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He smiled and nodded back at her when they passed and entered into the restroom together. "What is this?" Hayley asked, "Why are we in the men's restroom?" she said as they passed the urnials.Taylor pulled her into one of the larger stalls and closed the door. Hayley laughed and tried to shuffle around her friend to get out but Taylor wouldn't let her by, "We don't have time for games. We're gonna get in trouble for being in here!" Hayley said, thinking this was some sort of crazy prank or stunt by her friend.Taylor opened her mouth to respond but stopped at the sound of someone entering the restroom. The stall next to them opened and closed a few seconds later. A sinister smile spread across Taylor's face, "Ready to help your country?"Hayley gave her a perplexed look then frowned when Taylor bent down on her knees. It wasn't until then that she noticed the three, large holes, nearly perfectly circular in shape along the wall between them and the other restroom stall. When the cock. Getting back to that first day with my daughter - as I came from the bathroom, my wife and Sandy were arm-in-arm in the kitchen with huge smiles on their faces. It was instantly obvious that they both got on well and, from the looks on their faces, they'd already been talking about me!"Here comes super-stud!" said my wife - leaving me red-faced as they both burst out laughing.We left Sandy to unpack in her room while my wife and I stayed in the kitchen to get dinner organised. In the kitchen my wife turned round and embraced me. As I returned the hug, one hand slid down between us to rub my cock through my jeans."I saw what happened," she said."What do you mean?" I countered, feigning innocence."Your hard-on - the damp patch - you were leaking like crazy! She really turned you on, you horny old goat!" she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Well, I couldn't help it - I haven't had many twenty-year-old beauties plastering themselves on me," I said, "Her tits were so firm and I could feel.
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Where were we? I could not even see the stars now, and the headlight shone on a road with no markings, no signs. The surface was black and oddly glassy as if wet, though the air was hot and dry. Strange sounds whispered on all sides like inhuman voices, parting on each side to let us pass. Once or twice I thought I felt phantom claws touching my arm or thigh or hair, grasps that slipped away with the inexorable forward movement of the bike. I could feel no road vibration, and the bike never turned right or left. The broad straight road to hell? Rattlesnake, for all his belligerence and insulting manner, had been the only person to stand up to Deadman or try to save me, and the only one to give me much idea of what was happening. The rider’s name, or title, was the Undertaker. What was an undertaker? Someone who had charge of the dead. Someone who took the dead into his care: prepared them, transported them to their final destination. That almost made sense, strangely, considering.

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