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"Do you know which ship it is Sire?" Hartwell asked. "Yes," Derrick replied, "They all inform me before anything is done. In this case being second was understandable." Derrick nodded looking up and said, "All right, I agree for those reasons. I want you at 100% before we talk about that." Derrick nodded again then looked at Mara. "I suggest that you rest for a bit, it's going to be a bit before you can finish bonding with your ship's A.I." Mara nodded, "Yes Sire, thank you Sire!" Then she cocked her head to the side as she was walking out of the door. "Yes, my god I am so excited to meet you! I just hope..." she was saying as the door cut off her conversation. Hartwell just shook his head, "Really Sire that was mean!" Derrick laughed, "True but I already knew she was ready. I have to keep things serious after all!" Derrick was suddenly quiet as he stared at Hartwell. "So.... when were you going to tell me?" "Tell you Sire? I'm not sure what you're talking about." A confused but. Instead of pulling away from her it didn't bother him. He told her age was simply a number and that maturity existed in all ages. His eyes held her with a eerie blue that at time's seemed purple. His skin was a deep tan as if he lived on some far off tropical island. His hair was a rich brown almost the color of rich mahogany. When he spoke to Alanna it was if he knew her, every inch of her and she soon began meeting with him every other day. Every time they met she could feel her desire for him increasing. She often went home and played with her pussy until she orgasmed to the image of his cock taking her virginity. She imagined it sweet and sensual with him taking his time in being gentle with her. Tonight maybe those fantasies would come true.Two days ago they had met and he invited her to a party with his friends. He had told her it was a special party and only very important people were invited. He had told her to wear a dress then he kissed her. The kiss was soft but full of.
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As the ambulance crew left Irma’s personal maid, a haughty woman with bad teeth entered with an evil-smelling mixture that Irma had called from the hospital and asked it to prepare. It was made from dried reeds and dried corncobs, bonded together with clotted cream. The two women worked for ten minutes putting the poultice around the hapless Jed’s battered penis. An hour later, satisfied the poultice had firmed enough to remain in place, Irma removed her hand and was at the dresser doing her hair when she witnessed perhaps the most profound greeting between two men to possible have occurred in the 187-year-old homestead, not that any of the original log-framed mud structure remained. Jed had no doubt the guy entering the room was Douglas McCain, grandfather of the yet unnamed boy. Lanky, he had to stoop to negotiate the almost seven foot high doorway but he was wearing his black Stetson under which flowered shoulder-length white hair held dramatically in a pony tail. Jed counted.

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