August Moone
Book 8
Chapter Sixteen
The Way of the Moone

A terrible thing happened on the way to insanity
	Julie Banther was ten.  She had been ten for four months.  She was unique from other girls her age with her big brown eyes and mouth.  She was very pretty, friendly, outgoing, and a typical girl.  Casey Brockton had an eye for her and with a little outside unbeknownst to him he would have her.
	Casey Brockton was armed with the EMAD from his Boss and he set out to see how far his insanity could take him.
	His Boss’ EMAD.  Why oh why had the Boss lent him the EMAD Casey didn’t know.  He couldn’t believe that the horrid man trusted him.  It was figured and safely assumed that the Boss had a “back-up plan”; i.e. possibly that of a second EMAD.  OR, he did something to the current one.
	Anyways, Julie Banther.
	A girl who was a little on the short side for her age group, absolutely flat chested; she had an amazing face, though; a sweet tight ass, and Casey often imagined her naked.  He often imagined her standing up naked in the woods somewhere peeing.  He imagined the girl laying on her back, naked, fingerbanging herself.
	Julie Banther was an amazing child; always dressed well, smelled good, spoke well; she could sing and act; everyone liked her, especially Casey.  There were other girls on Casey’s List, Julie was at the top.  He had debated—whether to start at the bottom of the List and work his way Up, or start at the Top and work his way Down.  What a conundrum.  He elected for the Top of the List and then compare her with those that followed to see if the previous girl was befitting of the top rank.
	From the Church the Selected girl was directed out from her friends to the rear parking lot and the newly acquired family van.  The a/c kept the van’s interior cool and Casey Brockton’s heart and cock hot.  

 	There was little time in ogling and no time for foreplay; the girl would surely be missed if not returned to her social group.  Casey knew there were better times, better opportunities—but he was horny oh-so horny and he couldn’t wait any longer—he had to just HAD TO have the girl for his own if only for a few minutes.
	The girl’s face was so unique—those eyes, that mouth!  Her skin was so soft, her entire body.  Her entire body.  Checkered blue shorts, just to the knees with knee socks.  For ten, the girl had a decent body—‘ceptin’ for the fact that she had no breasts.  But other than that—she had a decent body.  It was that face that was special; Casey saw himself ejaculating onto that sweet face.  The imagine alone caused him to nearly blow his load in his shorts!
	Casey wasn’t sure how to get the girl to do more than “Walk straight”, “Turn Left”, “STOP!” and so on—the basic motor function commands.  Getting her to undress herself was a little more taxing—mostly to Casey as he was unfamiliar with the basic command functions of the EMAD.  His lust continued to lure him and drove him to the simple task of undressing the girl himself.
	He didn’t mind, she didn’t wear complicated clothing; a simple Summery short sleeved shirt with half undershirt and a trainer.  His cock soared to new escalating sexual heights as the girl’s bare chest was revealed to him.  Angela.
	His nine year old daughter Angela suddenly erupted into his mind.  He had cum on his daughter, shooting wads of spunk onto her sweet-sweet face, squirting jiz onto her breasts having five year old Chrissy lick the spunk matter up.  
	The Boss’ doings.  The Boss had been manipulative—the deep seeded desires had been locked away, pushed into the darkness and had been manageable to a degree.  There had been times (before the Boss and his infernal EMAD) where Casey had fought with himself while bathing his kids, changing them from “accidents”.  He had always thought of himself less than a monster for an occasional stray thought or unnatural desire.  
	But the EMAD.
	The EMAD was a curse, a ban; but it made all things possible.
	With Julie topless, Casey wasted no more time and slid her shorts off and then s-l-o-w-l-y tugged her blue tinted panties down.  Lovley--simply fucking lovely.  Not hair one was on the girl’s poon.  It was soft, alluring, virginal.  Casey admired it, ogled it, licked it.  He had no choice, EMAD or no he was driven to put his tongue to the girl’s pussy and that was all there was to it.
	And he liked it!
	A lot!
	Just the slight hint of pee.  Casey was enthralled.  He shook and trembled all over driving his tongue into the girl’s innocence—a daring probing finger into her asshole.  The Deep Seeded desires thrived in him, propelling him to go on and on and on.
	Tonguing pussy was one thing—
	In a hurried fashion Casey stripped down his pants and underwear, then laid his pulsing prong against Julie’s cunt and there he began to hump and hump hard.  The desire to penetrate pressed harder against him—but Julie was ten, she was a virgin.  There was no way—just no way.
	His hands went all over the young girl’s body, squeezing here and there all the while his cock grind hard against her virgin slit.  Soon the sperm was shooting out in a mass pent up quantity.  Casey’s energy level plummeted; his eyes fluttered as his cock surged its liquid ooze.
	Slowly his lust faded, it was still there, but lull.  For a moment he suckled on the girl’s non-existent breasts; then slowly moved down to lick on her cunny lapping up his own cum!  His fingers worked into the mess, working some of the goo into her cunt with more into her pert little asshole.
	Greatly did he want to push his prick into her cunt and fuck her brains out.  That was the Deep Seeded desires.  Somehow he managed to curb those desires and be satisfied with what he had done.
	It wouldn’t last, though.
	Just soon after delivering Julie back to the fold than did the still horny Casey Brockton cull Hanna Brannon.  She was eleven, taller than Julie, just as sweet in the face and ass with the added bonus of having some titties.  Not much, but there was something.  
	Uniqueness in the face was a specialty, her smile and dazzling eyes; she sort of had a wide face with a wide smile to match and brought a braid piece of luxurious brown hair over her head to dangling and mix with the rest.  She was a charmer and Casey was obsessed with her.
	Though there wasn’t sufficient time, Casey slowly undressed her and when he had her at her panties he paused.  Basic white, a nice little muffin greeted him and cum was spurting from his aching pud.  Nice.  Real nice.
	Using his mouth, he pulled the basic panties down!
	Once the undies were down enough to fully expose the girl’s pussy, only.  Then he smiled and marveled at the lovely delight and brought his wicked tongue to it to nosh at the gnash.  Hanna wriggled some, peed some; Casey lapped up her cunny juices, fingered her, jammed a finger into her asshole an determined that she was a virgin all around.  A good Christian girl.  

 	Once more and Casey found himself hard pressed to keep from being a statistic and jamming not his finger or tongue but his FINGER and fucking her brains out.
	Other girls befell Casey’s wiles; his desires were escalating and no age range was “out of range.”  Beth Cayle befell Casey, as did Courtney Summers and Joy Vermon.  Beth had uniqueness to her face, too; a broad smile, incredible eyes of blue, and she smelled sweet.  Casey couldn’t figure it—but he could finger!
	The Deep Seeded desires had been released.  
	Laying in the van beside the naked Beth, Casey let go his morals.  Nothing else mattered; not time, not security, not family, not his Boss, not morals.  All there was was to lay his fingers to Beth’s nakedness and finger-finger-finger.  His cock lay up against her and a desire was to lay on top of her to plunge said cock into her sex.
	He didn’t but he wanted to.
	His fingers got a work on fingering the girl’s pussy, parting her legs he delved into her very virgin pooter hole.  His cock surged hard and like with Hanna, he mounted and began humping the girl’s slit.  It was almost as good as being IN the pussy.  Almost.
	Straddling Beth’s flat eight year old chest Casey brought her head up so as her lips could taste his spurting spunk.  A great quantity came shooting out splashing all over the sweet smelling girl’s face.  Casey moaned his pleasure and beat off furiously until all his sperm was out.

The end is near
	With a severely aching cock, Casey didn’t do much with his next prize, eight year old Courtney.  Culled from her friends at the evening church service, Casey wasted little time in stripping her down and admiring her nakedness.  Down between her legs he went to apply tongue action; the little girl fussed some and it was noted that the EMAD was “a little warm.”
	A blinking light and one of the LCD screens blanking out suggested that there was sincere trouble with the mind altering device.  And when the little naked girl’s eyes bulged and mouth fell agape—there was no doubt.
	Dropping the Device that had failed, Casey grappled with the stunned girl before she could scream.  The girl was indeed too stunned to scream and too stunned to react properly to the situation about her.  Casey lay on her trying to focus his mind on what to do.  With his hand clamped over her mouth his mind raced; Courtney bit into the flesh of his hand and brought a knee up to his bare naked sweaty gonads.

	Casey’s eyes bulged and he found a sickness where his lust had been.
	Courtney Summers was too little in body size and already overpowered; but she did the best that she could under the circumstances and from under the bulk of the naked man on top of her.
	He was in a fix.  
	Courtney continued to struggle and Casey didn’t know what to do with her—she was totally no longer under mind control.  That sucked.  What to do with a person when they are no longer under mind control, your control?  
	He sighed and though still reeling from the significant bite wound to his hand AND the knee kick to his sensitive balls, he wrestled with the little naked eight year old rolling her over and bringing her hands back behind her back and holding them there—tightly.
	Courtney began to wail and continued to struggle—Casey smacked her ass and yelled to her “settle down or it’ll get worse for you!”
	The little girl settled but continued to wail just the same.
	While still sitting perched on Courtney, Casey fished out of his slacks his cell phone and called for help.  It would take ten minutes before the “help” would arrive.  Ten long enduring minutes.  Casey did everything he could to soothe the girl—in the back of his mind he had a bad feeling about the soon to arrive help.  He actually thought of calling back and telling the Help that the help was no longer needed, situation resolved.
	But too late, lights flashed into the van’s cab—the Help had arrived.

	“I don’t want her hurt.” cautioned Casey.
	“Then you shouldn’t have taken her.” Jarred said flatly back to his Employee.  Casey knew that.  He regretted it.  He regretted a lot of things.  Was there no end to it?
	Jarred had indeed a Back Up EMAD.  ‘always have a back-up plan.’
	The little girl, Courtney, was waylaid by the back-up EMAD.
	But there was a problem.
	The Back Up EMAD wasn’t potent enough to dink with the girl’s mind, to erase her short term memory; that of which she remembered her abductor’s face.  Of course, being traumatized would essentially foil her exactness but Casey would have to no longer attend the Church (for fear of encountering the girl at some point down the road and being recognized.)

	The girl was missed; parental units and security units were scouring the church area.  Time to go.  Courtney had to go along with the Help while the Abductor re-mingled with the aforementioned units in a search for the missing child.  The Help casually slipped away in the growing darkness leaving his car in the lot; he’d pick it up later—after…
	“This is the keycard to the security booth.” Jarred told Casey.  The keycard passed between them and Casey had a case of the heebie-jeebies.  His balls ached and a strong upset resided in the pit of his stomach.
	Twice did security come into the booth and check the tape.  At neither time did they note that they were not alone in the security booth.  Casey, after emerging from the security locker, slipped out and away.  He made for home and settled in his basement—alone.

Next to the last straw…
	The voices of his children awoke him.
	He felt awful, physically—his mind was something else all together.
	The day was getting on, he felt like more crawling under the house—or a good sized rock than facing the day.  In the kitchen he found his children happy and half dressed, running amok and being typical children.  His wife was a little concerned, ‘where have you been?’
	He told “in the basement, working.”
	“You’re going to work yourself to death!” she complained, she had seen how much of a drag on his system it was to keep up with the demands of work and social status.  More than once was Janice willing to give up the country club, the wondrous income, the social status and move somewhere less taxing.
	But Casey wouldn’t hear of it—he was stuck.
	As the children settled somewhat,
	“Oh, Ms. Bitch was here again.”
	Casey hung his head.  “Ms. “Bitch” was Janice Semper who was a neighbor.  
	“What she bitching about now?” Casey could only imagine—Ms. Semper liked to bitch just about everything and anything.
	“Well, for starters, she claims Boots and Giddget were in her yard.”
	“I doubt that,” Casey drawled staring at his nine year old daughter, Angela, “I’ve seen two other black cats similar just like Boots.”
	“I know, I know,” said Janice combing a restless Brad’s hair, “but she insists it was our cats.”
	“What time?”
	“This morning at five.”
	“She saw Boots and Giddget at five this morning?”
	“No, that’s when she came pecking at the door.”
	Casey wished he would have heard the knock.
	“And she says she heard Gabby barking ALL NITE LONG!”
	“I hardly think so, Gabby hardly barks for one,” ‘stupid dog thinks she’s a cat!’ “I’ll apologize to her but--”
	“She says she’s going to the Hoe.”
	“Ah crap!”
	“Aw crap!” uttered Brad giggling.  The young boy got a daring warning finger from his Dad.
	The “Hoe” referred to was the infamous Home Owners Association.  The powers that be could be real assholes and troublemakers.  The powers that be were stringent sticklers for the property owners under their thumb.  More than one neighbor had been ousted by the HOA, and more than one neighbor had been ousted by the likes of Janice Semper.
	Angela came to hug her Daddy, Casey hugged her, patted her butt, got an erection.  He saw her naked, he saw her on her back with her legs open fingering herself saying “Fuck me, Daddy, fuck me hard!”
	Casey wanted to but he held back—somehow.  But with the Deep Seeded desires free could he maintain his morals and keep his cock in his pants?
	The horn from the school bus blared into the turmoiled mind of Casey; he swatted each child sending them on their way.  Janice, the wife, cleaned up the breakfast table.
	Courtney.
	What had the Boss done with Courtney?
	In the morning news among the other “missing” was Courtney Mattherson’s name; another missing eight year old from a chuch.  Casey felt ill and turned off the kitchen mini television under the upper cabinet.  Janice did a quick wash of dishes and said something about something.  Casey wrapped his arms about her.
	“What’s this?” she asked turning about to face him.
	She was soooo pretty.  How pretty would she be if she knew about his shenanigans with Hanna, Beth, Courtney?  How pretty would she be if she knew about being victimized by Mr. Jamieson?
	Janice Brockton laid her head against her husband and for a time it was like old times—they slowed danced.  Like they had in the beginning of their mutual lives, embracing one another in a downtown apartment they could barely afford, dancing naked in the early morning hours.
	They kissed and Casey began to grope his wife’s tits.  Janice was a little awed and taken by her husband’s sudden lust.  She growled and began unbuttoning his shirt…

	Making love on the kitchen table—it didn’t get no better than that.  Of course, there was that pesky thing called “work” that get in the way or Casey would have made love to his wife a lot longer.  He needed to, he needed it and she needed it but they had bills to pay.
	The drive to work was a long one.
	Courtney.
	What had happened to Courtney?  Casey would have thought the Boss would have simply “dropped her off” somewhere or something.  Maybe he took her home to his basement.  Maybe.  That wrenching sick feeling that was in his stomach began to fester.
	The Boss car wasn’t in its designated spot.
	Casey wondered “where the fuck?”  Could he be home?  A big sigh, a fart, and a desire to go back and bang the wife some more, and it was off to the office.  The Boss didn’t show until after noon.  He said nothing and went to his office and stayed there.
	When the day of business was done, Casey casually made way to his car.  He took the long way, paused to chat with the working stiffs, then lingered at the Roach Coach before finally ambling to his car.
	No sign of the Boss.
	Should he go see the Boss?
	Fuck no, go home.
	Casey did.
	Straight home where he spent the evening with his children; then when they were safely tucked in bed he showered with his wife.
	“What have you done?” she asked casually knowing full well her hubby of some years had obviously done something (to warrant the unexplained attention of affection.)
	“Just realized how special you are.” Casey replied.
	There was no way Janice was going to fuck that up.  Take advantage, she didn’t think he was cheating on her, more likely he bought something without consulting her—like a yacht.
	They slow danced in the shower; the kissing was passionate and Casey strove hard-very hard to alleviate his mind of everything.  Work related and “other.”

	The plans for the 10th floor were wrong; the basement parking lot was a foot too short and one of the pilings was in the wrong place.  The supplier was having supply problems pushing the pending pour (cement) two days at least back.
	Courtney.
	What the fuck had the bastard Boss done with Courtney?
	A big dinner was planned at the Club, five hundred a plate.  Cracked Crab and Maine Lobster.  A guest speaker and a Hollywood mogul were speaking with some lounge big band playing.
	Janice’s birthday was coming up; there were those pink pearls she had just about had an orgasm over right there in the store.  Captain Bob had two brand new yachts for sale, one was reasonable and the other was more than the president’s salary—both would not last long.
	Angela needed braces.
	Brad needed glasses.
	The college fund had taken a hit recently with the buying of new furniture, area rug, Oriental rug (cha-ching!) and the wall mirror and tapestry set.  The college fund had to be replaced.  The Vacation fund would have to take a hit—but the kids were looking forward to going somewhere.
	A Summer going up Lake Mead or Lake Powel would be fun, on a brand new yacht!  Bring the in-laws, his parents, Uncle Bub and his new twenty-year old wife…
	The wife’s car was three years old, not old-old and still in good condition—despite the kids throwing up in it (and other accidents.)  A new car she would flip over; but the pearls would be the real thing.  Pearls in the glove box of a new car?
	Janice squeezed him and bursted his troublesome thoughts.  He didn’t want to get out—but the phone was ringing.  He held onto his wife a little longer then reluctantly left her.
	A familiar voice was on the other end.
	“I’d thought you would like to come over.” The Boss said.
	‘Why?’ thought Casey, ‘so you can fuck me in the ass you sick twisted bastard!?’
	“Ok.” Said Casey.
	Janice came out of the bathroom, naked.  In no way did Casey want to leave.  Making love to his wife was tops; making love was everything.  In the beginning, while dating for two years, they fucked constantly.  At football games, at his parents house, at her parents house, the front seat as well as backseat of his car. 

 	Once they got their new apartment the rent and turning on the utilities was all that they could afford; friends donated some pieces of furniture; they went to wrok and school stiff and sore from screwing all night on the floor.
	After marriage; they went to Hawaii for their honeymoon and humped on the beach, the elevator, and stayed three days in their home humping-humping-humping.
	The happy humpers humped their fill their first year, then it settled to a couple times a week—work and school and socializing knocked their humpings down a notch.  Their passion was still high, though.
	After Angela, the happy humpers humped once a week.
	After Brad, the happy humpers humped “every so often.”
	After Chrissy, the humpings humped “once in a while.”
	The first night in their new house, they humped in every room there was; the kids were at their Casey’s parent’s house far-far away.  They humped on the back patio, in the pool, in the garage, and even on the front lawn.  After officially moving in with the kids the happy humpers settled their humping back to a normal régime of casual humping “whenever the mood struck them.”
	Jarred Jamieson’s house was five blocks away “up on a hill” in the Mansion District.  Million dollar homes where hired help was standard, limos were common, and every home had a yacht on the attached lake.
	The Caddy usually parked in the personal/private drive was gone; the Missus was gone to her parents to visit Daddy who was ill and possibly close to death.  Arlene Jamieson stood to inherit enough money to wipe out the current national debt.
	Mr. Jamieson greeted his Emp at the door.
	Obediently, Casey entered in.  The feel of his wife lingered heavily on his mind—and on his cock.  He had found that making love to her he was able to push away the Darkness and the Deep Seeded desires.  The faces of the girls he had been with recently came in flashes—they didn’t linger; only the sweet smell of some of them did.  But that was okay, he drove his prick into Janice and emptied his mind of whimsy.
	A drink was offered to Casey, he accepted out of courtesy but wanted to be alcohol free to sort of hopefully keep his wits about him.  Jamieson was dressed in a royal blue robe and matching slippers.  His college ring was a bit big, grandiose (and for a reason); his wedding ring, and his Masonic ring, all stood out—for a reason. 
	There was no necklace about his neck, it wasn’t his style.

	No earrings, either, and he seriously frowned on any employee who didn’t wear a bra having earrings in their ears.  A very expensive watch occupied space on one wrist while a medical alert bracelet was on the other.  Casey wondered what kind of medical condition did the whacked out ass bastard have?
	Whatever it was—it was a secret.  Casey didn’t care, he just wanted the man to die.  That was a terrible thing to think—but he thought it and that was that.
	Jamieson led the way to the basement.
	Two children were in the basement clad in their underwear.  The boy was older at about eight years while the girl was a couple years younger.  They were “stunned” sitting up on a single sized bed.
	“What the--”
	“Just something a little extra,” said Jamieson, “thought you might like to join in.”
	Casey wanted to flee.
	“I saw the boy “checking out” the girl.”
	“Oh?”
	“He’s curious, wants to see a girl, any girl, naked.”  So Jamieson thought he would help the lad out—then help himself after.
	Using the EMAD, Jamieson had the boy stand up and push down his own underwear.  The boy had dark hair with half of it hanging down at an angle across the left side of his face.  He was a cutey, though, Casey liked him, ‘specially naked.
	Jamieson stood swirling his drink; his robe had opened revealing his staff.  Casey felt a little uneasy—how would THIS one end?  The little boy stood still, his underwear at his ankles, his little penis naked and shriveled up just aching to be fondled.
	The little girl was cute, too; she had long straight blond hair.  Nothing too remarkable about her but that was ok.  Casey noted that the little girl looked similar to his own daughter—and would be moreso if she had shorter hair—or Chrissy had longer hair.
	Jamieson manipulated the boy via the EMAD in his non-drinking hand and the naked lad stepped out of his underwear, turned and tugged down Amber’s panties.

	Shaun then open the girl’s legs and “go down” on her.  He was partially aware—not aware of where he was or who else was with him, just the fact that he was naked and the naked Amber was with him, too.  Casey couldn’t help it, as soon as the boy began tonguing Amber’s six year old cunt, he got wood.  Jamieson, after sitting down the EMAD, began to stroke his prick.
	Casey stroked his after hauling it out.  What was he horny about?  The boy, the girl, the boy licking out the girl’s little slit of a pussy?  The boy’s wriggling ass, dangling testicle sac.
	Yeah, that was it.
	Without the Boss’ input (maybe), Casey approached the naked boy and began caressing the lad’s ass.  Shaun didn’t look up but continued his tonguing.  Little Amber twisted some—mostly due to the intense “tickle” factor coming from her little pussy.
	Shaun licked and licked, Amber twisted and twisted; Casey fondled and fondled.  Then he was up behind the boy schlepping his salami against the boy’s bum, grinding it against the flesh before gliding it up and down the crack with a few pokes and prods to the boy’s hole for added good measure.
	It was a slow-slow progress—process.  Determination was one thing if not everything—Casey was determined to make full anal entry.  The boy was way too young for that but Casey was determined to bury as much of his treasure stick into the boy’s booty regardless.
	Jarred Jamieson came over and furiously masturbated, watching his young adult Employee doing the naughty.  Casey got the head of his stick in and a bit of shaft—just a bit.  
	“Shove it in him!” called out the Boss in a semi demanding tone.
	Casey drove his pole a little further into the boy’s tight non-giving asshole.  The boy began to feel it and wriggle about more.  Casey pulled out, avoided his Boss’ glare, and spanked the boy with his throbbing cock.
	The act of full anal penetration to Shaun was taken care of by Jarred.
	Little Amber.  Ah, what a cutey!  While Jarred committed the horrible act to Shaun, Casey lay beside the naked Amber—fingering her with his hard cock grinding against her thigh.
	No thoughts, none—none to disturb the happening that was happening; if he “thought” of what he was doing it would disturb him and he didn’t want that.  It was a difficult struggle to push away the wrongness of his doing—he wanted simply to enjoy the immediate doing and revel in it.
	Of course, the cries of the young boy in his midst disturbed him.

	Jarred Jamieson was a little rough and unfortunately for the boy—he was aware.  Jarred Jamieson didn’t care and thrusted deeply into the boy; griping Shaun’s hips and slamming himself with great reverence (much to Shaun’s dismay and anguish.)
	Casey turned his attention solely to the little girl; rolling on top of her to grind his dick right in her trench.  He humped therein—his body locked in a prone position with only his hips moving.  The girl’s face was angelic-like; she smiled sweetly with twinkling heavenly eyes.  That face!  So white, creamy—
	Speaking of creamy…
	A great gob of man juice suddenly exploded from his prick shooting up her little body to splash on her chin.  Casey moved up, grinding his cock all the while to spew the rest of his ball juice onto her face with the pressing of the tip of his cum squirter into her mouth.
*

nearing the end
	Seven minutes after five and there was a disturbance.
	A dull haze existed in his mind; his eyes hurt; his body and especially MAN parts were in a category of ache all their own.  For a moment he lay still; beside him his lifemate slumbered along unaware of the “disturbance.”
	The disturbance.
	At first it had been elusive awakening Casey with a startle.  His senses took some time to regather.  He was about to return to sleep when the disturbance came again—this time more defined.  A knock.  A rapid succession of rapping—knocking on the front door downstairs.
	“Shit-fuck-son-of-a-bitch!” he bitched aloud.  
	Nothing from his wife.
	Casey lay still—there was a pause between the rapid knocking, it could be no one else but the other “Janice” in his life, the nosey bothersome bitchy neighbor.  
	Of course, it could be the cops…
	Griping to himself he made way to the window and peered down.
	No flashing lights.
	Struggling to get his eyes open he saw a lone figure in a robe.
	Janice.
	“Fucking whore-slut-bitch!” he said aloud.
	Sighing he debating on shinning her on and going back to bed.
	But a third rapping from the nosey bitchy neighbor prompted him to go see what the fuck was her problem before she woke up everyone in the house.  
	Usually she went away after the third disturbance but she was sometimes persistent, too.  Casey found her with her hair in disarray, arms folded clutching her nightgown with a scowl etched upon her 40yr old something face.
	There was no “Good morning!” from Janice, the first thing out of her mouth was “Your animals are keeping me awake!”
	Casey knew it wasn’t his animals, maybe once in awhile which was why she pegged him ‘cause at least once they WERE responsible—but not all the time.
	The thing with Janice was, and she made it a point to point it out and let it be known, she was a city police dispatcher.  She worked the third shift and it was “very hard”, stressful, and she needed her sleep.  
 	But she didn’t sleep well any hours (not without help) but she couldn’t rightly take the added benefit of sleep aids due to having be very alert during her shift.
	No matter how many times Casey defended his animals, Janice was unmoving and very muchly uncaring.
	“I’m going to report you to the Hoe!” she said in a huff and stormed off.
	Casey leaned against the open door,
	“One more reported “incident” to the Authority and legal action will have to begin.”
	Legal action.  That meant means of termination from the Home Owners Association and one step from other pursuits of litigation to force out the Brockton family from their home as unfit residents. 
	Boots wrapped about his bare leg mewing lightly and purring.
	Giddget came up from behind stretching, yawning, and lightly mewing, too.  The kitties had been inside and not in the neighbor’s yard as proclaimed.  Gabby, too, the family dog.
	“Fucking bitch!” Casey yelled out—hopefully loud enough for her to hear before she entered her front door.
	She was going to cause trouble for sure.  It was no doubt the bitch would call the Home Owners Association Authority.  Whether or not the HOAA would push for Casey to move elsewhere wasn’t certain, he knew most of the members of the hierarchy; some were ok, some were level headed, some were assholes.  
	The Boss was in among that elite group of snooty snobs—would he have some pull if it were so needed?  Casey shook his head—what the fuck was he thinking!?  To ask the Boss to help out on such a matter!?  OMG!  He was already deeply involved with the bastard as it was—the man had him by the balls—the man had him on video tape taking tools and equipment from the construction; the man had him balling the secretary’s daughter who was his babysitter to boot; the man had video of him molesting church girls (one of which was still missing.)
	  “Stay!” Casey said fuming a little to his “animals.”  He shut the door and stomped off to visit the troublesome neighbor.

	Janice Semper opened the door.
	There was no “Good morning, neighbor!” from the visitor.  He simply punched her dead in the face.
*

I hate you so much
	Janice stumbled back and toppled; blood gushing from her nose.
	The visitor wasted no time—driven by his fury he pounced on the divorced woman pounding her face until she lay still in an unconscious state of being.  The fury of the visitor waned, but only a little.  He sat straddling the woman staring at her, right thru her to the floor she lay on where a small amount of blood began to pool.
	“Fuck.” he said with still a slight aire of pissed-offedness reigning high.  He knew he had fucked up.  Being forced to move would be nothing in comparison than being forced to give up his freedom.  And it was all because of the bitch he straddled.
	Slamming the front door, Casey stood staring at the woman who appeared to be lifeless; her blood on the linoleum floor spreading out some.  As his anger subsided he realized how much he was in trouble.  He kicked the woman’s oddly cocked right leg; she didn’t move.
	“Well son-of-a-bitch!” he bitched.
	Closing his eyes he shook his head—this was not what he had intended.
	His hand hurt and was very nearly broken.  From the very nice refrigerator he got some ice from the freezer and soaked his hand in the ice bin thinking.
	There was no doubt about it—he was screwed.

	No matter how much pull the Boss may have with city officials—Casey Brockton was screwed-screwed-screwed.  It wasn’t a pleasant thought and he would more than likely be accused of several other atrocities and the investigation would most likely doom him to a freedomless existence in some dark-deep-dank hole of inhumanity of which was prison life.
	“FUCKING WHORE!” he bitched aloud.  
	Driven by anger, Casey went to the lifeless Janice Semper and ripped her robe off and shucked her purple panties.  Then, with her legs pushed open wide he slammed his cock into her sex and “fucked her brains out.”
	Janice never stirred or fluttered her eyes.
	Casey drove his prick into the woman, emptying his mind of everything.  He wanted nothing to interfere with his mindset; he was determined to fuck the woman and fuck her hard.  He only wished the bitch were alive…
	It was quite a fuck, regardless that only one of them was aware of it.
	Aferwards…
	Casey lay on the lifeless neighbor, “you fucking slut bitch.” he mouthed.  If anyone was to be booted out of the community it should be her.  Now she was dead and a whole new batch of problems she was creating.  Even in death, the bitch was trouble.
	Sitting back he looked at the blood, then all the other places his hands had been.  Not good.  Not good to leave evidence—‘specially with the woman have sons in the police department where one was a detective.
	From under the sink there was a bottle of bleach.
	After putting a plastic trash bag over the woman’s head he moved her gently out of the way and got busy with the bleaching of the linoleum floor.  He poured bleach for no good reason other than “just because” onto Janice’s cum laden pussy.  Spreading the lips of her cunt he poured the bleach into her sex; then poured the evidence eradicating liquid all over her body.
	Using rubbing alcohol—also from under the sink—Casey wiped down the doorknob and everything else he had “touched.”  Then he squatted before the lifeless Janice.  What to do what to do…
	He feared detectives finding some hair fiber of his on her body.  He could soak her in a tub of bleach AND alcohol and some wise CSI putz would find that one miniscule fiber linking him.
	That just wouldn’t do.
	She would essentially have to be removed from the scene—taking all trace elements with her.  Remove her from the scene?  Remove her where?  How?  ‘always have a back-up plan.’
	Having no back-up plan planned he sat and brooded.
	“FUCKING WHORE!”
	It would be daylight soon.  The kids would be up, his wife would be up.  He had to go to work.
	Work.
	Mr. Jamieson.
	The Boss.
	Sighing, farting, and kicking Janice’s lifeless body cussing and condemning her he called the Boss.  “I have a problem.” he said flatly and plainly.
	“Alright, maybe I can help.”

	Just before the rays of sun came sparkling thru the great elms dotting the backyards the Boss and Employee wrestled into the back end of the Boss’ Jag a “heavy cumbersome” object.  It was wrapped in a several black plastic yard bags and then a great throw rug.

	Casey sat quietly in the passenger seat his heart racing dramatically as his mind raced hurtling down a dead-end street to a brick wall.  The Boss listened to classical music and said nothing as they easily guided out of their city and out to a lone back road that led to some mountain towns.
	Forty minutes later and the Jag turned off to a more remote road that led out to some farms and ranches.  The road was paved and very twisty, up and down hills and around them, once under them…
	Then the paved road ended and the last ranch waved goodbye.
	The first hill was a dousy but apparently, Mr. Jamieson had been there before and gently with ease guided the powerful (and expensive) Jag along the narrow dirt road to the top where there was only a brief level area before descending down the “hill”.
	Once at the bottom there was a cement bridge crossing over a decent creek.  The area was very overgrown with weeds and bushes, wild roses and the like.  Walnut trees were everywhere, there was an abandoned farm nearby and half a mile further and the second hill started going up further into the Horn Mountains where some semblance of civilization lay in the midst of a small resort town not far from a large dammed lake.
	Meanwhile, back at the bridge.
	Jamieson parked the car and got out.
	Casey followed as the Boss went to a small almost unseen trail that led down to the creek.  The man didn’t go all the way but stood to pee.  Casey almost bumped into him, halted and felt embarrassed.
	“No one hardly comes this way,” Jamieson said as he peed, “it’s the back road; the rangers come this way during fire season and a few adventurers but by then the creek is dry and no need to stop.”
	Casey wasn’t sure what the man was getting at.
	After the pee, the two returned to the car and retrieved Janice contained inside the rug and garbage bags.  The rug and bags were removed and the woman was taken down the trail to the creek.  Trekking along the creek’s edge was difficult at best without having the difficulty of carrying a full grown woman.  Up under the bridge was the destination to the abutment, that place where the bridge was structured coming out of the ground.
	Casey noted a fresh mound and the remnants of two others.
	Oh My God!
	Casey’s pounding heart stopped and dropped into his stomach.
	“Sweet holy son-of-a-bitch!”
	The Boss said nothing but handed Casey a shovel.
	Was one of the mounds the final resting place for Courtney, too?
	The shovel pounded the dirt onto the fresh new mound; the Boss maneuvered some boulders onto the mound that didn’t look too much like a mound but to the astute eye it did.  In time it would wear down; coyotes and wolves would take their toll on the mounds (and what was contained within); the weather and subsequent Spring thawing would basically erase evidence.

	The drive back to town was awfully quiet.  Casey felt awful.  He weighed the consequences and didn’t like the outcome on either end.  He concluded that “what was done was done.” and that was it.  On the plus side, no more 5AM wake up calls from Janice Semper, no more warned letters   from the Home Owners Association.  But still…
	How deeply was in with the Boss?
	Pretty deep it was assumed.  If he thought the Boss had him by the balls for his thieving and sexual misdeeds—murder and disposing of the body certainly topped that.
	Before entering their distraught city, Jarred turned off to a smaller town on the outskirts and into the lot of a convenience store.  Both men were a little grubby, smelling, and in need of something to quench their thirst.  Casey’s mood had soured—he couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that no longer existed in his stomach as that feeling now persisted all over him.

	After making their purchase, the Boss bought Casey’s, they merged to the shaded area outside to seat themselves at the picnic table there.  Casey had a million questions—most of which, “was Courtney among the “mounds” under the bridge?  How many mounds in total? And lots more questions—but he kept them to himself.
	Presently there was some eye candy to distract his mind.

	Peggy Banner, twenty-four years young; short sassy style blond hair, light make-up, lithe body extraordinaire despite having a child—but the child, Jenny, was three years young.  
	The woman was in good shape; college girl, worked part time for a local charity, and was active in some sports.  None of those fields helped her ward off the attack to her mind.  In her own large SUV the young woman lay wriggling with the partial awareness that what was happening to her was not right.  But there was nothing she could do as the powerful force against her (mind) was overwhelming.
	“Empty your mind of whimsy” some old Asian fart had said to him once; when trying to calm himself before taking a massive anal clenching college exam he listened to the words of a Chinese mystic.  Spending over a hundred thousand dollars to attend a prestigious school wasn’t something to fluff off—he had to pass the exams and pass them well if he was to ever land a good job—a job good enough to pay back the student loan.
	Empty your mind of whimsy.  A big task—there was a lot of “whimsy” in there and it thoroughly confounded Casey Brockton.  At length, though, he settled onto Peggy; his hands groped her 32Cs, tweaking the nipples thru her ribbed green short sleeved shirt with a big yellow daisy emblazoned on the front.  The woman was aware of being groped—she was aware of being laid out in the middle seat that had been folded down AND a strange man was on top of her—pinning her down.
	The strange man groped hard her sex, squeezing her pussy with dramatic fashion.  Peggy tried moving but it was like there were more strangers holding her down and her efforts were nullified.
	Soon the strange man was pulling off Peggy’s top.
	Peggy went berserk—but again, there obviously was more than one man holding her as she just couldn’t move!  The strange man she couldn’t identify if she tried—his face seemed obliterated with no distinguishing marks whatsoever.

	“Get off me!” she managed to mutter.
	Casey cocked his head and stared at her, then continued groping her breasts, removing her bra and taking his time.  Peggy was not amused and with the removal of her bra realized just how much trouble she was in.  She realized what was pending and she went thru the gamut of emotions of being disgusted to horrified; pissed off and frightened.  
	The stranger’s mouth came to her womanly breasts, sucking them, kneading them, tweaking the nipples as if they were his own personal playthings.  Peggy managed to twist her body; it only resulted in a huge blinding flash of light that was like a slap in the face.  For a long while thereafter there was nothing—
	Casey undone the woman’s pants noting the blank stare from her eyes.
	Peggy was no long “aware” of being victimized—she was no longer aware of anything.  It was Peggy who had managed to “remove whimsy” from her mind.  Emptiness—darkness—stillness.  There was only a vastness of nothingness.  In essence—peace.
	Casey slipped off Peggy’s pants, beside him, Jarred slipped off the three year old’s panties.  Like a sucker punch to the stomach, Casey felt ill.  The man beside him had no morals—none.  With the tyke’s yellow nappy terrycloth panties off, Jarred “went down” on her.
	The cad!
	Casey couldn’t believe it.  And when the child fussed as she was not under the control of the minding device—Jarred clenched tightly her ankles together, raised her legs, and assailed her bottom with great force—repeatedly.
	The child’s screams came to the point whereas she couldn’t be heard—she had reached that pivotal level where no audio was capable of being heard.
	Casey turned his attention back to Peggy—emptying his mind of whimsy as he did so.  Peggy squirmed beneath him, made some facial expressions, and got hardened nipples.  Casey drove his prick into the woman’s sex somewhat thinking of his wife, Janice.  That made him feel good and downplayed the horror that surrounded him.
	With his eyes closed he blocked out the goings on beside him; it was getting hot in the SUV; his body was tired, sweaty, and not all that enthused about submitting to naughty business.  He gave his all to the woman, then lay on her to suckle her breasts.  His eyes opened to see his Boss with his head down between the distraughted little girl licking out her pussy.

	Casey thought of his daughters, Angela and Chrissy.  Could he willingly be so deplorable with them?  He thought of Angela, his oldest girl at the ripe young age of nine years.  She was flat chested, hairless poon; she had a wondrous little tight butt—when he patted her, looked upon her, caught sight of her naked—he got an erection.
	But did that mean he wanted to fuck her?
	Did getting a boner mean what it meant—that he wanted to rub on her, spill his seed, hump on her pussy, ass, face?  As she got older would he then want to suckle on her breasts?
	The thoughts of being naughty with his daughter prompted him to begin firing off a round of liquid love into Peggy Banner’s pussy.  His mind emptied of whimsy he began to drive like a train pounding the woman’s cunt with great reverence delivering a massive quantity of love cream in quick time.
	Beside him, Jarred Jamieson was humping the woman’s daughter.
	Just the tip of Jarred’s manly penis had penetrated little Jenny’s cunt; had his cock been a little harder and not so worn out with previous expeditions to young holes he might have made further entry.  Jarred Jamieson didn’t care how old the person he was screwing or attempting to screw—just so long as he screwed and got his rocks off.
	And he did—a substantial amount of goo splurted from his cock causing the man to announce loudly his pleasure, “OH YEAH!” among other nonsensical terms indicating sexual release.
	Jenny fussed so and possibly to keep her from receiving more of the horrid Boss’ wrath, Casey moved off of the girl’s Mother and clamped his hand over her mouth.  Then with his lips at her ear he hushed her, cooed to her.
	Jarred humped the child’s soiled pussy getting all of the sexual pleasure he could.  Then,
	“Lick it up.” he demanded of his perverted murderous Employee.
	Casey came to his Boss’ cum squirter and sucked it clean—the member didn’t soften right off and still jutted bits of cum.  Casey sucked it then lapped up all of the sperm from Jenny’s cunt and stomach.  Then he licked her little broken-in cunny until he was once more “ready.”

The ending draws near
	The power of the EMAD was amazing.  Simply-fucking-amazing.  The power of the Electronic Mind Altering Device had more than a simple “dark side”; it not only affected the mind of the Subject but also the mind of the User.  It was power.  Empowerment.  The power over others.  It was an intoxicating thing that was no so indifferent than that of an addiction to illicit/illegal drugs.
	Once more Casey found himself in possession of an EMAD.
	There was an awareness that he was sinking further and further into insanity.  But inasmuch as he knew it—he didn’t want to stop the progression.  Like those poor bastards hooked on their drugs, Casey couldn’t cut himself loose from the amazing powers of the EMAD.
	The EMAD took him to a new incident.
	Just beyond Casey exclusive neighborhood was a neighborhood where the middle class enjoyed a pleasing lifestyle.  There were roving security guards, pole mounted security cameras, and other measures to ward against EMAD use.
	None of those helped out in the new adventure for Casey.
	On Berklynn St. about the middle of the street Casey found his newest adventure.  Two young boys ran amok about a house—primary purpose was to avoid a young girl who was chasing them.  
	No car in the drive, but evidence that two cars parked there.
	The little girl giggled as she chased after her brother and his friend; it wasn’t a real running chase like “tag” or something—she was just following them like pesky little siblings like to do to their older siblings.  More than once did the brotherly sibling shout back “STOP FOLLOWING US!”
	The little girl, about seven, did so—for half a minute.
	The half a minute was all that was needed for the boys to try and elude the pesky girl; they ran about the house, hiding in the shrubs against the house; hiding UNDER the house—but that didn’t last long ‘cause despite being boys and adventurous and so on—there were spiders, scorpions, the boogie man, swamp monster, and dankness that prompted the boys to scurry out from beneath and seek shelter somewhere else.
	No matter where the boys hid, though, the girl found them.  She was good.  She had natural instinctive intuitiveness and after only a minute or so of searching found her brother and his friend and announced loudly “FOUND YOU!”

	Finally, the girl’s brother had had enough and yelled “QUIT IT!” and was very angry.  This only caused the girl to fold her arms and begin to pout.  The pouting resulted in crying.  The crying would result in a spanking from their Mother when she got home.
	The boy tried desperately to soothe his upset sister—she was faking it, acting upset.  The brother took his crying sib into the house from the backyard.  In the kitchen he fetched cookies, milk, juice, more cookies; his yoyo.  
	“What do you want?” asked Patrick, the boy not the girl’s brother.
	The girl, Emily, shrugged and continued to be unhappy.  “I want to play with you guys!” she said.
	It was a dire situation—there WERE girls Emily’s age, but only a few and they lived houses down left and right.  Emily, and the other young girls, were too young to be out on their own.  Calvin and Patrick were ten and they, too, were too young.  At ten, Calvin and Patrick were also too young to be out and even to be at home alone!
	Why they were wasn’t known—nor cared.
	Over the course of the next few minutes the trio of kids were not fully aware of what was going on with them—but the next thing they knew was mind boggling to say the least.
	On the enclosed patio off from the kitchen little Emily Stennly lay with a jump rope tying her young hands together tightly together.  Her overall short-tall jeans were at her ankles, along with her panties.  The little girl wasn’t too overly effected by the powers of the EMAD but she had been subdued enough to “correct” her as well as subdue her.
	The girl’s brother, Calvin, and his friend, Patrick, stood fully clothed in utter amazement.
	Then a voice spoke unto them,
	“Take off your clothes.”
	“Oh shit.” Said Calvin aloud.
	There was nothing from Patrick—but he had a need to go to the bathroom…
	“Take ‘em off, or else.”
	“Or else what?” asked foolishly Calvin.
	Suddenly the boys saw Emily’s legs being lifted and then a hard-very hard smack to her ass.  Calvin lost his ability to breath.  What was used to inflict the smack to his sister’s ass was unknown—not too mention he couldn’t see WHO had administered the smack in the first place!
	“Take ‘em off, or she gets more.”
	Patrick was undressing but Calvin held fast, his confusion interrupting his thoughts (and actions.)  “Who the fu--” he blurted partly, “Why you doing this?  Who are you?”
	No answer from the “whoever”, only a swift and deliberate smack to Emily’s already searing ass.
	“She will suffer the longer you remain clothed.”
	“Take you clothes off, stupid!” said Patrick shoving his friend.  Patrick was naked.  His willy was shriveled up and after the shove to Calvn he held his hands embarrassingly over his boy parts.
	Slowly did Calvin undo his pants and push them down.  Then he stood in his underwear and shirt.  Emily received another hard (very hard) smack to her ass causing her to reach that high pitched point where her scream was no longer audible.
	“DUDE!” cried out Patrick.
	Calvin whirled around, “WHAT?”
	Patrick had to tell him to take off his shirt AND underwear, “Get naked, the bastard wants you to be naked!”
	The words from Patrick’s mouth seemed to have more effect on Calvin’s mind than from directly the Voice.
	Still, though, Calvin was confused and only slowly removed his shirt and underwear.  Once Calvin’s underpants were at his ankles, though,
	“Rub his ass.”
	Patrick’s heart stopped.  It literally stopped as his mind tried to wrap itself about what the Voice had said.
	“Say what the fuck!?” Patrick asked.
	“Rub his ass, or she gets it.”
	Patrick didn’t want to see any harm to the little girl—sure, she was a pest, but she was a kid.
	So he rubbed.
	“Take your hand away.” said sternly the Voice.
	Patrick hesitated a second or two then removed his free hand from concealing his prick—which had strangely began to stiffen.
	“You like rubbing your friend’s ass?” asked the Voice.
	“FUCK YOU!” shouted Patrick.
	Emily let loose a serious scream as her ass was smacked hard by what was later determined to be a belt.  The girl’s hands were binded together tightly by the jump rope that was tied about a porch post.  She was held fast and in great turmoil.

	Patrick smoothed his hand over Calvin’s smooth boyish ass and though he stood twisting trying to either hide his growing erection or hide his growing erection in denying that he DID like rubbing his hand onto his friend’s bare ass.
	And from “rubbing” to standing up behind him, rubbing his dick against his best friend’s ass.  Calvin’s eyes bulged with awe, mouth agape as behind him his bestest-best friend performed a homosexual act against him.
	“Son-of-a-bitch!” Calvin mouth.
	The Voice smiled and revealed himself to the trio, none of them would be able to remember him later—no definitive marks distinguishing or otherwise.  They couldn’t remember the color of his eyes, hair, how tall he was, did he need a shave, or anything.  He was nude, he was a man—that was it.
	After rubbing his erection all over his friend’s ass, Patrick went to his knees and began kissing his friend’s ass.  Calvin was freaking out—but there was more—lots more to freak the fuck out about.  Lots more.
	Calvin bent over and Patrick’s face went into the crack.  Clenching, grimacing, wincing and finding it hard to breath, Calvin spread his cheeks and endured being “tongued.”
	It was gross and way gross to be tonguing a dude’s hole—he farted from there, POOPED from there!  Luckily, for Patrick, Calvin was a good wiper and hadn’t taken a poop that day.  And luckily for Patrick, the Voice only had him lick the hole a few seconds.  When he stood, Calvin turned about and went to his knees.  The Voice commanded him to take his friend’s member—“and suck it.”
	Both boys retched at the pending deed.  Neither boy had ever done such a thing or thought of such.  Well, Calvin hadn’t.  Under dire duress, Patrick admitted that he was curious about what a dude’s dong would taste like.
	After sucking his friend’s schlong for a couple of minutes, Calvin was ordered to stand.  Then, both boys embraced one another—hands on the other’s ass—their mouths pressed together with tongues in the other’s mouth exploring.
	Then Patrick took Calvin’s willy into his mouth and sucked the near life out of it.  Neither boy particular cared for “cocksucking”; the member was a little displeasing in taste inasmuch as was the whole concept of cocksucking.
	Then the two took turns sucking the life out of the Voice’s cock.
	Neither boy particularly cared for that task, either—the Voice’s member was bigger, long, thicker, hotter.  The Voice’s member, too, squirted into their mouths and made them gag, choke, and nearly spew.
	But as they went on (to be commanded by the Voice) there were more reasons to gag, choke, and spew.  Such as more rim jobbing followed by anal exploration via sodomy.  Calvin was first—er, that is to say Calvin drove his seriously hard schlong into Patrick’s seriously tight sphincter.  More anal play using his fingers and spittle before he (Calvin) finally managed to get the head of his johnny into his friend’s hole.
	S-l-o-w-l-y did Calvin go pushing every inch of his ten year old schlong into his friend’s ten year old asshole.  Both boys grimaced as the act that was sodomy took place.  Little Emily lay in awe watching the act take place right before her eyes. 
	Once “all the way in” Calvin then proceeded to proceed with that which was sodomy and begin to pump.  The pumping overtook the disgust that was sodomy; replaced by good feelings as his throbbing hard cock reveled in superior tingling feelings that overpowered all ills.  It no longer mattered that the hole Calvin’s cock dwelled in was his best friend’s OR that the hole was a boy hole.  A hole was a hole and it felt GOOD!
	Soon and Calvin was pumping furiously—almost as furiously as he did when he took his hand to his johnny and hammered it.  But that wasn’t often; usually he humped his bed, occasionally he found his sister’s panties wrapped about his organ, sometimes his eyes stared at his naked sister OR his naked Mom.
	Occasionally—occasionally did Calvin rub his penis against his sister’s bare butt.  It costed him five dollars of his allowance to do so.  But just against her bare butt.  For free she let him see her nakedness whole; for free she let him masturbate in front of her.  She also wrapped her fingers about his erection and took over masturbation—for free.  But that was all.
	Were there any naughty thoughts for his Mom?
	Calvin couldn’t even conjugate a response for that probing question.  Sure he had seen his Mom naked, in her underwear, but she was his MOM and he had no sexual improper thoughts in regards towards her.
	Four minutes after anal penetration and Calvin was cumming.

	He had masturbated to the point of orgasmic explosions before, but not often.  Usually his stamina wore off before the pivotal ecstasy could happen (or his hand wore out); but there were a couple of times whereas humping his bed thinking of some girls at his school that he would like to see naked, stroking his johnny, being on top of that caused him to cum.
	The release of the juice was extraordinary.  His cock remained stiff, hard, and coated in dirt chute discoloration.  Calvin didn’t care; all that mattered was the wonderful feeling of elation that was all too brief but the awesome feeling was tremendous regardless.
	Gobs of boy cum oozed and squirted out of friend Patrick’s asshole as the boy clenched.  Though there was no real anal pleasures Patrick could feel—other than that of being hammered—there was something strange anyway and Patrick liked it.
	While Calvin “rested”; Patrick lay beside the naked Emily and fingered her little pussy.  His asshole kinda hurt and was sore—still spewing gobs of best friend cum, too.  But he fingered his best friend’s little sister with his dick up against her thigh, humping.
	Emily fussed some but had learned that too much fussing resulted in getting her naked butt busted.  Probing her for revealing information was nil, she was too young and too confused.  Oh well, the Voice was satisfied with what there was and let it be.
	Calvin came to squat onto his sister’s face, his testicles right IN her mouth laying his naked body down hers with his tongue licking out her little cunny.  Friend Patrick caressing AND spanking his ass…
	Patrick spanked Calvin’s ass, parted the cheeks (again) and licked the bung hole (again) before penetrating the hole with his fingers—prepping it for the bigger finger.
	Calvin squirmed—which resulted in a swift and skin blistering spank from the Voice.  It stunned the young boy into utter submission.  Patrick licked the hole, spat on it, then immediately began pushing his penis in as per command.
	The Voice came to straddle Emily’s legs and push his mighty manly penis into Calvin’s mouth.  Calvin very muchly didn’t care for it and gagged, choked, and nearly spewed.  The Voice gripped a handful of the boy’s hair warning—“If you spew on me, you’ll regret it.”
	Calvin didn’t spew but came close.
	Patrick fully made anal insertion and began to pump his friend’s hole.

	Calvin made a mighty squeal indicating anguish as the naked stranger shoved his manly manhood into his fresh fucked asshole.  The boy clenched his fingers tightly as the massive cock pounding his ass(hole) was incredible—very incredible.
	“Holy fucking shit!” he announced loudly.
	Patrick was in awe himself; he took his turn straddling Emily’s legs with his dick in his friend’s mouth.  Every so often the naked stranger would spank HARD Calvin’s ass and furiously fuck the hole until finally he unleashed a torrent of man cum.
	The cream drizzled out of the boy’s tortured anus to drip in gobs on young Emily directly below.  Steam arose from the boy’s asshole and it took over a minute before it snapped shut.
	Although exhausted from his devilish work, the Voice had the boys equally jerk off onto the other’s nut sac.  Neither boy wanted to or had much stamina to do so—but after being spanked so they submitted and emptied their boyish dongs of seminal fluids (onto the other’s nut sac.)
	“Now clean ‘em up.”
	The boys sat still in sullen horror—how much more disgusting could it get!  Licking bung hole ranked pretty high, sucking cock sailed high, too.  But licking cock cream from your best friend’s balls?  That was way high and hard to swallow.  (no pun intended)
	With their asses stinging and the threat of torture to the young Emily, the boys slurped off their cream from the other’s testicles.  Both very nearly spewed.  They sucked and masturbated themselves as well as the one they sucked.  Then they spanked one another for the Voice’s amusement.
	When their asses were as red as vine ready tomatoes, the boys positioned themselves on top of Emily who knew what was about to happen.  The boys resisted but were spanked horrendously by the Voice until they ultimately gave in.  Calvin was first, it was his sister so he got first dibs.
	Young Emily screwed up her sweet face, clenched her eyes tight and endured her first fuck.  Patrick smoothed his hand over his friend’s fucking ass, masturbated himself—and awaited his turn.
	Calvin slowly made vaginal penetration to his sister—his mind was emptied of all else—only concentrating on some girl he knew that he would like to be fucking instead of his sweet little sister.
	It wasn’t all bad, after a few daunting minutes there was the “release” that overwhelmed his revulsion of “doing” his sister.  As the squirts of his brotherly love emptied into Emily’s cunt he briefly didn’t give a shit of who he was doing so long as he was doing it.  It felt SOOOOOO good!  

 	Pumping vigorously, straining even more, his young pud went into overtime until the feeling began to subside.
	The coating of cherry juice on his schlong freaked him out.
	The Voice used the girl’s panties to clean her up, the girl’s brother used his own underwear to clean off his cock and balls.  He was then schooled in the knowledge of what happens when a virgin gets her cherry broken in.  It still didn’t sit well with the boy and he remained “freaked out” for some time.
	Patrick took his turn, firstly licking out the girl’s broken in cherry; fingering her out, licking, lapping, nipping, then stuffing.  She was still “tight” and Patrick only went one minute before squirting his friendly love juice.  During the fleeting moments he seriously pumped hard; his willy popped out and he settled it between the girl’s gash fucking even harder with bits of cum shooting up her young body.  Thereafter, as the boy lay drenched in sweat and exhaustion—he was sodomized by the Voice.

*

The final straw
	If it weren’t for “certain” conditions put upon him by the City Fathers and pantywaist crybabies bitching about equal rights, civil rights, and other rights pressed upon businessmen like Jarred Jamieson, there wouldn’t be a problem of keeping certain members of society on payroll.
	But there were conditions pressed upon the likes of Jarred Jamieson and he had to have certain members of society on his job force.  He didn’t like it and fumed everyday he saw one.  Of course, there was a loophole, he had to HIRE those certain members of society—there wasn’t a thing that said he had to keep them.  They could either leave on their own will—or by some other means.
	The certain types of society forced upon him didn’t usually leave on their own—they needed stronger persuasion.  Jarred was cool with them.  He had ways of persuasion…
	Casey thought he knew his Boss; oh he was certain for some assuredly that he didn’t fully know his Boss, but he thought he had him somewhat figured out.  He was wrong.  He had no idea just how horrid the man could be, or was.
	 One fine Summer evening and Jarred Jamieson called for Casey to come over to the house.  Semi reluctantly he complied.  Once at the Boss “mansion” they went somewhere else—Casey sat in the back of the limo, blindfolded.  “for your protection” he was told.
	Casey was in mild fear and didn’t know what was going on or what to expect.  With the Boss, anything was possible.  There was some familiarity with the roads of the exclusive neighborhood; Casey had taken the time to drive the roads to know the way to get out in case of some natural catastrophic calamity—mother in-law moving in, cops coming to take him away…
	Abner St. then Warner Ave; all the way down to the cross street Bay View Lane; that road circled all the way around the north end of Caspian Lake to Herald Way.  Then the limo went up a hill, that had to be Perk View Rd.  At the top the car turned right on Gimmly St. and went all the way around the upper hills before taking the Beamount Passage that wound its way down the hills to the back road of the exclusive neighborhood.
	Minnifornia Rd. ran left and right; going right and five miles later there would be the well traveled road leading to and from the exclusive neighborhood and the city.  Taking the left turn and the road led travelers to semi wilderness area where there was prime hunting in the low hills for deer and quail; another lake (but open to the public); and off-roading enthusiast.	
	The car turned left.
	Casey felt his stomach tightening.  What did this mean?  Why was the Boss taking him out to the low hills?  Was this the end of Casey Brockton?  Hadn’t he complied with all of the Boss sick-horrid commands?  The car turned sharply right, went over a cattleguard and then powered down a long stretch of road Casey didn’t know.  Cattleguard, there must be a road turning off of Minnifornia he didn’t know or had seen.  It was still a paved road and he could slightly detect other vehicles passing.
	Finally, though, the ride came to its end.  The Boss helped Casey out and they took a brief walk.  Cobblestones were beneath Casey’s feet, he heard birds, smelled sweet flowers, there was a breeze and trickling water.  The Boss had Casey by the elbow strongly and led him quickly along to a gate.  There were other voices, muffled, low speaking.  Associates of Jarred Jamieson.
	Along the new walkway after passing thru the gate, a turn, up some steps, and thru a regular door.  Casey’s perspiration began to soak him as his fear reached pivotal points.  ‘if you’re gonna kill me let me see it coming!’ was his thoughts—he had no idea if his thoughts transmitted to his lips.
	Another door and then down a small flight of stairs.
	Finally the blindfold came off.

	Minutes were needed for Casey to get his eyesight back; there wasn’t much to see once that was accomplished—it was dark.  Not dead-ass dark, but not well illuminated.  As his eyes continued to adjust, though, Casey saw that he was indeed—not alone.
	With his eyes fully adjusted he determined that he was in a basement.  A nice basement, a game room conversion with a big screen tv occupying space at one wall, bookshelves, a huge train set that ran at the ceiling level; a mini kitchen; a pool table; a wet bar; an in ground whirlpool; and some furnishings all suggesting high upper end living.
	The walls were white brick; the floor was carpeted; the ceiling was one of those drop-ceilings of an off-gray color.  There was air circulating; a 100-gallon fish tank occupied space at another wall.
	In the middle area were two girls, on a love seat sat a young teenage boy; a woman highly distraught sat bound hand and foot (and clothed) on a large sofa while a man who was also bound and highly pissed off with an aire of concern and fright in a large overstuffed chair.
	All were black.  African-American.
	The girls Casey recognized.  He couldn’t believe it, the house of the Illians—Bolon and Wyona Illian with their children Venus and Jasmine who were twins and young thirteen year old son, Jamal.  Venus and Jasmine were tennis phenoms at sixteen years young.
	Bolon Illian worked for the Company, Jarred Jamieson’s company.  He wasn’t too high on the Uppity Ladder but he was close.  Bolon had only been with the Company a few months.  As Casey wondered “what the fuck” he noted the “others” in the room.  Why he hadn’t noticed them earlier he didn’t know—they sort of stood out clad in their white cloth gowns, pointy white caps…
	No, they weren’t ghosts.
	‘holy shit.’ Casey mouthed to himself.  No wonder he was blindfolded.  But still, he had to wonder if the Boss fully trusted him—blindfolded or not.  Did it mean security was ok (with Casey)?  Would it mean despite what he saw in the Illian basement that he could walk away freely and go home, bang the wife, and go to work the following day without repercussions?
	The Boss turned to Casey and whispered in his ear, “I hates fucking niggers!”
	Casey felt a horrible gut wrenching twisting in his stomach.  Something bad was about to happen to the Illian family, something very-very bad.

*

	First up was Wyona.  She wasn’t a bad looking gal for being in her early 40s; long soft alluring hair, long sleek body over all; trim frame as she took care of herself and worked out.  She was active without being an “activist.”  She worked at some non-profit charity place in the city, as well as chaired some other business and was the co-manager of her girls—Bolon was the primary manager.
	Two Klansmen briskly hustled Wyona from the sofa to the floor and stretched her out.  When she screamed out she was roughly kicked in the head.  Bolon Illian came unglued and tried to attack but forgot that his feet were secured and he toppled out of his chair to the floor.  He still tried to intervene and was kicked in the chest knocking the air out of him.
	While two Klansmen ripped Wyona’s clothing off, two others held her firm while she wriggled, wept, and reeled from being kicked in the head.  Casey’s toes curled inside his Italian loafers.  He felt awful, he had no love for those of color but he had no hatred of them, either.
	Once Wyona was nude the men undone her bindings and stretched her out.
	“Leave her alone you sick motherfucker!” yelled out Jamal.
	A Klansman standing near the boy backhanded him.  The force of the smack sent the boy collapsing to the floor where he remained dazed for sometime to come.  The girls were on their knees trembling in sincere fear, crying and wailing not knowing what to expect.
	Once Wyona was stretched out to the max, another Klansman entered the scene bearing a small heavy headed sledge hammer and what looked like a railroad stake.  It was polished steel with an extra pointy tip and flat head.
	“Don’t worry,” mouthed the man going to his knees at Wyona’s outstretched right hand, “this is gonna hurt—a lot.” And he placed the railroad stake to the woman’s hand—she had clenched the hand forming a fist and it took a smack to her head and another KKK man to unfurl her fingers, two of which were broken in the process.
	The man bearing the steel stake and hammer drove the stake into the palm of the black woman’s hand hammering swiftly to drive the stake all the way down.
	Wyona freaked the fuck out.
	Bolon couldn’t get his breath and wrestled with himself on the floor seething with anger as well as helplessness.  Jamal pissed his pants, so did sister Jasmine.
	Wyona’s left hand was staked same.
	The woman twisted and was insane with pain and disbelief.
	A stake each to her feet, turned sideways and impaled just below the joint.  Casey didn’t know how much more he could take—it was not a pleasant sight and know matter how much a person was hated or despised, they didn’t deserve such mistreatment.
	Mr. Jamieson then began undressing himself.
	Casey stood fast and watched as casually the man pulled out a cigar, lit it up with a match, then stood straddling the impaled woman and began to urinate on her face.  
	When done, he squatted onto the woman’s face making her suck his cock.  It was of note that no EMAD seemed to be in use.  Wyona did her best at cocksucking but it didn’t matter of she was unschooled or could suck the chrome off a ’57 Chevy, she was going to get the man’s ire either way.
	After no more than a minute of sloppy sucking, the Boss slapped the woman’s face nearly taking skin with the force.  So stunned was Wyona that she was not aware of the man fucking her.  After the slap he slid down her body, squeezing her nipples then slowly sliding into her sex his sex.
	He was mid way along when Wyona realized and began to bawl.
	Bolon was coming out of his own skin with much anger.
	Four Klansmen it took to wrestle the man up to a standing position.
	An electronic device WAS used in the compelling Mr. Illian to settle down—a body zapping electronic stun gun.  When Mr. Illian got to be a problem of control for the Klansmen holding him, another walked up and pressed the stun gun to the man’s chest.  Bolon Illian buckled and experienced great agony as the current of debilitating electricity exploded throughout his body.
	When he recovered, his son Jamal was standing up across from him with his shirt off, pants and underwear at his ankles.  The Klansman who had the stun gun was standing at the boy’s side and as soon as Bolon’s mind was clear—the man placed the stun gun prongs to the underside of Jamal’s dangling testicle sac.
	“We have you attention, now?” said Mr. Jamieson to his black Employee.
	Mr. Illian nodded his head.
	“Good,” said Jamieson, “I sincerely hope no further dramatic demonstrations will be needed.  But I will be all to happy to facilitate such action if so warranted.”
	Bolon stood in a funk staring near blankly straight ahead at his naked son in serious peril.  A stun gun firing off to the chest was one thing, what would it be like to have such a weapon go off on bare testicles?
	“You will do exactly as you are told,” cooed the Klan leader’s voice, “or the boy will suffer.”
	Jamieson, however, wasn’t speaking to Bolon, but to the twin teenage girls.
	The girls were highly upset but they nodded rapidly conveying that they would do anything told of them to do.  Jamieson smiled and nodded his head to the other members of his elite group.  Three cloaked men came to the girls, standing them up and undoing their bindings.
	“You cause a problem,” warned Jamieson, “and your brother suffers.”
	The girls nodded conveying that they wouldn’t be a problem.
	“Good,” smiled the uncloaked naked company man, “come over and take your Daddy’s pants down.”
	The girls were riveted to the green tinted carpet.
	“Oh my God!” blurted Venus.
	“No fucking way!” exclaimed Jasmine.
	Short memory.  
	“That is most unfortunate.” said Jamieson.
	The girls’ eyes bulged as they realized their actions.  Too late.
	From behind them, thirteen year old Jamal screamed out and twisted as two hardy cloaked in white men held him fast while a third activated the stun gun.  The boy was released to allow him to wrestle and vomit uncontrollably on the floor like a Fourth of July fireworks “worm.”
	“Short memory.” said Jamieson.
	“You son-of-a-bitch!” seethed Bolon.
	Jamieson didn’t respond but stared at the girls.  “I’m waiting.” he said.  “As soon as he recovers he’ll be zapped again unless your Daddy’s pants are still in place.”
	Jasmine was the first to make the move—she trembled and was a physical-mental wreck.  “You fucking bastard!” quipped the girl.
	“You’re a monster!” seethed Venus.
	“Yes, I know.” Jamieson supplied.  Then, “get ‘em down, or he (Jamal) suffers.”
	Venus and Jasmine with trembling fingers, retching, heaving, weeping, undone their Daddy’s slacks and pulled them down.  With their eyes closed they tugged down their Daddy’s underwear.
	“Excellent!” cried out Jamieson.  Jamal, however, screamed out again and fell to the floor to wallow in his puke.
	“Why’d you do that?” screamed Venus, “We did what you fuckin’ told us!”
	“Yes,” Jamieson said masturbating, “but you didn’t do it in a timely fashion.  When I say for you to do something—I mean for it to be done NOW!”
	A slurry of cussings came from the girl’s Daddy as well as the girls themselves.
	Nothing further was done until Jamal was capable of standing.
	After fifteen minutes and Jamal was standing—with help of two white cloaked men.  “Good,” said Jamieson, “suck Daddy’s dong.”
	You might as well as told the girls that they could never-ever play tennis again and that all their previous efforts, all their previous wins, trophies, monies would have to be forfeited. 
	“Suck his cock, make him cum, or he (Jamal) suffers.”
	The girls looked to one another with dire helplessness.  Venus wept but Jasmine went to her knees.  She looked up to her helpless Daddy showing her own helplessness.  Bolon looked upon his child, he was crying and very muchly filled with helplessness.  He nodded, though, and Jasmine took her Daddy’s dick in hand and began to work it.
	Under duress (dire) she admitted to wanking off her boyfriend AND another tennis coach.  
	“Was their cocksucking?” Jamieson asked.
	The girl nodded, weeping and being very upset (embarrassed) about having to divulge the personal information with her family present.  
	The boyfriend and coach also fucked her.
	The coach boned her on the bench seat in the locker room AND his personal office AND under the bleachers of the high school track and field.  The boyfriend nailed her at his house, in the pool, on the breakfast table, and in the backyard in the middle of the night on the 4rth of July the previous year.
	Jasmine also whacked off her brother.
	Venus also took part in that incestuous deed—both girls sucked their brother and let him see them naked AND let him hump his cock against their asses.  Nothing more.
	Jasmine put her thick lips about her Daddy’s more than average cock; the man only was partially able to get an erection.
	“Lay down,” said Jamieson to Venus, “finger yourself.”
	Venus gulped, wailed, and cried very openly but complied.  Despite the hesitation of the girls in their performance, young Jamal remained standing—until after his sister Venus was laying down and in the midst of fingering her sex.  

 	The two Klansmen holding him brought him over and settled him down facing Jasmine and his Daddy; his testicles went into her mouth while he was lain down to lick out his sister’s cunt—something he had yet been able to do.
	Was he a virgin?
	Nope.
	There was only one girl, his age.
	“More than once?” inquired the nosey Jamieson.
	“Yeah, a few times.” the boy blurted.
	The boy licked and licked, lapped and nipped, sucked and retched.
	Suddenly, one of the Klansmen who had been holding Jamal brought out to play a belt.  It was long, sleek, black leather.  He lashed it to Jamal’s black ass and did so several times before the boy could take no more and rolled off of his sister in desperation to end the abuse.  The boy’s hands were secured but not his feet.
	There was much chaos at that moment; Bolon screaming for the men to stop, the girls screaming and wailing for the men to stop, Wyona screaming just to be screaming, and Casey calling for his Boss to halt the madness.
	Jamieson turned slowly to stare at his Employee.
	“You a nigger lover?” he asked slowly.
	“N-no, no, not that, but--”
	“But what?” asked Jamieson not letting Casey off the hook.
	“They’ve suffered enough.” Casey replied.
	Jamieson had a quirky smile; narrowing his eyes he leaned in towards Casey saying, “not in the least.”
	Casey wasn’t sure what the man meant—but knew he didn’t like it nonetheless.  The torment of the Illian family was far from over.  Very far.
	Jasmine returned to sucking her Daddy—Venus sucked her brother’s balls and then his cock.  Her free hands smoothed over his welted ass and her nose nudged into her dirt chute.  When the boy’s prick was stiff-stiff-stiff he was turned about and drove his 6-incher into his sister’s cunt.
	Venus was not a virgin, either; she wasn’t getting banged by their tennis coach, though—but a boyfriend AND his younger brother.
	“How young?” Jamieson wanted to know.
	Under extreme duress and threat to have the stun gun shoved into Jamal’s asshole, Venus gave up the fact that the younger brother was merely eleven.
	They fucked weekly and sometimes more than that.
	“In the ass?”
	“Yes.”
	“Double dick?”
	Double dick—one in her ass, one in her cunt.
	Jamal slid all of his young teen dick into his sister’s cunt and began to fuck like he knew how.  Venus spread her legs wide and clung to her brother and for a while there was nothing to be heard by Jasmine’s slurping action on her Daddy’s dong and Jamal’s cock slamming into Venus’ pussy.

	For a while, Bolon tried to maintain himself and NOT submit to the bastard Klansman’s pleasure—that was to cum in his daughter’s mouth.  But daughter Jas had talent and brought to her Daddy sincere sexual feelings that could not be denied and a great quantity of love juices spewed into her mouth.
	Jasmine sucked her Daddy’s cock dry and swallowed.
	Jamal, meanwhile, had reached his own orgasmic bliss and power fucked his sibling until unleashing a mighty load of his own.  The Klansman with the belt began lashing the boy’s ass as he came.
	Jasmine laid down, Venus got up and sucked on Jamieson’s cock; Jamal went to his Mom and began licking out her cunt.
	“Why don’t you join us,” said the Boss to Casey, “I just bet she’s never had white dick like yours.”
	Casey felt ill and wanted to flee.  This was a horror he couldn’t wrap his head around.  Jamieson was a sick-fuck fucked up man.  But with a sigh he stripped off his clothes and Venus spent a couple of minutes sucking him, too.
	Soon and all the members of the KKK present presented their cocks from a slit in the white cloaks—Jasmine and Venus went to each one, sucking the life out of the Klansmen dongs swallowing the spew that came forth minutes later.

	With Jasmine on her hands and knees and sister Venus beneath her licking out her sister’s cunt (something of which she admitted to doing on a fairly regular basis)—Casey put his cock into Jasmine’s cunt and fucked her as hard as he could.
	Jamal was on top of his Mom fucking her.  The boy struggled to cum as he was already drained and his ass and backside were on fire with the rash beatings and the tasering of his balls.  But his cock was hard and for over five minutes he fucked.

	After Casey finally got his ball juice flowing he pulled free and heaved as it was an effort to fuck.  He watched as the cum drizzled out of Jasmine’s cunt and onto the face of Venus.  One of the Klan members positioned himself at the other end and drove his cock into Venus’ cunt—he pulled out a time or two and drove himself into Jasmine’s mouth—then back into her sister’s poon for a righteous five minute fuck.
	Another man got involved, coming around to Jasmine’s ass where he spanked it with his cock before pushing it into her hole.  He didn’t go nicely, either and once ripped all the way in he began a serious bout of anal fucking.
	With Jamal done fucking his Mom, a Klan member took his turn.
	Soon with all the “members” done with the girls, Jarred directed the Daddy to get involved.  He didn’t want to.  He emphatically did all in his power that he could summon not to submit to the horrid bastard of a man’s command.
	So Jamal suffered.
	So Venus suffered.
	So the Daddy suffered (watching his children suffer.)
	“I’ll fucking kill you!” seethed Bolon.
	Jarred smiled, ‘not if I kill you first!’
	“You better fucking pray--” Bolon’s words were cut off as once more (as he hesitated further resisting and further pissing off the man controlling him) his children suffered; Jamal was whipped with a belt until he lay still on the floor—Jasmine had her legs pried open and the stun gun’s prong jammed into her pussy and activated.
	Bolon submitted.  He was sickened and horrified and could only submit—submit and await his turn of opportunity to enact vengeance.  No foreplay, he went right down onto daughter Venus schlepping his huge mambo against her cunny and hump it until it was strong enough to enter her.
	“I’d better see cum, ol’ boy, lots of sweet Daddy cum!” sneered Jamieson behind the black man as he began to pump.  Bolon turned his head to glare at the man, “FUCK YOU!” he shouted.  The Klansman with the stun gun pressed the prongs to Bolon’s ass and activated it sending 800,000 volts into the man’s bare sweaty behind.
	The Klan men all burst into bouts of laughter.  Casey not so much.
	After Bolon finally unloaded his liquid love and rolled off, Venus raised up and positioned herself so as she could suck his dick that had just been in him.  Sister Jasmine came to lick up the Daddy juices from Venus’ cunt.

	Over half an hour past before Jamal finally stirred.  His sisters sucked his dick and balls with Venus grinding her cunt onto her brother’s face.  When he was sufficiently hard, Venus straddled him and took his brotherly love tool and fucked him.
	Casey nailed Jasmine with the girl laying down beside her Mom.
	It still was long from being over.
	There was a break, a break where the Illian family was left alone.  The Klan plus Casey helped themselves to the wet bar.  When they had to pee, they simple stood over Jamal and urinated onto his blistered backside.
	When the “break” was over, Jasmine and Venus had their heads and pussies shaven.  The girls weren’t pleased with either treatment and were seemingly more horrified at that than being fucked by their brother and Daddy.
	The finale was drawing near.
	Jamal came to rest on his Mom once more, his dick worked to stiffness by his hairless sisters with Jasmine helping guide the teen member in.  Then, Jamal was glued superly to his Mom’s nakedness.  Superglue, and lots of it, was applied to the boy’s chest, his thighs, hands and arms, legs, and mouth to his Mom’s mouth.
	Their bodies were pressed together with a generous portion of glue squirted onto his shaft that was in his Mom’s canyon cunt.  With the girls prying their brother’s ass open a pool stick was jammed DEEP into the boy’s hole; then unscrewed and that end, the thick end pushed into Jasmine’s hole as far as it would go—until she made very painful faces.	
	Bolon once more had to sink his dick into Venus—and like Jamal to his Mom, Father and Daughter were glued and pressed together tightly.  The end of the pool stick from Jasmine’s ass was jammed into Bolon’s super tight virgin poo chute.  Then, Jasmine’s ass was glued to her Dad’s ass.
	What a sight!
	All the members drank heavily and then peed on the members before Jarred indicated that that was it.  Casey collected his clothing, remained nude and followed his Boss out of the house.  It was way dark and Casey had no fucking idea where the hell he was.
	Once in the limo he sat shaking.  What an ordeal.  He helped himself to some booze from the limo’s wet bar and tried to calm himself.  The Boss sat nearby, legs open, masturbating.
	It was of note that the car wasn’t moving, the engine wasn’t even running.  Casey swallowed shot after shot of high potent whiskey.  Was the nightmare over?
	Almost.
	After filling his glass with some strong bourbon—the house of Illian suddenly exploded.  It was a massive boom that rattled the glass of the Boss’ limo.  Pieces of house went sailing high in the air—it was time to go.  The nightmare was done.
	Sort of.

	There was no doubt—Jarred James Jamieson was fucked in the head.
	He was a member of the KKK, had absolutely zero morals, and was a danger to society.  A danger to society.  Casey went into deep thought—the man was dangerous—to society.  He hated people of color, people of different ethnic backgrounds and religions, and was a danger to society.
	For some reason, Casey determined and concluded at length that it was up to him to do something about it.  He didn’t know what, but the man had to be stopped.  Quietly.  He had dirt on Casey, probably more than Casey wanted to know.  The man had friends, too; dangerous—equally dangerous men.  But one thing at a time—he had to take his Boss out!
The end is here
	It was a safe bet that taking out the likes of Jarred Jamieson wouldn’t be easy.  The complications involved were high—Jarred had friends, associates, city clout and political power strings.  He also had standing with the KKK and they had resources untold.
	The best thought was to stage some sort of On-Site construction site investigation.  But the ensuing investigation by OSA would be a pain not too mention the site would probably by stopped for awhile and he barely had enough in savings to keep the family going for a long investigation.
	A car accident?
	Poisoning?
	A drive-by?
	The ideas racked up with no viable solution.  But something—something had to be done.  Jarred Jamieson was a danger to society.  Casey knew that the man, Jarred, had him (Casey) by the balls.  He could do to him anything—and basically already had.  
	“I am nobody’s slave,” Casey said to himself, “I’m nobody’s bitch!”

	Work provided some relief as the construction saw the skeleton of the multimillion dollar hotel rise up and take on “skin”.  The “first pour” was due up, the poignant cornerstone block of which there would be a dedication to and by the city fathers and other politicians whose noses were so brown their eyes were, too.
	There were problems, though, at the site; some of the cement wasn’t right; wrong sized rebar; wrong dates for various implements to the hotel; and a small host of other typical construction site problems.  Casey was in charge of “problems.”  Correcting them and reporting them to—the Boss.
	The Boss wasn’t the single source of the Company, there were other “Bosses”, mini Bosses and Wanna-be Bosses.  But as far as Casey knew, the other assorted Bosses were murders, equipped with an mind altering electronic device, or members of the local KKK.
	Taking the Boss out would undoubtedly cause a stir within the Company, but Casey figured it would go on and not become extinguished.  There were backup plans for such happenings.  No one was invincible, accidents DID happen, physical ailments took people out without notice.  Just cause you lived in a mansion above everyone else, made millions of dollars, had a “staff” support system in your home—your shit stunk and you could have a physical malady such as a brain tumor, heart failure, anything of the like without notice at any time.
	Usually there was pre-planning for most acts of humankind—war, banging the wife, a camping excursion, banging the wife’s sister, stealing from the company, embezzling company funds, and whacking the someone who deserved it.
	Usually.
	Casey Brockton was frustrated—deeply.  Banging his wife just wasn’t enough; copping a feel (with the aid of a minding device) off his daughters’ butts wasn’t enough; humping the kids’ babysitter, seeing teenage girls he’d most likely like to have stowed away in his basement for his own personal pleasure didn’t cut it either.  He was absorbed with the Boss—something had to be done with the Boss.  Something.  Something determinate—something permanent.
	Frustration drove Casey back to the job site.  There was work going on, up on the upper floors and down in the basement structure where a great deal of problems were being corrected.  Casey went to his personal office trailer and settled himself into paperwork then going out to the “problem” areas of the site.
	After awhile, and close to midnight, Casey found himself by the cornerstone where in weeks’ time the city fathers would be beaming and spilling spew from their mouths.  It sickened Casey.  He hated politics, policies, and politicians.  

	The area of the cornerstone was quiet and empty—all the work was on the other side of the building—and below it.  His eyes came to rest on the open area foundation where later there would be a huge granite stone block set in place with a bronze plaque on it with the names of special people involved from some special organization and so on.
	Casey didn’t care.  The Illian family filled his mind.  The members of the KKK who had had their way with the girls, whipping the boy, impaling railroad spikes into Wyona’s hands.  
	Courtney, too, filled his mind.
	Janice (the neighbor), too.  How many mounds were there under the bridge?  He counted five but saw cleared space where others could have been.  Others.  How many others?  And was the bridge place the ONLY place?  Where there other places?
	What about the house explosion at Eastbrook, the other exclusive neighborhood the police were saying was an “accident” resonating from the basement?  All five family members were found burned alive in “compromising” positions.  Those “positions” al la compromising were not disclosed to the public.
	Casey knew what they were…
	There was the portable mixer; a few tools carelessly sitting about.  Casey’s eyes fell on the paint churner bucket and the power tool attachment.  He smiled as he saw his Boss bent over the “A” frame with the augur attachment shoved DEEP into the man’s asshole.
	A fitting end.
	While at his desk again he saw a paperwork snafu, time tables were wrong and the latest report on the cement was wrong.  That was the day before he so noted on the paperwork but he didn’t see the paperwork regarding if the cement had been corrected.
	Checking other papers and Casey was out the door to go physically check.  He was an engineer and a mason and had know-how on the properties of cement.  Thankfully, the last batch of cement was good.  More was coming in the morning; everything had to be just right—the temperature of the cement, the ambient air temperature, his Foreman, the workers, the operators—everything.
	The need to take a leak came to him—it was too far to walk back to his trailer and he didn’t care for the funkiness of the porta-gos, so he ambled to the cornerstone and whizzed on the spot where the block would be inset come the morrow.
	It was then that a thought came to him.
	It was sort of planned—sort of.  A thought that dwelled in the subconscious, in the back of his mind.  Could it work?  Should it work—that was more important.  His mind began to collide with itself in a fury of Right and Wrong.  The EMAD, he came to realize at length, was not the soul cause of his mind’s demise.  Unnatural desires were always there, the EMAD and the interaction of the Boss had merely freed those desires.  He still didn’t see himself as a “monster”, but he did little in the effort of curbing those desires.  But then again, the EMAD’s influence was pretty high…
	“Uh, yeah, Mr. J, I know it’s late (or early depending on your outlook of looking at 1:45AM) but there’s a problem I thought you’d better be aware of.  The cement from the last pourings was wrong.  There could be a potential problem with some of the foundation AND the cornerstone project.”
	There was silence on the other end—then,
	“I’ll be right there.”
	Casey smiled—his heart pounded, asshole clenched and he wondered,
	“Could he really-actually pull it off?”
	He wondered, too—would the Boss be alone?  Was the Boss ever really alone?  Did he have a back-up plan?  Was he followed by loyal followers?  Was he watched over for security purposes?
	Fifteen minutes later and the Boss arrived in his Jag.  Casey’s heart raced so much that he couldn’t hear the Boss’ greeting and could only read the Boss’ lips when he said, “So what the fuck’s the matter?”
	Casey brought the ass-bastard Klansman over to the cornerstone project and showed him some crumbled cement.  The Boss fumed a bit and looked over some paperwork, kicked a bucket then stepped inside the foundation area where the huge multi-toned stone would be placed in just a few hours.
	He never saw it.
	Jarred James Jamieson never saw the swinging wrecking ball…

	It was a small one used for demolition of other structures and wasn’t primarily used in the main construction.  The “ball” was a couple hundred pounds; Casey merely undone the tether and let the ball swing naturally—this after redirecting the swing arm.
	The ball smack Jarred on the side instantly crushing his right arm and sending him sprawling.  The foundation of the cornerstone project kept him confined, though; Casey was glad of that—it made it easier for him to continue “taking the Boss out.”
	Jarred lay wriggling on the ground just inside the cornerstone foundation trying to catch his breath.  His wits, too, were scrambled, right arm crushed, he wriggled about while his favorite employee stood above him—urinating on him.
	While he pissed on his Boss, Casey stole his eyes about the area checking for security’s sake.  He realized that he would have to do something about the Boss’ Jag. 
	Later.  First though…
	After showering the Boss with his pee he proceeded stripping the Boss down to his skin.  Jarred somewhat knew what was happening and resisted.
	“Resistance is futile!” Casey spoke harshly to his Boss, soon to be former Boss.  Into a heavy duty tool bag went the man’s shoes, very-very expensive Italian shoes.  He didn’t wear a suit as usual, not for a nighttime visit to the construction sight but an imported two-piece jogging suit.
	Casey paused just a moment when finding the man had nothing else on, no underwear.  A strange-strange feeling crept over him; he didn’t know what to make of it or even if he should—but,
	While Jamieson lay wriggling and reeling from having his arm crushed, Casey took the man’s member and began to suck it!  He did!  It would be the final pleasure Jarred Jamieson would enjoy; the Boss’ member, though, wouldn’t get hard.  No matter, Casey straddled the man (after undressing) and pushed the man’s cock to his hole trying to force it in.
	Without being hard the man’s tool wouldn’t go in.
	No matter, Casey humped the man’s sex then went up to Jarred’s face ejaculating onto and into the man’s mouth.  “You be a good little bitch now.” Casey cooed.  A peculiar feeling began to envelope Casey; overpowerment?  He wasn’t sure, something though—something close to evil.
	Suddenly he stood up and wrestled Jarred up flinging him over the “A” frame.  Then, finding himself with an erection he jammed himself up into the Boss’ tight asshole.
	“Take it all, bitch!” Casey almost yelled as he slammed himself into the man’s ass.  Jarred’s senses and wits were still in disarray along with his energy sapped away due to the overpowering debilitating pain from his crushed arm.
	Casey humped the hardest he had ever humped.  His cock having just cum on the man’s face still was amazing stiff—but incapable of cumming off again for some time.
	After a few minutes and Casey pulled out to spank the man’s ass with his cock—then he saw the oversized rebar.  Taking up a six-footer he lashed it against the man’s ass before prying the man’s ass open and jamming unmercilessly the rebar into the fresh fucked hole.  He jammed it in—in—and in.  Jamieson seriously fussed and when he did—his tormentor smacked his bare ass seriously hard.
	The rebar was removed—replaced by the blunt end of a jackhammer...

	The deed was done.
	In just a couple of hours the morning shift would be arriving to begin preparations for the Big Event.  In the immediate area where the multi-tonned stone would be placed lay the ravaged body of a one Jarred James Jamieson.  He was nude, a small length of rebar was JAMMED up into his rectum perforating the man’s bowels.
	That wasn’t as painful as the sudden removal of his testicles by a ripper machine.  A ripper machine was one that smoothed out leathery materials.  It did a fine job of ripping Jamieson’s testicles.  Once they were removed, they were deposited into the man’s open-undulating mouth.  His eyes fluttered and he gagged for breath.
	Then a small amount of cement was poured into his mouth…
	Jarred lay on a small bed of rebar some feet below the foundation of where the impending stone center piece would be settled in just mere hours.  A layer of cement covered him and then just as the rays of the sun came peeking over the city’s horizon—a layer of dirt to make the area sublime.
	Casey urinated on the dirt, “fuck you, Boss.” he said and walked away.

*

the way of it
 	“Do you know the legend of a youth's rite of Passage?”
	A poignant question, Alton had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but it was poignant question.  After leaving the Undertall dwarves, Alton had set out to help the fantasy land, something about an evil witch-bitch, in the Kingdom of Od which was a large tract of land occupied by dozens of fairy tale inhabitants all eking out a meager living on the Yellow Egg Shell road.
	Somewhere along the way from the Undertalls and the easy white girl, Snow, befuddled Alton the proposed Champion found a bluebird.  The bird talked to him,
	“You’re taking too much time.” the bird scolded. 
	“Say what?”
	Alton’s guide, Aria, suddenly materialized before him.  “You were lost, I was guiding you,” she said calmly, “you’ve taken an alternate path.”
	“Is that bad?” Alton asked.
	“No, not exactly.”
	“Do you—uhm, know what I’ve been doing?”
	“No, I only know somewhat of where you are and that what you are doing is a regal quest.”
	Alton wasn’t sure what that meant.
	“Uhm, soooo, what now?”
	“You have a choice?” Aria said brightening up.  “You can continue your alternate pursuit, or continue onward to make your return.”
	“My return?”
	“Yes, to Earth.”
	Alton stood still for a long while.
	Earth.  Home.  A few dozen memories flashed thru his mind all at once.  And then—then a girl’s face came.  At first she was a little odd looking, black make-up, black clothing.  Then she appeared as a normal humankind type person; thick raven black hair, and very pretty to him.
	He couldn’t remember her name, though.
	“She’s praying for you.”
	Wow.  “For me?”
	“Yes, she loves you.”
	Double wow.  No one had ever loved him before, although his drill sergeant said he loved him…
	Alton leaned on a rock.  The Undertalls wanted him to be their Champion, to go up against the Wicked Witch of Od—see chapter 11 and 13 for details to jog your memory.
	“So, what about this “rite of passage?”
	“You were earlier in the Cave of Rite, deciding if whether you were worthy or not to continue on with yourself.”
	Alton didn’t remember.  Guide Aria smiled, folded her hands before her self; she was clad in a blue one piece outfit; hair of gray but a face that was young.
	“The youth is a member of the tribe that has saved you.  Upon reaching the Age of Ascension, the youth’s father takes him into the Great Forest of the Owls, blindfolds him and leaves him alone.  The youth is required to sit on a stump in the forest the whole night and not remove the blindfold until the rays of the morning sun shine can be felt upon his face.
 	“He cannot cry out for help to anyone.”
	“Once he survives the night, he is a MAN.  He cannot tell the other boys of this experience, because each lad must come into manhood on his own.  The boy is naturally terrified.  He can hear all kinds of noises in the Owl Forest and more than once “something” brushed by his legs.
	“Wild beasts must surely be all around him.”
	“Maybe even something more than animal might do him harm!”
	“The wind blew down from the high mountains cold; the grasses bent and the reeds beat the logs in the swamp.  The wind howled all about the young Ogambi warrior and even shook the stump he sat on.”
	“But he sat firmly never removing the blindfold.”
 	“Finally, after a frightening night the sun came to kiss his face and make him warm.  He sighed deeply and removed his blindfold.”
	“Sitting on the stump next to him was his father—who had been there all night—watching and protecting his son from harm.”
	“We, too, are never alone.  Even when we don't know it, God, or some Entity you prefer, is watching over us, sitting on the stump beside us.  When trouble comes, all we have to do close our eyes and believe by Faith that we will be watched over and protected by our Father.”
 	Moral of the story:  Just because you can't see God, or some Entity you prefer, doesn't mean He is not there.  “For we walk by faith, not by sight.”

	“So what do I do now?”
	Aria took his hand, “The power of Prayer is strong, so is the power of Love.  The one who loves you awaits you!”
	Aria led the befuddled Alton back to the stone slab that he had come upon.  Before he laid down, “Uhm, listen, I-I was on an adventure, I-I was going to do something for some dwarves, they-they trusted me.”
	“You may return when you are ready.”
	“Cool.”
	
*

	“Well,” he began, “it’s a long story.”
	There was no doubt there.
	“In short, ‘I fell from space, some guys in green suits tried to dissect me, these guys freed me, and now I’m a part of their tribe.’”

	That was short.  The creature from Malmac left out a lot of detail.  But “Alf” wasn’t into a lot of giving detail, he was, though, into giving a lot of sex.  Sex-sex-sex.  It was a way of life and young teenage Goth girl, Madelynn was just learning that.
	When she had first seen the brown furry creature she had freaked a little, and then passed out.  When she awoke later, she was in the teepee tent where the creature who hailed from another planet was occupying.  He was an esteemed guest of the Ogambi tribe where Madelynn had taken her adult male lover, Alton.  This after rescuing his body from a canyon by the ocean and bringing his near-very near lifeless body to the Ogambi who had strange mystical means of which to retrieve a spirit of one who has Passed On.
	Alf was somewhat human-like—somewhat.  He was a little on the short side, five foot short.  Very-very furry like a cat; brown fur, an elongated muzzle with oddly arranged jagged teeth; two eyes, dog-like ears, and a weird since of humor.
	He was a “free spirit” and was in tune with the humankind ‘60s era.
	He did not have an aversion to clothing but with the Ogambi tribe he was free to go as he was.  No one cared.  Most of the Ogambi tribe also went without clothing.  Madelynn had been privy to that—she hadn’t meant to snoop, but in the interim of awaiting her ascended lover she got bored.  She wasn’t the “praying” type person and only did so a moment for herself and then a moment to appease Chief Three-Toes.  
	Alf was a nice enough creature, he talked too much, though; filling Madelynn’s head with incredible stories of his space travel, his falling into her planet, something about “other” aliens, and then the rescue by the Ogambi.
	He also was partial to the “pipe.”
	Madelynn was aware of what was in the pipe—highly hallucinogenic whacky tabaky.  Coupled with shots of “fire water” and the experience was mind boggling—if not altering.
	The chat with Alf was intriguing, but Madelynn’s mind was occupied with her ascended lover.  The mystic Mona had said the Ogambi had mysterious ways of retrieving an ascended body—but there was a price.
	“A price?” Madelynn asked of Mona.
	“Yes, in some cases, most cases, the returned body has soul impairment.”
	“What kind of impairment?”
	“Usually a decrease in life span.”
	“How much of a decrease?  You mean, he wont live as long?”
	“Yes, dearie, I’m afraid so.”
	“Soooo, like how much time will he have?”
	“Usually, well, it depends on lots of circumstances—how long the body had been dead before being ascended, the circumstances in regards to being dead, and that sort.”
	Madelynn wasn’t sure if rescuing her lover was the right decision after all.
	“Usually about twenty years.”
	Madelynn looked to Mona, “You mean, he’s only got twenty years left to live?”
	“Sometimes that’s the way it works, dearie; and sometimes it means that their life span is cut short by twenty years.”
	Alton was in his early thirties, according to Mona, he had a good chance of just having twenty years or so cut from his original life span.  She could life with that—she hoped Alton could.  She hoped that Alton would be understanding of her selfishness.  Maybe he wanted to be dead, maybe being dead wasn’t that bad.  But the manner of which she had found wasn’t good; upside down with body all askew in the crag of the canyon by the sea.
	Mona hadn’t stuck around, she had left shortly after Alton’s lifeless body had been put on the akia (the stone ascending stone).  Madelynn made her way around to the various teepees and other structures (before finding the furry alien life form); the Ogambis were naughty-naughty Indians.

*
and now a brief word from our sponsors

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	Tonight’s music brought to you by, “Rosey Redpalm and her Five Ugly Sisters!” backed up by the Foreskin Five under the direction of Hairy Balls.

	And tonight’s story brought to you by the happy-happy folks over at “Woody Wax & Polish”, ‘cause every Woody deserves a handjob.’
	And from the friendly folks at Herbs Garden Emporium “A good gardener never forgets his first ‘hoe.”
	And the folks over at Nuts-Bolts-&-Stuff “Men are mechanically inclined—they screw first then they bolt!”
	Donna Iwanna from the Slippery Frock Bar and Thrill, “If you cant get screwed, come in and get hammered!”
	Hardy Harhar says from his hardware store on Backstreet which is on Front Street off from the side of Next Street, “If you cant get screwed, come in and get hammered!”
	And from the political regime:  “Give me Deep Throat over Bush anytime!”
	
*and now for something completely different*

	A tourist walked into a pet store and was looking at all the pets on display. While he was there, a petroleum engineer from a nearby office walked in and said to the storekeeper, “I'll take a rig hand monkey please.”
 	The storekeeper nodded, went to the side of the store, and took out a monkey.  After putting a collar and leash on the animal, he handed it to the Engineer, saying, “That'll be $2000.”
 	The man paid and left with the monkey.
 	The surprised tourist went to the storekeeper and said, “That was a very expensive monkey.  Most monkeys are only a few hundred dollars. Why did that one cost so much?”
 	The storekeeper answered, “Ah, that's a rig monkey.  He can rig up, throw the chain, work derricks, rack pipe, paint, mix mud, all with no back talk or complaints. It's well worth the money.” 
 	The tourist then spotted a monkey in another cage.  “Wow!  That one's even more expensive, $10,000!  What does it do?”
 	“Oh that one,” replied the storekeeper, “That's a Rig Manager monkey.  It can instruct all levels of maintenance, run the safety program, deal with clients, and even do some paper work.  A very useful monkey indeed.”
 	The tourist looked around a little longer and found a third monkey with an even more startling price tag stating $50,000!  The shocked tourist exclaimed, “This one costs more than all the others put together.  What in the world can it do?”
 	“Honestly,” said the storekeeper, “I've never actually seen him do anything but drink beer, curse and play with his dick all day, but his papers say he's a Company Man!”

and now back to our regular program…

What is today but yesterday’s tomorrow
	In the canvas/animal skin home of Nose Too Big, a Chinese girl lay sprawled out, spread eagle, wrists and ankles tied securely to wooden stakes.  She was nude, of course, and Nose-Too-Big was as well.  The big Indian sidekick of Chief Three-Toes was endowed with a monstrous schlong; it was doubtful that he could fuck the Chinese girl, she was a mere teen, just barely.  Her pussy had been shaven, her clothing shredded; she lay conscious, trembling and peeing.
	The act of peeing seemed to thrill Nose-Too-Big, he smiled, gleamed, and masturbated greatly and heavily watching as the young girl urinated.  The enthralled Ogambi Indian smacked the girl’s freshly shaven pussy with his “mohar” (Ogambi word for cock).  He smacked the girl’s pussy as hard as he could a couple-three times before rubbing himself up against her virgin slit.  She was nay but thirteen and soon the Ogambi was positioning himself on her, grinding his cock against her teen sex before forcing himself into her.
	Madelynn watched until the girl’s cherry and spirit was broken then moved on.

	A black girl about sixteen or so years of age was bent over a hitching post between Nose-Too-Big and Horse Face (better than the other end…)  Three Ogambi were here and paid the visiting Madelynn no attention; their attention was on the black girl, Tosha.
	Tosha was nude, her legs spread out wide and secured to the ground by ropes and wooden stakes.  The girl’s arms were also spread out and secured.  She formed an “A”, or something like bent over the rustic horsey hitching post.  The three Ogambi, naked, took turns helping themselves to the distraughted girl—humping her ass, spanking, peeing on her, and getting off on mistreating her.  While one big scruffy Indian was in her mouth, another humped her asshole while a third urinated on her blistering backside.
	Madelynn moved on.

	Medicine Man Barks-when-he-sneezes had a big hut buried partly into the hillside.  It had once been a miner’s hut of sorts and served the purposes of the Ogambi Medicine Man well.  And unlike his fellow tribesmen, Barks-when-he-sneezes had air conditioning!
	It wasn’t the greatest and was merely powered by solar panels located on top of his rocky/tin hut.  But it helped.  Inside his modest home the Ogambi non-warrior sat in a reclaimed lounge chair named somewhat after him.  An ice chest of ice cold beer on one side, snack foods on the other.  He was nude and sat smiling as he had one girl after another line up and get undressed.
	None of the girls, and some boys, were older than thirteen.  One girl, about elevenish, was nice looking with decent clothing suggesting her parents had money.  No jewelry, no watch, rings, or earrings—but those could have been removed prior to Madelynn’s spying.
	Long brown hair twisted in two twin braids.  A wide roundish face, full bright white straight teeth, a sweet face with twinkling green eyes.  For eleven, she didn’t have much of a body—but for eleven she wasn’t supposed to.  She didn’t seem to be too shook up about her predicament, Madelynn had to wonder if the girl, and the others, were under some mystical influence or an electronic one?
	In either case, the girl stepped out of lineup from the others; she wore a simple top with a small non-matching vest.  With a few utterances that seemed garbled to Madelynn, the girl pulled off her tops and then trainer that contain two very small breasts.
	Barks-when-he-sneezes masturbated, licked his lips, farted, and spoke in his garbled language again.  The girl, “Alice”, undone her very dark green and semi-tight jeans.  Down they came and Barks-when-he-sneezes stepped up his efforts of masturbation.
	A careful eye saw that the other girls and boys lined were somewhat “aware” of what was going on—just powerless somehow to do anything.  Two boys about thirteen or so sported boners bulging in their pants, two other boys a little younger were frightened by the circumstances—but also had bulges.
	Alice stood with some concern and trepidation on her face in pretty light green flowery panties.  Typical girl style; Barks-when-he-sneezes stared focusing his attention solely on the girl’s pussy.  The girl didn’t seem nervous or even scared, concerned but that was about all.
	Barks-when-he-sneezes garbled something and down came the green panties.  When Alice stood, her pussy had a very light covering of poon pie hair.
	Barks-when-he-sneezes said something, garbled, but apparently, little Alice could hear it ‘cause she stepped out of her clothes and walked over to the masturbating Indian.  
	Alice was “aware” but there was a force about her that was more powerful than see compelling her to act, to perform.  She had no choice.  She went to her knows, tossed her hair out of the way and took over masturbating the Ogambi.
	Barks-when-he-sneezes ran his hand thru the girl’s hair and began rubbing his mohar against the girl’s sweet face.  Soon the girl was haphazardly-like sucking on the huge bulbous tip that was jutting cum.  The girl made a face indicating how gross it was to do such a thing—but she gripped the dick and sucked on it tip anyways.
	When after the young girl had sucked and sucked and sucked on the mohar she was pulled up onto the Ogambi Indian’s lap and was pierced.  She let out a yelp as her young virgin sex was obliterated, she contorted oddly, screwed up her pretty face and then settled down as the Medicine Man gripped her butt and worked her up and down his shaft.
	Madelynn went on.

	After making her way back to the Chief’s tent, Madelynn settled and watched for any signs of “anything” at the akia stone.  Night had come, the heat of the desert was still on, the sounds of spanking still could be heard.  
	“You should not worry, little one.” the Chief said startling her with his sudden presence.
	Madelynn shrugged, sighed, and bowed her head into her knees.
	“He cares for me.” she said, her voice somewhat muffled by the positioning of her head.  
	“There is a connection between you.”
	Again, Madelynn shrugged, “I guess.” Then,
	“I know we were meant to be together,” she looked up to the akia stone, wrinkled her nose saying, “the strands of our lives seem to be woven, bonding us together,” then, changing her tone to a more dramatic statement of fact, “and neither world or time can stop it.”
	The Chief remained silent sitting beside her, when hot breaths of air came sweeping up from the desert floor he merely closed his eyes and continued listening.
 	“Where I come from, it’s chaos—organized to some point but it’s a muffled existence.  The wind blows, the sea flows; people come, people die.  The streets are paved with blood, there’s screams in the night and nobody cares.
	“Then he came.”
	“He’s different, he cares—he cares for me!”
	Madelynn didn’t understand it, their age difference wasn’t that much—not that it would matter anyways.  They had kismet, they had more than just simple rapport, they had a bonding that no strain of time or distance could break.
 	“Since time began, man has looked to the awesome reaches of time and space asking themselves:  What is time?  What is space?  What is life itself?  What is death?”  The Chief’s words filled Madelynn, she didn’t know what to say back to him, though.
 	“Through hundreds of civilizations, philosophers and scientists have come together with answers, but no solution can come among them as in the end--the bewilderment remains.
 	“Science tells us that nothing ever dies but only changes.”
 	“Time is irrelevant,” Madelynn supplied, “I see it as bending around us and becomes a part of us—making our own time line being with us always.”
 	“Out of dark shadows comes knowledge.” the Chief added.
 	“The world is sick, it’s corrupt, deceitful; it goes on and on and on becoming uglier and uglier.  The only thing that’s the same is the sun coming and going; just as it did yesterday and will tomorrow.”
 	“Tomorrow is an abject thought, a presence of mind to some, a manner of hope to others.” 
 	“Does it matter?” Madelynn returned, “This was tomorrow once.”
	“What is today but yesterday’s tomorrow.”
	The two fell silent thereafter.  
	Suddenly, after just a few minutes of said silence there was activity at the akia stone.  Running Little and Five Fingers ran out to the stone where a terrific whirlwind had come.  The wind that whirled was more of a dust devil, one that didn’t move once it had come to be.
	“I cant see!” Madelynn shouted as the Dust Devil came to surround the life stone, the darkness of the day had come and the swirling sand stung the girl’s eyes.
	“Is he there?” she asked in hope.

	The Chief and Madelynn were standing, Medicine Man Barks-when-he-sneezes had gone out with the others and were swept up in the storm.  Other Ogambi had come, some going out to the stone, others standing by their Chief.
	Suddenly there was an explosion of eye blinding proportions; Madelynn clung to Chief Three-toes who held her firmly, shielding her from the blinding light.
	“Did he come back?” she asked in a meek voice.
	“Come see for yourself!” the Chief said gingerly walking the girl to the life giving stone.
	Madelynn could hardly walk, she could hardly see.  The Dust Devil had stopped but there was still wind whipping stirring up dust and eye stinging sand.  The Chief held her hand and scolded her when she went to rub her eyes.
	Finally they arrived at the stone where a body lay.