I couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. I couldn’t believe how good this man was making me feel. I wanted to stay all night in the bus.He was mas...aging my cock with one hand and pushing a finger in my asshole with the other. I would have wanted to take my pants off to give him easier access to my body, but since there was a lot of people in the bus, I couldn’t.At one point, in a low sexy tone the man whispered in my ear “I’m getting off at the next station, follow me.” I didn’t know what to. She had to turn her head to see me, but her body collapsed on my tiles.The two men were not yet back to earth, each holding his cock; for security, or to grab the last remaining Nanoseconds of utopia, I will never know.The fruit bowl was a gift; a stupidly expensive, pointless gift from Gerrard’s mother.Purchased at Harrods, by an Artist, she claimed. I knew it was a challenge to my expertise, but I did not rise to the bait. Instead I went in one day and looked. It was by an artist; a guy who. More

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