But he just knew that if he just kept on me he was going to brake me down. He soon started up again. He would palm my ass all the time. I stopped him...the first hundred times, but finally I just let it go. I kind of liked it any way. Having an other man touch me in a sexual way was so odd, but I started to liked it. I mean it was bad and heart racing. He always knew I had a thong on. I mean He would just rub my ass so deep that it was clear I was wearing a thong. He would rub my thighs soon. She was dressed in a long, thick terry bathrobe, in the process of turning some rashers of bacon over in the frying pan."Good morning," she smiled at him. "I sliced some bagels. Would you put them in the toaster while I start the eggs? You still like them scrambled?" Yes, please. Is there anything else I can do... ? Serve the coffee or pour some juice?" I would love a jug of coffee and there is grapefruit juice in the door of the fridge. The glasses are in that cupboard, there. Afterwards, sit. Could he tell her? About all the endless empty nights where he fisted his hand around his throbbing cock and thought of her so hard that his head spun?That kind of weight seemed too heavy to put on someone as delicate as her. It was selfish. Heavy and inescapable. He shouldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t be that unreasonable. But what was the alternative? To drive to the fucking party and have her meet some other guy whose neck he’d want to break because they’d never treat her. He played it safe by covering his hand with a backpack and continuing his job. He could figure out by looking in my eyes that I was enjoying this. I, on the other hand was avoiding eye contact and looking the other way.I turned around with my ass facing him to avoid it going any further. He started rubbing his finger on my ass-crack and this started making me even more aroused.Next station was Dadar and as the crowd got in, he adjusted in a way that i was facing him with his hands on my crotch..
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