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I started talking nasty to him."You want me don't you? You wanna fuck me hard. Well come on fuck me. Fuck me good." I was imaging saying this to mom. Of course he didn't know this. He loved the hell out of this. He bent me over and started pounding my ass. I just needed sex anyway so I didn't mind. He turned me over and fucked me missionary and my cock was so hard it was slapping my stomach. Without even touching it, I started shooting loads everywhere. This was so intense, I seem to cum. You’re just sober enough to connect with your target easily and you land a solid blow to the side of his head. The man staggers back but looks even more enraged than before, his eyes rolling. You begin to think that fighting him may have been a bad idea. Out of the corner of your eye you see movement. A quick glances tells you that the bouncers are forcing their way through the crowd towards you and the man. Looking away was a mistake. You don’t see the huge fist coming straight for you until. The weird reality-bending seemed to have stopped, but the experience had left me feeling fragile. And the big problem hadn’t gone away, the problem I didn’t want to think about, the big life-long problem that now hung over my head. Part of me wanted my mummy to hold me and kiss it better and tell me everything would be okay. I knew that would never happen. I knew this was something that couldn’t be kissed away. It was the child in me that wanted my mummy and I wasn’t a child any more.I left the. When the Howards were alive and the Salt Wars were looming, the compulsion to fix the situation was always with me, regardless of what I was doing. Once George and Charles Howard met their fate, it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. It took a few days after the showdown with Georgie Boy for that to register with me, because I was still discombobulated from the lightning bolt.As I said before, the absence of the grinding sense of responsibility hit me at.
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