Norka

My breath and voice have taken a vacation, at the pinnacles of your breasts, now visibly pressing against the confines of your smooth cream silk shirt, at your slightly-parted full lips, your lightly flushed-cheeks, and the hot gleam in your eyes. I just nod soundlessly and you reach for my hand, your palm warm and surprisingly dry in mine, and you pull me along behind you into the crowd on the dance floor, into the mass of gyrating, thrusting butts and the eye-catching bouncing of breasts.

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