With mature the fucking attitude.God, I wanted to see those pictures!No, she old mature said.After a pause that seemed much longer than it actually was, she said, Yes, that could Old Pussy work.Right then I heard a horn go off and knew that Irma was here to pick up Gloria.She fell to her knees before her.What?I’ve seen my share of cocks but nothing to match yours and now that the damn thing is pointing to the ceiling, it’s even more difficult to take my eyes off of it.As they approached the door she looked back at him and nodded toward Sandra's bedroom.Unfortunately those who usually made use of my products and services have been overly tempted by all granny of the newcomers to our city.She basked in the warmth generated by her Grandma thoughts, by the aftereffects of the strong climax Kit had caused. Vicky wheeled the cart to the designated unit, one of the lower-down ones, and then pressed down a couple levers on the gurney, which produced a click sound. The steel tray that Saema was laying on was then able to be moved off of the supports and wheels of the gurney, and thus Victoria got over to the corpse’s feet and pushed the base Old Pussy of the tray until it rolled and found its way inside the drawer.Here, Saema would lie motionless for at least a day or two, possibly longer due to the volume of activity in the morgue at this time, her bare, toe-tagged feet sticking out into the room for identification, Grandma until it was finally time for her to be dissected like the soft piece of meat that she now was. ElementalsWe were called Elementals. We were white of eyes, skin and hair, perfect of complexion, and unmatched in beauty. We were the embodiment of ideas, those most prevalent in the cognizance of early man. I was called Petra; of old mature rock and stone, and he was called Vita; of life and blood. From our joining came a daughter, and we called her ‘Joy,’ for that was what she was to us. We were gods to the primeval tribes, worshiped and adored, and Joy most of all. She mature was ‘Aqua’ to them, of water and rain, and she ensured the monsoons would green their fields. In the simple times, the thoughts that breached our realm of ideas were of pure things: light, love, sadness and longing. Vita, Joy and I savored each one for what they were, and on occasion, we clothed ourselves in the ideas, and walked the ethereal realm as something new. I would take on the façade of Love, and my white flesh would become pink, my white eyes would become violet, and my white hair would become granny purple. I would laugh and play with Joy, rapt in maternal love, then I would put her to bed, and find Vita in a quiet place.