He’s in town with his strongest for, well, it doesn’t matter why. He’s invited us to come hang out with them tonight, you in?’ ‘I don’t, u...- I’m not- what are we doing?’ ‘Ever been on a motorcycle?’ ‘My uncle had one when I was little. I used to ride behind him to the grocery store. What does that have to do with anything?’ ‘Good, you’ll be fine, then.’ ‘Taylor! You know I’m up for whatever, but answer the damned question!’ ‘They’re coming through town on their way up to New York. We’re going. Mmmmm, you smell so good and look at the mess youve made of your panties! Theyre all wet and you didnt even go swimming! Her eyes were half closed as she looked up at me, a small smile playing on her face, her nose just inches away from my light pink panties, which I have to admit did have a very noticeable wet spot on them. Well at least Im wearing some was my witty comeback. Youll regret it soon was her unusual reply. Her tongue snaked out again, running along the wet spot before she pushed. She stepped toward me and wrapped her arms tightly around my waist, her head resting on my chest. I could feel the firmness of her breasts, as she pressed them against my chest. She looked up at me, and all of a sudden she was all business: Looking around inside the cabana/shed, her eyes stopped for a few seconds, and she stared intently at my workbench. Then she looked up at me again, and said, “Meet me in here at 2AM. Sharp. Do you have any candles?”“Yes we have a bunch of them we keep. Surprisingly, they didn’t try anything while we shackled the rest of the men. Martine pointed out to us that the men were all white skinheads with gang tattoos identifying them as members of the Whyte Knyghts, a well-funded, rapidly growing white supremacist group that was making inroads into other white supremacist groups.[Author’s note--the name Whyte Knyghts is fictitious as far as I am aware]After an hour of interrogation, Sylvia, Martine, and Larissa were frustrated, getting nothing but.
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