Desi Village Bhabi Enjoy With Banana

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I know, I'm being very deive when it comes to my sister, but true art deserves recognition. And believe me, her body was truly a work of art. I got home from work late one night, knowing that my sister and her boyfriend were probably home already. This was evidenced by my seeing their car as I pulled onto the lot. I was tired from a long shift and didn't think to knock or make sure everyone was decent as I entered the living room. Dropping my keys and wallet onto an end table, I heard music coming from my sister's bedroom. Some Celine Dion shit. But in between songs, a much more interesting sound came to be. Moans. Loud moans that were hardly being muffled. Why are the moans so loud, I wondered? I'm sure they had had sex many times without my hearing, so why tonight? I made my way down the darkened hallway and noticed a faint, vertical light strip illuminating the floor. The door was slightly ajar. No wonder I could hear every slap. Every moan. Every gasp. Curiosity got the best of. Earlier in the season, a couple of sophomore players had been caught drinking and the team was given a zero tolerance policy by the coach. Anyone caught drinking underage could be booted of the team and their scholarships revoked. We decided after our showers to go back to our own dorms on this chilly Saturday night. When I got back, my roommate, Kyle, had left a note saying he was gone for the rest of the weekend to visit his girlfriend at another school. My roommate was a cool guy and he had a hookup for alcohol if we ever needed some. I looked in the mini-fridge for some water and I noticed he had packed in about 18 cans of beer. It sounded refreshing, so I popped one open. I sat there, basking in the glory of victory and a great personal performance when I heard a knock at the door. Fearing it was Jake, I put the unfinished beer back in the fridge, closed the fridge door, and walked over to answer the door. Sure enough, Jake stood outside my door as I opened it. “Hi Nick, I heard.
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“Drive it up onto the ramp then,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let’s have a look.” Faith drove it up onto the ramp and stepped out, skirt riding up a little, grabbing her handbag. She was a pretty girl, looking maybe a couple of years younger than her nineteen, with long dark hair and perky little breasts. She flashed Derek a winning smile and shook the proffered hand, her own small one vanishing into the mechanic’s large, grease-stained paw. “What’s up with it then love?” Derek asked. “There’s a light on the dash, my mate says it’s the check engine light.” “Ok, give me a couple of minutes. You can go and sit back there,” he said, pointing. “Kettle’s just boiled, help yourself.” Faith found the cleanest mug out of a bad bunch and made herself a brew, hope warring with realism. “Please don’t be anything expensive!” she thought to herself. She sat, flicking through an out of date car magazine disinterestedly, occasionally sipping tea. Eventually, Derek came in. “Well, love,” he.

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