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.. He's... unh... Comin... unh... Back!" He heard his mother gasp between thrusts."Stop... unh... Coming... unh... Back... unh... House... unh... STOP... unh... NOW!"SON-OF-A-BITCH!" Jason snapped out in a rage."Hurry," his mother urged him, "he's almost back to the garage."Groaning with frustration and disappointment, Jason grunted and tore his massive cock out of his mother's drooling cunt."Aiiieeeeyyyyy," she yelped as the monstrous slab of meat popped out of her tight, sucking twat. "That hurt." Sorry," Jason growled, reaching down and jerking his pants back up as he stepped back away from her."That's okay," she mumbled, shaking the back of her robe back down to cover herself, "you couldn't help it. No time." Damn," he cursed again, "If we could have had just a little more time." I know," she told him, "maybe later... " God, if I don't come pretty soon," he muttered, stumbling back over to the table, "I'm going to go stark, fucking, raving mad." Me, too!" She groaned roasting him. Normally, you'd be inclined to ignore such talk as the addled talk of drunken sailors, but the way they had hushed their voices and spoken of the place in such reverence caught your attention.A few leads later, you had secured passage on a ship traveling through the waters this island was alleged to exist in. After a midnight bribe to the coxswain, you were rowing the ship's leaky old longboat through an ominous and pervasive mist, guided only by a tattered map of dubious authenticity and the flickering light of a lantern.To your relief, the map proved to be worth its cost as a deserted beach broke the uniform blanket of fog after what seemed like an aeon of rowing. Wading ashore with your gear, you sought out a rock or tree with which to moor the boat, only to discover the leaky old vessel had disappeared! 'The rope must have snapped,' you thought, 'or perhaps the bloody thing finally sunk.' Whatever the reason, any hope of returning to civilisation must now rest somewhere upon the.
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Since it wasn’t, he was going to be standing right behind me, and would be getting the first ceremonial pen.That was part of the weirdest of the Presidential ceremonies, the signing ceremony. I had to sign the bill, but nowhere was it specified whether I did it with a pen or pencil or even a goose feather quill. For almost a century and a half, Presidents were content to simply sign the bill and be done with it. FDR decided to spice things up, by using more than one pen and giving them to supporters. The worst was LBJ, who when signing the Civil Rights Act used 75 different pens to sign the bill. It is beyond me how he managed a stunt like that, since even at a pen per letter he was way, way short of 75 pens. As for me, I was quite incapable of writing my signature in a fashion even remotely legible, so I had developed a different trick. I would use the first pen to sign my name and set it aside for my own collection, and then initial at appropriate places throughout the bill (my.

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