Indian Masala 1

“Your clothes are washed. They’re hanging up to dry.” Moe felt a stirring no towel could hide. “Mona, a man can’t see you like this and not want to take advantage.” “No expectations, Moe.” She gathered the gown in her hands and with a slow, deliberate motion lifted it over her head and let it slip to the floor. Unveiled, she made a classical sculpture look like modeling clay. Moe let the towel drop from his hips but stayed glued to his spot. Her mouth parted, and her eyes wandered over his body like she was memorizing for a test, but she didn’t budge. She looked her fill and then raised her eyes to meet Moe’s. Her face gleamed with undisguised desire. Moe understood. He had a craving of his own. And the longer they stood apart, the more his desire was stoked. He wanted her. He wanted her long, smooth legs wrapped around him. He wanted her tits playing patty-cake with his chest. And he wanted his cock seeking her heat and finding her fire. In the past, he might have rushed and just. ’ The conductor’s voice rang out over the public address, announcing the train’s imminent arrival at Slough, where Emma was due to catch the number 58 bus to Pinewood. She grabbed her cardigan and handbag and stood, her bosom hovering imperiously and erotically over Tom’s baffled, scarlet face. Should she leave him like this? What was the right thing to do? Leave him or relieve him? He looked so helpless. She decided to put him out of his misery. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Cum.’ She looked around quickly to double-check that no-one else was watching, then yanked down the neckline of her dress, causing her breasts to extend outward by the extra inch that the dress was still flattening. Her bare nipples stared outward, pale, swollen to their full size (which still wasn’t very big), and every bit as sexually frustrated as the cock in Tom’s trousers. But while she was going to have to continue to suffer in unresolved boob-ache, Tom was the lucky one. His eyes bulged as his groin throbbed, the.
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