You slide your hands under my jacket and I feel your warm, rough hands through my blouse. I want to stop you but the way my curves fit so perfectly into your manly hands changes my mind. It feels as if my breasts are moulded to fit your palm when you cup them and touch them. But there are people around us in this last night train and I can feel my face turning red, knowing that they possibly had a good view of my body being handled this way by you.
Still, I want y...
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