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Now, as for our fantasy…When you walk into my office for an interview for my assistant position, my heart starts beating and I begin to shake. It's a feeling I get only once every year or two, when I see a girl so dreamy and so right for me--or so right for my needs--that in my mind I want to say please marry me."Hi," I say. "I'm Dave." Taya."I talk with you for 10 minutes, but in my mind our voices sound like the parents of Peanuts characters. My mind feverishly conjurs up a devious plan."Taya, I like your qualifications, and I want to make you an unorthodox proposal." Oh, okay." I'd like you to work Monday through Friday as Assistant Project Manager, which pays $36,000 a year. And I'd like you to come on Saturdays as my personal assistant. That also pays $36,000 a year."I look deeply into your eyes, trying to gauge your reaction while simultaneously making my intention clearly known to you. You turn your gaze to my very comfortable-looking couch."How often do I have to work on. I do not live at my funeral. Nothing was left at the grave site. There were no held or displayed. It was not a wedding. I felt the pink bud of my shaved parts, and I felt soft, wet, and I seemed to dream waking, as I felt my twin lips, running them through and up my shaft, clit, and then quickly inside to slow the tension, as if I were full, and dangerous. I reached up and my nipples sore, from my Devil. I can’t imagine a more handsome fiend. Bright eyes. Fucking, I am aroused from my self and my child, and massaging nipple, it leaks soft, not true milk, but the moisture from inside my fingers, transferred from cunt to breast, then mouth, and full of my belly, I shift, and quietly I am innocent. I felt as a child when mother washed my privates, softly opening the parts, and making me laugh, climbing into her arms. It was warmer then tension. I knew a brief pause and then grief after my dance screeched with the rhythm of the bells that pushed me away from my quiet room and into the.
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