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Ne Moped to this lass a number of times. I regret nothing.
I' ll occasionally wonder what it' s like to talk to her for awhile, using my beginner' s poker skills to maintain a straight-
face while she gurgles and giggles and blows spit bubbles. I' ll smile when I think she' s flirting, or telling me about her
hobbies, which invariably include clapping, singing Sesame Street songs and laughing at inappropriate moments. I' ll pat her cat and tell her
how beautiful it looks (but not as beautiful as she does-)
Then, when he reduced her to a shuddering wreck of infatuation, I' ll kiss her. Softly, at first, looking into her Mongol eyes and telling her how
hot this is. Slowly, we' ll begin to passionately embrace each other, reveling in our retarded lust, succumbing to our desires.
I' ll carry her to my bed, kissing her skin and caressing her troglodyte face while I maintain that with those soulless,
dead eyes of hers. She knows she' s mine, now. As do L
As we consummate our lust, our bodies sweating, my thrusts matching hers, her drool falling onto my stomach as she rides me, not entirely
sure why it feels so pleasurable for her but unable to hold back even if she tried to, her moans would become roars of
glorious, uncontained climax before she fell on top of me, cooing in my ear in that language of hers. I would erupt furiously inside
her, impregnating her mongol eggs with my seed, creating the Antichrist.
We would lay there for awhile, breathing heavily, giggling like teenaged schoolgirls who' discovered something new and forbidden, before
regaining our stamina and going again. And again.