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A soft, low growl curled through her lips like a wisp of smoke. Her fingers, clustered and slightly curled, mashed increasingly desperate circles against the pliant lips of her pussy. Every unforgiving degree of the day's humid punishment felt like it was gathering in that soft pocket between her thighs. "Ffffffuck," she hissed as one of her fingers ground upward into the dripping void between the billowing lips of her slit.As her finger stirred the broiling nectar deep inside the darkness of her sheath, she ripped away the strip of fabric over her left breast and clutched at herself, listening again to the huffing grunts of breath she'd heard from her son just moments ago. The waves of cool out of the open refrigerator only highlighted the feeling of heat rising off the tight knots of her mahogany nipples.A second finger slipped in beside the first. There was a swift, rabid pumping -- a sudden flurry of desperately unrestrained finger-fucking as she yowled softly and ripped at the. She would occasionally walk around to see each child’s work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was.The girl replied, “I’m drawing God.”The teacher paused and said, “But no one knows what God looks like.”Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, “They will in a minute.”FamilyA Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to ‘honour’ thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, “Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?”From the back, one little boy (the oldest of a family) answered, “Thou shall not kill.”ExtrapolationOne day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head. She looked at her mother and inquisitively asked, “Why are some of your.
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"What do we have here?" she asked me, examining the body. I clued her in to the preliminary findings and that the unofficial cause of death was suicide. Alex then put her plastic gloves on and went to work taking samples, bagging up the revolver and dusting for finger prints. "What is she doing?” Mike asked. “I told you it’s a suicide, plain and simple." "Just back off and let her do her job," I replied. After about a half hour, Alex approached me. "Frank, this is no suicide. This is a homicide," she said in a low tone. "What makes you come to this conclusion?" "First of all, there’s almost no blood from the head wound on anything but the body itself. Then there are the dirty knees on his suit pants, and bruises around his wrists, indicating that he was restrained. Also, there are two empty casings in the revolver. How many times have you seen a suicide where the victim shot himself twice?" "What do you make of two rounds being fired?" I asked. "One shot to the head and a.

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