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Story No. 249
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There was exactly 3.25 kilos of tripe wedged tightly up my arse when Ernest, the vicar from the next town came over for some of Mr. Kipling's finest. We chatted a little before
time was called at the bar and everyone disrobed, with little shame naked flesh
glistened in the sun. I tried not to look but the site of her bottom
was where the building began. A firm foundation is paramount for any grade 2 building and so it was decided by the panel that the downstairs bog would fit nicely between her buttocks.
But then, almost anything would fit nicely there. Even
though his buttocks had been doused in sherry, nevertheless the Admiral agreed it would be fitting to give the butler his grace and allow him unlimited access to his eel.
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