Indian Bhabhi With Devar In Hotel

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I just wanted to get to the 9th floor!"She pushed her head back between her knees and started to sob.The uncharacteristic vulnerability she was showing, coupled with my secret pee fetish, started a familiar stirring in my own trousers, and I decided to be bold."I can help if you want me to," I offered."How?" she snapped back at me snidely, convinced that her only two options were to make a mess in her clothes, and/or make a mess on the elevator floor."Do you want my help or not?" I asked, knowing that her desperation was the reason for her sudden lack of decorum and respect."I'm sorry, I just don't see how you can help me John," she sheepishly replied. Her casual use of my name made my heart flutter."Can I trust you Stephanie?" I asked."Of course you can." she automatically replied."Then I'm going to tell you something that not even my wife knows." I continued.She looked up at me with a confused yet interested look."I like to drink pee." WHAT?" was her instictive reply."I like to. I logged on one night, hoping to chat with my dear friend. There is was-a private message from Sandy that I read with absolute delight:“My dear Ricki: My employer has asked me to attend a conference in your city in two weeks. Would you have some free time to meet? If so, I will schedule a few extra days in the city. It would be fun to meet you and to spend some girl time together. Kisses, Sandy.” My heart skipped a beat at the thought of finally meeting my dear friend. “OMG YES” I wrote back, and soon our plans were set.Sandy arrived on a Sunday, checked in to the Fairmont, and called. I had taken a long bath and was dressed, as we planned to have drinks and a light dinner. I had slipped on a casual skirt, a cotton blouse, and of course, one of my favorite bras and sheer little panties. Knee high socks completed the outfit. I touched up my makeup and skipped out the door to meet my mysterious friend.I walked into the Fairmont bar and recognized Sandy immediately. My God, she was even.
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The first was an antique leather-bound journal with a worn strap holding its covers shut, the second was a heavy envelope with my name, Melissa Gordon, written on it in neat (if old-fashioned) cursive hand. The letter inside was typed on expensive heavy-weight paper that had the company watermark in the center of the page. The letter explained that the law firm had been retained by a small, independent museum to find and return the accompanying diary to the nearest living heir of the doner. According to the note, the museum found the contents of the journal inappropriate for either display or academic study.The letter ended with a brief but firm postscript that the museum in question wanted to avoid any notoriety that might come with the publication of this journal. Furthermore, with their delivery of the package to its rightful owner, the firm's obligation to any involved party was now ended.The letter raised far more questions than it answered. Who wrote the diary and when? Who.

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