The Art Of Bollywood Dancing Style

Karen, wait here I'll be right back." Michelle said to Karen, still standing in front of the t.v. watching the scene from Oregon. Michelle hurried out the front door, her panty clad ass swaying as she practically ran to her house."Karen... Carol told me to be strong... she told me she would be okay..." I mumbled.Karen moved to where I was and sat in my lap, taking my hand in hers. Suddenly, as if triggered by the feeling of another body close to mine, I began to shake uncontrollably, and the tears began to flow. She pressed my head hard against her shoulder and let me cry, the sobs racking my body and wetting her shirt. For five minutes I cried, which I hadn't done even when my father had passed away. Carol and I had been together for over 18 years, a second marriage for me and her first. Throughout our marriage we had had more than our share of problems. Foremost among them had been sex... or lack of. Until we had become involved with our neighbors in group sex. Our escapades had. Like two buckets sewn together. The farmer's wife was not proud of her blubbery, fat body that clearly had never been exposed to the sun. Her husband was allowed to see it in half-dark, and only her back, when he did his standard doggy chore on and in her. This was mainly to prevent her cunt from drying out. And - win win - it allowed the farmer to empty his balls once in a while.And now here she was, stark naked, after Harry had removed all her clothes. She looked like a huge pig. The only thing missing was a nose ring. And the smell of a pig, even though the stable trench came close to that. But maybe the nose ring was a nice idea, Harry thought.Harry was a bit indecisive about his next step. He just opened his trousers, took his limp dick out and started peeing the farmer's wife in her face. She was taken by surprise and tried to get out of the jet stream. But she had little room for manoeuvre because of the many ropes with which she had been tied to the iron fence. She felt pee.
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