh just call it half price this time. I wasn’t here that long.” Harry, looking at the dog and gave it a wink. For once that dog had helped him. Mrs. Thomas paid him his money and asked him if he’d like a drink, for all his trouble. “Sorry, but I’ve got an appointment at the bank that I can’t miss.” “Oh go on, it’s just one drink. Surely you can have just one drink before you have to leave?” Looking at his watch, Harry accepted and sat down on the couch. Mrs. Thomas walked into the kitchen grabbed a.
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