chaturbate free webcam Then we lay together for a long time, already dressed, and I listened to the words of gratitude from my daughter, sluggishly answered her hot kisses, and it was terribly embarrassing in front of me for everything that happened to us.
In the end we went to our rooms, and I was forgotten by a heavy hangover next to my snoring wife.
The next day, having stayed with my daughter together, we agreed that there would be no more such madness, and forget what happened, like a dream, kiss on the cheek and go about your business.
Days and months flew; Natasha entered the Ural Polytechnic Institute, and my wife and I, after consulting, rented a room for my daughter in a communal apartment for two owners, not far from the place of study.

Her neighbor was a beautiful one – a retired grandmother, a former teacher of Russian and literature, quiet and neat, so in that sense everything was great.
At rare meetings, my daughter and I hugged, kissed, as it should be, but some kind of barrier, after that nocturnal event, existed and could not get away from it.
It was embarrassing to both of them for that weakness in family relations, or something else, but I began to notice with rare intimate affinity with my wife that I imagine Natasha in her place, and my orgasm from this was just beyond.

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Her daughter had a boyfriend, as it is now called, and in rare calls home she assured her parents, that is, us, that everything is good both in her studies and in her personal life.
Two days ago, she called and in some lifeless manner, with a hinch voice, asked me to come urgently and definitely.
It was the 96th year, even in such a big city as our Novosibirsk, the construction sites were “frozen” one by one, and at the moment I was unemployed, living on the fact that my wife earned money on the market, bringing clothes from Moscow, and even from Poland.
We quickly collected a package for a daughter, allocated a certain amount from a poor budget, and here I am.
After drinking another 50 grams, I picked up my big sports bag and left the cafe on a chilly morning.
Sleepy buses slowly sailed to a bus stop, on the side of the pompous monument to the worker and the tank driver – the business card of the Sverdlovsk railway station.
I waited for my own and now standing around a 4-storey old house building, flying into the second floor and carefully knocking on the door so as not to wake Natasha’s grandmother-neighbor with an early call.
My daughter opened right away, as if she was already standing in the corridor and waited, screamed, hung on me tightly, hugging and whispered in her ear: “Daddy has arrived, papa!” How I missed you if you knew!

Tears poured from Natasha’s eyes, and I stroked her head and soothed: – Well, that you, daughter, rejoice, and do not cry, I also missed you terribly.
So we stood for about five minutes in the middle of the corridor: Natasha in a short nightie in a blue flower and I in a wet jacket.
Tearing away from each other, they went into her room, a small but very cozy room — a small wardrobe, a table, an armchair, a laid out sofa with crumpled sheets.
-You probably want to eat? – No, I had a snack at the station.
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