I Fucked My Friends Wife Devika With Her Husband

I went into my room and got out an outfit that I haven't worn in ages which made me have a flashback moment where my son was 3 and I had gone out for the night with my friends and got a babysitter that my friends requested and she came this 17 year old girl named Lisa and I left her with my son to go out for the night and I got drunk and my friend’s gave me a bag and said “let’s go back to mine” and we go in one of my friend’s car who doesn't drink and we want to her home and we got her home and rest of my left to go home after they said how you like your outfit and have fun and of they want and i didn’t know what they meant until the next morning but i’ll get to that later and thanks to my friend Ann who help me who this part of the story because i don’t remember a thing that happen and her girlfriend Lisa and Lisa is the babysitter that i used and long story short my friend Ann has always like girls she told me and she loved Lisa more then any of are other friends that just fuck her. Now, without question, I laced up my paddock boots and walked briskly towards the stables. I turned on the lights in the stalls and looking into the first stall saw Domino lying down dozing in the deep bed of wood shavings. Next was Angel, standing, blinking at me, surprised by the light. Jet seemed fine and Princess too. Then Jasmine neighed again, something must be wrong with her. I hurried to the end of the row where her stall had a view over the pastures towards the lofty mountain in the distance. Her rear window faced the riding arena so she could keep an eye on everything happening, lest there be an accident. I entered her stall and stroked the silky chestnut neck. She wasn’t sweating, but she seemed disturbed. I ran my hands all over her body and down her legs, and found no cuts or abrasions. So I stood in the corner of the stall and closed my eyes once more, breathing in and out slowly, quieting my mind. Almost immediately a picture of a dappled gray horse flashed into view..
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