I Fucked My Married Indian Secretary On Her Chair

My Aunt was 63 and a widow losing her husband Ten Years before.Since my marriage I had got use to visiting my Aunt two or three times a week during my lunch break on leaving I use to hold her in my arms and kiss her I stress at this point it was gentle kissing and not passionate however it normally took 5 to 10 minutes to take my leave.On this Tuesday when we were kissing I gently stroked her right breast I felt her nipple harden under my caress I felt her hand stroke the front of my trousers.I reached up and pulled the zip of her dress down and eased it over her shoulders as we were kissing in the open doorway of her flat she gently pulled me back into the flat I slide her underskirt from her shoulders and the dress and underskirt fell to the floor.I undid her bra at this I heard her say no this isn’t right I kissed her and slid my tongue into the partially open month I moved away from her and gazed at her small breasts had sagged with age but believe me they were the most beautiful. I couldn’t believe he was asking me to tell her to crawl over and pick up her butt plug.“Son, Are you hard of hearing? If so, Ruthie is an expert in sign language. I am not in the habit of talking twice and repeating my instructions. If you don’t want my help there is an ice-cold Margarita over there I’d rather be spending time with.” Master Thorne had patience for me pussy-footing around with this any longer.It wasn’t lost on me that Ruthie was over there as well and had specifically said he wanted to spend time with the Margarita instead of her. I assumed she knew that he meant her as well and I got the very distinct impression that under Master Thorne’s gruff exterior was a loving teddy bear of a man that was delighted his wife was his well behaved slave.“Crawl over there and get your butt plug,” I sounded shaky.Master Thorne wasn’t’ overly critical. He told me that my instructions could be more specific as we watched Charity turn and crawl like a lizard slithering across the hot.
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