August Moone
Book 7
Shadows of Moons
Chapter 61
-Mini stories-
Descents of Depravity

Continuing from previous chapter:
Mysterious depravity 
	Bingham Park was fairly large and comprised of several elements; basketball court area, tennis, volleyball and rollerblading.  Centralized bathrooms, picnic area with barbeque cookers, and lots of space for just socializing and letting the doggies play.
	Surrounding the park were lots of bushes and trees.  There were fairly decent lighting, mostly at the courts and bathrooms with sporadic lighting spaced at the sidewalk also surrounding the park.
	A Witch in company of a Gangster, a Lion, a Scarecrow, and a small pint sized Pirate made their way thru the middle of the park, somewhat in a hurry.  Suddenly,
	“Katey!” wailed the Pirate, “I gotta!”
	The group halted.
	The Witch, Kate(y) turned to see that they had already passed the bathrooms—they were locked anyways.
	“You have to go now!?” bitched the girl.
	The Pirate nodded, twisted his legs with a hand clutching desperately his pee-pee (as if that would help.)  
	“Go in the bushes.”
	The little Pirate dashed off to then nearest bush group and began his thing.  The group huddled comparing their loot anxious to get out of the dreary park when suddenly…
	“KATEY!” the Pirate screamed.
	Before the group could react, the Pirate came out of the bushes held by a creature.
	A creature?

	More to the point, an Old Man.  
	An Old Man?
	Aye, he was older than dirt, he was around when dirt was new, he knew Moses personally, got hand-me downs from Noah, fixed the bait for Jonah, and could wade across the Nile.
	The Man’s skin was wrinkled and gray, his hair was not white or gray but some sort of color in between that was dingy; the odd hair, too, was stringy and stuck out all over.	
	A curious smell was about the man, his teeth were yellowed and crooked, he had a pug nose and apparently no ears.  Old Man clothes adorned his small withered body, but despite his feeble appearance, he held eight year old Scottie the Pirate Caldwell firmly.  At the boy’s throat was a something of a knife from the movies, one of those foreign movies.  It was a dagger, a misshapen knife being some ten-inches long with swept edges.  Right up against the boy’s throat the blade was pressed,
	“Do as I say,” wheezed the old man, “and he lives.”
	“What the fuck!?” yelled Amos.  He and Steve made an attempt to charge but Scottie’s screams and wails kept them at bay.  The Old Man wavered a finger from his other hand, “No, you make-a move and he bleeds.”
	The Old Man’s speech was odd, not just old as sin, but had an accent, too.  The Man’s eyes seemed glossed over, a curious white/opaque color that darted over the small group.
	“You best-a do-a as I say-a.”
	“What the fuck do you want!?” yelled a hysterical Kate.  “You let him go!”
	“Naw, I vanna see your mona!”
	The kids looked to one another, “What?” asked Amos the Gangster.
	“What’s a mona?” asked Carly Beth.
	“Your POONTANG!” chided the Old Man.
	Kate and Carly Beth held their mouths open.
	“Oh my God!” breathed Carly Beth.
	“Oh my God,” said Kate, “you’re one of those sick bastards!”
	The Old Man chuckled, “And I’ll get-a sick-a if you don-a do as I say!”  his manner of speech was very odd, broken English, and spoken a little fast.  But he was so old and grizzled that none of the group could determine where he could possibly come from.

	“Take-a offa your clothes, signora.”
	The girls looked to one another, then to the boys.
	“Signora?” repeated Amos, “I’ve heard that,” ‘but where.’
	“Isn’t that Spanish for lady?”
	“Enough talk!” shouted the Old Man, “take-a offa them clothes!  NOW!” and to further his point he pressed the wicked blade to the Pirate’s throat.
	“Kate!” cried the boy.
	Kate was beside herself with anger and fright.  She had no choice, slowly she removed her Witch costume.  Underneath she wore typical jeans and a layered shirt outfit.  
	“Ah,” said the Old Man, signorina look-a mighty nice!” he had a gleam in his eyes.
	“ITALIAN!” bellowed Steve the Scarecrow.  “He’s fucking Italian!”
	The others looked at him, ‘yeah, so, we got that already.’
	“You take-a offa your-a clothes, too, eh!?”
	The boys stared at the man, “no fucking way” was their sentiment.  Carly Beth hadn’t even started on removing hers.  She was still deeply mystified and stunned.  Kate dropped her Witch outfit then pulled off her black sweater-like top, green layer tee-shirt, and then hesitated.  The Old Man watched her as she removed one article of clothing at a time, he seemed inordinately fascinated.
	A small trickle of blood began to coat the dagger.
	“Please!” begged Kate, “don’t hurt him.”
	The Old Man licked his lips, “You do-a as I say and he wanna be hurt no mo’!”
	Kate clenched, all over, then undone her pants, pushing them.  She cussed and cursed the Old Man.  Steve and Amos stole quick looks to the girl as they themselves removed their costumes.
	The Old Man lusted, nodding his head and watching solely Kate as she stood angry and frightened clad in just her panties and bra.  Amos noted the Old Man’s lack of attention to him and made a charge.  With incredible lightning unexpected reflexes, the Old Man whipped out some object that was pressed against Amos’ chest.
	The kids heard a familiar “electrical” sound, a discharging-like souond of zaps and such and Amons Greene the Gangster went down to the ground.  He wriggled there, wallowing in extreme pain spilling out a slew of foul language and cringing, clutching his chest where the zapper had touched him.

	The Old Man then did waver in the air for the remaining group members to see, something like a stun gun, a zap gun, a tazer.  Something similar in use on cattle to motivate them to move.  Amos would be alright, taking a few minutes to recover. 
	“Don’t be doin’ that again!” seethed the Old Man.
	Everyone of the group nodded their heads.
	“Keep on,” he continued, “I vanna see!”
	Kate clenched, “You fucking bastard!” Steve was astonished that the girl could cuss so, he only knew a few girls who would let fly an occasional “bastard”, “asshole”, and “bitch.”  But the biggie “fuck” was seldom heard except from guys’ mouths.
	Kate slid down her panties and stood, her bra dropped off and she was nude.  “Thatta nice!” smiled the Old Man, his weary old eyes fell upon Carly Beth.  He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to.  Carly Beth was more angry than frightened, Kate was still a little of both, but it was her brother she feared who was in peril.
	Carly Beth stripped to her skin and stood nude with her pants and panties at her ankles.  There was little light but enough to reveal her fine nudeness just the same.  Her mind emptied of all things and she waited for whatever would transpire next.
	Next was the boys.
	Steve stripped to his skin; he slowly discarded one piece of clothing at a time.  He wore nothing under his Scarecrow outfit, neither did Amos in his 1920s Gangster outfit.  
	After the boys stood nude, the Old Man nodded his head, smiled a quivering smile, and was clearly up to something.
	“Take his cock,” said the Old Man, “take his pistolotto!”
	The command was “up for grabs”; neither girl was inclined to grab holt of Amos or Steve’s “pistolotto.” (big cock)  The Old Man glared angrily at the girls and in incredible fluid motions yanked down Scottie’s pants and underwear, pressing the electrical motivator used against Amos’ chest up under Scottie’s ball sac.
	The message was clear.
	Kate screamed and begged; Carly Beth was all emotional.  The boys were stunned equally.  This was just too fucking bizarre to comprehend.
	Kate, though highly emotionally distressed but in fear for her little brother stepped out of her clothes and went to her knees taking Amos’ pistolotto in her hands.  Upon further instruction from the Old Man, she stroked her friend’s bone; she closed her eyes, turned her head, and felt sick to her stomach.

	Carly Beth did same to Steve.
	“That’s-a good,” chided the Old Man, “that’s-a good!”  he further told the girls to play with the boys’ “palles”.  Italian slang for “balls.”  The girls not knowing Italian understood just the same what was implied; they worked the cocks of Steve and Amos as well as cupped and squeezed their balls.
	The girls were grossed out by the deeds they were doing; sickened and appalled—but for the safety and welfare of Scottie, they had no choice.
	“Slinguata!” blurted the Old Man suddenly with exuberance.
	No one knew what he meant.
	“Tongue job!” repeated the man in English.
	The girls (and guys) knew what that meant.
	Neither girl had ever done a “slinguata” to a guy, or girl, or anyone.  They weren’t clueless, though, they well enough knew what a “tongue job” to a guy meant and inferred.  But both girls regarded doing so as disgusting.  It wasn’t dirty, the guy’s dong; his pistollotta was probably the cleanest part on his body!  
	But he PEED from that thing and the girls just couldn’t see how it was so popular.  The sickness the girls had increased ten-fold as the pressed their lips to the waggling pulsing prongs before them.  The concept of “going down” on a boy’s dick was not elusive, just disgusting.
	But down they went.  Carly Beth just went all the way down on Steve’s cock, clutched his balls and went back up his tube.  Kate made faces and felt as if though she would be “sick” any minute.  But she went down and slurped her way back up.  Then repeated.
	The Old Man watched in utter fascination.
	Just before the boys could cum, the Old Man wanted them (the boys) to “spagnola”.  A Spanish thing, a Dutch Fuck.  In English it meant, “fuck between the tits.”
	The girls, on their knees, had to reposition themselves a little to allow the boys standing to come onto their bodies, straddle their chests, and place their sucked cocks between the girls’ lovely young teenage mounds and hump.
	“Che bella sborrata!” exclaimed the Old Man as Amos began to cum first.  It WAS a good ejaculation as squirts of his juice blasted from his piss slit shooting up to Kate’s face.  A great load of sborra there was anointing the pretty girl’s face, as the ejaculate drained the sperm shoot drizzled to coat her throat (pearl necklace) and then her chest.
	Amos panted, sweated, and had never had such an orgasm.

	Steve gave his all, too, cumming off with an amazing array of jerks and spurts.  The cum shot out of the boy’s dick messing Carly Beth’s face just as much as Amos had done to Kate; with the exception of squirting further up the face to get into the girl’s hair (which all girls hated).
	The girls were even more disgusted than ever.  When they attempted to wipe off the goo splatter, the Old Man got onto them, “Leave it!” he said angrily.  The girls reluctantly did so.  Then they laid on down as opposed to careening their backs backwards from the spagnola.
	Once laid out, the boys were told “slinguare.”  Tongue action to the girls.  The boys were not so overly opposed to this venture, but the circumstances could have been a little better.  Neither boy had eaten out of a girl’s cunt before, they had heard of the deed but had not seen anything in action.  But natural instinct being what it was, the boys went down and did what they could.
	There was some atypical mustiness to licking out poontang, a slight hint of pee, and other unknown odors commonly associated with pussy.  Neither boy cared about the offense and just enjoyed.  It was their very first Up Close and Personal look at a girl’s pussy!
	They licked and licked, sucked and sucked, nipped the lips and found there was a “hole” in the pussy when plying open the cunt lips.  They were mesmerized and soon their cocks were hard, too.
	“Scopare!” blurted the Old Man.
	It was time.  Scopare meant, of course, “to screw.”
	The boys received the message and positioned themselves.
	Kate closed her eyes, she trembled and was still both angered and frightened.  Amos was embarrassed.  Sure, he wanted to fuck, he wanted to fuck Kate and Carly Beth, and a dozen other bitches he knew.  But under different circumstances for sure.
	Steve’s cock glided against Carly’s entrance.  The girl shifted listlessly underneath.  She was a virgin, sort of.  She was an avid fingerbanger, but that was a given, all girls fingered themselves—just like all boys fingered themselves.  Carly Beth had engaged in typical “touchy-feely” with an amorous horny cousin, but she was merely nine at the time and he was eleven.  Nothing happened, just exposure and “touchy” with no penetration.
	Steve closed his eyes and was himself a little angry; but not wanting any harm to come to Scottie, or himself, he began making progress of fucking.  Carly Beth’s breath hightened and she began to chuff some and then gasp sharply as her virginity was busted.

	Sverginare:  to deflower a girl; The verb comes from "vergine", that means "virgin", preceded by the privative particle "s", meaning "without", so literally it means "to deprive of virginity". The polite term is "deflorare", corresponding to "to deflower" ".
	Kate Caldwell and Carly Beth were “deflowered.”  Neither girl experienced too much distress over been deflowered, there was sharpness of immediate pain but it was miniscule and linger not but a couple of seconds.  Then the boys’ invading pistols penetrated further into their young virgin bodies generating a mass of mixed emotions.
	Kate arched her back as Amos’ cock entered her fully.  The boy rested half a moment, his cock pulsing and possibly cumming.  Then he pulled most the way out (of the broken pussy) and then back in.  Each repeated step he increased his pace stepping up the rhythm until his balls were slapping.
	Carly’s tits tingled with her nipples perked up stiff and hard.  Steve locked his eyes on the delightful jiggling orbs, his cock driving furiously inside her broken-in poon driving to a miraculous orgasm in under two minutes, four minutes from his last blast.
	The Old Man panted as if he himself had had the orgasm(s).  His demeanor had softened, he sighed and sighed big as Amos fucked his all, pulled out and squirted the remainder of his juice onto Kate’s cunt.  a great mess of his “mess” drizzled out of her pussy.  The girl heaved, thrashed her head side to side aghast at the deed put upon her.
	It should be noted, though, the girl orgasmed.  She trembled and clung to her lover, squeezed his dick (with her pussy) and even pumped back some!  Her pussy quaked and yearned for more—but somewhere else and some other time—and with his pistol wrapped, too.
	Carly Beth tried desperately not to give in to the sexual pleasures her pussy felt.  She was rocked from her toes to her head with mixed feelings she understood and some she didn’t.  Her first fuck, it wasn’t at all like what she thought it would be; she sort of understood or thought she did; she wasn’t ready for sex but was curious just the same.
	After the boys had done their thing, they sat back to rest while the girls used their own panties to wipe their messed pussies, the boys used their underwear to wipe clean their cocks and balls.
	When the boys had sufficiently rested, and their sex parts were wiped clean of broken pussy juice, they sixty-nined.  It wasn’t their idea and greatly did they hesitate when told the meaning of pompano (blowjob.)
	“Fammi un pompino e succhiamelo tutto!” the Old Man yapped.  And although the boys didn’t know exactly what he said, they got the meaning after he made a few gestures suggesting one lay down and the other on top.

	And at first, Steve laid on Amos, face to face, chest to chest, cock to cock.  This infuriated the Old Man, “NO!” he bitched, “Minchionne!” he complained, which inferred “stupid”.
	“Oh my God!” blurted Kate, “he wants you to turn around.”
	Steve shot Kate a look, “What?” the image filled Steve’s mind in a hurry.  A 69er!  He knew what it was, sort of, or what it implied.  There were images of a 69er in progress on the bathroom walls at school, there was the talk on the campus, and it was in the news on a nightly basis.  He got the gist.  Slurping schlong was not on his itinerary and in no way was he a homo.
	But the fate of his actions would dictate the fate of Scottie, Kate’s little pesky brother.  Steve turned himself about, settling his sex onto his friend’s face.
	Amos was not into such homosexual deeds, either—but he WAS curious!  Casually while showering at the school gym he took note of other boys—and their dangling schlongs.  He played with his and somewhat yarned to know what it would be like to “play” with someone elses.  He also yearned to know what it would be like to be sucked, both by a girl and a guy.  And lastly, what was it like to really be fucked in the ass?
	“Bocchino!” exclaimed the Old Italian Man, it literally meant “to suck a dickhead”; Steve and Amos literally understood it meaning.
	“E' duro averlo duro che duri” quipped the Old Man with some glee.  It meant, “it’s hard to have it hard that lasts.”  go figure.
	Allupato (or sexually starved, starved as a wolf) described the Old Man’s agitated state; he lusted hungrily as he watched fascinatingly as the two young teenage boys “hooked up.”  The Old Italian seemed to be something of a gaurdone!  (one who seeks pleasure by watching rather than participating.  A similar form of voyeurism.
	The boys made many displeasing faces as they devoured cock.  They retched and gagged and very nearly vomited but completed the task with the finally ejaculating into the other’s mouth.  Steve retched and gagged, sputtering he thrashed his head back and forth until Amos’ cock was out of his mouth.  Of course, then, Amos’ cock spurted its gooey load onto Steve’s face.
	The boys were greatly sickened by their act.  Neither were too pleased with draining the other’s pud or getting cock juice onto their faces.  It was gross!  They sucked balls, rubbed one another’s ass, and were completely worthless as their sex energy drained them.

	It still wasn’t over.
	By gestures and broken English with smatterings of excited Italian, the boys stood and masturbated—Kate and Carly helping out the cause, directing the boys to shoot their sperm onto each other—specifically the coglionis—or testicles.
	Amos managed to cum off firstly, five minutes after he had ejaculated into his friend’s mouth.  It was near agony as Kate furiously worked his wanger to a severe energized state of being—but several times during the escapade he was brought to the brink of orgasm, but just couldn’t surpass.  Finally, with Kate sucking on his nads, caressing his ass, Amos came.
	The first jut of sperm very nearly coated ALL of his friend’s cock and balls.  The second was wimpy and not much to it.  Amos nearly collapsed as once more his energy level was nil.  
	Kate was grossed out as the Old Italian Man told her, “suck ‘em dry.” Indicating that SHE had to suck on Steve’s cum laden balls.  She wasn’t amused, but the blood coating the dagger prompted her to complete the horrid task.
	While Kate cleaned Steve’s balls, Carly Beth sucked continuously Steve’s dick, getting him to blow his load seven minutes after he had done so into Amos’ mouth.
	Carly Beth needed no instruction, she knew what the bastard Old Man wanted.  He smiled to her with yellowed crooked teeth as she engulfed Amos’ ball suck and cleaned him thoroughly.

And the horror continues 
	The Old Italian murmured something under his breath, but it was unintelligible.  He seemed almost delirious.  “avere un amplesso anale” babbled the Old Man.  The kids looked to one another, “what?” asked Steve.
	“I don’t know,” said Amos, “all I heard was something like “anal.””
	“Oh shit!”
	“Exactly.”
	The Old Man was nodding his head.  The boys closed their eyes.
	“Fottersi!” the Old Man yapped, something in translation to “I don’t give a fuck (about you!)”  Steve “assumed” the position, reluctantly.  Kate worked Amos’ cock while Carly Beth (gulp) licked Steve’s crack, hole, and inserted a finger into his budiulo (asshole.)
	The Old Man made whispers of “cacca” saying something to the effect of “caccati in mano e prenditi a schiaffi” which translates loosely to “shit on your hands and hit yourself.”  As Simon Gruber replied to John McClane, “How colorful.”

	Well, Amos HAD the curiosity of wonderment.  He had sucked cock, didn’t like it.  He had sucked balls.  Didn’t like it.  He had tasted sperm.  Definitely didn’t like it.  He had licked underneath his friend’s ball sack—didn’t like it.  Now he was spreading his ass cheeks to discover whether or not he would like being fucked in the ass.
	It was a little more than simply “uncomfortable.”  His asshole had been “pre-lubed” by the girls’ spittle and finger plunging, but that did little to pave the way for a cock invasion.  His hole had for thirteen years been a One Way passage and not intended for “other.”
	Steve had little in determination to make the penetration to his friend’s asshole.  It was vile and disgusting to beat all—to beat all!  But the girls had tantalized his cock, his balls, and his cock had no choice but to get stiff.  Ejaculate matter from Amos’ was still smattered onto his face and he was sickened; he hoped that after humping Amos the torment would be over.
	Well…

	Little Scottie was frightened—out of his wits and then some.  The Old Man held him firmly with the skin slicing dagger at his tender throat.  Then, after Steve thoroughly sodomized his friend, Amos, it was Carly Beth and his own sister, Kate, who came to “service” him!
	Little Scottie, eight, had seen brief glimpses of his sister naked, usually in her underwear.  No biggie.  He was only mildly curious, but mostly wasn’t in the know or cared to know.  He was barely aware of his pisellino (pee-pee) ‘cept when he needed to use the bathroom or his balls itched.
	Kate had to “go down” on her brother firstly, she was even more disgusted and grossed out more so than when she had to suck on Steve and Amos.  The boys aforementioned sitting on their knees behind got to see—got to see Kate’s ass as she leaned her head/shoulders down, ass up.  There in the nighttime moonlight was Kate’s nice-nice oh so nice ass.  There was her crack, hole, and cunt for all to glorify and enjoy.
	It gave cause for Amos to get hard—hard enough; and though lo Steve had just cum—deeply into Amos’ asshole, he got hard, too.  Both boys desired deeply and earnestly to “fuck Kate’s ass.”
	Kate sucked her brother’s puddling, devouring him wholly including slurping up his hairless testicles.  She cried some while servicing him, Carly Beth sobbed, and Scottie whimpered.  Steve and Amos got hard…

	Carly Beth took her turn servicing Scottie.  Kate licked on Carly’s ass, her crack, and finger fucked the asshole.  Then, under direction from the Old Man, took holt of Amos’ cock and pulled him up into position.  She sucked the boy’s dick and guided it personally to Carly Beth’s asshole.  Amos made slow entry, it was agonizing but he did the deed sliding most of his cock into her hole—his shaft buckled and was as strong as it had been earlier.
	It took a full seven minutes before he was able to muster cum.
	The thrusting into Carly’s asshole was amazing, it took the Fucker to amazing heights as he was brought to the level of orgasmic bliss but wasn’t able to complete the deed.  He had to back off steam but in the same manner keep pumping to maintain the hump.  Gripping Carly’s ass he drove himself fully into her hole, his balls seriously slapped and he strained hard to get his nads to give up the juice.
	When he began to cum his energy level sunk to the lowest level.  He didn’t want to fuck anymore—ever!  Kate fondled his balls as he fucked his last fuck; when he pulled out she sucked on his foul cock, licked up the juices on Kate’s ass, and was greatly sickened.

*

I fuck, I cum, I am
	Home.  He was home.  His mind was cloudy, fogged, and in a swirling mass of constant confusion.  He recognized his home and all seemed as it should be.  The only dis-matter was him! 
	He felt hot and out of sorts; and his cock hurt!
	Slowly as he dropped his bag of “loot” onto the kitchen table a funkiness enveloped him, reeking into his nose.  He felt like he had been sprayed by a worked up soda bottle.  A strange “taste” existed inside his mouth and images he couldn’t shake began to fill his mind.
	“What the fuck?” he queried allowed.
	“What did you say?” his Mom said coming around the corner from the kitchen’s hallway.
	Amos was confused and barely could he recognized.  She had a magazine in her hand and paused to look at her son strangely.
	“Are you alright?  You already get into the candy?”
	Annette Greene was a nice woman, golden sunshiny hair to her shoulder, tall, professional, smartly dressed in a layered top with white slacks revealing all too often her “panty lines”.  Young Amos strove hard at time not to jack himself off to her image—but all too often he wound up doing just that.

	Amos Greene lived with his single Mom, his Dad was gone to Heaven and he was an only child.  The relationship with his Mom was good—non-sexually speaking.  They got along better than most boys to their Moms, there were typical problems and Amos didn’t always agree with his Mom’s doings and she the same to him.  But they still managed to get thru those touchy episodes and life at the Greene home was good.
	Amos stared at his Mom; images swirled in his head and he nearly collapsed.  His Mom rushed to him and got a “whiff” of his BO.
	“What in the world have you been doing?” she quipped.
	Amos wasn’t sure.
	Then,
	“Ma tu si' proprio 'na zoccola!” barged in a crackly voice.  Something to the effect “you’re just a bitch!”
	Annette Greene was startled and stumbled back at the intruder.  Then, she was further confounded as a stranger loomed up from the darkness of the kitchen’s backdoor.  He was short, about the size of her son, but he was in the form of an old man, an old seriously withered old man.
	He wore a strange old fashioned sweater, atypical of “old man” wear.  He shuffled further into the light and reeked to high heaven of “age” and sin.  Strangely, though, he bore no whiskers as per atypical to an old man.  His face was long, his breathing labored, his teeth yellowed by time of uncaring.
	“Who are you?” Annette demanded.
	The Old Man, if it were possible, smiled.  A strange gleam fell over his face, he seemed to sneer, flare his nostrils, and produced from a shirt pocket some sort of sprinkly dust.  As the dust particles shimmered in the kitchen light and fell from his wrinkled fingers, he blew the dust which went straight to Annette coating her face.
	She began to scream but then couldn’t as the dust choked her.  The dust, too, blinded her and filled her ears.  She could feel the dust and it was not like any dust(ing) she had ever experienced; the dust seemed to tingle as it settled on her skin, further freaking her out.
	“Take off your clothes, baldracca!”
	Annette didn’t know what “baldracca” was, but was sure it wasn’t kind.  And there was no way she was going to “take off her clothes”.  Not until she found her young son in peril.  A handheld tazer was up against her son’s throat and the boy was shaking all over, peeing his pants as he herky-jerked about being electrocuted.
	Annette made a dash to rescue her son but the strange Old Man pressed the prongs of the handheld device to the boy’s throat increasing the power.

	“Doncha take-a ‘nutter step, baldracca!” seethed the Old Man, “you’re-a boy ‘ere he a good boy an’ I would-a hate to see him wrigglin’ on-a the floor wid ‘is life pourin’ outta ‘im!”
	Annette didn’t quite gather all of the Old Man’s speech, but she got enough to hold still where she was.
	In a low voice of extreme seriousness, “take-a offa your clothes.”
	Annette was out of her mind, and as she resisted trying to get a grip on the situation, her son yelped in distress.  The zapper made horrific electrifying sounds causing the young teen immediate suffering.
	Confused to no end, Annette couldn’t stop herself and undone her outer shirt dropping it to the floor.  It was like she was not herself, she saw her son in anguish, a strange man causing the anguish in her kitchen, and she was following thru with horrid demands that she undress herself!
	Off came her inner shirt, then her bra.
	Annette shook, trembled and tried to get angry, but couldn’t.
	The Old Man smiled, leered, and licked his warped cracked lips.
	“Yes, yes, das a good baldracca!”
	Annette wasn’t sure, but she was certain that the Old Man was calling her a bitch—or something close.  She couldn’t fathom the Old Man, he was the size of her son, was this a prank?  She began to freak out, but her son WAS in peril—wasn’t he?
	“Who are you!?” 
	“A curse!” he blurted.
	He looked real, smelled real, but it was just too fucking bizarre to be believed.  She had seen OLD men before, but none fit the horrid Old Man in her kitchen.  The Old Man then reached into his inside pocket again producing more of the sparkly dust.  He then blew it onto Annette and repeated his earlier command.
	Annette felt like there were “hands” gliding over her body; there was a tingling sensation like never-ever she had ever experienced before.  She saw to her horror her fingers—her own fingers undoing her slacks.
	“NO!” she screamed—then a cacophony of noise erupted into her ears, into her mind that was so loud it blinded her and she knew not what she was doing.  She heard drums, like African drums atypical to African and Jungle movies; screeching monkeys and birds, and some acrid vile odor filled her and brought her senses to a an awareness like never before.  She literally thought she was in the heart of some African jungle!
	Then, as quickly as it had begun it was over.  Annette stumbled some and felt a serious illness swelling up within her.  Gripping the counter behind her she fought of the urge to throw up and “get a grip.”

	When she settled she discovered that her slacks and powder blue panties were at her ankles.
	“Come, onto the table.” 
	Annette looked behind her ‘cause she felt someone “shove” her.  Then before her as she felt someone “pulling” her.  Her feet stepped out of her twisted clothing and onto the table she went.
	It was madness, sheer ultra madness as the thirty-six year old single mother laid herself out nakedly on her round kitchen table, opening her legs revealing her sex to her young son.
	“Ah,” said the man seemingly appreciating the woman’s poon, “dat’s a nice mona!” he seemed to lust strangely, trembled his lips and had even a more glossy glazed look etched on his face more than ever.
	Pissed in his pants Amos was brought up into exact view, face to cunt with just a few inches space between.
	“dat’s a nice pussy, eh?”
	Amos couldn’t speak, his fright level was even higher than it had been in the park.
	The park.
	Kate.  Carly Beth.  The images of the girls naked, his cock in their mouths, between their tits, fucking their pussies!  He had fucked both Carly Beth and Kate!  (in the ass, too!)  The girls had sucked his balls, they had sucked Kate’s little brother, too.
	His Mom’s pussy.  He had never seen it—not so Up Close and Personal.  He HAD seen glimpses, profiles, but no out and out nakedness and not so right up in his face.  The pussy was not so unlike Kate’s or Carly Beth’s.  Just older.
	In no way did Amos want to follow thru with the horrid Old Man’s command, “give her a lickin’!” but like his Mom had endured, a strange phenomenal force propelled him forth and his face was against his Mom’s cunt.  The Old Man’s taser pressed against Amos’ pissy balls, Amos in no way wanted that gadget to discharge so he began to lick out his Mom’s twat.
	It was musty, kind of reminded him of being in the cellar, with a hint of “pee” with another hint of “salt.”  There was the slickness of the inner lips and surprisingly Amos found some delight in his illicit forced doings; his cock suddenly surged and it was as if he were noshing on a delectable desert treat fav of his; chocolate cream cheese, coconut cream, and strawberry/banana cream pie.  
	After much ado about “licking”, Amos stood up.  He didn’t undress himself totally, though; he removed his shirts, kicked off his shoes, then stood in shock as his naked Mom pulled down his pissy pants.

	He couldn’t remember the last time he had pissed in his pants.  It had to be when he was little, “accidents” and such.  He had “almost” pissed his pants accidents when older, and even recently as trying to “hold” it and sometimes he did pee a little in his underwear, but not to the degree that thoroughly soaked his tidy-whiteys.
	Annette slid off the table, her mind in a funk; nakedly she went to her knees before her son, undone his pants and pulled them down.  She couldn’t stop herself, some “power” was consuming her, directing her to act.  She noted her son’s soiled underwear, then tugged them down, too.
	Amos’ teen bone stood partially engorged.  He strove hard to make it soften but in his mind was his tongue licking out Kate’s cunt, watching Kate and Carly Beth suck Scottie; watching Kate and Carly’s ass wriggling in the pale moonlight, watching Kate and Carly Beth suck his dick—all prompted Amos’ cock to stiffen—stiffen—stiffen.
	Lingering in his mind, too, was Steve.  Steve’s cock.  In his mouth.  Steve’s cock in his mouth.  He had sucked Steve’s cock.  He had LICKED Steve’s asshole!  He had sucked on Steve’s cum laden balls!  His own cum!  And he had fucked Steve in the ass.
	The grossness of the sperm, his OWN sperm lingered in his mouth; tasting Steve’s balls, his cock, even his asshole filled him.  But, he couldn’t quite figure if he was disgusted or not.  
	His Mom was going down on him.
	His Mom was going down on him.
	His MOM was going DOWN on him!
	The lime green paint across the room had curious swirls in its design; the copper clock slowly stretched the time at a snail’s pace; the counter was spic and span; everything put up in it’s place; it was an immaculate kitchen.  It always struck Amos as odd that the kitchen was so small and the rest of the house’s rooms were large.
	His toes curled as the action of his Mom’s working on his pistollotta thrilled him.  There was no denying.  None.  He tried at first to deny the feeling but as his Mom engulfed the whole of his cock, cupped his balls, gripped his dick and sometimes rubbed his ass, fuck it—go with it and enjoy it.  The same feelings he had enjoyed when his dick dwelled in Carly Beth and Kate—and even Steve.  A blowjob was the best—the best!

	There were some stirrings beginning in his cock.  Familiar stirrings.  He no longer cared that he was in his Mom’s mouth, not in the least.  The mop of his thick dark hair he had slathered with petroleum jelly was glistening with sweat; his handsome face he had applied some special costume make-up began to run; thankfully he had already discarded the cottonballs he had used to emulate a 1920s Gangster—made it difficult to talk and be understood.
	Cum began to spurt for the umpteenth time.  The flow was fantastic!  There was some discomfort involved, but he didn’t care—not at the moment.  To cum was everything, nothing else mattered.  Ten times, about ten times that night he had cum.  Well, he knew he shot a load onto Kate’s tits, onto Steve’s balls, too.  He knew he had cum in Kate’s cunt but wasn’t sure about the other times—his cock in Kate’s asshole, in Steve’s asshole, in Steve’s mouth, on Carly Beth’s ass, and etc.  the “feelings” of cumming had been there but he had not particularly seen the “evidence” that was splooge.
	Not a drop was spilled from his Mom’s mouth—but Amos was sure for certain that he was cumming.  The sperm ejaculated from his piss slit filling her mouth but mostly shooting straight down her gullet—she had no tonsils to coat.
	As the cumming ensued, Annette caressed her son’s ass.  There were no pesky concerns in her mind—her mind was virtually blank.  She sucked and sucked and sucked—sucking the near life out of her son’s dick.  Gobs and gobs of cum blasted hotly down her throat, his cock seemed to swell within her cocksucking mouth.
	On his own the boy pulled out, flopping his prick out and experiencing some agony.  His Mom strangely took the organ and pressed it to her face in a hungry manner.  Amos found himself humping his Mom’s face—and liking it!

	He though the time had been a little after eleven—when his Mom was working on tantalizing his cock.  Blinking the drenching stinging sweat out of eyes he focused on the copper clock shaped like a frying pan and noted that it was a little after midnight.  His cock ached.  Oh how it ached!  His body, too, ached all over.
	On the table was his Mom, sprawled out naked, her ass on the edge.
	Amos stood in a funk, a funky funk that was funky.  His mind was no longer his own, his body reeked, his balls singed and his cock—his cock just ached terribly.

	“Stick it in ‘er!” quipped a voice into his mind.
	Amos shook his head (to clear it).  He was confused.  
	“Stick it in her?” he quipped to himself.  That was his Mom laying there, he couldn’t “stick it in her”.  Could he?
	Then,
	“It’s alright, baby,” said his Mom careening her head, “you can do it.”
	What was she saying!  Oh My God!  Amos was stunned beyond belief but found himself moving and positioning himself between his Mom’s opened legs.  His cock dripped bits of cum and was barely hard enough to do the intended task.
	Slowly, somehow, Amos brushed the head of his sore aching schlong against his Mom’s glistening poon.  The concept of “sticking it in” to his Mom never-ever crossed his mind.  Sure he jerked off thinking about her, and the images of her naked filled his mind, but actually having sex with her just wasn’t there.
	The head of his dick went to his Mom’s glistening-trembling “lips.”  The image of Kate filled his mind, he had licked her cunt!  Before that, he had never had any inkling idea of what it would really be like to lick out a girl’s cunt.  She peed from there!
	Could fucking his Mom be better than fucking Kate?
	He was about to find out.

	12:35
	It wasn’t the strongest his cock had been that evening, but it did a fair job just the same.  Every inch he slid into his Mom’s twat was spectacular!  New feeling sent him reeling as his super sensitive “head” made headway and the knowing of making headway into his Mom’s twat coupled together to just drive the young Amos Dirk Green into a furor.
	Then, when every inch of his thirteen year old schlong was in his Mom’s love canal, he no longer cared that it was his Mom.  He pulled out half way and then plunged in.  The table scooted on the crappy green linoleum floor, the copper clock ticked slower and slower, Amos’ cock pumped faster and faster.
	And faster!
	And faster!
	His balls began to slap and a squishy noise filled the air stemming from his Mom’s sex.  Utterly insane.  Banging off into Kate’s cunt, mouth, asshole, Steve’s mouth, balls, asshole, was nothing—nothing in comparison to blasting off inside his Mom’s cunt!  Nothing!

	When the deed was done, so was Amos.  Done in.  He collapsed onto his Mom’s heaving sweaty body, his cock remaining pulsing (and cumming) still embedded inside his Mom’s trench.  A new feeling came about, one that was not understood (especially by Amos.)  It was love—or something sticky like that.  He really-really loved his Mom.  Laying nakedly on her naked heaving body he clung to her and experienced the first tinge of pure unadulterated love feelings.
	By the copper clock, it was 2AM there ‘bouts before the two managed to pull themselves together and pull themselves off of the table.
	“I think we need a shower.” Annette told her son.
	Amos was speechless.  They didn’t even collect their clothes but ambled out of the kitchen, thru the living room, and up the stairs.  Amos started for the hall bathroom which he used exclusively—but his Mom pulled him by his elbow directing him to her room where she had a private bath.
	Inside the cascading warm waters of the shower—Annette bathed her son’s fine nude body.  Amos, in turn, did likewise unto his Mom.  Amos was focused on her boobs.  His cock soared, ached, but soared as he was washed, rinsed.  He had no idea if she had fondled his dick and balls, ass, or whatever—his attention was sold on her bouncing jiggling boobs.
	After the shower, drying was in order.
	It was here that once more—on her own, Annette sucked her son’s dick.  She did!  It was sore, it ached, and was not quite one hundred percent enthused about being serviced.  But once the sucking began—fuck it, the organ got hard and blasted a nice fresh load of teen spunk down the throat in three minutes time!
	Thereafter it was pulled out for another face fuck.  Amos kind of liked the face fuck, while his cock humped his Mom’s face, she sucked his balls!  The feelings young Amos experienced were all mixed and drove him crazy.  He couldn’t fathom it and the more he tried to either close his tortured mind to the sexual misdeeds he so enjoyed with his Mom—the worse the invasion of you DO enjoy the misdeed with your Mom came to be.
	At length, there was nothing left to do but to submit and enjoy.
	They went to bed together thereafter where in the minutes just before sun rise, they engaged in a hearty fuck.  Annette came to be on top of her son, gliding his stiffy into her pussy and riding him!  Amos adored his Mom, it was a new life for them—one that would be pure sexual.

*

squirts and spurts
	“What’s the matter, Sissy?” 
	What’s the matter?  What was the matter?  What was wrong?  Kate couldn’t figure it, but something was the matter—something.  In her head were dozens of images she could right ascertain let alone make since of.  Was it fantasy?  A dream?  Desires?  She was thirteen and barely was she into fingering herself—let alone some guy.
	But Amos and Steve filled her mind—greatly.  The images swirled in a mass of thunderous symphonies concocted by some mad wizard.  Then there was a taste in her mouth, a horrid almost rancid taste that was vile enough to make her retch.
	Then suddenly her cunny and asshole ached.  Her cunny felt like a night after serious fingering; her asshole felt like an hour of serious pooping.  Her entire body was icky, sticky, and rank.  So vivid were the images of Steve and Amos—too vivid.
	“Sissy, I gotta pee!”
	Kate looked down to her pint sized brother, “Didn’t you already pee?”
	The little boy shrugged, “I don’t think so.”
	Kate thought it odd, very odd—she was sure he had had to pee before.  In the park wasn’t it?  Wasn’t it?  Hmmm  Kate was confused and a horrid simply horrid taste existed in her mouth, permeating throughout her body.
	Reluctantly with extreme confounding confusion she guided her brother to the bushes.  They were only a block from home but Scottie was known to have a “weak bladder.”
	A block from home.  Where were the others?  The confusion mounted.  Surely she wasn’t alone?  In her goodie bag was a load of candy.  And she was carrying her Witch’s outfit!  That was way odd and only added to her confusion.  Why was she carrying and not wearing her costume?  Scottie had his own, and he was fussing with the zipper of his black pirate trousers, too.
	As many times before, Kate squatted down to lend a sisterly hand.
	Once the trouser buttons were undone—they were tight and hard to manage, there was the boy’s regular pants.  “Why did you wear your pants?”
	As typical his response, he shrugged.
	Kate worked her brother’s zipper and due to the constraints of the pirate pants she just took both pants down, turned him and pulled his underwear down—just enough.

	“play with it.”
	A sort of gravely voice suddenly invaded Kate’s tortured mind.  She whirled about in a fright—but no one was about.  Crickets chirped (rubbed their wings) and noises from nearby treaters still out for the last hope of goodies were all there was.
	Suddenly, before her eyes there was something akin to “stardust.”  It sprinked before her eyes and then was in her eyes and on her face.  A voice grated into her mind “play with your brother’s cock.”
	The words she knew.  They were horrid.  She didn’t refer to her brother’s thingy as a “cock.”  He was eight and wasn’t old enough to HAVE a cock.  He had a pee-pee, a pud, a penis—but not a cock.
	Then to add to her confounding horror she found herself turning about.  “no-no-no!” she said aloud.  Her body seemingly was no longer hers to control.  She was turned around, on her knees, against her brother’s bared butt with her fingers taking holt of his penis.
	More incredulous commands filled her mind causing her to stroke her brother’s pud as he peed a quick but hearty stream of urine.  Unbelievably she cupped and squeezed lovingly her brother’s balls, rubbed his ass, and worked his puddling to a stiff mode.  Then, after he had peed, Kate did so infacto “go down on him.”
	There was the taste of pee.  That was unpleasant.  But on she went—on and on and on—sucking.  Scottie’s tube strengthened, er, lengthened and became in essence a “cock.”
	“OOOOOH!” exclaimed the young Scottie, “that feels good!”
	Kate couldn’t stop herself and even slurped in her brother’s testicles!

	The “loot” was deposited in small masses along the way, most on the kitchen table for sorting, another dump was made on the living room floor whereupon it was quickly delved into seeking the glories that were treatful.
	“Make a good haul, Sprout?”
	“Sure did!” sparked the boy highly excitedly he delved up quickly the treats into categories—Good  Crap  Ok  Yuck.
	“Everything good, Sweets?”
	Kate stood a little befuddled, confused, and sticky.  Confusion was a whole other matter than more than confounded her.  She gave a weak smile to her Dad and faked her glee.
	“Yeah,” she said, “everything was great.” but she didn’t remember.  Nothing of the evening activities and or festivities could see remember.  Nothing.  There were swirling masses of images she just couldn’t get a grip on.  And maybe it was best if she didn’t…

	Kate’s Dad puffed on his pipe and looked over his young son’s wild antics divvying up the treats.  He was a handsome man, a respected professor at the local college; he had charm, wore old fashioned clothes, listened to Big Bands of an era long since dead and gone (for a good reason).  Kate loved his pipe smoke, although it was appalling to smoke as it caused cancer, pipe smoking Kate(y) deemed was ok.
	“It’s late,” Kate declared, “heading to bed.”  She lingered a moment, then stepped around her still enthused brother to give a hug to her Daddy.  He hugged her, giving a light squeeze as she gently brushed her lips against his forehead.
	“’night.” She quipped.
	“Goodnight, Sweetness.”
	Kate ambled up the stairs, pausing along her way to her room to peek in on her Mother.  The parental unit bedroom was dark—very dark.  The figure of her Mom lay in the great King bed and her Mom was sleeping with Prince Valium.
	Kate made for her room and her personal bathroom.  She was near nude by the time she made for the bathroom, the images in her head were burning and a sickness so vile choked her and she retched into the toilet.
	She retched-hurled inside the shower, too.  The cascading water actually did very little to soothe her; she saw her friends Amos and Steve—naked.  She saw their private parts, their cocks.  She saw them masturbating, blasting their ball juice onto her face!
	“NO!” she screamed.  “It didn’t happen!” did it?

	How long she lay still in her bed she didn’t know, she lay still on her back, staring up to the ceiling.  It was a struggle to for blank her mind, Amos and Steve were her friends, Amos was a little weird at times, Steve was a little trying at times, but they were friends.  There was nothing wrong with a girl having a “guy” friend as a friend.
	But their relationship was Friend Level only.  They didn’t even hold hands!  She knew that being boys, they masturbated.  That was a given.  ALL boys masturbated—it was just something girls—or leastways this girl didn’t want to think about.
	At thirteen, Kate Caldwell had a fair idea of how a guy jerked off.  She had never seen a guy jerk off, she had never heard of a guy jerking off, but the concept was not that elusive.  She was sure there were probably other nuances to the “jerking off” part; where and when, how long, use of any visual aids or other aids; in the shower and on their bed; using one hand or both, switching hands, etc.

	Kate had even heard of guys saying something to the effect “bed humping.”  Kate couldn’t imagine until she saw her little brother.  He was eight and the concept of “sex” was unknown to him.  But one morning Kate went to awake him so he could see the first season’s snow fall—and there he was humping the bed in his sleep.
	It wasn’t a particularly good hump and there were no “nocturnal” emissions—he was too young to produce sperm.  But the “feeling” of grinding his little dick against the bedding felt good—regardless of the fact that he was sound to sleep.
	Kate was no where near being “sound to sleep.”  There was a taste no amount of mouthwash or toothpaste could mask inside her mouth.  There was no way—just no way that she had sucked Amos’ cock.  No way!  There was just no way she had stripped off her clothes, leaned back and had Amos fuck and cum on her tits.  No way!  There was no way she had been fucked by Amos, sodomized, or anything remotely sexual with Amos!  No way!
	Was there?
	There was the thing.  Doubt.  She didn’t understand it, Scottie seemed alright.  But—but where had her friends gone to.  How was it that she “suddenly” was close to home, alone.  Amos would have walked her up to the door—right up to her bedroom door if she’d let him.
	Scottie.
	Scottie.
	Did she just suck his dick?  By the bushes?
	No.  No, that didn’t happen.  No.
	Kate’s body began to sweat.  Her pussy actually began to twitch and tingle and no amount of fingering it alleviated it.  Kate discovered that she had only put on her night shirt, it was long and went to her mid thigh.  She seldom wore a bra to bed but she did wear panties.  Did.  As her fingers roamed and made way to her tingling pussy she found that she had not put on any panties.
	That was odd.
	Her fingers touched her sensitive cunt.  The whole area was infuriated and quickly did she move her fingers in all directions, pressing in and making sincere herky-jerky movement to satisfy her sex.
	Soon she was spreading her legs and “getting after it” and getting after it in a hurry.  
	Dick.  She wanted dick.  In her mind there was dick, some inches long, dripping sperm, hard, and funky smelling.  It went firstly into her mouth, all the way.  It reminded her of string cheese!  She sucked it fully, saw herself clutching the hairy sac—then laying down…

	Kate bolted upright in a panic.  She was in a swath of sweat; her pussy tingled and wouldn’t calm down.  It was after midnight—way after, but she wanted to call Carly Beth and confirm.  But it was after midnight and calling at that late hour wasn’t cool.  But still…
	Before she made her phone shaped like lips her bedroom door opened and in meandered her little brother.
	“What’s up?” Kate asked of him.
	As he neared the bed and the nite light from her bathroom provided sufficient light to see, Kate saw that Scottie was just in his underwear.  Usually he was somewhat modest and didn’t like anyone seeing him even in his undies.
	“I don’t know.” he said in a quivering voice.
	“Nightmare?”
	Good guess.
	The little boy shrugged and leaned against his sister’s bed being very sleepy.  “Ok,” she said, “climb in.”
	Kate and Scottie had a good relationship; better than most brother/sister relationships (non-sexual.)  But before the little tyke crawled in, he lowered his underwear.
	Kate stared at him, usually he wore pajamas, cartoon character laden or when the season got cold he wore basic flannel.  Kate shook her head but found herself unable to say “HEY!  Put those back on!”
	It wasn’t often but Scottie did come to snuggle to his loving sister; usually it was just to sleep.  Sometimes it was to chat about school, friends, household problems (Mom), and flat out not feeling well.  Kate loved her brother, but…
	Scottie lay curled up against his sister, all she had on was her long nightshirt.  This was unreal.  This was NOT happening!  NOT!  It was fantasy.  Fantasizing about Amos and Steve.  And her brother.  If she had of actually sucked his cock—then he would say something.  Wouldn’t he?
	Her pussy still itched.  And as she lay on her back with her naked brother snuggled against her it itched more.  The intensity began to become too much for her and so she began fingering herself.
	Ahhh, the pause that refreshes—or something like that.  She busied her fingers finding some relief, but there was a fire burning in her cunny that wouldn’t quit.
	Scottie rolled over onto his back.
	‘touch it.’
	Kate sat up quick, “Who’s there!?”
	No one.  Turning on the light revealed no Boogyman in her room.

	‘calm yourself, fighetta.’ the words of an Old Man filled her mind; it felt as if though a huge weight came to rest on her—only submitting to the “words” did the weight lift.
	For a moment, a long moment, she lay still.  Absolutely still, only breathing—not even thinking.  The voice—an old man’s voice, an old Italian’s voice, consumed her and brought her back to the park.
	The Park.
	Bingham Park.
	Ambling Way.
	The Mystery Hut.
	The Old Italian.
	The Old Italian.
	Amos.
	Amos.
	Kate began to feel ill.  Had she really submitted to the images that filled her mind?  She couldn’t believe it.  She couldn’t believe it.  No—no—no!!!  
	An EMAD.  One of those fucking Electronic Mind Altering Devices had to have been used.  But by the Old Italian Man?  That was strange, very strange.  She had never met the man, he had been long gone before Kate ever came along.  But the Hut, for some beaurocratic reasoning, remained where it had been.  
	Kate was schooled in the horror of what plagued the nation.  She had the latest detectors AND preventors.  In her shoes, watch, and earrings were global positioning recorders and trackers.
	None of those, however, seemed to have worked—which led the girl to be more perplexed than ever.  Was she, then, going out of her friggin mind like her Mom?  Her Mom was one of those workaholics, a city councilwoman, business woman, and sculpted bizarre creations that amazingly sold for zillions to idiot city dwelling yuppies who just had to have the latest trend.
	Slowly Kate found to her dismay her hand moving onto her brother.
	Words were filling her head—she struggled to breath and concentrate but there was only submitting to the will of the Voice.  ‘touch him, take his pee-pee, play with his pee-pee.’
	Kate resisted—some.  She never-ever thought of molesting Scottie, she gave him baths, wiped him and cleaned him, helped him dress, and “aimed” his pee-pee occasionally, but never done so in a sexual manner.

	She found his pud semi-hard.  As she “toyed” with it it strengthened.  Being rather small her hand engulfed it wholly.  She found his hairless nads and “toyed” with those, too.  Suddenly she became aware of her sexuality.  The images in her head suddenly disappeared replaced by a new…
	Her brother.
	Try-try-try as she might Kate couldn’t dismiss the image of engaging sexually with her brother.  There was naught to do but to submit.  And that wasn’t so bad.  Her pussy quaked to get fucked.  Her brother was too young to get her pregnant.  Scottie didn’t have a big pistol so it wouldn’t hurt.  So what was the hold-up?
	Slowly she moved and negotiated pulling the sleepy sibling onto her—this after pulling off her nightshirt and pushing down the covers.  Scottie never awoke and nestled nice and comfortable on her body.  Slowly did Kate place her hands on her brother’s ass.  It was smooth, soft, and warm.  Slower did she give the tyke’s cheeks a squeeze.  His slightly hardened pee-pee rested neatly right against her fevered snatch.  So, gripping his hips she ever so gently moved him--moved him up and down, grinding against her cunny.
	It was incredible.  Kate was literally beside herself; her cunt began to tingle even more and near desperately she re-positioned her brother—his dick specifically, and got busy with the program.
 	It was surreal; a fantastic dreamlike experience as slowly Kate slid her brother’s erection into her sex.  Slowly she got Scottie to “do her.”  Parting her legs Kate allowed herself to erupt into a sexual furor.  Nothing matter but to cum.  Seldom had she been able to bring her sex to sexual orgasm; sometimes by using the handheld shower head in the shower, but few times with her fingers.  She DID yearn to know what it would be like to have a guy’s tool tooling inside her, but she wasn’t ready.  She didn’t want to get some lame ass disease OR knocked up.
	Kate found that by getting humped by her brother brought new sensations, strange feelings seething throughout her young teenage body.  It was so illicit!  She knew that brothers and sisters engaged in that sordid “touchy-feely” stuff as youngsters, but Kate was thirteen and beyond the legal norms of family tolerances for such enjoyments.
	Then came the moment where it was time.
	Kate shuddered.  It was more fantastic than she could imagine—and she could imagine a lot!  The feeling was immeasurable and shook the girl totally through and throughout.
	“OH MY GOD!” she shouted aloud—and didn’t care, she was cumming and it was a damn good one!

*

	The aftermath, of course, had its downswing.  She felt vile and horrid, sickened at having engaged sexually with her brother.  She couldn’t figure what had possessed her.  Here he had come, suffering from a nightmare and crawled into her bed for protection and comfort.  And she had taken advantage of him due to her heightened horny state of being.  She had been in the midst of orgasm (and how!) and when the little bro had climbed in and subsequently was a sound sleeper—Kate found herself discarding his underwear and working his wanker to a seriously stiff (enough) mode.
	Then she had fucked him, or got him to fuck her unknowingly.
	Afterwards, her bed was soaked with sweat and a pool of cum ‘neath her ass.  She lay heaving, her pussy still on fire, she found strength to make for the shower and once more rinse the vile sin from her body.
	While showering she fingered herself and could not shake the still ever present need to “get some.”  Her pussy quaked and would not settle.  After drying and fussing with her hair, she once more pulled on her nightshirt, paused and pulled on some panties, too.
	For some reason, Kate went downstairs.
	There was a fire low in the fireplace, a table lamp was on casting a yellowish glow on the living room.  There was a slight stench of an English Stout blend—it was one of Kate’s favorites as it reminded her of a warm campfire.
	Don(ald) Caldwell was still up.
	Kate wasn’t sure why she had come downstairs.  Then, a voice invaded her mind and she felt a “force” like force directing her to her Daddy’s chair.
	“Hello, Sweets.” mumbled her sleepy parental unit.  He shuffled in his super comfy chair, yawned, stretched, and blinked his eyes to his young teenage daughter.
	Then what played out nextly was hard to describe (but I’ll describe it for you).  Kate moved to lay across her Daddy’s lap.  Donald, in turn, caressed his daughter’s butt, moving the nightshirt she wore up to expose her butt clad in raspberry tinted panties.  Again, more rubbing.  Then, with middle aged fingers he began moving the raspberry colored undies down.
	Just to the knees, his fingers nearly rushed to get back to that wondrous butt now free and exposed.  Trembling fingers smoothed their way over the flesh; there were many gulps for air from the college professor, he began to sweat and soon was moaning.

	Kate did nothing but support herself with outstretched hands to the floor.  She wriggled her butt some and soon was working her legs to work her panties down to her ankles and then off so as to open/part her legs.  When she completed that task, her dear Daddy caressed her butt more earnestly and began to squeeze the cheeks.
	Kate’s cunt was burning and she could feel her Daddy’s erection pressing against her belly.  She waited.  Her Daddy made small light smacks to her ass, not enough to bring tears or inflict any pain or discomfort, just enough to see the flesh jiggle.
	Donald soon worked his fingers into his daughter’s crack.  Kate did nothing but continue to wait.  Her Daddy found her “hole” and began exploring.  Kate spread her legs to accommodate and moved further so as his “view” and access could be better.
	With deliberate intrusion, Donald masterfully eased a finger into his daughter’s freshly cleaned asshole.  Kate wriggled at the uncomfortable intrusion but accepted it just the same.  And on and on it went until such a time as when Donald moved out of his chair and positioned Kate over the great footstool.  
	Then, Donald positioned himself behind her…
	OH!
	No, not quite that yet.  Yet.
	The professor admired his teenage daughter’s ass, placed both hands on it to spread the cheeks and closely admire her hole and moistening poon.  He lusted.  He lingered and lusted exhibiting a most curious facial expression.  Kate reached back to pull a cheek; she rubbed her ass and said,
	“I’m a bad girl!” 
	A bad girl.
	Donald stared for a moment then stood and unfastened his leather belt.
	Kate braced herself, hands stretched out onto the floor—waiting.
	She didn’t have to wait long as suddenly and strikingly her Daddy lashed her ass with his belt.  The first strike sent the girl reeling; she clenched all over twisting her body oddly to the right.
	Another strike caused Kate to twist oddly to the left.  Three more strikes came and then the belt was dropped—followed by her Daddy’s slacks.  Kate reeled in the spanking, her ass was on fire as much as her tingling pussy was!
	Once more Donald caressed his daughter’s ass—it was on fire and warm to his touch.  Spreading her cheeks he stepped up, knees on the heavily padded imported footrest—with his cock rock throbbing hard pressed against Kate’s asshole first, then kissed her sex and began entry.

	Gripping his daughter’s sides, Donald made slow penetration sliding all the way in to the base of his manhood.  His cock swelled and he didn’t take note of his young daughter’s non-virgin state.  His pumpings came, slow and methodical; his hands dancing in a slow waltz all over the smooth lily white skin sending more and more sexual shades of bliss to his lackless libido.  Professor Donald Caldwell’s wife suffered from stress, overwork, perfection, and a zest for acknowledgement.
	Professor Donald Caldwell suffered from a Hawaiian disease: 
 	Lack-a-Nookie.

*

 merrily we cum along, cum along, cum along
-or-
I know what your doing—and I like it!
	It was well known that the Addams’ family was a little.  Correction:  a LOT weird.  The Addams’ family comprised of a set of parental units, an uncle, a grandma-ma, a towering creature who was seldom seen outside the house; and a pair of disturbed children.
	The Mr. Addams was heavily into the stock market, which is where he made zillions of money on odd investments that surprisingly paid off.  He dressed well, Italian cut clothing most the time, old style 1930s clothing other times.  He seemed well educated, smart, friendly cuss, and was probably kin to the occult, dark underworld, and Satan.
	The Ms. Addams seemed to be a homebody, she despised “color” and often was seen trimming the roses, the flower part.  She wore exceeding tight black outfits, dresses, and black leather skirts akin to the “goth” scene.  She was a hottie, though, in her 40s (maybe) with super fine long-long silky dark hair to match her long super fine body.
	The uncle was—odd.  The grandma-ma was—odd.  The tall freak was—frightening.  The uncle seemed to be an inventor and made zillions on his inventions.  The inventions, themselves, were odd and often used by government entities for the service of acquiring information from those who did not wish to give it.
	The grandma-ma was seldom seen outside the house.

	The children, Wednesday and Pugsly were of school age and attended regular school.  They did well in school—but not socially.  Surprisingly, though, the children were well mannered and intelligent with eleven year old Wednesday very intelligent.  Like her mother, she took up the dark arts and goth lifestyle.  She was a pretty girl just the same, a little plain, but was incredibly intelligent on just about all subjects.	
	That couldn’t be said for Pugsly who traded his brains for brawn.  He was a litty hefty, but not classical overweight.  He was a demon on the ball field—literally.  
	Both children had friends—a few; mostly socially unacceptable students in their peer group.  Steve the Scarecrow White knew the children.  Like others, he thought the pair, and their family, odd and weird and socially unnatural.  The family Addams seemed to experience the Halloween experience year round.  (well, I know some folk who celebrate Christmas year round; rednecks celebrate NASCAR year round…)
	But then again, Steve also kind of liked them.  From a distance.  The girl he sometimes thought of—naked.  He was sure she looked like any other girl naked, but still—you see one girl naked, you want to see them all.
	Steve, though not adopting the Goth way of life, did like some gothic music tracks, clothing style, and similar likes like that there.  He decided to cut the odd duo and their family some slack and not talk about them.  When he saw the family he waved, nodded his head, even smiled.  The family had a large two-story abode at the end of Abysinya Rd.  The cross street was Ambling Way two blocks up to Bingham Park.
	Steve had to pause and get a grip on himself ‘cause he didn’t recall how he had suddenly come to be on Abysinya Rd. so deep and so close to the Addams home.  There weren’t a lot of home on Abysinya Rd.  And what homes there were were empty or had just as weird people living in them, too.  Great open lots between the few homes with the Addams’ home the last house at the of road which dead-ended to a large abandoned graveyard.
	Creepy.
	Not a light one was one at the four houses on the block, two houses staggered on what normally held ten to twelve homes.  There were street lights, though but being Halloween, dark, a little chilly, and a peculiar odor in the air—didn’t help matters.
	But yet still he walked along the dingy sidewalk, there were lopsided picket fences, discombobulated chain link fences, brick walls that weren’t all there, solid masonry walls that weren’t all there, and wooden fences—not all there.  His destination though seemingly was the Addams’ home at the end, Steve knew of a shortcut thru the cemetery.  

 	There was a railroad a few hundred yards behind the Addams’, following it a little ways would give Steve access to a bike trail that went right behind his house.  It would cut a few minutes off of his time—he was late and his Dad would be pissed.
	As he trudged somewhat hurriedly along the sidewalk, for some reason—curiosity swept him to detour onto the Addams’ property.  It was like an Inner Voice or something talking to him, guiding him, provoking him.  ‘go up along the house,’ the Voice said, ‘take a peek inside.’
	The “take a peek inside” inferred to the casement window along the foundation peering into the basement/cellar.  The stucco half wall that surrounded the property had many chunks out of it; suitable places to pass thru and “take a peek.”
	There were a few rectangled windows; some were even broken, most were so grimy that viewing thru was impossible.  However, there was one window allowing Steve to “take a peek.”
	Beyond the “not so grimy window” was a dully illuminated window.  The room was small and cluttered with tables and resembled much of that of a Scientist’s Laboratory.  There were books on the tables, scientist’s equipment, and gadgets of this and that.  Present in the room were the two Addams’ children, Wednesday and Pugsly.
	Wednesday was “attached” to something of a carnival wheel—that like where a young half naked Magician’s wench was strapped to while the Magician threw knife’s at her outline.  Pugsly wasn’t throwing knives at his young sibling, just spinning her—faster!  Faster!  Faster!  She was spun so hard that she became a blurr!
	Then, Pug stopped the wheel with a handbrake that brought the wheel to a dead and sudden stop.  Wednesday (who actually pronounced and preferred the alternate spelling “Wendsy”) came to be upside down.  Her head shook violently side to side for several seconds—but she didn’t throw up—which was the purpose.
	Wendsy, unlike many of her peers wore old fashioned dark gothic dresses.  Black knees socks and dress shoes.  She wore her raven dark hair in tight twin braids and was way smarter (and devious) than anyone in her peer group.  She sided with the Oppressed of any group and dissed Big Business and land developers.
	When the wheel came to its abrupt halt, her paisley dress fell.  Brother Pug stood before her, wearing his typical attire of a stripped off-white shirt concealing partly his bulky hulk, and short knee length pants.  His hair was trimmed in a 1950s Buzz Cut and at merely twelve years young could stop any high school linebacker—almost with a simple glare!

	Anyways, he stood rubbing himself as he took a long gander at his sister’s unconcealed panties.  Basic white undies she wore, small, too.  Pugsly seemed to be almost drooling, grinning even.  Opposed to his sister, Pug often was the lighthearted one, jovial, happy-go-lucky.  He was just as disturbed (and disturbing) as was his sister, but he was happier about it.
	Slowly he pushed her panties up—but not far ‘cause her legs were outstretched on the wheel (as were her arms) but up enough to reveal her bare naked pussy.  Steve’s view was not optimum—the grimy window prevented him for exact seeing of Wendsy’s poon.  Damn it!
	But Pugsly didn’t tongue the bare naked pussy exposed to him, he looked at it, sure; even possibly lusted; but he didn’t lick or touch.  What he did was, though, take up from a nearby table a long cylindrical object.  It looked like a metal tube, eight inches or so, small diameter, with some wires coming from one end and a slight tapered opposite end.  The cylinder was slowly inserted into Wendsy’s cunt about half way.
	Pug then stepped aside and began to crank a small portable hand generator located on the nearby table.  He cranked and cranked and cranked, checked a dial on the generator, then cranked some more.  Then, smiling, he flipped a switch that released all that cranked up energy.  The cranked energy was “suddenly” released, traveling thru the wires to the cylinder in Wendsy’s pussy, and then throughout the young preteen’s body.
	Wendsy shook and trembled all over, electrical current could be seen traveling, arching between her legs like all those creepy Frankenstein movies, or any other dark laboratory movies of the sci-fi nature on the late show.  
	It was a sight to behold and Steve was astounded.
	Steve was astounded more when the cranked energy of the generator was depleted and Pugsly released the shackles constraining his sister, she miraculously flipped off of the wheel and stood up A-OK.  Smoothing out her dress she shrugged her shoulders and said something to the effect while pulling up and cinching tight her panties, “that was no big deal.”
	“My turn!” said gleefully her brother.
	But unlike Wendsy, Pugsly stripped to the skin.  Shirt, pants, underwear.  He seemed unabashed and Wendsy seemed uncaring.  But naked the boy placed himself against the large wooden plank wheel while his odd sister seemingly unaffected by her recent experience shacked his wrists and ankles.
	Then, she began “attaching” things to him.

	To his nipples, a pair of alligator clips, wired to the generator.
	To his earlobes another pair of clips, wired to the generator.
	To his tongue a single clip—wired to the generator.
	A pair of clips, too, were attached to his balls.
	Then, the long cylinder that had previously been in her cunt, went unnaturally into his asshole.  The boy grunted some, made a face and seemed a little uncomfortable, but he took it.  Wendsy worked the object into her from between his legs and managed to shove the entire eight inches into her dirt chute.
	There after she began to masturbate him.
	She did!
	Faster and faster she worked his pud, at twelve the boy had an amazing six incher!  Wendsy then pressed her lips to the brotherly dong and began engulf the member.  As Steve watched he found himself very aroused and found himself humping the soft dirt beneath him.  As the scene in the basement continued, Steve pushed down his pants (and underwear) to begin humping the dirt beneath him.
	Once her brother’s cock was hard (enough) she pulled back smacking her lips and almost—ALMOST grinning.  She gave her odd brother a diabolical look, then stood and picked up from the table another cylinder.  This one was a bit longer than the one currently in his asshole, but smaller in diameter.  Holding his cock in one hand, Wendsy slid the metal tube into her brother’s piss slit.
	The boy did react (as he should) at the penial intrusion almost in agony.  Almost.  His body contorted oddly and he made facial expression dictating the displeasure his dick was experiencing.
	Then, as the metal tube was virtually ALL THE WAY inserted, and it was wired to the generator as were all the other “attachments”, Wendsy took her turn at cranking.
	She cranked and cranked and cranked.  Then she cranked some more and more and more.  A red light came on on the generator but still she cranked.  Pugsly seemed to encourage her, egg her on.  Wendsy continued to crank until the cranking became difficult and the red light began to blink.
	She paused a moment with her finger on the toggle switch.  She gleamed to her brother—Pugsly waited not knowing when the “event” would happen.  His ears, tongue, nipples, balls, asshole, and dick were all wired to the generator sending 700,000 volts into his body.
	Wendsy smiled a mischievous smile and flipped the switch.

	Smoke seemed to puff out of Pugsly’s ears; his Buzz Cut hair straightened out and also smoldered.  His eyes bulged and body shook electrically all over with billows of smoke chuffing out of his open mouth.  Both hands flexed rapidly as the volts surged thru his young body; his skin tone changed color from lily deathly white to pummeled black and blue with shades of mysterious green!
	Shortly before the generator energy depleted, Wendsy pulled the electrode tube from his brother’s erect schlong, pulled up her dress, pushed down her panties, turned her ass to him and “backed up.”
	Steve couldn’t tell what “hole” the cock went in, not that it mattered much, but Wendsy’s grimaced a little but slid her little lithe body onto the brotherly love tool and when it was “all the way in” she began to ride it.  Electrical current exploded across her coal dark eyes and she smiled…
 
*

Something disturbing
	There were a few times where humping the bed felt good; there was a technique to it, too.  Up against the edge so as a leg could sort of dangle off as well all clutch the side, cocked, too; the other leg straight down.  Then, a myriad of fine young bitches filled the mind with no one girl in particular to please.  Then, with rock hard cock began to grind against the sheet with one hand caressing bare ass flesh.
	It was often a very satisfying technique—almost as good as good ole fashioned jerking off.  But it was the “rubbing” of the arse that was most tantalizing—Steve like it.  A lot!  Mostly he drempt of some girl or other caressing his flesh—just before she gave herself to him.  In the shower, at home—never fondled himself in the least at school’s open shower, or laying on his bed sprawled out on his stomach—but methods gave him great joy.
	However, lain sprawled out on the cold musty earth by the foundation of the Addams’ family home—Steve White got a little freaked out.  He was already freaked out by seeing the weird Addams’ children engaged in bizarre sex-torture; then, as he humped the ground with his pants and underwear down a little, he began to caress his ass.  As Pugsly put it to his sister, the girl friggin’ herself as well as caressing her own ass, Steve felt “another” hand on his.
	In a panic he freaked and found there was no one there but him, but still—it certainly FELT like someone had been there.  Someone else’s hand had been squeezing his bare ass!

	Steve flew up from the ground yanking up his pants and undies, filled with dirt.  He stumbled crashing into flowerless shrubs, a small dead tree, a cement bench, a grotesque stature, and finally a headstone.
	The headstone totally blew his mind and he was gone.
	Too bad, too, ‘cause if he could have peeked into the attic (which would have been a neat trick) he would have seen the narly antics of Grandma-ma.  (there was that dead tree that stretched up along with the curious thorny vines clinging to the side of the house the children often climbed up and down on their secret night treks to the graveyard and beyond.)
	Anyways…
	A large caldron gurgled in the top floor attic room Grandma-ma Addams called home and her sole domain.  No one—no one of the family was allowed there—although the two Addams’ children had been there (in secret via the secret passage behind the walls.  (of course, Grandma-ma was aware…))
	A broom stood angled against the dingy gray clapboard wall; cobwebs adorned every corner; flickering lights from the candles on the tables or attached to the walls put forth an eerie glow about the “condemned” place.  A great four poster canopy bed with layered covers concealed the occupant within.  
	Grandma-ma was, though, not in bed.  It was the “witching” hour accordingly and Grandma-ma stood cackling at a cracked mirror, fussing with her crinkly gray hair, cocking her head side to side, snickering.  She then turned and snapping her fingers the gloom of the room enlightened with the bursting of more light from the candles.	This revealed a man who stood in somewhat of a stupor.  He was well dressed in an expensive sweater, wool slacks, and Italian slippers.
	Grandma-ma looked him over with some glee, “OH!” she snickered, “Pussy is going to be happy tonight!”  Caressing the man’s face she seemed to brighten herself.  The man remained steadfast staring off into oblivion.  
	Well groomed, wearing a nice watch, rings, he smelled nice, too, the man had no idea of his fate.  Grandma-ma walked around him and GRABBED HIS BUTT!  She made some comments, cackled then returned to face him.  With a snap of her fingers the man’s clothes fell away from him.  The man’s pud dangled some inches between his legs (where else would it dangle?)  It was “soft” and already 4 inches!
	“MMMM!” said Grandma-ma, “Grandma gettin’ hungry!”

	For a moment Grandma-ma walked around the stunned (by magic) man; then, coming around to the front of him again—this after grabbing his bare ass (again) she toyed with his cock.  Her eyes gleamed, she ran her tongue across her teeth (not her own) and made some burbling noises unnatural-like.
	To the stunned man he saw before him a lovely-lovely young vixen, naked.  She was tall, voluptuous, sexy.  She was more than just simply “alluring.”  Much more.  The man’s heart began to pound near jarring his entire body.  The woman strangely reminded him of some hostess on the late show hosting spooky and bizarre science fiction and fantasy movies.  
	Before he knew he was on the bed; the woman laid herself out, displaying herself and inviting him.  The Man was all about taking her up on the invite.  He tried to take her in, to his mind, so as to remember her for later, to savor and so on.  But the “taking in” was brief; there were her lovely oh so lovely breasts, a fantastic hourglass shaped form, and a shaven poon.
	Oh that poon!  It was perfect, the Man preferred a hairless poon and it seemed to be not so well fucked.  That was a plus, too!  The Man smiled, lusted, then came to mount the vixen.  His manly, very manly, cock fully engorged brushed lightly against the woman’s cunt; he was going to tease her by merely gliding his engorged cock up and down her entrance.
	This did seem to tantalize the woman, she wrapped her legs about his waist and her breath seemed to be a-taken.  The Man took in his lovely vixen and couldn’t believe his luck.  He was very elated and concentrated on just gliding his prick up and down her entrance.
	The Man took in the woman’s lovely-oh so lovely breasts, her hourglass shape enthused him greatly and that hairless cunt even moreso!  His cock diligently glided against her moistening entrance, teasing her to his whim.  Then, the woman took the initiative and thrusted her sex upwards thusly shoving the head of his manly oh-so manly cock head into her body.
	The Man smiled and expertly inserted his wang DEEP into her sex.
	The Vixen smiled, licked her lips and wrapped her legs about him tightly.  Very tightly.  Though she had been nude from the get go, she was not totally—in that she wore those typical vixen gloves; skin tight black and red things that went up her arms to her elbows.  Thru the gloves her fingers raked her lover’s backside causing him some anguish.
	“Hey!” he exclaimed.
	The Vixen smiled up to him, and as the fucking commenced, she opened her mouth and unleashed horrid acrid yellowish fog.  The Man began to scream as his eyes burned and began melt.

	The Man no longer wanted to fuck.  But the Vixen had him—and how!  Her legs tightly wrapped about him held him firmly all the while he screamed in his extreme agony.  “What the fuck did you do to me!?” he screamed.  The Man tried and he tried to wrench free of the Vixen but was unable.  His eyes burned and he couldn’t see; and strangely, in spite of his pains, he continued to fuck!
	Then, as the fucking came to a heightened sexual level of being, the fog of pain cleared and the Man could see.  The Man could see that he was not humping some voluptuous bitch, but some old dried up skank!  The Man seriously tried to wrench free but his cock was held just as firm as his waist.  The Old-Vixen began to cackle, just like a Witch.
	“What fun, eh deary!?” she cackled.
	The Man screamed and then heard a bone crack.
	One of his bones.  Severe pain shot thru his back and down his legs as more bones were cracking and snapping.  “What the fuck is going on!?” he screamed.
	“Pussy hungry!” the Old-Vixen replied.
	The Man was delivering gobs and gobs of his liquid love and his powerful thrusting fuck stick was the most tantalized it had ever been.  The “feeling” graced his body from his head to his toes and then back again.  It was a good fuck—regardless that it was in the pussy of an old crow.
	Finally, with one finally incredible thrust, the deed was done.
	But there was no pulling out.  Instead, the Old-Vixen’s cunt DID seem to be hungry and continued to PULL him in.  The Man heard more bones (his) snapping.  His waist area began to buckle.  Great pain there was when his balls were swallowed up by the Vixen’s cunt, and once they were IN, the man’s legs began to be swallowed, too.
	The Man thrashed his head about, eyes bulging, snorting snot and seething ridiculously as the experience was more than anything he had ever experienced before.  
	The Man’s waist was swallowed and then the Man’s chest began to disappear.  Finally his head remained outside and then was devoured with the Vixen’s pussy giving a burp as a finale.
	Grandma-ma lay back exhausted.  Her body was soaked in sweat, her pussy a little bloated; it snapped and made odd slurping gurgling sounds finally settling down some and looking rather normal for a pussy one hundred years plus old.
	“Well, deary,” said Grandma-ma, “that certainly was a good one!”
	In response, the Pussy belched.
	“OH!”  giggled tee-heed Grandma-ma, “Is Pussy still hungry?”

	Like a Venus Flytrap, Pussy snapped it’s “lips” as if seriously aggressively hungry, gnashing and making slurping sounds.
	“Well,” said Grandma-ma, “I guess we’ll just have to go out and find something else to eat.” And with that she made for her broomstick against the wall.  With a snap of her fingers a cloud of smoke enveloped her.  When the smoke cleared she was in her typical Night Out to Feed Pussy Attire, which was a black gown, black cloak and shawl, black boots, black socks, underwear optional.
	From a hat rack she selected her best Witch’s Hat.
	Taking broom in hand she made for the open window, the Broom wavered in the air after as snap of the fingers from its owner.  Grandma-ma perched herself onto the stick, sidesaddle of course.
	“Ok, deary, off we go!” and like that she was out the window and gone.

*

	In a puff of smoke Gomez Addams “suddenly” appeared—almost frightening his dear wife, Morticia.  Almost.  She was hard to frighten but she could be startled.  
	“Remind me thank Grandpa (as in Munster) for this powder, Tish.” Gomez dusted off his immaculate cut designer suit, “It worked like a charm!” he smiled and from the Box on a nearby table Thing produced a ready lit cigar.  
	“Why, thank you Thing.”
	Thing, a simple Hand gave a Thumbs Up and closed the lid.
	“Did you enjoy your Halloween, dear?” Morticia said inquiringly.  She shimmered across the floor with arms cocked in a curious manner of curiosity as Gomez continued to straighten himself out.
	“Well, let’s see!” Gomez replied beamingly and he produced out of thing air as if by magic a black bag.  It seemed to be an ordinary bag, black resembling a modern day plastic trash bag for the lawn—‘cept it wasn’t plastic but suede.
	Gomez tipped the bag and out fell with a plop and a flop a Vampire, a Ghost, Frankenstein’s Monster, a Headless Pumpkin, a Skeleton, a Mummy and a Ballerina.  They were dazed and confused to say the least and lay in a sprawl on the gray dingy clapboard flooring amass a tangle of arms and legs and dusty throw rugs.

	“Oh!” exclaimed Morticia, “Manger moi!” she said with a gleam (Eat me! to you God fearing English blokes.  
	“Tish!” sparked Gomez, “That’s French!” Gomez was turned on (greatly) by his demure wife quipping a few lines of some foreign language of one type or another.  Quickly he dashed to his wife, took her long supple arm and began kissing her up and down.
	“Gomez,” quietly chastised Morticia, “we have guests.”
	Gomez stopped kissing and returned his attention to the “guests.”
	The Vampire was a ghoulish thirteen year old girl, Jana Varksdale.
	Bonnie Sue Teasdale was the Ghost.  (she was also thirteen)
	Franks’ Monster was thirteen year old Garret Baverstein.  Frankenstein—Baverstien.  Things that make you go hmmmm
	Thirteen year old Turk Cornithmier was the gory Pumpkin.
	Annie Portland was ten years old inside a Skeleton costume.
	Inside a gory Lumberjack costume was eleven year old Kellie Sonnerstun.  She had peed in her outfit and was not quite as stunned as the others.
	The Mummy stood wavering, Toby Daws was twelve years young inside the dusty dingy grimy wrappings myriad in backyard dirt, garbage, and other disgusting smells to odorfy his attirement.
	The Ballerina, with a hatchet in her head, was eight year old Sara Daws—little sis of the Mummy.
	Morticia drew a finger, beckoning Frank’s Monster, Garret Baverstein.  The boy stumbled his way across the floor and came to stand before her.  He was stunned, in a stupor, dazed, and highly confused.  Morticia looked him over as if studying a tasty morsel.  (and she was!)
	“How delightful!” she exclaimed, “Delicious!” it was curious how the light of the room played out onto her face—just to her eyes leaving the rest of the “goth” face a deathly pale.
	Gomez sized up the Vampire; thirteen year old Jana Varksdale was kind of tall and had a delightful “form” even with the garish Vampire outfit.  She had “fake” blood on the corners of her mouth, face powder (of death) and the atypical attire any Dracula follower would be proud of.
	With a flick of the wrist Jana’s outfit fell away as if expertly sliced by a surgeon’s scalpel.  Under the Vampire outfit, Jana wore skimpy blue/white striped panties, bikini style, a sport’s bra conceal by a simple mid length teeshirt.
	The girl did nothing as Gomez placed his hands onto the teen’s tits, his cock throbbed inside his slacks, he smiled a Devil’s smile and puffed on his cigar.

	Meanwhile, elsewhere…
	Deep in the basement cellar a lone light dimply illuminated a small section of a deeply eerie room where an exceedingly tall creature made odd noises as he deftly “put it to” a young damsel no longer in distress.  She was approximately eighteen or so, blood coated her face, her long silky auburn hair pasted to her bloodied face.  
	She was no longer in distress ‘cause she was dead.
	Dead—dead—dead.  No chance of survival, revival, a Lazarinthian once in a lifetime occurrence, no hookus and or pokus.  “She’s dead, Jim, dead!”
	To the Addams’ Butler fiend, though, it mattered not.  Dead or alive, pussy was pussy.  The Victim had suffered some tragedy involving her car; she had swerved to miss the towering creature as Lurch himself stepped out from the shadows and frightened the young maiden.  She was late for a party and had gotten lost on lousy directions from the host.  Her attire, consisting of Handmaid with long flowing pieces that ensnarled her feet trapping her foot to the car’s accelerator causing it to go headlong into a solid brick wall.
	The poor girl managed to crawl out, her face broken, chest broken, but could have survived.  Could have.  Lurch came upon the young woman and carried her to his personal room where he deposited her on the cement examining slab; then he went back to the scene of the accident and pulled the car onto the Addams’ property then out to the swamp where the car slowly was enveloped by said swamp.
	Upon returning to the teenage girl Lurch found that she had expired.
	Oh well.  He removed her clothing, taking his time—there was no hurry.  He even had a cup of strong tea, waiting for when the girl’s limbs would begin to “stiffen.”
	At length, though, Lurch came unto the girl (and how!) and parted her legs.  But she was still not quite stiff enough.  Lurch sat back at his table and had more strong tea.  Suddenly appearing there was Thing.  The Hand quickly leapt from the table onto the smashed up teenager, going to her right breasts whereupon it humped, thrusting its palm onto the teen’s mound as if it were fucking.  And maybe it was!
	Then, it was done to the girl’s furry mound.  She was not virginal, Thing thrust a digit into the gash and fingered for a few seconds—meanwhile, Lurch was in agony.
	Thing continued fingering Carrie Ann Carbour driving several fingers in while Lurch unhurled from his thick wool slacks his amazing 12-incher.  It was green, GREEN!  It was thick, THICK!  It was long-LONG!  It was hard-HARD!

	Lurch very seldom spoke, and when he did his voice was so sonorous he barely could be understood.  He mostly made guttural sounds of something similar to a YES or a NO.  Mostly it was answering in a neither Yes or No but a “Ohhhhhh!” being barely audible, intelligible, or human.
	Thing leapt from fingering the dead girl’s cunt to the table and then down to Lurch’s lurching monster.  With expert fingers about the twelve incher that was growing to an amazing fifteen inches, Thing masturbated Lurch until such a time as was when Carrie Ann WAS stiff.  Masturbating a massive cock like Lurch’s took some doing—doing enough that Carrie Ann’s body stiffened sufficiently.
	Lurch lusted.  Thing slammed the table watching as Lurch moved to the stiffened-stiffening girl.  Spreading Carrie Ann’s legs this time they stayed in place.  Lurch then kept spreading them until he heard a distinctive crack.  Then he placed the head of his cock that would make a horse cry, the seven foot personal butler began pushing in.
	Making a horse cry.  Some years before he pursued the career of a Man’s Man (non-sexual) Lurch was a cow puncher—a REAL cow puncher.  One day after getting paid for punching cows and putting them in their place (in a corral) he happened into the nearby town where he found a small crowd gathered.
	The center of attention was a stubborn onry ole mule.
	Seeing the puzzlement on the tall cowpoke, a townsperson filled him in,  “Well, sir,” he said, “that there’s Yancy Tucker’s mule, the stubbornist mule this side the Mason/Dixie.:
 	“He’s so stubborn,” continued the bulbous banker, “that’d he wont bray!”
	Lurch gave the rotunded banker more puzzlement.
	“All mules bray, make a noise, something, we’ve heard this one do it, but here of late he wont bray narry a word.  Stubborn he is.  So, we here of Tombgulch we are trying to get him to bray, act up, something.”
	“And there’s a kitty to be gotten for anyone who can do it!”
	The “kitty”, the “pot”, the “take” was a collection from the townsfolk and the winner got the pot.  So far there was well over five hundred dollars collected.  Man after man, boy after boy, woman after woman, girl after girl, even a couple of dogs got in the act.
	“Stubborn” remained still, blinking only his eyes, passing gas, swishing his tail, and dropping mule turds.  Not narry a bray one came from his rubbery lips.
	Lurch straightened up, nodded, and waded thru the crowd.  He came up to the mule, Stubborn, leaned down, knelt down, and whispered something into the mule’s twitching ear.
	Suddenly, the mule began to bray.
	Suddenly, the MULE BEGAN TO BRAY!
	The crowd whooped and hollered, whistled and carried on like never before.  Lurch stood, collected his booty, and calmly disappeared.  Stubborn brayed and brayed and brayed and brayed and brayed and brayed and brayed…
	And then he brayed some more!

	Lurch went up into the highcountry and worked for some ranchers, not coming back until the some many weeks later.  Again he found a small gathering of town’s people encircling that same mule—who still was braying!
	Seeing the puzzlement on Lurch’s face, grocer Aaron Rodgers explained that “awhile back, we got this damn animal to bray, now we’re trying to get him to shut up!”
	And again, there was a kitty-pot to the first person who did.
	Lurch made way thru the crowd and came up to the braying mule.  He leaned down and whispered into the mule’s ear—the mule continued his antics.  So Lurch calmly took him thru the crowd to the nearest alley between front street buildings.  With his back to the crowd Lurch stood up tall and straight and suddenly the mule stopped braying and began to cry.
	Stubborn’s crying was far better than braying.  Lurch about-faced and collected his prize.  Before he could get out of town, though, the town mayor demanded to know what happened.
	Lurch, a man of few words, thought carefully, then; smiling, he unfurled his monstrous schlong.  Several women fainted, boys ran away screaming, some women looked on in awe, it was a sight to behold.
	The first time, Lurch told the mule that he had a dick bigger than his.
	The second time, he proved it!

*

	“Be careful, dear, she’s not as experienced and you may hurt yourself exerting!”
	Gomez smiled to his naughty oh-so naughty wife, “Mon amour!” he snickered and slid his eight incher into the distraught Jana.  The girl was not quite virginal but she hadn’t taken much dick in her young life--

	--and certainly not to the caliber of Gomez Addams!
	Meanwhile, on a crinkly dusty oddly shaped bed just across the way in the room, Morticia lay poised in exquisite sublime beauty.  Poised atop of her was Frank’s Monster.  Without his clothes he was not bad looking, he still bore the make-up of The Monster; Morticia wriggled her fingers with her arms crooked oddly outward from her body—sparkly dust sprinkled down onto the nude Garret and his young teen pud worked “magic” into the mysterious Vamp.
	Jana struggled some; the confusion in her mind disturbed her and she could not fully latch onto what was happening to her.  Gomez grinned, chuffed on his cigar and plowed with great glee the teen’s twat.
	Garret had lasting prowess—which was good.  Morticia dragged her razor sharp nails across his bare backside, digging into his flesh while her cock hungry cunt gyrated and engulfed the whole of his schlong.  Garret pumped, gyrated, and “dove in.”
	Slowly did Morticia feel the ravages of a good orgasm forming.  For a moment she kept her eyes closed reeling in quiet joy; then, something caught her attention.  From above the bed w/o canopy there was vent, an air vent.  From that vent drifted down a long strand of blond-brown hair.
	Morticia held her smile, wrapped her legs about Garret’s waist and drove her cock hungry pussy into ever increasing empowerment.  Garret kept up the speed and actually had deposited a fantastic load of fresh hot sticky teen spunk.  His cock, though, was still dramatically hard and he humped the hardest he had ever humped—although truth be known, he had only humped (Jana and her best friend and his cousin and her best friend) in his life.
	Jana thrashed, arched her back and as the fleeting throws that were orgasmic fell upon her—she saw a man.  A strange grinning smoke a cigar.  In that fleeting moment she realized that she was stark naked and had been raped.  There was a tingling sensation unique to her pussy.  As she tried to quash the feeling and become herself she seemed to get sleepy and powerless.
	Gomez stood, flopped his wanger and made glances of glee to his wife who was still in the midst of “getting it.”  Gomez leaned back and peeked to see the boy’s wares as he fucked.  Morticia began to relinquish her leg grip on Garret’s body.  The boy was done in.  Morticia wriggled her fingers and his body was “lifted” off and he came t be standing.
	“What shall we do with him?”
	Gomez thought, “Well, there’s always the basement, or lower.”

	“Gomez!” exclaimed Morticia, “That’s a lovely idea!”  Lurch would love the company.  And how!
	“Thing!” called Gomez.  The Hand made a sudden appearance,
	“We’ll be having guests staying over,” Gomez said matter-of-factly, “please show them the way.”
	“One at a time, of course.” Morticia added.
	“Of course, how silly of me!”
	“Miaou!” equivalent to “meow”.
	“Tush!” exclaimed Gomez,
	“Yes, I know,” Morticia replied, “it’s French.”

*

	“Elle est jolie, quoi.”
	Gomez smiled and nodded grinning, puffing constantly on his cigar as he worked his hips thrusting into the ghastly Ghost, thirteen year old Bonnie Sue.  SHE was a virgin as her pussy juice coated Gomez’s cock.  He made a direct and deliberate thrusts tearing the girl’s pussy as he ravaged her body all over.  Morticia’s new love was Turk Cornithmier.  He was tall, kind of lanky, and sported six inches of tube steak.
	His Pumpkin costume was quite gruesome with gory bits of fake flesh, fakes blood, real piss.  The boy put up a bully persona, a gruff exterior, ruffian but was not quite at all any of those descriptions.  His hair was long and silky concealing small gold earrings.  He wore layered shirts underneath his Pumpkin costume, concealing the many welts and lashes to his backside.  Laying nakedly on the mysterious Morticia the boy had no cares and only pursued that which was orgasm.
	Gomez brought Bonnie Sue’s legs up along his chest driving his cock DEEP into the tortured girl’s cunt, thrusting completely into her sex and if her tortured cunt would have been more fucked it could have taken his balls, too!  But she was a virgin so stock market wizard’s balls remained snugged outside her body while his mighty cunt pleasing cum squirter blasted hot loads of fresh spunk DEEP into her broken cunny.
	More brown-blond hairs wafted down on the sullen air.  Morticia’s eyes narrowed and she temporarily distanced herself from being fucked.  In the air vent above her were Gomez’s brother, Fester and Cousin Itt.  Cousin Itt was molting, shedding.  They were having quite a show—and it was only the beginning.

	After Turk became useless (for the moment), Morticia called for Thing who opened a dumbwaiter.  Then, the Hand dropped to the floor and did a horny lizard interpretation (humping the ground/floor/rock whatever to attack a so-so horny mate) while Morticia slyly stepped up and gripping Turk by the gonads guided him into position.  Her pussy leaked his cum, tingled all over and excited her.  She wasn’t quite thru with him—not just yet.
	Morticia let go Turk’s balls and gently shoved him sending him toppling backwards trippingly over Thing and into the open dumbwaiter.  Once he was in, Thing jumped and operated the controls sending the wooden box down—down—down into the depths of the Addams’ home.
	Morticia then turned to make a new selection.
	Gomez was already into his next selection, ten year old Annie Portland.  He was tantalized by her Skeleton outfit and decided to have her keep it on.
	“Et qu'ils doivent vivre désormais dans une société de proies et de
prédateurs.”  Sometimes, Morticia could say the darnedest things!  (And that they have to live from now on in a society of predator and prey.)
	“C'est plus vrai que jamais aujourd'hui.” replied Gomez (This is now truer than ever!)
	Morticia licked her lips sultry-like and whisked off the clothing of twelve year old Toby Daws.  He was a cutey and Morticia dropped to her knees, took holt of his average length cock, cupped his balls, and took him into her mouth.  This naturally put her husband into a higher state of arousal.
	“Je bande pour toi.” he stated (I have a boner for you.)
	Morticia took the boy’s wanger and sucked him into a serious hardened state.  Gomez stood with his cock drilling the inside of eleven year old Kellie Sonnerstun’s mouth.  The poor unfortunate made garbled noises, choking and gagging mostly; then her eyes bulged as the mighty Gomez dong touched her tonsils, then slid down her gullet.
	Toby Daws didn’t know what to think about getting sucked; he had heard about such things, sure; but to actually receive was something else.  The first part of getting sucked was good—then, as his cock soared to incredible lofty heights never before attained—the person sucking him began to chomp!
	The boy began to freak out to say the least.	
	Gomez held Kellie’s ears tightly forcing his elongated cock down her throat.  The girl wheezed and was unable to breath—Gomez was too busy in watching his naughty oh-so naughty wife sucking off (and I do mean OFF) Toby Daws.

	When at last Morticia pulled back, she smacked her bloody lips swallowing twelve year old Toby’s dong in a full gulp.  She seemed—relieved or very-very satisfied.  Very satisfied.  She was calmer, demure, and still sexy in a mysterious way.

	With Toby and Kellie “deposited” down the dumbwaiter, that left the Ballerina, Sara Daws, Toby Daws’ little sis.  She wore a fanciful ballerina costume with a fake hatchet lodged in her noggin.  Gomez looked her over, removed her costume with a flick of the wrist magic, then hoisted her up onto a table.  Laying her down he closely scrutinized her nakedness; parting her legs wide he stared at her smooth and hairless vagina.
	“Gomez, darling,” said Morticia gliding across the floor to be at his side, “isn’t this one a little too young?”
	“Yes, she is a bit more than the others.” He smiled and was aware of his wife’s concerns.  Brightening up he said, “I’ll throw this one back!” and with that he scooped the child up, returned her costume to her, then placed her back inside the Bag of Holding.
	“Going out again?” Morticia asked curiously.
	“Well, it’s still a young night!”
	“Bring me back something.”
	“Anything in particular?”
	Morticia paused in thought; then leaning towards him, head cocked, arms out cocked strangely, “I’m hungry for Chinese!”
	“Wo kao!” Gomez exclaimed.  (something similar to Holy Shit! Or Fuckin’ Awesome!)
	Morticia rattled off some words in Mandarin; making her husband smile his Devil’s smile.  “Tish!”
	“I know, I know—it’s Chinese!”

*

	
doggie treats
	For a long moment she stood before the mirror looking herself over.  She gave herself no particular description about herself; nor did she care.  Well, not much.  She regarded “beauty” and those who sought for themselves or upon others as vane.  There were children starving; Indians losing their lands; nature on all fronts was being devoured by advancement;
 	It was, therefore, an atrocity to pay more attention about one’s self than that of society.  Wendsy held big business and peoples’ advancement for nature’s domain in high disdain for their lacksidasical  actions.  She hoped that as she got older she would be able to help the less fortunate—animals mostly, screw people—they got what they deserved.  Most of them.
	Turning to a profile she noted that she did lack the feature of a “butt.”  Something her brother kept pointing out to her, “Yes, but you still like to poke it.”  Which meant he still liked to FUCK it.  Which was true.
	A sudden wave of “tiredness” struck her, she stifled a yawn but let rip a slight butt blast.  Smoothing out the front of her gothic dress she gave herself one last look and turned to find wily Nutant practically with his nose in her butt.
	“Did you get a good whiff?” Wendsy asked.
	Nutant barked his answer and kneeled down on his paws, he was young and active and in want of play.
	“It’s bedtime, doggie,” Wendsy said, “I’ll take you into the swamp first thing in the morning.”  After her declaration she made for her own bathroom.  Again, though, she examined herself in the mirror above the old dingy white porcelain pedestal sink.  She ripped another butt blast and then began the ritual of brushing teeth, undoing her braided hair, and so forth.
	Behind her, Nutant stood steadfast—waiting.
	A squat on the toilet was next.  Nutant came to breath hot stinky doggie breath on her; Wendsy smiled and rubbed her face into his muzzle; shifting herself on the toilet she let rip a serious butt blast that stung the cheeks of her delicate butt.  It was very satisfying and her bladder quickly emptied thereafter.
	Thereafter she stood pulling up her crisp white snug fitting panties.  Nutant tried to nuzzle his muzzle into her crotch,
	“No, no, doggie,” quipped the girl, “not yet.”
	Pausing at her bed she seemed to be waiting for something.  Nutant came up and nuzzled his muzzle into Wendsy’s butt.  It was a goose!  Wendsy whirled upon her pet, shaking a finger at him, “Not yet, I said.”
	Nutant whimpered and sat down swishing his tail stirring up the freshly lain dust on the bare wooden floor.  In a fluid swoop, Wendsy pulled off her dress and flung it across the room where in mid arch it folded itself and put itself away in her dresser.  A flick of the wrist and the bedding pulled itself back.
	Wendsy stretched then slowly slid her basic white panties down.
	Of course, when she was bent over having her panties at her ankles, Nutant was there to shove his muzzle into the girl’s crack.

	“Doggie!” exclaimed Wendsy, “How naughty you are!” Stepping out of her undies she parted her legs, head resting on her bed while Nutant took measures into his own paws.
	Licking was one thing, and he did a very good job at it, but there was more the great wolf-mix doggie could do.  He was a new pet, a stray so to speak who came wandering to the Addams’ home shortly before midnight.  He looked ragged, thick coarse fur with dark splotches mixed with several shades of brown.
	There was something about his eyes, though; no one else noticed, of course, but Wendsy did.  She didn’t know what exactly, but there was something there—something familiar.
	Anyways, Nutant took his doggie tongue and eagerly (too eagerly) lapped all over Wendsy’s ass.  All over.  Serious licking came right up the ten year old’s crack with specific attention to her asshole.  Wendsy clutched at her cheeks, pulling them open so as the doggie’s flicking tongue could do a better job.
	And it did.
	Wendsy gave no indication to her enjoyment; her face remained ghostly stoic—but she did purse her lips and seemingly clench in some archaic manner depicting annoyed pleasure.
	Huh?
	Nutant drove his cold flaring nose right into Wendsy’s asshole—her asshole that had been freshly sodomized by her brother just hours earlier.  Wendsy wriggled, clenching uncontrollably with heightened desires tingling and exciting her young body.
	Suddenly, Nutant leapt up mounting his young damsel; Wendsy clutched the bedding and felt the stabbing presence of Nutant’s doggie schlong.  Nutant had good aim and went directly into the girl’s twitching quim.  There was at first a sharp stabbing pain—of which Wendsy only reacted to a brief moment.  She spread her legs and ass as much as possible to accept the Nutant invasion and at length had to “bite down” on the bedding as incredibly the doggie’s dong increased not so much as in length as it did in circumference.
	Wendsy began to wriggle and experience a bit of uncomfortness.
	Nutant suddenly pulled and Wendsy was briefly glad.  Her asshole smoldered; she fingered it then turned her head,
	“Why did you stop, doggie?” she asked in a childish voice.
	Nutant didn’t answer but sat awkwardly licking his balls.
	Wendsy smiled, she had her Daddy eyes and smile…

*

	Halloween.  It was one of the most astounding holidays modern day humans celebrated with gusto!  It was astounding and disturbing.  It beheld horror and titillation.  Vast peoples feared the Devil’s Holiday—others embraced it.  To some people, the Holiday was a threat, others regarded the last day of the tenth month as a fantastic voyage into a bizarre ritual of supreme elation.
	Fester Addams easily made his way among the throngs of unsuspecting revelers and even participated in acquiring a bag or two of treats.  Fester fit right in—he wasn’t too tall; he was round, bald, and pasty in a mix coloring of death white and zombie.  He was likeable and understood the modern way of life—but it wasn’t his preference.
	Once home he deposited his loot, pocketed some choice pieces and left the rest for “whoever.”  Thing came along and took a few pieces then scurried off to a dark corner to munch.  Fester made for his laboratory, to test the treats to uncover why they were so tasty and develop maybe some of his own for some diabolical undisclosed reason—but rest assured, it was diabolical.
	From beyond the walls, er, from within the walls a noise was heard.
	Fester investigated, pulling the candle in its holder down opened a secret door revealing the small space between inner and outer walls.  He just saw a scurrying figure moving making a turn.  Fester followed.
	The secret passage went in several directions, passing along all rooms on all floors.  Fester came upon none other than Pugsly who had paused at a cross passage.  He made for an air vent and Fester followed, Cousin Itt moved passed him chattering in some nonsensical language all known only to Cousin Itt.  
	“What was that about?” Fester asked of his young nephew.
	“Cousin Itt had to go.” take a crap.
	Fester giggled and followed Pugsly and they came to peer down a vent looking into Wednesday’s room.  Both spies smiled big as they watched the naked ten year old sucking on the dick of her newest pet, Nutant.
	Oh!

	By the manner of which Wendsy sucked on Nutant’s mutant cock gave way to believe it wasn’t here first time doing so.  Nutant’s doggie dong was a little big around, a little long, and not with the typical tip like most doggies Wendsy had sucked; this little doggie had a cock like her brother’s!

	Nutant was of an average sized grown doggie, a longer snout, larger ears, and bigger paws.  After sucking his dong, Wendsy put socks on Nutant’s paws—this helped in preventing getting scratched up while Nutant once more took his liberties.
	Wendsy smacked her lips and stood with glossed over eyes.  Lightly she fingered her hairless poon, rubbed her ass, and lusted.  (above her, there was lust going on, too!)  
	Nutant jammed his elongated muzzle into Wendsy’s poon.  This made the girl giggle and she plopped down onto her bed, sitting just on the edge, parting her legs.  Nutant knew the deal, happily he pushed his furry muzzle to the young girl’s quim and began an earnest bout of licking.
	Above in the air passage, Pugsly drooled—at both places!  His passion so heated that whiffs of steam wafted from his slightly oversized body.  So enthralled was he from observing his sister’s antics that he firstly slipped a hand down inside his trousers.  Fondling his ass was good—it was all that he could fondle in the narrow passage.
	But then,
	Another hand came to Pug’s butt.  By the texture Pugsly could tell that it wasn’t Thing.  Fester!  Pug smiled, continued to drool, and worked his trousers down.  Fester giggled to himself with glee and began smoothing his hand over the young boy’s ass.
	Meanwhile, on her bed Wendsy “got some.”  Or the doggie did…
	After a lot of slobbering his slobbers all over the girl’s hairless poon, Nutant climbed up, positioning himself properly, drooling doogie drool onto Wendsy’s bare flat chest.  Nutant’s doggie dong kissed Wendsy’s delicate sex and made deliberate penetration therein.
	Wendsy’s legs wrapped about her furry lover and she raised her self up to him; Nutant sank his doggie dong into her sex making the girl’s eyes flutter.  Dutifully she gripped his fur pressing her body against his.  Nutant slid near effortlessly all the way into her, growling and slinging his slobbers all over as the sensation of just sliding in was more fantastic than he could imagine.
	Above, Fester slid his own dong to his nephew.

*

	The narly shenanigans continued at the Addams home, long after Steve the Scarecrow White made home.  He was still enthralled by what he had seen in the basement and wondered if he could possibly blackmail Wednesday?  Sure she was ten, but she apparently was sexually active…

	To be disorientated would be an understatement.  There was a lot of confusion with the disorientation; he knew where he was but not HOW he was.  What had happened?  To his friends?  To the treating?  He had his bag o’ goodies, that was a plus, but what had happened to his friends?  
	It was late and he dreaded the chewing out he would get.  It was way passed the time he was supposed to be home.  There was good news and bad news when he slipped into the backdoor; a babysitter was present in the front room, Daphne Shumly.  She was fifteen and had a great body.  The living room was filled with jittery children, two of which were related to Steve.
	He sighed and waited, the family car was gone from the drive, which meant his parents had gone to their Halloween party.  Steve was supposed to be home in time to sit for his brother and sister and their friends, but some how he had lost time so his parents called in hired help.
	Hired help.
	The babysitter’s fee would surely come out of his allowance.
	Savanna and Bobby had friends over; all comparing their booty (loot) still dressed in their costumes.  Steve paused a moment, got eye contact with Daphne, then hauled butt up stairs.  Getting out of his costume was a bitch, as much of a bitch as it was getting into it.  
	Carly Beth had asked where he had gotten it.  She would flip if she knew.  The Hut.  Aye, the abandoned Mystery Hut.  Steve and some other blokes had gone snooping following on rumors that inside the abandoned building there were some prime costumes left over from way back.
	Thing was, though, on the first sound of “something” from inside the Hut and James, Eric, Shane and Blake were gone.  Steve would have been “gone”, too; but he tripped on something and went to the musty dust laden cold-cold floor.  He lay still for a long while before sitting up and getting his composure back.
	With his flashlight stabbing its way into the bleakness of the mysterious Hut his fears were calmed—some.  His soul goal was to find something—anything and then “get the fuck out!”
	He determined that the first thing he saw he would snag it, grab it, haul ass it.  Not knowing the layout of the interior was a problem, though; there were boxes and boxes of stuff; counters, and more boxes.  There was an ever ominous presence of mustiness that was most unpleasant.  
	After clipping a counter and spooking himself in a horribly disfiguring mirror, Steve was ready to bolt and forget scoring some righteous booty.  Then his hand came to rest on a box.  It was an overstuffed box that was odd in texture, wrapped in cord twine and felt very mushy.  

	There were scribblings all over it, indications of worldly travels, and kinda heavy.  It intrigued Steve and he began fussing with the twine.  When he had managed to get the twine off a very strange feeling came upon him.  He couldn’t figure it.  His skin literally began to crawl—extraordinary tingling.  The sensation was uncomfortable and he was about to scoot making an exit “wherever” when,
	‘Go ahead.’
	Steve stopped.
	“W-what?”
	Nothing.  Silence.  Dead silence.
	For some reason, Steve’s trembling finger began fussing with flaps, which took some doing to manage.  Finally, though—success!  But then there was all that newspaper.  After discarding a lot of paper he finally took not of some of it—but the writing was in a strange archaic language he had no idea of.
	Beyond the paper there was burlap concealing the actually “goods.”
	Wrapped in what looked liked cornhusks were costumes.  Masks, capes, boots, and costumes.  The first one was a scarecrow.  It was awesome.  Grotesque and disturbing with the bloodied pitchfork assembly, the headless mouse in the upper outer pocket, and the pumpkin horror facial expression with accompanying straw sticking out everywhere.
	Steve didn’t even bother with what other goodies may be in the opened box, the scarecrow outfit was as Kate’s little brother, Scottie had quipped—“It’s the bomb!”

	The bomb.  All that frightening trouble and he couldn’t remember if he had gotten the acknowledgement he and intended or not.  Sure he had made an impact on his friends, but what about the rest of the neighborhood?  He couldn’t remember.  There, too, were parties—did he go to any of them?  What about Rebecca Chambers?  She was Raggedy Anne or something like, had he met her?  She wanted to see what he was going as and he couldn’t remember—he wanted to impress her (or at the very least gross her out so as she would remember him come Monday morning schooling.)
	The image of Carly Beth filled his mind.
	Had he really scored with her?  That seemed unlikely to highly improbable.  No fucking way could that have happened.  In his mind he saw her sucking his balls!  She had sucked his dick!  He had FUCKED her!
	Or had he?
	Was it fantasy?  Wishful thinking?  

	He’s cock ached—terribly.  He hadn’t whacked it—so far as he knew.  He didn’t understand.  What the fuck, if anything, had happened that night!?  Standing before the mirror he firstly found that getting the scarecrow outfit off was something of a challenge.  The cloth no longer seemed to be manmade material but more like rubber.  The more he pulled and tugged at the “suit” the more it tugged and pulled at his own skin!
	It became frightening.
	Then, 
	“Your Dad’s pissed.”
	Steve whirled around almost in a panic.
	“Damn,” said Daphne, “where the hell did you get that!?”
	Steve stared at her; his vision blurred and he felt a little ill.  Sheer panic began to creep not over him but IN him.  He heard a voice but it was muffled.  His breathing became almost labored and a slight headache began.
	Then,
	His vision cleared and he saw Daphne before him.  His vision cleared and he saw Daphne before him pulling off her sweat top.  Steve blinked his eyes—‘what the fuck?’
	His vision cleared and he saw Daphne before him pushing down her pants.  This made no sense.  Steve shook his head and felt a little ill in the pit of his stomach.  Something wasn’t right—something wasn’t right at all.
	Daphne undone her bra and stood exposing her luscious lovely fifteen year old titties.  Nice.  Very nice.  Round, kind of sloping, perfect.  She had a great body, a little on the skinny side, a short pelvis area, great legs, very-very nice.
	And down then came her basic white panties.
	Oh!
	Steve felt as if he had been kicked in the balls.  He didn’t know why but a sudden pain as if he had been kicked in the balls suddenly exploded all over him nearly taking him to the floor.  Shaking his head didn’t help but only send the headache he had to higher heights.
	Daphne stepped out of her clothes and made way passed him to his bed.  She climbed onto the bed pausing on her hands and knees thusly giving Steve-a-rino a fine-fine look at her ass, asshole, crack, and cunt.
	Steve’s breath was nearly gone—so was his mind.
	“Son-of-a-bitch he whispered.  Daphne griped an ass cheek and tugged it open to give Steve a better view.  It was near too much for Steve.  Daphne then laid out on the bed on her back, legs open, lightly fingering herself.

	Steve felt compelled (pushed) to his bed.  Once more he tried pulling his costume off but to no avail—it was more rubbery than ever and seriously gave cause for him to yelp and call out in agony—it was like pulling his arm hair.
	Taking a pause to gander at the mirror above his dresser he couldn’t figure it—there was an image in the mirror—but it wasn’t him.  He knew it was him, inside the costume but something was wrong.  Somehow the face part of the costume had changed, or was changing, or something.  It looked like some old man, some really old man—all wrinkly with hair growing out of moles.  The “scarecrow” face was less than what it was and the clothing was more of what an old man would wear.
	Steve didn’t get it.
	“Look at her!” said an Old Man’s voice.  Steve thought it was coming from right inside his bedroom!  But there was no one present but himself and the naked Daphne Shumly on his bed.
	“Go to her!” the voice said.  This time, it wasn’t so much as in the room as it was INSIDE his head!
	Steve whirled around, lost his balance and fell to the floor.
	It hurt.  His hip hurt and he was sure that he had twisted his ankle.
	His vision blurred again and a whole host of hurtie-owies began to assail him.  His agony was great, his confusion greater.  His wrists, fingers, elbows, knees, all seemed to suddenly hurt and hurt badly all at once.  His teeth and jaw hurt, and there was hair growing out of his ears!
	“Time to get some!” cackled a raspy voice—HIS voice!
	Steve fought to keep control of himself, but he seemed to be no longer in control of his body.  Moving onto the bed he felt it was a labor, a great effort.  
	“You gonna be a good fuck you are!” sparked an Old Man’s voice.
	Steve saw himself crawling up between a teenage girl’s body.  She was nude.  She was nice!  Nice round tits, a sweet face, and naked.  She looked good, a furry little cunt, legs open proper, just waiting for him.
	The naked teen twisted some, but otherwise smiled and waited.
	She didn’t have to wait long, though; the Old Man’s cock eased out of his Old Man’s clothes from a style way-way back from the Old Country.  His manly gangly aged cock was hard and already dripping cum.  The bulbous tip touched the teen’s poon and began entering.
	The Old Man began to cackle as inch by inch his sausage slithered into the teen girl’s sex.  The girl began to twist more, screw up her face and become a little horrified.

	Mason Givoni arched his old withered back driving his hips to the teenager thusly thrusting his cock further and fully into her sex.  The girl began to become undone from her mind entrapment.  The old Italian no longer cared and humped the teen hard—it wouldn’t take long for him to complete his doing and then she could rant all she wanted.
	He did have to slap her, though, his arthritis gave him some fits and it was far-far too cold in the house.  Drool dropped from his withered rubbery old lips grossing out the hapless girl beneath him.  He smiled, leered and continued pumping sliding in and out of her hot pussy faster and faster; his balls slapped and the girl’s legs were splayed outward flailing everywhere.
	At the open bedroom door four children appeared suddenly.
	The Old Italian who had sought favor of the Devil to make his business a success whipped his head to the gawking children, stunning them instantly with his evil glare.  The children were silenced and could only stand in utter fear watching as their babysitter was raped by some weird old man.
	Mason Givoni humped his fill, placing his old withered hand over her mouth as he neared the end of his deed.  Daphne tried and despite the fact that her rapist was some fucked up old man, she was powerless against him.  The horrid old man humped hard driving his cock hard into her sex until finally his thrustings stopped and he began to strain shooting gobs of hot gooey old man cum deep into her vagina.
	The Old Man didn’t let up, though, he engulfed Daphne’s breasts—sucking on one while manhandling the other.  His cock didn’t soften but hardened!  He finally did, though, withdrew, emptying even more of his juices onto the terrified teen’s pussy.
	Slowly he gathered himself and came to stand before the bewildered children.  There was no time, though, to do anything with them—the great grandfather clock downstairs began to chime.  The Old Man paused and listened to the chimes—waiting.
	When the lasting haunting drone dictating that it was merely eleven o’clock and not midnight, the Old Italian smiled and eased to his knees.  Many cracks and pops from his knees there were and a twinge of age riddled his back.  He stared into the pretty blue eyes of one little girl about a mere eight years young.  She wore an odd outfit of red halter top, exaggerated pantaloons, and a head piece with veil—a girl version of a Genie.
	The Old Man smiled at her, licked his thick lips and wavering his fingers the girl’s pantaloons began to come down.  Gina’s eyes widened but she was unable to scream or runaway.  Once the pantaloons were down the Old Man stared with extreme lust eyeing her in her powder blue panties.

	From behind him, “Get away from her you fucking bastard!”
	Daphne Shumly was (apparently) no longer under his mind control magic and came at him with a hockey stick.  The Old Man whirled narrowly missing being clobbered upside the head.  He broke the swing from Daphne with his upraised arm—it hurt; but he grabbed the stick and with a sudden unexpected quickening jolt smacked Daphne in the face sending her toppling backwards tripping over clutter on the floor.
	Daphne fell to the bed’s wooden footend narrowly missing being gouged by the post.  The Old Man was on her instantly, pinning her arms behind her pressing his wicked horrid cock against her ass.  Daphne couldn’t do a thing as the man strangely was not as feeble as he looked.
	Suddenly, though, Daphne had a new reason to fight as the Old Man’s cock was jamming its way into her asshole.  Struggling and trying to fight and clench her hole as tightly as possible, though, did not prevent the act of sodomy.  The Old Man’s cock was forceful and Daphne could not stop his intrusion.
	Daphne twisted and still tried to clench her hole—the pain was enormous and submitting was the only way to ease the discomfort.  She tried to cuss and call out but could not even do that.  The horrid intruder shoved unmercilessly his cock into her body then began to pump.  Daphne felt as if though her body was coming apart.
	The Old Man seemed to struggle, though, getting his nut.  He seethed, drooled, and breathed harder and harder.  Steam literally wafted from his body and at times—Daphne was sure she heard someone screaming, a boy’s voice.  But in her own torment she wasn’t quite sure.
	At length the torment ended, or at least subsided as the Old Italian DID get his nut.  He gave a mighty satisfying exclamation, a final thrust and then pulled out slapping his cock against the broken girl’s ass.
	After a few minutes of needed rest, the Man returned to the still stunned children at the door.
	The clock in the downstairs living room chimed 11:30.  The Old Man seethed, time was short, “not enough time” he said caressing the Genie.  He knelt before her again and cocking his head eyed her in her nice rumbled panties.
	The girl, Gina White, Steve White’s little sister, tighten up in aghast as the stranger pulled down her panties.  She tried to scream, tried to run, tried anything but found that she was somehow frozen in place; silenced, too.	 

	The Old Man made mumblings and while he did he ran the back of his finger up and down Gina’s pussy.  Gina could only stare at the horrid man; and strangely, later as she was in therapy she wrote that though the man was horribly old, his eyes reminded her of her brother who mysterious went missing that Halloween night.
	Oh!

	As the Witching Hour drew to a close, Givoni settled in his chair.  The bite of the night air managed to get through the walls of his shop.  Tugging his sweater about him closer he drew himself tighter.  His belly rumbled a bit digesting his final meal for a long-long while.  He only had one night to live, to truly live.  His pact with Satan was long standing and full of tricks.  For a moment he smelled and smelled the richness of a caffe and some biscotti.
	Closing his eyes and rocked gently in his chair and faded.
	(until next Halloween!)
	author’s note:  closing in on the end of this Book and into the next