This resulted in an ever increasing squeeze deeper in the carriage. A brief graze of her right breast startled her. It had been so sudden and definitely so unexpected she half squeaked. She turned as much as the crushing masses would allow her to, to see who, or what it had been. There was no one thing that was immediately apparent, and she put it down to sheer anguish at the crowds. A moment later a hand… and it was a hand, touched her arse. It was light, brief… but certainly not brief enough. It had lingered a moment longer than an accidental touch. Krisitn didn’t move, she was in shock. But what shocked her more was the little tingle that had run down her spine. It was THAT tingle. Her curiosity at the indiscretion made her crane her neck a little further in the search of the perpetrator. There he was, the slender athletic man from earlier in her trip. He made eye contact and gave a short but warm smile. Kristin immediately felt the warmth between her legs, she felt the glow of. Marcella felt a terrible anger and her blood boiled with indignation as she saw that disrespectful image of Our Lady. What perverted mind would be bold enough to draw such a thing? A horrible type of anger and sadness took over her, but she could not look away from the picture either. The artist had depicted Mary lying back in what looked like a seat of clouds, wearing her blue cape, her white gown, and of course, her white veil. As she lay there, her legs lifted by one hand towards the side, exposing her underwear, the Virgin Mary smiled affably, as if blessing whoever saw the image. Marcella combed her beautiful, golden-red hair and nervously put it behind her ear. Her heart beating quickly with a mixture between morbid curiosity and outrage, she eyed the picture before her, not knowing what to think of it. Next, she enlarged the image and then looked at it again, starting by looking into Mary’s sweet, merciful eyes. Then, Marcella involuntarily began to admire the artist for.
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