On the Finchbottom Express there was a girl who sat down seductively in his compartment diagonally across the aisle from him, a tall willowy blonde with outstandingly stellar legs and the first seed of his awakening arousal, germinated, as he gave her the benefit of his silent appraisal.
She was very pretty, a prettiness not diminished by the fact she was
very aware of the fact.
The stranger adjusted her posture under his intense gaze and she
positively preened when she realized he was admiring her legs which she crossed
and re-crossed slowly and deliberately so he could marvel at them further until
her maneuvering exposed a tantalising hint of stocking top and an absence of
underwear and with each successive mile of tracks the train travelled his
arousal grew like a blooming flower.
And as the sun streamed into the carriage it illuminated her, the dark
pink nipples standing proud, showed through the white shimmering silk of her
blouse and the flower of arousal had blossomed.
And as the train ate up the miles of track racing headlong their
passion raced on with it until they both arrived shuddering and juddering in
the climax of journeys end.
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