She studied the top of his head and selected the exact point of entry. It was to be the motor cortex just behind the frontal lobe. It would affect immediate paralysis of basic movements and the brain stem would cease to stimulate the lung muscles. His life would expire within ninety seconds.
He was grunting as he continued his savage thrusts into her and growled, "Do you like being fucked hard you whore."
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I have mentioned in other stories I have written here that I worked for many years as an English professor at a small but expensive New England college. I retired at the age of 65 as a result of the college's policy of mandatory retirement—a stupid idea in an age when most people live longer than they did in the past and most retain their brain capacity. I continued to live in the same town and the same house that my late wife and I had occupied for 30 years.
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It was a feeling more than something I saw. But I paused and took a slow look around. No one was looking at me and the only other customer was a lady about my age pushing a cart through the Produce department. There was that young man with the tool belt sitting on the floor working on one of the display cases. On the back of his jacket it was printed "Jakes Air-condition and Heat." However he seemed to be engrossed in his work.
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Chapter 1
I was sitting in the rec room watching TV one afternoon when my eighteen old daughter Samantha came home from school. She came over and kissed me, and then she sat on my lap.
Now when I say that she sat on my lap, what I mean is that she sat facing me, straddling me with her legs, and her arms on my shoulders. I knew immediately what that meant. Samantha wanted something, something special. And most likely, something expensive.
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Dan had never been to this place before. Fox Lake was not really one of his favorite places to play. But this bar was interesting enough. Situated right on the lake, Wokini's was typical of lake bars the country over. Darkened windows, bright neon lights flashing 'Budweiser,' 'Lite' and 'Southern Comfort.' The smell of stale beer and fried food permeated the air, as did cheap cologne. What brought Dan here were not the rave reviews from Metromix, but rather the fact that Donna Morgan frequented this place as a source of young men to satisfy her nasty debauchery. Dan thought, 'What's good for Mrs. Morgan may be good for other married sluts.'
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I had just finished my last appointment for the day. My wrists were killing me. I loved being my own boss as a massage therapist, but 7 sessions in almost as many hours wreaked havoc on my muscles. I'd just opened my small office a few days earlier and already people were clamoring.
They were mostly former clients I'd worked on during my training. Before locking up and heading home, I decided to tidy up the changing room instead of waiting for tomorrow.
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The bar was quite noisy with groups of people meeting after work to relay the day's events. There was a football game on the TV screens which was attracting loud groups of men, all with their opinion on how their team was performing.
Jan sat in a booth towards the back of the bar on her own. She was contemplating life – it had not been a good day. She had been late for work, had lost a big contract and had been given a hard time by her boss.
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Let me stress first that I do not recommend the method my wife and I used to patch up our marriage. But I do have to say it worked for us.
If my wife's friend Elaine hadn't used her bottomless well of sexuality - not to mention her tight, horny little body - to bring us back together, Debra and I would have more than likely gone through with a divorce neither one of us really wanted.
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"Mom?"
I looked across at my daughter. Sally was holding the local paper. Rarely carrying anything exciting, so why the look on Sally's face?
"Yes, dear? What is it?"
"You know I have Jenny and Michelle coming round on Sunday for a pool party, and Kenny, Bill and Hector are coming, too?"
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So finally we meet. God, you are even more radiant and exuding that perfume that I only have heard about so far. Your Irish eyes crinkle and sparkle with mischief as you smile at me, taking in my gauche nervousness.
"Nervous, boy?" you ask me teasingly.
I try and laugh it off, blushing furiously.
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