Then I took a handheld camera, one linked to the audience feed, and turned it on. Indian sex Still wearing only her pink collar and workout shoes, she made us burgers, fries, and sweet corn. Messages popped up. Gunther’s balls need cleaning from the inside. Time was wasting. Some of them probably even loved their wives. Slender. So much better, said one. Slender. Expect me to come back nasty.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said, pressing the track pad on my laptop. She’d be sore after that—a soreness she’d interpret as having worked out hard at the gym. You wouldn’t notice them unless you’d placed the cameras yourself, though. My wife had enough wherewithal to reach back and guide Gunther’s prick into her cunt. My smart, waking wife didn’t know about the cameras
