The Love Train N Kiran 8217 s Ass Cheeks
- 3 years ago
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Tyche shouted, “Junior.” Junior was one pier over.
“What?”
“The cops!”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” Tyche looked. “What?”
“You can’t be doing what your doing ... you’re not old enough.”
“He doesn’t want me flying!”
“Show him your beginners permit.”
“Do I haveta?” Tyche said. She really sounded put upon.
“Yes ... and get used to it. Lots of people are gonna need to see it.”
“Damn ... oops. Daddy?”
“What, darlin’?”
“Put a dollar in my Swear Jar.” Tyche paused, “I’ll settle up on payday.”
She turned to the officer, “I thought you were just Animal Control.”
“I’m a cop...”
“Oh.”
She started unbuckling, unzipping and shrugging out of her brown leather bomber jacket.
“Gimme a hand here ... the sleeves are hard.”
With the two of ‘em prying and pulling, Tyche was soon down to her leather uniform.
More unzipping and unfolding ... Tyche shut off the fan, “Don’t want ta go swimming after it again ... once was plenty.”
She reached to an inside pocket and brought out the ubiquitous tanned goatskin packet issued by the Princessapality to pilots. It had the standard pink pows and ribbons of licenses issued to female pilots ... Males got blue.
“We probably ought to go inside the salon,” Tyche said. “We can use the chart table and weight it down with coffee cups.”
The unfolding commenced.
It was the size of a standard bridge club card table top. Junior had timed it and got the United Nations to sign off on it. Everybody except the Federation of America and the United Kingdom ... well ... just England. The nation states loved rubbing the English noses in shit.
Every country had afixed wafers, impressions and wax seals ... some were very fancy ... all were official. Since it was issued Tuesday, six days ago it wasn’t as tattered or torn as Junior’s. Junior’s was barely readable.
Tyche’s birthdate was conspicuous in its absence. No where on either side of the license was the word ‘Beginner’ mentioned.
“Holy Shit!”
“Gimme a dollar.”
“What?”
“You swore ... If I can’t ... you can’t. Daddy ... start a new jar.”
“What makes you think I’m going to be here often enough to need a jar.”
“You think I’m cute ... and your wife does too.”
“I’m not married.”
“Yet,” Tyche said cryptically.
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This story is the property of the author. It may be redistributed, copied and stored without changes, though it is not to be used by commercial entities. Using this material in any commercial publication, including websites, without the express permission of the author, will be followed up with legal action. This fictional story was written for the entertainment of adults and should not be viewed by those under the legal age. This is a story of casual, unprotected sex, and is a work of...
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one apon the time a litli dogi want to talki it there dumpe.9 - -the dogi he callit RACTUMIO2.4 he saye -- oof oof l make it theer dump onit there sticki it on the brig. 5 ghhwwaaghh agaghah the liti dogi say - 'thatit comme out like th big kfucking loge. now l gotiit there sore bungpipes.BUT THENE 7 (A LITIL CUNIT)PARITS HLITON!!she sayu who didit thje r shiterei onn my ftuucing ruge cunti?? that makem me angri -- I GOING TO WACKE UP THE CUNITE WHO MALKE SHITER LOGE ON THERE RUGE!!!! ...
Part OneResting her head against the back of the couch, a soft sigh would leave her full strawberry chapped lips. The sound of a high pitched, girly scream jolted her from her daydreaming. Sitting up, she rubs her left eye and yawns, staring at the tv with her right. It appears she had dozed off into her daydream state in the middle of an anime that she was watching. Groaning, she yawns again, rising from the couch and reaching her arms up to stretch. The tank top on her full body, stretches...
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