A small factory, already known to DC. A small factory, churning out gun parts with no serial numbers. Legal, because they weren’t selling guns — j...st kits.Ghost guns, like bump stocks, were pretty much a dead end. For me at least.I needed serial numbers. Real ones, accurate ones.Vanessa and I were sipping wine, lazily looking out our Main Street windows. Holding hands, Leon Redbone instrumentals in the background.Pilar came in and sat beside me, took a sip of wine. She spoke casually — she. You seem to like this but there is something else I want. I pull your shoulders so your head is off the end of the cushion. I feed my now-hard prick deep into your throat. First I saw slowly in and out, out to the tip, deep into your throat, and back. While this feels great, I want more of you. I pull out and have you kneel on the chair facing away from me. I put my hard dick in the crack of your ass and slide up and down like I’m fucking a girls titties except this is sliding across your satin. More

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