Desi Bhabhi Secretly Made By Her With A Desi Boy

”“Precious, stop encouraging homicidal thoughts in Kara. You know better than most that ‘pregnancy induced rage’ is only good for the first two ‘victims’. Let’s focus on happier things. I’ll get the scrapbook.”Emanuel grabbed the large, leather bound book from its’ home next to the glass box which held their knotted cord, and returned to the couch, sitting down next to Kara. “I can hold it this time. I’m not that far along” she insisted.She took the book and smiled as Allison sat on her other side. “Our memory book” Allison mused as she touched the tricolor ring on her hand. Emanuel flipped it open to the first page. “Remember the insanity that was the first three months after that night?”“All too well, my muse. I think only our friends really believed us on the first telling. Litski didn’t get it for almost a month, and our ‘cult’ was probably the worst. Thank the gods that Pia was willing to help us deal with them.” She glanced up at the nude painting above the credenza. “I’m still. "Ah gotta go ta da bathroom. Yo' don' want me layin' 'round wit' a cooze fulla yo' drippin's." Funny, the dead feeling that settled in her chest when she said that... Ed unsocketed his shrinking cock. "Awright. Don't take all night -- I'm gonna have to pee, too."Velma, backing off the bed stopped, "How yo' know dat?" What?" Yo's gonna hafta pee?" It's how we clean out the tubes, after..." Oh," Velma's grin was barely visible in the gloom, "Ah getcha."Ed, washed out, collapsed on the bed and watched her go -- not that he could see a damned thing in the gloom. With relaxation and recovery came buyer's remorse -- what the fuck kinda fool fucks a woman who works and lives in the same house he did? Now that the little head was momentarily taken care of, the one with the brain in it started up and wanted accountability. What kinda stupid bastard fucks a three hundred fifty pound woman? God knew what she looked like without clothes; she damned sure didn't want him to know -- the bathroom.
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