"The rest of the world is blaming us," he said. "Wars are breaking out, you know. India and Pakistan nuked each other yesterday. Both New Delhi and Islamabad are gone. Three hundred million people are dead. South of the border and Asia are in shambles." Tears started rolling down her cheeks. "I can't stop it. I've told you everything I know. The people who escaped don't have the notes you need to cure it. Anne's dead, that crazy woman killed her," she said, crying softly. "Anne Bonne?" he asked. She nodded. They asked her over and over about Anne. She had found out Lady Anne was actually Anna Bostoyevsky, a Russian scientist who was famous for Cold War viral weapons. The woman had been secretly been researching RNA viruses that extended life and others that could transform men into women. It was her life's work. The Soviets had considered her a colossal pervert. She had only completed her research when she had met Mistress Donna. Donna had made millions through savvy stock sales in. I circled my fingertips slowly, delicately, twice around its hood, and then upward inside against a now protruding bulb.“Oh, oh-wa, oh-wa,” she moaned, squirmed, and raised her hips, begging me to explore deeper. “I need you, oh, I need you to dock inside my moorings,” she whispered.Hearing her begging words and feeling her spreading gates of moistness against my hand, I became aroused, my gift, laden with the precious cargo that she longed for, rising and bouncing in the confluence of her and my waves of desire. I docked, as my two fingers rhythmically dove into her warm soft depths and I suckled her nipple to their tempo. Her hips rose higher with each thrusting of my fingers, each sucking of her nipple, as she pulled my fingers in deeper, all the way up to my hand. I felt her clamping on my fingers, gasping, quivering, and moaning.“Oh, baby, I’m cu. Mm. Ing!” she said “oh! Oh! Oh-h!” she shrieked and became fixed against my hand, waves of contractions stimulating through my hand,.
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