August Moone
Book 8
Chapter Forty-Eight
A Funny Thing Happened
(on my way to the Slime Pit)

Wisdom does not always come with age - sometimes age comes alone.
On pain and stress and approach to life:  “Pain is a relatively objective, physical phenomenon; suffering is our psychological resistance to what happens.  Events may create physical pain, but they do not in themselves create suffering. Resistance creates suffering.  Stress happens when your mind resists what is... The only problem in your life is your mind's resistance to life as it unfolds.”

	“And now—the weather!”
	In a word—rain.  Lots and lots of rain.  So much rain that ole Noah gonna get interested.  Funny, though, there was no rain out on the highway, or the byway, or anywhere else but the creepy woods with the creepy lake in the middle.  There were cabins about—lifeless and empty.  Nothing stirred—like fish, in the lake.  It was a dreary-dreary place indeed.
	No birds.
	No voles, badgers, porcupines, weasels, foxes, or bears.
	It was creepy plain and sure.
	Something bad happened therein.  Five lone cabins were virtually swallowed up by the overgrowth.  There was a small clearing before each one but it wouldn’t be long before that would be obscured, too.  Ferns were the most prevalent but there were other various fauna spread all about the shoreline with thicker ferns and vegetation engulfing huge granite boulders.
	There weren’t even any game trails.
	The first cabin had a well weathered boat against one side; 2-story with a small front porch.  Whether or not there was an outhouse or propane tank behind the cabin was unknown—vegetation was too thick and Rain Frisco wasn’t stepping anywhere near there.
	Rain Frisco was moody—and being in spooky woods wasn’t the place to alleviate a mood.  A gambling casino was.  There was some mysterious draw to the spooky woods, though.  Rain couldn’t shake, but the shaking of his body prompted him to check out the woods and the cabins at a later time.  Now, he had to get out of the wet clothes and before he caught pneumonia.
	“I remember you from such films as “Zombies!  Zombies!” and “I was a Teenage Mutant Zombie!”
	The old Hollywood dame with a glazed boozed look on her withered old face smiled at Rain as he plopped himself down beside her.
	“Fancy meeting you here!” she said succinctly.  No matter the booze, or the age, Yvonne Burgerone didn’t slur her words.  She tilted and wavered but she spoke correctly.
	Rain plunked down his chips and let his mood perk up.
	Booze and winning hands helped that out.  Yvonne did so-so.
	After awhile of playing it was time to do something else—like dinner.
	“Care to hang out with an old cantankerous dick like me?” Rain asked jokingly; to wit Yvonne snickered, “If you don’t mind hanging out with an old cunt like me!”
	The Dealer gave the two a shocked look.
	Rain offered his arm in a gentlemanly manner and Yvonne took the offering.
	Dinner, drinks, a lousy lounge show, and off to hotel room—Yvonne’s room.  Rain was still a little moody and wasn’t in the mood for shenanigans—the sexual kind.  Yvonne offered more drinks and it was a time just to cool down and relax.  He was up a bit more than what he started with, that was something.  His old truck still needed upgrading.  Although it had been awhile since he had been in the Northvalley casinos he was leery from his earlier visits.  The casinos he had visited helping himself to the “stacks” in the cashiers’ booths were aware that something had happened—most likely a culprit with a mind altering device.  In that, the security was likely tightened and the security cameras zeroing in on everyone coming to said cashier booths.  Rain figured it was possible (very likely) that his image was on some security booth wall—he was a marked man.
	So he cooled it and didn’t visit the booths were the cashiers were leery.  
 	There were; however, other booths in other casinos that were not so and so Rain “visited” them, briefly.  It still did little to uplift his mood.  The chat and drinks with Yvonne lasted until the wee hours of the morning.  Whether or not Yvonne appreciated the fact that Rain didn’t jump her bones or not wasn’t known—sometime between 3AM and 5AM when Rain awoke for nature’s calling, Yvonne Burgerone who was in such films as “Do Robots Dream?” and “The Robot Bunny Zombies Are Coming!” passed away.
	That seriously didn’t help Rain’s mood.

	Leaving Northvalley he aimed his old yellow ’53 towards Burrelwood.
	Yeah, he thought of the black family there, the Belliflop family and ultra horny Kenny who was more than grateful to Rain for helping him have his way with the girls AND their mother.  He thought of fellow casino gal, Kellie, too.  He missed her.  He missed Cliff who had also kicked the bucket.
	Burrelwood came—and went.
	At the crossroad “T” section was Desert Hwy 1A.  Turning left would take him out to the desert towns Eight Acres, Acton Wells, Bridgeview Meadows Mesa, and the others.  Rain needed a new venue—a new view.  Although she was old, Yvonne had been cool.  He liked her.  She was a dame who had class, came from the Old School.  She could drink and cuss with the best of them and still could outclass anyone in the social uppity world including royalty!
	She was going to be missed.
	Rain turned right heading to new towns.

	Burnt Rock  Tree Stomp  Lookout Vista  Laurel Canyon
	Leon’s Eats  Last Chance Station  No Services Next 60 Miles
	Good Luck!
	Sounded promising.  The ocean was out that way, out past Laurel Canyon—another 200 miles or so.  A military base was there, a small town, a rinkydink trailer park nestled up against the ocean shore (sound familiar?) and not much else.  A new direction was needed.  He would miss the cabin by the creepy woods.  There was that abandoned mine, too.  It was certain there was a story there, a mystery to solve.  Rain wasn’t in the mood.
	And speaking of rain—
	A downpour came virtually obscuring the road ahead.  There was no windshield washer fluid to wash off the dirt encrusted on the windshield, and the right windshield wiper had a mind of its own.  On reflection, had he had sex with the Old Dame of Hollywood—it would be hard to live down finding her life expired afterward.
	But also on reflection, he had given her a “nice time” for what limited time she had left.  No sex, just chatting, drinking, and so on.  It still bugged him; he remembered her in such B-films of the fifties like “Finkleberry the Last Emperor of Dingledom” and “Gnary the Gnome.”  
	The rain came harder.
	With one bulb illuminating the EATS sign, Rain pulled up alongside the dreary old roadside building that definitely had seen way better days.  The sound of the rain thumping on the rooftop of the old truck drowned out all thought.  He sighed, farted, searched the ash tray for a doob; found none and sat back in the seat stretching.
	That only got him a kink in his calf and he had to get out.
	The rain was not only falling hard but cold, too.
	No one was inside the crappy roadside diner—but it was a miserable night to be out.  Cabbage and chili could be smelled, the old man and woman who ran the establishment eyed the drenched man who came in.
	“You open?” Rain asked.
	The old man said something that was unintelligible but the nod conferred “Yes.”  Rain parked it by a window streaked with grime and age.  Wooden floor, wood walls and ceiling.  Old rafters were exposed with a jungle of cattle skulls, miner’s lanterns, galvanized washtubs and everything else suggesting “old” time.
	“Whattya have?” asked the pudgy woman.  She looked haggard but held her order book.
	“Chili.” Rain said.
	“Good choice.” The old woman mouthed and she turned waving the order shouting “CHILI SPECIAL!”
	A jukebox occupied space in one corner, there was a wood burning stove, a pool table, ten tables, and a room for weary travelers to grab snacks, ice, beer, fishing poles, and bait.
	The chili came and it was good.  Lots of onions, tomatoes, peppers, sour cream, avocado, and cheese.  A cold mug of beer accompanied the dish and the worries, concerns, and all else faded.
	“Hot cherry pie,” said the old woman startling Rain, “if you’d like some.”
	Rain nodded, suppressed a fart until she walked away taking his empty bowl of chili.  The old man was mopping up the area behind the register when the front door opened and two men entered; one was a state trooper, the other a truck driver.
	“Hello, Hank!” said the old man brightening up a bit.  “What the ‘ell brings you out tonight, thought you’d be in Weehawk (another town way down the way).”
	“Road’s out.” the trucker said.
	“Washout,” stated trooper, “down at the low point at Boiler’s Rock.”
	The trooper and trucker sat together at a table across the room with the trooper giving Rain a slight glance.  The old woman brought the pie with ice cream and another beer to Rain.  He took his time, the trooper, trucker, and proprietors all seemed to know one another—well.  Rain finished his treat, plunked down enough to cover with a tip then shuffled back out to his truck.
	Burnt Rock, Tree Stomp, Lookout Vista, Laurel Canyon and all points and connections that way were beyond the washout out.  Going back the other way towards Northvalley and Burrelwood wasn’t in his plans; the Desert Hwy skirted those places so he didn’t necessarily have to go into them.
	The rain continued to fall the rest of the night.

	In the morning—the heavy scent of pines, cedars, fresh rain, and pig shit filled the breezy air.  Wonderful combo!  The chili he had consumed rumbled in his belly; it was early morning and no one around the established stirred.  The truck that had pulled in was still parked out front by the defunct old style gas pumps but the state trooper car was gone.
	In the morning light the EATS establishment was just as dreary as in the evening.  Old wooden planks and even older stacks of tires were piled up alongside the building; along with old style washers.  A miners pick axe, shovel, and other implements were cast about all over.  There was a generator for emergency power, a barbeque area with pit, barbeque stand, and picnic tables.  A few old trying to provide shade trees, one large maple surrounded in company by some pines and cedars and huge boulders.
	There too, was a large truck.
	A pick up type truck, four wheel drive.
	It was HUGE.
	Mountain gear was needed to climb inside.
	The truck’s bed had a smaller version of a camper shell—custom made.
	Rain wrinkled his nose; something stirred within him.
	The van he had was alright; sucked in character and sucked the gas, too.  It was left at the cabin (by the spooky woods).  He liked his old yellow ’53 truck, but there was something about the huge gray truck before him.  HUGE tires, duals in the rear, winch fore and aft, lots of “extra” lights everywhere—it was made for traipsing across the desert in search of treasure (or in search of others who were out traipsing across the desert in search of treasure.)
	And it was for sale, too.

	“It was my son’s,” the Old Man, Earl, said with a scowl and an unkind remembrance, “till the dern fool went off and went overseas.” Joined the Army and promptly got killed six months later.
	“Bummer,” Rain said not particularly caring, “how much?”
	“How much ya got?”  love those choices.
	The truck had a heavy duty gas engine, the biggest in its class.  Extra large fuel tanks; a septic tank, fresh water tank, too.  Premium radio, CB, and a decent interior of comfort not commonly associated for a vehicle designed to go off-roading and exploring.
	More rain was on its way; dark foreboding clouds lingered about the high desert area; the temp was dropping, too.  Rain negotiated a price with Earl and by noon had himself a new ride complete with trailer to haul his ’53.  He had to go into town to deal with the department of motoring vehicles and insurance.

	Even with the windows up on the new ride and the diesel engine running, he was sure he heard the old man “whoop” as he brought the sizeable cash to his wife.  Rain smiled and pulled onto the highway making for Northvalley.
	The handling of the big truck was something—really something!  It handled the road—and the rain surprisingly easy.  It was way different than what Rain thought.  Of course there was a period of adjustment; the set-up of the vehicle was something; instruments, controls, what have you.  There was a pass-thru from the cab to the camper.  The cab area was a 4-door extended cab—plenty of room.  Plenty.  Separate heating and air conditioning, plenty of comfort, ice-chest equipped, too!
	The big truck, Gray Goose, handled the road and rain with ease and sailed back into Northvalley in no time.  A little business with the motor vehicles department, then a personal visit to the insurance company he had his old truck with, then it was time for a bite to eat.
	The Gray Goose had round headlights instead of the square ones or the new swoop design.  The round lights gave the truck character; the hood and fenders were reminiscent of older style vehicles from “way back when.”  While he had his lunch and admired his new ride, he caught sight of a girl dashing across the four lane road out front of the restaurant.  The road wasn’t a “highway”, just a city road having two lanes of traffic going both ways.  Luckily, there was not much traffic.
	The girl made it across all lanes and disappeared behind a gas station.
	Rain let her go, completed his meal, and paid no attention to anyone else in the area.  He still missed Yvonne—and Cliff, and Kellie.  His life was not normal, he knew that; getting close to some people was sometimes a hazard.  He handed personally his waitress a ten dollar bill, a smile, and out the door he went.
	Speaking of gas stations—the new ride needed gas.
	The rain had let up—some.  To the east the clouds were deep, dark, thick, and menacing.  The west the clouds were parting revealing a clear blue sky.  Kinda quirky.  The air was cool freshened by the scent of rain.  There wasn’t a lot of trees in Northvalley, not scented ones.  And there still was the lingering scent of pig shit.
	After filling the two large fuel tanks and the propane tanks, Rain parked on the side of station to think and brood.  The bridge south was probably still out or inundated with crud.  That left continuing north to unknown territory.  According to the map it was a long-long ways around to get back to the desert city by the ocean.  He didn’t know why but he felt there was draw there—something was pulling him.
	Then he saw the girl again, darting across the adjacent four laner and “hiding” behind a bus canopy.  A city patrol car cruised by—and as soon as it did, the girl was on the move hoofing it across a lot and into Rain’s mind.

*

A new cumulation cums cummingly
	It was a cold and dreary night; rain was falling and not a soul stirred but a lone gray truck and a lone soul on the road.  So dark and rainy was the night that the lone soul on the road wasn’t aware that she was ON the road—right in the middle of the road!
	The Gray Goose pulled up beside her and the passenger side door opened.
	“Need a lift?” asked the driver.
	The girl (from earlier observance) stood shivering holding her hands clutched tightly under her chin.  She couldn’t answer and was actually in a quandary about accepting the ride from a stranger.
	“It’s a little warmer in here.” continued to offer the driver.
	She knew there were dangers but she was freezing and there was warm air gushing out of the truck’s cab.  She barely could move but managed somehow to pull herself up onto the running board where the driver helped her on in.  The door closed and the young teen could barely remember anything thereafter.
	“You know what pneumonia is?” the driver asked of her.
	“I’ve heard of it.” she said on freezing trembling lips.
	“Well, it’s bad stuff—usually catch it in weather like this.” but not always.
	The girl sat on suede seats, virtually waterproof and with very little wear.  The warm air from the air registers was good but “Kasey” was frozen to the bone.  She offered no resistance to being escorted from the cab thru the secondary cab and into the camper area.  Standing making a puddle in the camper, Kasey Lictoe, shivered and continued to be at the whim of the driver.
	The camper was a small one having necessary amenities but not a lot of room.  A mini refrigerator, camp stove, sink, a one unit bathroom having toilet, shower, and sink in light material.  There too, was a small bunk along one side.  Rain Frisco wasn’t so familiar yet with the camper but managed to find what he needed without too much difficulty—the separate heating unit, lighting, stove operation for one.
	After getting a pot of hot water going (for hot chocolate) he focused his attention on the frozen teenager.  She was thirteen—according to the school ID he found in her back pocket, attended Northvalley Junior High, 7th grade.  The girl did nothing as he fished the wallet out of her pants but cling to herself and make a generous puddle.
	Kasey also did nothing as Rain unclasped her hands and undone her shirt.  It was a boy’s shirt; and coupled with the baseball tee-shirt underneath gave clues to the fact that the girl was a tomboy.  She had twin braids, long limbs, a long narrow face, blue eyes, and looked twelve!
	The shirt kerplopped to the floor that was of a composite-like material, something like linoleum.  The baseball tee-shirt was blue, had a baseball mitt emblazoned on the front with “Northvalley League Sentinels” written above in an arch.  A regular tee-shirt was underneath.
	Kasey continued to shiver and do nothing as the man continued to undress her; her outer shirts were off in a heap on the floor soon followed by her undershirt and then her bra.
	Small breasts, small like apples.  Rain cupped each one, squeezed, rubbed his thumb over the nipples, and got hard.  The girl trembled in a shivering manner and either didn’t care that she was being mawed or wasn’t aware. 
	Blue socks just covering the ankle, simple street tennis shoes with big laces.
	The jeans the girl wore were the most cumbersome as they were heavy and thoroughly inundated with rain water.  “You’re gonna have to sit down.” Rain said softly.  The girl just trembled and continued to be at the whim of her benefactor.  Rain gently eased her butt to the bunk where he struggled with getting her jeans undone and then off.
	Simple basic white panties, bikini style, greeted him and his heart warmed.
	The jeans and other clothing were moved to one side; the hot chocolate was ready and Kasey took the offering from the man while sitting on the bunk clad only in her panties.  A great cloud burst opened suddenly drowning out all possible thought.  After the hot chocolate, Rain gently guided the girl down on her back and pulled off her panties.
	Cha-ching!
	Kasey was just too cold to know or care—maybe a little of both.  Her shivering had lessoned; she still clutched her hands up under her chin, though.  Rain looked the drenched girl over, he was certain that she had an explanation for being out in the weather.  That would come later, but first!
	There was lighting throughout the rig’s interior as well exterior; Rain turned off all the lights except the one over the stove.  That light gave just enough ambience; time for a little expertise in determining Kasey’s virginity.
	The girl did nothing as her legs were parted.  She still did nothing as fingers not her own began probing her cunny.  It was a nice smooth cunny with trimmed pubes about the gash.  A gash.  Not a smooth snatch as should be supposed but one that had seen some dick.
	Rain licked the girl’s cunny engulfing the entire poon driving his tongue wickedly into her sex.  She stirred a little, moaned, but otherwise remained still (with her hands still clutching under her chin.)
	She was still snug, this determined by Rain’s expert cock slowly sliding into Kasey’s poon minutes later.  The girl moaned, arched her back, twisted, opened her mouth, and endured mindlessly being fucked.
	Leaning down on the naked teen,
	“Whose been in your pussy?”
	Kasey blinked her soft blue eyes, got a curious look on her face, then seemed to be lost before blurting out, “James.”
	“Was James your age?”
	“No.”
	Rain smiled.  His cock surged inside the young girl’s cunt; his voice was soft as he questioned the girl—he found it odd that he hadn’t had to use the minding device on her.  Had he known it was easy to get a girl’s clothes off and quiz her he would have picked up more girls in the rain!
	Oh well.
	He suckled on her soft chilled breasts, cupped her bare ass and drove his cock to ecstasy.  Kasy shuddered as she, too, experienced something of an orgasm.  Rain smiled then gently rolled the girl over…

	There was no pitter-patter of rain drops on the camper shell roof—it was a torrential downpour!  No one would be likely out looking for a missing teenager, Rain was pretty sure of that.  But still, after fondling Kasey’s ass, spanking it, fingering into the crevice and then the hole (which WAS virginal), Rain fired up the new ride and headed out of town.

*

Cum stains and stuff
	She awoke with a headache.  A little groggy and a lot confused she lay still to get herself together.  There was a window beside her with a heavy curtain for privacy.  Parting the curtain she saw rain drops splattering onto the small square window.  Turning her head she was awed to see the man who had rescued her as well as a boy—both naked!
	The boy was about her age, thirteen.  He had sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and was naked.  The boy was on his knees masturbating the man—then sucking him!  
 	Great terror filled Kasey—fear and mass confusion consumed her.
	“What the fuck!?” she exclaimed but wasn’t sure if the words came out of her mouth or not.
	Then she realized that she herself was naked.
	“Oh my God!” Kasey again thought she said aloud but wasn’t sure.  Petrified with fear, though, the young teen found herself strangely unable to move.  Most thoughts about her had been irradiated—she remembered being drenched to the bone in a rainstorm, then—
	‘some rescue!’
	Kasey searched her mind, ‘what happened after?’  what happened “after” being brought into the truck?  She thought thoughtfully all the while watching as the teenage boy sucked the man’s cock.  Slowly she fingered herself; floods of images filled her mind suddenly—boys, boys she had been in charge of.  Young boys.  Young boys in their backyard playhouse, treehouse, and tent set up in their bedroom.
	Kim Lee was a nice boy of eight and the oldest boy she had been naughty with.  With Kim, in his tree fort, they had gotten completely naked.  Kasey had fondled his cock and in turn, Kim had fingered her pussy.  From there, after a couple more meetings, it was sex.  Straight sex—no oral or anal.  But then again, Kasey really wasn’t up on the other forms of sex or even foreplay.
	The other boys Kasey had been naughty with had been a bit younger amounting nothing more than fondling, fingering, and getting the naked boys to hump against her flaming poon.
	Getting caught “in the act” by her new daddy wasn’t in her plans.
	Focusing back on the man and the boy; the man pulled his prong out of the boy’s mouth and began humping it against the boy’s face!  Awesome!  Kasey was sickened and awed at the same time—then she realized that she was fingering herself.  Her whole body tensed and tingled; she couldn’t rightly determine if what was going on was real—and if so, was it right?
	The man pulled the boy to a standing position and embraced him, fondled the boy’s hard-on, then caressed his ass before turning him around and placing him face down on the bunk.  For a moment, Kasey and the boy locked eyes.
	There was nothing there, though; the boy had a blank expression that reveled nothing.  Behind him, the naked man was up against him pump-pump-pumping away.  The boy grunted but otherwise “took it” and that was all there was to it.
	After a couple of minutes or so the man locked eyes with Kasey.
	“Open your legs.” he told her.
	Kasey gulped but opened her legs; she was laying on her side up against the wall of the camper.  Her cunny tingled and felt “sore.”  A sudden burst of insight came and she suddenly remembered—
	“Oh my God!” she blurted aloud.
	“Open your legs.” the man repeated.  ‘and position yourself--’
	Kasey opened her legs and “positioned herself” whereas her cunny the man had fucked just hours earlier was at the mouth of the boy being sodomized.
	The boy grunted and clenched as the powerful cock in his ass was something tremendous.  His hot breath went into the Kasey’s pussy.  It was the most amazing thing ever!  
	It was also disgusting, horrible, and frightening.
	“It’s not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived!”
	Senior Airman Gorpman said that to Rain.  SrA Gorpman had been around awhile, rose to the rank of Tech Sergeant before an altercation with some young pups at an off-base bar got him busted.  The younger enlisted airmen had been rude to the waitresses and Gorpman set them straight, he didn’t mind losing the rank, in due time he’d get it back.  Or not.
	Rain Frisco was in the Air Force.  For the first few years of military life he had been a simple enlisted man; he left the military for college life, then a war came along and he re-enlisted becoming an officer.  Through all that, though, he learned more from the SrA than all else prior.
	It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed.
	It wasn’t just a saying in the Air Force, it was a philosophy.
	Military, although having its thrilling moments (usually while climbing to 50,000 feet) wasn’t for Rain.  His career lasted a short while.  His pursuit pushed him to other avenues—and with the help of a little mind altering gadget the avenues would be even more thrilling (than cruising just inches from outer space!)
	While newly acquired Mitchell Greatbone sucked cunny of Kasey Lictoe, Rain Frisco, USAF Captain, rammed his rod into Mitchell’s not-quite-so-virgin asshole.  The boy had a significant hard-on—pressing against the side of the bunk bed.  Kasey looked frightened and confused.  Rain smiled to her and she only got confused all the more.
	Then,
	Kasey found herself laying completely width wise on the not-so-wide bunk, head up against the wall, her ass right on the edge, and legs open wide, vulnerable, and back.  Naked teen boy dragged his cock up and down her not-so-virgin pussy.
	“So what put you out in the rain?”
	Kasey sighed, “I got shuffled.” She said meekly.
	“Shuffled?”
	“My Mom had a new baby, I mean, she had a baby with her new husband.”
	“Your step-dad.” Rain amended.
	Kasey frowned and it was clear that she was not fond of the “new dad.”
	“Soooo,” guessed Rain, “the new baby complicated your life?”
	Kasey nodded.  All attention was on the new baby and Kasey got “shuffled.”  She missed some baseball games she pitched for, a couple of dances, school events, outings with her friends—her social life crashed—all because of the new baby.  Not too mention the added insult of having to also help care for the newborn, especially watch after it “without getting paid.”  She was a built-in babysitter and that was just wrong.
	It finally came to head when Kasey had had enough.
	Of course, spilling how she really felt didn’t sit well with the new daddy or her mom.  Neither parent could scarcely understand how she could be so heartless and think only of herself.  Kasey couldn’t believe her Mom siding with “Hank.”  More yelling followed with a serious first-ever slap to her face from her Mom.
	“She’s never hit me before.” Kasey said meekly.
	Mitchell went on to penetrate the girl’s pussy.

“If the enemy is in range, so are you.” 
	That was an infantry saying.  Along with SrA Gorpman, there was another old fart who spilled occasional wise whims.  He had spent close to 20 years in the Army, the next few years were in the Air Force.  Rain found it wise to listen to the old timers; sure, they got in trouble for some of their shenanigans, but still, they had wise words to spill.
	As embarrassing as it was to be naked with the teen boy and the full grown man—it was equally embarrassing to go to the bathroom in their presence (let alone watch them go, too!)  The camper had a small niche containing a toilet, sink, and shower all molded out of some material like plastic.  After a rousing morning of getting dicked by both Mitchell and the man, Kasey was rolled over and promptly fucked up the butt.
	Kasey wasn’t all that sure about what “sodomy” was, she heard the word at school, on television, and at church—but as to what it referred to or meant she really was clueless.  She knew what “fuck you up the ass” meant ‘cause the boys at school used that term a lot.
	After the dicking and light spanking she was escorted to the bathroom; this after her announcement decreeing that she “had to go potty.”  While she sat on the molded toilet, the man stood at the open door—masturbating.  Peeing was one thing, relieving her bowels was something else.
	“Could you go—away?” she meekly asked.
	Rain shook his head and stepped into the small enclosure—still masturbating!  Kasey sat up straighter trying to cover her nakedness.  She knew very well that the man’s cock had just been in her asshole.  It smelled bad and was “stained” a little, too.
	The need to crap increased—there was nothing to do but close eyes and let it go.  She pooted, too.  That, and being naked in the bathroom with the naked masturbating man, peeing, pooping, farting, broke the young teen.  She began to cry.
	Rain squatted down before the upset girl, “Shhh, just relax, be calm.” he said in a soothing voice.  There was something about his face, his voice—not at all what Kasey thought a kidnapper would be like.
	And suddenly—she was calmer.
	It was standing up against the wall thereafter for a shower.  Rain stood against the confused girl (confused but more calmer) and they got all lathered up and clean.  Mitchell came in to join them and it was a tight fit.  After a lathering and subsequent rinsing, Mitchell stood out of the small bathroom while Rain shoved his fuck stick back into Kasey crap chute.  The girl was bent over and she sucked on Mitchell’s fresh cleaned schlong.
	Breakfast followed.
	For Mitchell, he had minor indiscretions; at summer camp previously he had fingered a little girl who had wet her pants.  While changing her “secretly” by a stream of water just in ear shot of the camp—Mitchell slyly helped himself to fingering her young snatch.
	‘was that all?’
	Not really.  It was all with the little girl but there was this other girl, Sade.
	‘and what about her?’
	Well…
	“She couldn’t see and had a traumatic experience that kept her from talking, too.” and when she got lost in the woods by her house, it was Mitchell who found her—and took immediate advantage.  What he did just seemed to “come over him”.  Sade Gherkin was a wee lass of eight years young.  The girl had already wet her pants.  Mitchell’s thoughts weren’t clear or his initial intent but he eased the girl’s pants down followed by her very pissed soaked panties.
	‘then what happened?’
	It wasn’t in the Boy Scout Handbook, but Mitchell laid himself upon the girl (to stimulate her, of course!)
	‘your dick was against her?’
	The boy blinked his eyes, mouth open, dick hard, memories flooding his young mind recalling the incident in the woods.  He nodded.
	‘did you fuck her, go into her?’
	No, he didn’t—just humped against her pussy (until he had his orgasm.)
	Then, overwhelmed (by sexual emotions) he put his cum soaked cock against her face and finally into her mouth.  When he was hard again he pushed her legs back and they then were pressed against his chest—then he poked and prodded the little girl’s bung hole and—
	Penetrated her.
	Rain smiled.  Cum was spurting forth from the boy’s cock as he relived the event.  He was a good kid, otherwise; boy scout, active church member, honor school student, and one blemish of being an out-and-out pervert shouldn’t be counted against him now, should it?

	And poking around the boy’s mind, Rain found another incident regarding hanging with his friends, Adam, Brad, and Carl.  With Adam, Brad, and Carl, Mitchell went skinny dipping in a private pond in the woods.  They also skinny dipped in Carl’s backyard pool when parental units were away.  The boys also gathered at Brad’s home, in the basement converted to a game room where there was a big screen television to watch Brad’s Dad’s porn collection.  There the boys got naked again and whacked off—then whacked it each other off.
	Oh!
	‘and did you play with the other boys’ dicks?’
	Yes.
	And they played with his.
	‘was there sucking involved?’
	Yes.
	Hot damn!
	‘cornholing?’
	Yes.
	‘you took dick up the ass AND fucked your friend’s, too?’
	Yes.  More cum squirted from his piss slit squirting into Kasey’s mouth then onto her face.  Rain had deposited a narly amount of jizum into the girl’s asshole.  After another rinsing off the three returned to the bunk—Kasey remembered nothing more thereafter.  She watched the rain splatter on the window—the man (Rain) was fucking her while the boy lay beside her masturbating.

*

“You, you, and you—panic!  The rest of you, come with me!”
	That was not always a good sign.
	“Try to look busy,” said Senior Airman Gorpman, “never tell your squad commander you’ve got nothing to do.”
	At one time, both Rain and SrA Gorpman were on KP duty,
	“You make it what you want,” said the senior airman with plenty of time on his dress uniform, “you want the job to be crudy—it will be.  You can make any job a good one, depends on you and how you see it and want to perform it.”
	Case it point, at the air base , the two men were assigned KP (kitchen patrol) and Rain wasn’t pleased with the detail—but some infractions landed him in hot water with his superior so KP it was—or the stockade.
	Rain met SrA Gorpman in the kitchen, they checked in with the senior cook who handed them a mop and a bucket each.  “See ya in 8 hours!” the gruff man said with a smile and a half hearted salute.  Gorpman returned the salute with a One-Finger salute—as soon as the senior cook turned…
	With mop and bucket in hand, “Watch this, junior.” Gorpman smiled and tottled off thru the big double doors—not drop one of water was in the bucket.  The mess hall/dining hall for the air force personnel was a rather large one.  Gorpman moseyed down the center aisle, chatting to fellow airmen, then casually dragging the mop along the floor, then over to the other large aisle and finally, 2-hours later reach the back wall—whereupon he promptly turned around and repeated what he just did going the opposite direction.
	“Do this three more times and call it a day!” said Gorpman.
	Rain smiled.  Lessoned learned.

	After zooming thru Burrelwood it was Dusty Acres, Lost Acres, Tremleton, Godawfulville, and all points west to desert states and beyond.  It was supposed to be the Fall of the year—and it was, but you couldn’t tell it by the weather.  Usually in the desert states the Fall of the year was just cool.  Twenty miles out of Burrelwood, ten miles from Dusty Acres, and another rain storm blew up making Rain Frisco park his new ride off the side of the road to wait it out.
	A sport yellow sports car caught Rain’s eye.  It was parked askew couple hundred yards away; custom/personal plates, rag top, sporty.  For awhile, Rain let it be.  In the camper he once more put Kasey and Mitchell thru their paces; Kasey giving him head while Mitchell reamed her ass(hole).
	For Act II, Kasey lay across the bunk and was spanked.  Mitchell stood close by, his cock sore and aching from so much plunging into Kasey.  Doing naughty to Kasey was good—he didn’t care too much for sucking on the man’s cock OR being fucked in the ass by the man.  But messing with Kasey, that was ok.
	After Rain had spanked the girl’s ass a bright shade of red—and his hand was stinging as much as her young teenage ass, Rain took his turn reaming her asshole.  Mitchell masturbated but was still very sore.  Rain turned the girl to her side, his cock embedded nicely up her ass.  Holding a leg open it was an invite unsaid and Mitchell positioned himself on the bunk and guided his teenage dick into the teenage pussy.  The boy was mostly acting on his own—mostly.  A little minding element al la electronical devicing helped, too.
	After dinner of mac & cheese, the kids settled down under covers on the bunk.  The rain fell and the Rain brooded.  The little red sports car had someone in it; the window came down and a hand came out to wipe the window and windshield.  The time of day was getting on—and colder.

	For a moment the rain let up.  Rain took the opportunity and strolled (briskly) across the open gravel area to the little red car noting the personalized plates on the car “2HOTFU”.  When Rain pecked on the driver’s side window, it powered down about an inch, the driver inside said, “I have a gun!” and “Fuck off!”
	“Suit yourself (bitch!)” and began to strut back to his ride.  The driver was a stuck up snooty female bitch and Rain wasn’t in the mood for her.  He had other plans.  Just as he turned on his heel, though,
	“Are you from Triple A?”
	“No,” Rain said truthfully, adding, “there isn’t a Triple A service for fifty miles—at least.” he stood two feet from the car door, hands in his jacket; the driver hadn’t lowered the window very much—and rain was beginning to pick up.
	“I called them an hour ago—cell service out here sucks!” she seemed perturbed and quite possibly pissed off.
	“What happened?”
	“I called these jerks and they said--”
	“No, with the car.”
	“Oh, it just quit running.  The engine wont start.”  Then she bitched about how much the car was worth and how new it was and how she was going to fire the dearlership manager and make everyone suffer and bla-bla-bla.  Nice girl.
	“Why don’t you come and sit in my truck—where it’s warm.”
	“Fuck you, I don’t know you!”
	Rain leaned down, hands still in his pockets, “It wasn’t a suggestion.” 
	The woman inside twitched, batted her eyes and looked all a fright.  She shook her head exclaiming “NO!  NO!  NO!  FUCK YOU NO!”
	Rain smiled, “YES—YES—OH MY YES.”  ‘undo you shirt, haul out your boobs, power down the window—get out of the fucking car.’
	A crack of thunder ripped thru the inky blackness of the unusual and rare Fall storm; the car door opened and a not-too-tall woman of young adult age stepped out—top undone and breasts bared.  Rain fondled them, pressed himself against her and locked eyes with her.  The woman gulped—she was partly aware and partly controlled.  No matter how mightily she tried—breaking free of the electronic mind altering device was a no-go.  She was escorted across the open gravel expanse to the huge gray mega truck and helped in.
	Rain scurried around to the other side and plopped in—he didn’t like driving in the rain—let alone a rain STORM.  But he decided it would be best to make tracks—just in case the tow truck from the service station did manage to make it out and to the disabled car.

	The young adult sat in the passenger seat struggling to get a hold of herself.  She was well aware of being under the influence of a minding gadget.  There was no shaking it.  Rain fired up the mega beast, checked over his shoulder to see the other passengers wrapped in blankets in the extra cab area seats and maneuvered the truck onto the road and onward.

*

Helga’s big day
	It was a little awkward, still, to be home after her brief week long stint in the woods.  She awoke sometimes with startles and felt like there was someone else in the room—which prompted her to start sleeping with a light on.  And though living in the countryside there was sometimes cool night air—Helga kept her window shut (and locked!)
	Life at home was “business as usual”—especially with Miriam who seemed to pass over the incident regarding Helga, the EMAD, and Helga’s private vacation.  Awkwardness reigned continuously between Helga and her Dad, which had been the usual way between them beforehand, too.
	One evening, Helga searched for a little minding item.  Couldn’t find it.  She had no idea what had happened; last she know’d was holding it in her hand when “busted” by her Mom with her befuddled Dad standing by wondering WTF.
	“Looking for this?” Big Bob asked standing at his daughter’s bedroom door wavering the EMAD in hand.
	“I-I just got to thinking about it and wondered--”
	“I picked it up after you left.” He didn’t like what happened, or the cause.
	“I worried about you.” He was hurt from what had happened.
	“I know, Dad, I-I’m sorry.”  Standing in her usual attire (pinkish barely knee length dress, white undershirt, white calf length socks) she fidgeted and was uneasy.  “It was instinct.”
	Big Bob nodded then sighed, “Well, guess it’s all under the bridge now.”
	“You’re Mom seems back to normal—she’s forgotten about this thing now, I think.”
	Helga humphed, “She still remembers when I farted at the First Grade Picture Day!”
	Big Bob struggled to stifle a giggle.
	Helga plopped herself down on her bed.  “So what now?” she asked.
	Bob shrugged and stepped slowly into the room and placed the minding device on her desk.  “Just be careful with it, ok?”
	“I don’t use it, didn’t, well a little—just enough to know how but I really never really used it.” It was a lie and both Bob and Helga knew it.
	“I didn’t use with you.” Helga pleaded her case.  She was almost to tears—she so vehemently wanted to assure her Dad that she hadn’t messed with his mind.
	“Ok, Helga,” Bob said leaning against the wall, arms folded, “I believe you.”
	Helga sighed (again); sometimes with her Dad it was to tell is he was agreeing with you just to agree and go along to assure you or something else.
	“Mom asleep?”
	“Yeah, her and Prince Valium.” he said kinda disgruntled-like.
	Slight pause, then,
	“Well, if you ever want to use it--” she shrugged indifference.
	Bob was lost for a moment, then looked to the minding device on the desk.
	“Oh, well, I dunno,” he stammered, “I don’t know how to use it and--”
	“I could show you.” Helga said being her aggressive self.
	“I dunno, Helga,” he shook his head, furrowed his lips, “could be dangerous.”  IS dangerous.
	“Ok.” Helga said not pressing it.
	Another slight pause, then,
	“So, Helga, where’d did you go on your little adventure.”
	Helga smiled sort of kind of remembering.

*

From a scouting manual:  When walking in the woods, try to avoid stepping in bear shit.
Signs to tell if you are in the area of bears; bear scratchings on trees, you’re standing in bear shit, and there are pieces of scouting uniforms all over the place.

	“And there’s the cabin the big military truck was.”
	Big Bob was astonished, “You mean you came all this way?  This far?”
	It was more than a mile from home, way more.
	“Not too mention in my birthday suit.” Helga said dryly.
	Bob scoffed, had some images in his head he kept to himself, then squatted down in questionable foliage to give the remotely located cabin in the woods a looksee.  No military truck in sight and the place looked abandoned.
	Helga was suddenly on the move.
	“Helga!  Hey, Helga, where you going?”
	“Just going to see if anyone’s home is all.” She said nonchalantly with a shrug and snuck off thru the bushes making her way around until she was out of sight from Bob.  
	“Helga!” he called gruffly.  “Helga!”  no answer; then,

	--she suddenly appeared at the clearing before the cabin.
	He couldn’t believe it—he couldn’t believe her!
	“Helga!  Helga, what are you doing!?”
	Helga disappeared to the lee side of the cabin only to appear in sight after going to the backside of the place and coming out in full view waving to her Pop.  Bob shook his head—his daughter was something, she was really something!  Hoofing it across the open from the sanctuary of the woods Bob met up with his bold daughter who had opened the door and was already going inside.
	“Helga!  Wait!”
	“It’s empty; the truck is gone and no one’s home!” and inside she went.
	There wasn’t much in the cabin; especially furniture.  One big room, nice rock fireplace—and checking the firewood remains Bob determined that no one had used the fireplace in at least a couple of days.
	Scattered bits of clothing, bedding, all giving telltale signs of a possible hasty retreat or just someone who was messy and didn’t care about tidiness.
	“Or possibly going to come back.” was another thought to be harbored.
	Helga found an interesting item, a handwritten manuscript.
	“I Was A Teenage Mutant Ninga Zombie.” Helga read.  Five pages, single space, eleven inch long paper that had faded lines.  The manuscript was on the only table in the one room cabin; a kerosene lantern sat on the manuscript that had some pages turned under itself.  
	Bob noted another piece of furniture, a trunk.  A large wooden traveler’s trunk from a bygone era with a curved lid.  Inside were some trinkets, old-old photos, WWII British Army boots, dogtags, a bible, and more manuscripts.
	“I Married a Teenage Mutant Ninga Zombie.”
	“Day of the Teenage Mutant Ninga Zombies.”
	“How to Spot a Teenage Mutant Ninga Zombie.”
	“Blood of the Zombie.”
	“Teenage Mutant Ninga Zombie Chronicles.”
	“Teenage Mutant Ninga Zombies on Robot Bunny Island.”
	“Wow.” Helga said.  The writing was hard to read, faded and in a serious cursive style.  Helga wondered about the author’s use of “g” in the word “Ninga” instead of the “j” that supposed to be there.  Bob said nothing, the cabin creeped him out and after a little more pilfering and finding nothing of interest they moved on.

	“This is where the biker had fun with his biker chicks.” Helga smiled and fondly remembered.  There was no one there currently and hadn’t been so in quite awhile—it was just getting to cold to Fall/Winter camp.  Helga described the “Christian” motorcycle guy, in his sixties, balding, “colors” with a Christian emblem, and making naughty with his eleven and eight year old granddaughters!

	From there on it was a short (but exhausting) hike to Campsite Number Four where there had been some stoned teenagers.  It was there Big Bob decreed a need for a rest.  “I’m pooped!” he almost chortled—almost.  Clouds that hadn’t been anywhere along their trek had suddenly cropped up and the temperature was dropping a little.
	“I cant believe you came out this far!” Bob continued to be amazed at his daughter’s abilities.  Helga was amazed, too!  She sat on a log munching on a sandwich—trekking into the woods the second time she came dressed appropriately—pants, long sweat sleeved sweat shirt, backpack, and shoes.
	Bob munched his lunch slowly—casually casting his eyes to his daughter and how she was sitting—like a tomboy without care; legs wide open.  But she was in pants.
	“Geeze, Helga.” Bob smirked.
	Helga giggled, blushed, farted, and closed her legs (but it was uncomfortable for her and a minute later they were wide open again.
	“Do you think there are any bees around here?” Helga asked casually.
	“Bees?  Hmmm,” Bob drawled, “don’t know, haven’t seen anything that would draw them bla-bla-bla.” Bob went on to assert his knowledge about bees, their life cycle, workers and queens, drones and honey, and—
	Helga shook her head—he didn’t get it.
	“And besides, it’s too cold for bees to be out right now anyways.”  ‘too damn cold for ME to be out!’
	Helga wrinkled her nose, ‘time for Plan B.’  something more obvious.
	After slurping her drink, Helga stood and moved to the end of the log, looked around, then stepped around the log but could still be seen by her Dad—until she squatted down.
	‘No bees, huh?’  Well, there’s always something creepy crawling about—with teeth, stingers, and thousands of legs…

	With a yell Helga screamed and flew up some feet, toppling over the log and coming to rest on her back in a most undignified position—ass against the log, pants and panties at her ankles.
	“Well; shit, Helga, what the fuck!?”
	“Something bit my butt!” she scoffed in reply.
	Here we go again…

	Previously,
	“You sure this is going to work?  AND it’s not going to hurt me?”
	“Relax, Helga,” Kim Ko assured her wayward friend, “Marjorie isn’t poisonous and her fangs wont even draw blood!”  now that’s reassuring!
	Nonetheless, Helga was squeamish.  Kim placed Marjorie the Garden Spider “with fangs that wouldn’t draw blood” into a small plastic clear cylinder.
	“I hope your plan works.” Kim said with a smile.  “I mean, if you want to get back to your dad—or him, I mean back into you—I mean--”
	Helga shushed her before she stroked out.  “I know what you mean.”
	Helga just wondered if she knew what SHE meant!

	The bite of Fall’s air began to chill Helga—camping in Winter!  Who heard of it!  Oh well, she had hatched worse plans; besides, her Dad went along with it when she said, “Hey, you wanna see where I went?”
	“Hold still, Helga,” Bob said smacking her bare ass and disrupting her thoughts.  Helga clenched and felt her Pop’s fingers squeezing her flesh (as well as gingerly poking her asshole and diligently sliding into her fresh pissed pussy.  She lay awkwardly across his lap so she couldn’t rightly tell if he had a boner or not.  Closing her eyes she readjusted herself giving her Dad a better view than he had already of her nookie.
	When Big Bob began smoothing his hand over Helga’s ass—she knew that he knew that it was “game on.”
	“It, uh, looks ok, a small bite—bug, insect bla-bla-bla.”
	‘spider.’ Helga whispered.  She hoped Kim wouldn’t be too upset—Helga squished Marjorie (but what was a poor garden spider to do after being hauled across the countryside in a plastic bottle? (and then have the indignity of being kissed/pressed to a lily white tush of some whacked out horny teenager!))

	Darkness was coming on fast and it was not even five o’clock yet!  Not too mention they hadn’t set up camp; no campfire, no tent, just sex.  Priorities!  Helga, on her hands and knees, frigged herself as her Dad’s cock slid near effortlessly into her pussy.  She tingled all over.   Bob slammed his schlong into his daughter’s asshole—then her cunt, and power fucked until releasing a torrent of pent up orgasmic pleasure.
	A few minutes later and they were setting up the tent, shoving all their gear inside, plus themselves, then snuggling inside their sleeping bags listening to the rainfall.

	Green Creek—the sign read.  Remote Camping.  Pack it in—pack it out.
	No facilities.  Watch for bears.  No Services.  
 	Welcome to Bullchurn Woods!
	Bear bells
 	While on a hiking vacation and before entering some mountain trails, a hiker ventured into a general store at the bottom a mountain to get some provisional supplies.  While paying for his supplies he asked the old store owner,
	“Say mister, I’m going hiking up in these mountains and I was wondering;
are there any bears up there?”
 	The tall old geezer with snow on his head as much as the nearby mountain nodded and said simply, “Yup”.
 	“What kind?” asked the hiker.
 	“Well, we’s gots grizzlies mostly.”
 	“Holy crap!” exclaims the hiker, “Do you have any bear deterrents?”
	“What do you mean?” asked the old man.
 	“Well, you know, sprays, noise makers, or bells, something like that to let the bear know you’re around.” 
 	“Oh yeah,” smiled the old man, “Right over there.” 
	The hiker checks out the bells, selects some and takes them to the counter to pay for them.
 	“Uh, tell me something,” the hiker inquires, :how can you tell when
You’re in bear territory, anyway?  I mean, is there signs posted or markings?”
  	“Bear shit.” the old fellow supplied.
 	“Oh, well, uh, how can I tell if it’s grizzly’s droppings or some other animal?” the hiker asks.
 	“Oh, you can tell the difference.” 
 	“Well, what’s the difference?” asks the hiker.  “I mean, what’s different
between grizzly’s pile o’ shit and say a mountain lion or some other bear?”
 	“The stuff that’s in it.”  replied the store owner.
	“Oh, you mean fish and berries, stuff like that?”
 	“No, bear bells!” replied the old man and he handed the hiker his purchases.

	Campsite 7 was one of the many remote campsites along Green Creek, it was where Paul Namereker was fishing with Gee Nurbherder.  Paul was some years older than Gee; Gee was the son of a friend of Paul.  There seemed to be good rapport between the two and there was more to their friendship than anyone know’d; specifically speaking of the daughters of Paul, Annette and Chrissy.  Helga detailed the debauchery that Gee perpetuated (with the help of his little trickster) and Bob got wood.

	The Eleventh Campsite along the creek was temporary home to Veronica Moonchase; the thirty-five year old divorced private school teacher and artist.  Helga detailed the antics of the various children at the campsite; Rachael, Heather, Donna, and Jody, Freddy, and Ryan.  The spanking incident really got ole Bob hard and as his daughter continued detailing the campsite story—he pulled out his monstrous schlong and began pleasing himself.
	Another campsite story, involving Darren and Susan (see previous chapter, Forest Stories) and then it was on to Light-Rock campground and then the remote cabins.  After Helga serviced her Pop’s cock, he serviced her laying her down and helping her out of her clothes.  The sun had managed to push away the threatening clouds but the air was still Fall crisp.  Big Bob’s big dick slowly lay upon his daughter’s fuckable fucking cunt; he lay it against her entrance, cupped her head and adored her.

*
Toad Swallow Hollow
	How many U.S. states border the Gulf of Mexico?
 	“What is Five?”
 	What's the ballet term for a 360-degree turn on one foot?
 	“What is Pirouette?”
	Answering correctly those questions, ten before and five more after earned her serious money for her college education from a national game quiz show for kids.  In the days that followed—a little chaotic; parties in her honor, top of the town talk, “celebrity” status, a dinner with the town mayor, it was a wow factor for sure for pretty straight laced Andrea Jeapory.  “The Smartest Kid in O-Town!” the newspapers read.  It gave her the big head—in an embarrassing sort of way.  After a time she began sneaking around to find places to be alone.  Everywhere she went, ice cream parlor, pizzeria, some places at school (under the bleachers) she was found out and the socializing began again with congrats and beefing her ego up and up and up.
	Finally, the girl had had enough and escaped—but she had help.
	Faintly she recalled taking the #2 bus out to edge of town where there was a car dealership, a feed store, a tavern, a general store featuring country furnishings and clothing, and a 2nd hand store.  Andrea went down the small alley between the feed store and the general store—
	‘walk forward—walk to the washer, go around the cement rubble, turn left, walk forward, go to the truck.’
	The air was cool, the scent of rain was in the air, along with other “Fall-like” scents and decorations.  Large tracts of open fields, hay barns, small houses, and lone trees dotting the landscape.  The last thing she remembered—
	A headache plagued her, her mouth was icky, and a persistent ear ring annoyed her.  Something wasn’t right; her mind was foggy and it felt like she had just woken up from a long sleep or something.  Then there was a drone in her ear along with the uncomfortable unwanted ringing.  
	Then she got dizzy and realized something was very wrong—her hands were tied!  Her hands were tied behind her!  So were her feet!  And a gag was in her mouth!
	Panic consumed her.
	The sudden realization that she had been (gulp!) kidnapped was a frightening thing to consider.  She was twelve and of late—lots of kids her age had been kidnapped—kidnapped for sexual depraved purposes.  Though merely, twelve, Andrea Jeapory knew about sex (and depraved sex.)  The more she thought she less panic consumption consumed her.  She was in a dress, mid blue, knee length, white trim, cotton-denim.  It couldn’t be for certain to tell but she didn’t think she had been raped—yet.
	She was moving.  Er, the small bunk-like bed she was laid out on was moving giving way to the notion that she was in a vehicle of some kind.  Some kind.  It was noisy.  Slowly she managed to work the blindfold down to give her a little insight on her predicament.  
	A heavy dark curtain covered a small window on her left; on the right a green canvas curtain was rolled part way down.  Andrea couldn’t figure what kind of vehicle she was in but it was hauling ass down some rough road.  There was cool air mixed with a little warm;  the bed was soft and not like a mattress; she could stretch out and saw a recessed light above her about center.
	The feeling of going up hill came to her; the vehicle’s engine lumbered and got even noisier.  Using her head and chin she peeked out the small square window to see a deepening evening and light rainfall.  The vehicle came to the top of a hill and made a sharp turn.  Andrea saw a wooden sign with the words “TOAD SWALLOW HALLOW”.
	Andrea had never heard of the road.  Angling herself against the walls of her enclosure she kept a steady eye on any more signs.  But the evening was getting darker and there were no highway lights.  There were no lights whatsoever to speak of anywhere and soon rain began to pelter the window.
	Was she dreaming?
	No, it felt too real.
	The vehicle rumbled over something extremely noisy giving Andrea the possible insight of railroad tracks.   A bit of cold made her shiver and then—then, she had to pee.  ‘Oh, God!’ she cried to herself.  The pressure mounted and she fretted.  She tried peering out of the enclosure she was in assuming that she was inside another enclosure, a box of some type inside a truck or something.
	Or something.
	The truck suddenly lurched, gears were grinding, and the vehicle (or something) was once more going up a hill—a steep hill.  Rain fell harder and Andrea found herself snuggling down into the bed trying to sort things out.  It made no sense; however, her last recollection was going down between the two buildings.

	Rain was one thing, slick roads on a steep hill was something else.  Mack grabbed gears and carefully negotiated Toad Swallow Hallow Gulch Road, twenty-two miles out behind O-Town.  He had hoped to make it up and over the 4,000 foot hill and down the other side before the rain but didn’t make it.  Being wary of mudslides, Mack eased his big military heavy duty 2 ½ ton truck up the hill to the top.  Once at the top he pulled off to the side and parked it—no way was he going to try humping it down the slick hill road at night.  He wasn’t in that big a hurry.
	After setting the chock blocks under the wheels and standing out in the rain to get refreshed and piss on the road, Mack clambored back inside and into the cargo area.  Only one passenger (so far).  A twelve year old celebrity—he was sure National Guard and other law enforcing agents plus vigilantes and non-law enforcing agents would be on the look out and searching for the girl come hell or high water.  Mack wanted to put as much distance between him and them and O-Town as possible—Mother Nature put a damper on those plans.
	Switching on a light over the small kitchenette on the right side of the cargo bay area, Mack Knott Thanife stripped off his wet clothes—all the while keeping an eye on the supposed snoozing new acquisition.  Once free of his wet clothes he kicked on the separate heating unit then grabbed a towel and began drying off.  Outside and the rain fell.
	Once dry, Mack came up to the bunk the newly acquired young girl lay on and switched on the light there, too.  She moved with a startle.
	“Sorry ‘bout that.” Mack said to her.
	Slowly he removed the blindfold and gag.  The girl locked her eyes on him and said nothing.  “Just relax, be calm, be easy.”
	The girl gulped and seemed the opposite.
	Mack untied her feet and moved his expert hands up and down her calves.
	The girl tensed, eyes bulging.  She knew what was happening but couldn’t believe it.  “What are you doing?”
	Mack didn’t answer her but opened her legs and pulled her butt to the edge of the bunk…

	A steady rain fell outside; just two weeks ago and she had been in the Big City, competing against boys and girls in her age group—some were very smart and she thought for sure she would never make it to the higher rounds of competition.
	But she did.
	She met the producers who were so nice.
	She met the writers, cameramen, caterers, wardrobe and make-up people, the director, and then the host of the program.  There were televisions, cameras, lights, a two hundred fifty person audience, security guards, everything.  The competition was fierce; a lightning round, Yes or No rounds, Multiple Questions & Answers, and the contestant on her right farted.  She heard it.
	Then she won.
	It was awesome.
	It was frightening.
	It was surreal.
	The need to pee once more pressured her disrupting her thoughts.
	Then—then what had just happened to her filled her and did more than frighten.  After her ankles were free of their bindings, the man opened her legs and began feeling of her.  Andrea didn’t panic; she couldn’t do anything of the sort but lay undignified and stare blankly at the horrible man—the horrible man who was naked.
	For a long while her eyes had been locked on his face, his dark-dark eyes.
	Then, her eyes lowered—he had a clean hairless chiseled chest, a flat stomach, and—and—and a cock!  Andrea gulped and held her breath with her wide brown eyes staring at the man’s nakedness.
	‘have you seen a cock before?’ the man asked her.
	The question was bold and seemed to speak to her right inside her mind!
	“Y-yes.” She answered on trembling lips.
	‘ever TOUCH a cock?’
	“NO!” she said in a horrifying way.
	Little boys, older than five, younger then ten she had seen naked, peeing in the woods, so on.  No cock of a boy older than her but she HAD seen pictures of boys of various ages in her school health book—but no men.
	‘do you masturbate?’
	Andrea’s breath quickened, she tensed up again and the pressure to pee increased dramatically.
	“I-I gotta pee!” she wailed.
	Mack smiled and from caressing the girl’s thighs to cupping her butt to slowly inching down her panties.

	Andrea tensed and held her breath—this was it.  She knew she was going to become a statistic—she was going to be raped.  It was a frightening aspect.  Her panties were inched up her legs s-l-o-w-l-y and then off.  Then her legs were opened and the man placed his manhood against her vagina.
	“Oh my God!” she uttered.
	‘just relax.’ cooed the man into her mind.
	Andrea tried but it wasn’t easy.
	The man rubbed his penis against her sex, poked her—poked her—poked her but didn’t enter her.  Andrea clinched up her face and twisted—and pee was already squirting from her barely pubed pussy.
	“I gotta PEEEEEE!” she wailed again.  She had never peed without being perched on a toilet.  The man pulled her up, squeezed her to his naked self then worked her thru the box enclosure and to where there was a truck cab.  Pee was trickling down her legs and it was grossing Andrea to the max.
	More grossness was to come—lots more.
	Outside the truck and the man pulled up her dress.  It was the dead of night, bitter cold, and raining.
	“Alrighty,” said the man aloud, “pee.”
	Andrea shivered and looked left and right, “What?”
	“Pee—now.”
	Andrea felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach.  But the need to pee was too great to ignore and with her legs apart the stream of pent up pee began to flow.  The man held Andrea in one hand pressing her back against the tire of the big truck, a flashlight in the other.  The light of the flashlight was directed right on her sex and her peeing.  Once she was empty, the man embraced her and she realized (again) that he was stark naked!
	Back inside the truck and thru the cab, extended custom cab, and into the cargo bay enclosure—then wrapped up in army wool blankets to get dry.  Andrea shivered and watched the man dry himself.
	When done,
	‘on your knees…’

	At twelve, Andre was just beginning to become aware of her body; farting, when and not to fart, washing her sex, being aware of pubes, and slightly-slightly finding occasional pleasure with herself.
	She never-ever sucked cock or really pertinently knew what sucking cock was about.  She had heard the terms but the concept of “giving head” was elusive to her.  Optimum word here—was.  After being told “on your knees” Andrea was eye to one-eyed monster of the man’s penis she had to “open mouth” and “take it.”

	To describe it she couldn’t—a slight musty smell and an odd taste but that was it as far as description.  As the man’s penis went into her mouth, his hand went to the back of her head.  The entire length of the schlong went into her—her first reaction was to back her head away but there was a strong forceful hand holding her in place.
	“Suck it or be spanked!” the man said roughly.
	Spanked?  Andrea couldn’t remember the last time she had been spanked—if ever.  She sucked the man’s cock, retched and gagged but sucked it until he pulled it out himself—and placed it against her face!

	The girl was doing ok, so complied with what she was told without the EMAD prompting her to.  Fear was working wonders here!  After the initial blowjob, Mack Thanife humped her sweet innocent face.  Previous girls her age in his clutches had already had sex of some kind, were heavily into fingering themselves or letting someone finger them!
	Andrea was different, she wasn’t totally naïve—no, but she was clueless to some aspects of sexual debauchery and not clued in enough on others.  She was going to be fine; though, Mack presumed.  She was smart and for the moment—compliant.  Mack still wanted to spank her, though.
	After humping her face, he pulled her up pressing her against him pulling off her wet dress.  “You wont need this anymore.” he said with a smile.  Then turned the girl around and placed her top half onto the bunk.  Then he admired her ass and had her part her legs. 
	“Pull your ass open.” Mack told her.
	Andrea began to snivel and weep but did as told.
	Mack admired the girl’s crack and virgin hole with his eyes—then with his fingers—followed by his cock.

Kuntsmere Lake
	Awoken by a startle, young Andrea fidgeted; her tummy ached, her head hurt, and vagina itched.  She was groggy and not quite “with it.”  Confusion plagued her, an icky taste was in her mouth, and that pesky ringing in her ears was still present.
	Trying to get her bearings she sat up noting that she was not in her own bed.
	Then she saw the man—naked, thrusting his hips back and forth in a sexual manner.  Andrea’s mouth hung open—her young legs were partly over the edge of the bunk and it felt like someone had hit her in the chest throwing her air out—she remembered—she remembered the man doing naughty to her.

	As she slowly-slowly got her wits back (partially) she curiously inched her self to a sitting position on the edge of the bunk peering around the partition separating her bunk from another one.  There was a boy there, blond haired, face down on the bunk—and naked!
	The man had his hands clamped tightly to the boy’s hips and was apparently sodomizing him.  Andrea’s ass clenched and she felt her breath taken away again.
	“Good morning!” chimed the man.
	Andrea couldn’t respond—she stared at the boy.  She knew him!
	The man pulled back from the naked boy she knew, flopped his cock against the boy’s ass then went back into him for a hard fucking 1-minute fuck.  Then there was a power blast orgasmic and the man faltered and stepped away leaning against some cabinets across from the bunks.
	The boy turned his head away from Andrea, caressed his ass, and was sniveling.  
	“This continent is cut into two fairly equal halves by the Tropic of Capricorn.”
 	“What is Australia?”
 	“This railway linked Moscow and Irkutsk in 1900.”
 	“What is The Trans-Siberian Railway?”
 	“This continent has the fewest flowering plants.”
 	“What is Antarctica?”
 	“This element begins with the letter K.”
 	“What is Krypton?”
 	and… “What F-word is defined in physics as a “nuclear reaction in which nuclei combine to form more massive nuclei”?
 	and no, it isn’t “Fuck if I know!”  (the answer is…Fusion !)
	Clay Samasu was smart—way smart.  He was way frightened, too.

	After recovering a little bit from his workout with Clay; who actually was aboard first before Andrea, Mack stepped back up to the boy, pulled him upright and “reaching around” began toying with the boy’s penis which was partly hard.  A little side stepped left and there was the naked Andrea who he had competed against just weeks earlier.
	Clay blinked his eyes.
	Andrea offered a meager-meek smile.
	“Lay down,” Mack told the girl, “spread your legs, finger yourself.”
	Andrea felt ill, she had to potty, she wanted to wake up in her own bed.
	Not gonna happen.  She might have figured that out—she laid down with head crocked against the wall and spread her legs.
	“Finger!” almost yelled the man sternly.
	Andrea closed her eyes and somehow managed to keep her emotions in check and began “fingering” her pussy.
	Clay got wood.
	Mack’s “wood” was right up against the handsome twelve year old boy’s ass.  He continued to manipulate the boy’s dick—along with his mind.  Once Clay’s schlong was sufficiently hard—
	Mack nodded to the masturbating girl ‘come here.’
	Andrea gulped, felt all the more ill, then sat up saying “I gotta go to the bathroom.”
	Mack licked his lips and gently pushed Clay out of the way and took the girl by the hand and led her out thru the cab.  It was a little misting and fairly chilly but tolerable.
	“I-I gotta—I got to--”
	“Do more than pee?”
	The partly frightened girl nodded.
	Mack smiled and escorted her to the front of the truck, “Bend over.” He told her and positioned her whereas she was stooped over, legs spread, and spreading her own ass cheeks passing one turd after another.  Most undignified.  The girl began to weep but finally completed her bathroom duty.
	To the back of the truck where a large water tank was fastened to “wash up”.  Then it was back inside to get dried off and warmed up with hot chocolate.  Andrea avoided looking directly at the naked Clay.  After having two cups of hot drink Andrea was put to her knees to complete her task Mack Thanife wanted before she had to go potty.
	She sucked Clay’s cock that hadn’t gone soft during the short break—and he came off into her mouth, too!  His eyes fluttered, body twitched and tensed, and a generous portion of goo spewed into the quiz show contestant’s mouth.
	“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed.  On his own he masturbated, rubbed his ass, fondled his balls.  Mack remained behind the boy rubbing his cock against the boy’s ass.  It was a beginning.  Andrea gagged on the spew in her mouth, Clay reached back and found Mack’s throbbing erection.  On his own, Clay masturbated Mack’s throbbing erection and soon—
	Andrea closed her eyes tight—this was a nightmare!  She lay on the bunk, the recessed light shining into her closed eyes; a light rain peppered the window her head was against.  The boy, Clay, had his mouth over her pussy engulfing it thrilling her with his darting tongue.  Behind him, the man, Mack, sodomized him.
	There was naught to do but sigh and “take it.”
	And after a few minutes, Clay came up on her sliding his dick into her hot and bothered pussy.  Andrea was confused and felt awful—but there was nothing to do but take it.
Tickledick Lane
	Kuntsmere Lake wasn’t much of a lake, it was more of a pond—twenty feet in circumference, ten feet deep; surrounded by towering pines, huge granite boulders, it was remarkably remote—and just the place to chill out after a hot afternoon trekking to get to the remarkably remote lake.  But that was in the Summer months.  During the Fall type time it was a bit chilly to trek up to the lake, Mack marked it on his map for future reference.
	From one of his Indian pals there was supposed to be a very special hidden pool of water with healing properties.  The Indian pal thought it to be under a jutting boulder on a high desert ridge.  Kuntsmere Lake was out in the open surrounded by trees and boulders—no jutting boulders in sight.
	Once over the top of the hill there was a nice ten mile twisty road to Tickledick Lane and Semengo Way.  Tickledick stretched across the high desert meandering into some hills to connect with Scratchballs Hwy.  Semengo Way ran out to the low desert to Horrible Lane.  There was an elusive road somewhere between Scratchballs and Semengo, going to an even more elusive hole-n-the-wall place called Schittsum Corners.  That was Mack’s ultimate destination.  He had only been there once—long-long time ago.  He had a map but it was old and faded and his memory wasn’t what it used to be.
	Also, his memory wasn’t what it used to be.

	By noon of that day—Mack Knott Thanife was pissed.  Pissed and confounded—the road to Schittsum Corners just didn’t exist.  Several maps were in the glove box—none gave clue to the place he sought and gas was burning up quick.  
	When the sun broke out (finally!) they were at the top of a high-high hill.  A little picnic was in order—the air was not too chilly, a little breezy, and the air was fresh with the fragrance of pig shit.
	Andrea and Clay were dressed appropriately—their own clothes plus military jackets.  
	“Sooo, what’s at this Shittsum Corners?” Clay had to ask.  He got a bad look from Andrea but Clay shrugged it off.
	“An old friend, haven’t seen in awhile, told him if I was ever in the neighborhood to look him up.”
	After lunch, the kids and Mack scampered about the rocks (Mack self consciously looking for the equally elusive “jutting rock” concealing the miraculous healing pond.
	“Hey!” shouted Clay excitedly, “There’s a road—not on the map!”
	And he was right.
	“Great,” Mack said, “just how do we get to it?”
	It took until evening type time to come onto the unnamed road.  An hour later and he rolled onto Shittsum Corners—an old-old no longer in use roadside shack that once was a brothel for miners then a restaurant.  There was a corral for horseys, a couple of trailers, some old pick-ups, piles of rubble here and there, old truck trailers, and not a whole heck of a lot else.
	“Wow,” remarked Clay, “who would want to live out here?”
	“Miners, old miners, derelicts of society, scum.”
	Neither Clay or Andrea knew quite what he meant—but got the feeling that they didn’t want to know.
	Most of the folk who lived in the area of Shittsum Corners were self sufficient, no one bothered them and they didn’t bother.  Life wasn’t supreme; a little hot in the summer and a little cold in the winter.  Nearest town was 25 miles away.  Two miners lived in the trailers, an old black rodeo cowboy resided in a mix matched construct cabin set against some boulders.  Another resident (the scum) lived underground—where scum supposed to live.  Under some rocks, too!
	“Stay close to the truck, don’t wander off.” Mack gave Clay a whistle, “You get in trouble—blow.”
	The air was brisk—and lifeless.  Neither kid was too into romping about the area; snakes and other unfriendly critters were bedded down for the winter, but that still didn’t mean that there weren’t other dangers.  The kids shrugged, nodding that they understood.  Since the man had gone on his intrepid search for the elusive Shittsum Corners, he hadn’t molested either of them.
	After leaving the truck the kids sat in the cab—thoughts to their own.
	“What do we do now?” asked Andrea almost timidly.
	“We wait—I guess.” Clay answered with a shrug.
	Andrea sighed, “Ok.”
	After the man disappeared from sight, Clay sat back with his shoulders to the back of the seat watching the clouds formulate over a distant ridge.  On the dash was a radio bringing in a few stations—but not knowing rightly what state they were in it was kind of moot to pinpoint their location.  The maps, and the hand written/drawn map with all the quirky roads written on was no help, either.
	There was that town, though, Mack mentioned, twenty-five miles away.
	Long walk.
	Unknown territory.
	Unknown dangers.
	Best not chance it.
	“You couldn’t drive this thing, could you?” Andrea asked.
	Clay shook his head, “No way.”  It was a little more than a simple 4-speed, the gear shift was there but it had an extra “T” handle the man pulled when shifting and clutching.  Besides, Clay was too small in size.  Good thought, though.
The Scum
	Propane tanks, solar panels, swamp coolers, portable air conditioners.
	Stacks of various types of tires, cement rubble piles, old washers.
	Two forty foot trailers, one fifty footer—all circa 1956-58.
	Three water wells—dry; one above ground metal tank with water.
	A few trees.  A lot of rocks.  Just the right setting for those wanting to “get away from it all.”  Fuck society!  Fuck society and everyone in it!  Nearest town was 25 miles away—for the folks of Shittsum Corners—not far enough!
	One crappy 1960s station wagon; three pickups.
	Lots of lizards, gilas, scorpions, and of course, snakes.  Most of those slithering-hissing-stinging sun worshipping creatures were hibernating or not so active in the chill of the Fall air.
	A tin shack made of wood, scrap metal, chunks of rock, parts of abandoned cars and a cabin of sorts built into a boulder.  A couple of out-houses; the foundation of a possible home or some mining shed; what used to be a barn but was now a faded memory; and a secure home built into a large boulder that also went underground.  Perfect place for a Scum.
	One of the residents of Shittsum Corners had robbed a couple of banks, killed a guard, killed a customer, killed a cop.  That was, of course, some fifty years ago in another state.  They’ve probably forgotten about that by now.
	Another resident was a rapist—multiple counts.
	At twelve, another resident participated in deflowering a neighborhood teenager with some other boys a little older but the same age as the victim.  At fourteen he had taken his first car for a joy ride thru two states.  After a few years in confinement, he wasted no time in taking another car.  At eighteen, he took his first life.  A bank robbery followed, a gas station, convenience store, another bank, two more lives, an unsuccessful yacht-jacking.
	But it was Sawyer Puzz who Mack Thaknife came to see.
	Sawyer Puzz was scum;  Sorry Cachexic Uliginous Mabsoot (an unfortunate manner of having an unhealthy mental state dwelling or being a part of a swamp or swamp-like conditions; slime; who is happy about it.)
	Sometime ago, in the early evening, Sawyer chanced upon three girls, two were sisters.  The youngest was in blue short and a too-small-for-her-size light blue tank top.  It was summer type time and there was only a small above ground pool in the backyard whereas most the homes in the neighborhood had much larger pools above and below ground.
	The young girl was cute with short brown hair, blue plastic ribbons in her hair, and dazzling blue eyes.  She was full of wonder, soda pop, and awe when Sawyer Puzz came into view—right thru the open patio door into the kitchen.

	No chance to say anything or even scream—a large hunting knife in one hand the man held; something electronical in the other.  He made the girl back up into the living room where teenage sister, Donna, and her best friend, Nina, goofed off.  They were taken by surprise when Sawyer and Mindy came in—Mindy backing up and the man wielding the deadly knife (with blood stains) following.
	“HOLY SHIT!” bitched out Nina.
	Donna was horrified and unable to speak.
	“Take off your clothes.” the man with the knife said.
	In almost a No Fucking Way did the girls present themselves—but the man with the knife insisted stepping up quickly to Mindy, pressing her body to his (after whirling her around) and putting the bloodied blade to her throat.
	“Don’t hurt her!” demanded Mindy’s sister, Donna.
	“Then do as I say.” seethed the knife wielding man.
	Donna peeled off her loose fitting halter-tank then shucked her short-short short jeans followed by lavender colored bikini panties.  No bra.  Nina had no bra—no panties.
	When both girls were naked,
	“YOU!  Lay down.”
	Donna gulped but laid down as commanded keeping her eye on the man, his knife, and her sister.
	“YOU!  Lay on her—the other way!” barked the man.
	Mindy’s mouth dropped, eyes widened, and she had already pissed herself—
	Donna lay on the living room floor with her best friend laying on top—facing the opposite direction.  The man with the knife smiled—“get to licking!” he barked.
	Slowly the girls complied and soon it was Donna (on bottom) with her hands to Nina’s ass prying the cheeks and seemingly “gettin’ after it!”  Nina herself was doing a fair job and soon both girls were diligent in their muff diving efforts—so much so that they did not notice the man having young Mindy strip off her clothes.
	Once naked, the young girl herself had to help undress the man—he watched her more than watching the two teenage girls sixty-nining!  Once his big dick was free, “play with it!” he cooed.
	Mindy blinked her eyes—she confessed to have never “played” with a boy’s pee-pee before.
	“Have you seen one?” Sawyer asked.
	“Yes.” At summer camp, at school, some neighborhood boys—mostly her age and younger.  With her fingers about the little more than average prong, Mindy masturbated the cock; then,
	“Kiss it.”

	Mindy couldn’t breathe.  Her mouth was open but she couldn’t get a breath.
	“Kiss it!” demanded the man speaking a little rougher and more demanding.
	Mindy began to bawl but with small hands still wrapped about the seething schlong—she kissed the moistened glistening head/piss slit.  That was followed by sucking on the moistened glistening head then going down to engulf the head and as much of the shaft as possible.
	“It tastes yucky!” cried out the girl.
	Strangely, neither teenager in the midst of beaver exploration was aware.
	The girls weren’t aware until after Mindy was laid out on her back and was being raped by the knife wielding man.  Donna took a breather from conscripted cunt munching to see her sister in distress.  She immediately got emotional, screamed, cried, went thru all the levels of horror—
	“If you move,” said the man, “I’ll cut her!” and his blade rested on the delicate skin of Mindy’s throat—all the while he himself shoved his more than adequate cock into her virgin pussy.
	After getting his nut—which didn’t take long, the man sat up and plucked up Mindy’s panties.  After sniffing the crotch he wiped his dick clean of the girl’s pussy blood, then wiped her pussy and had her roll over.  A long hard look to the teenagers,
	“I didn’t say stop.”
	Donna was very emotional and it was hard lash her tongue to her friend’s cunt.  She did but it was hard to enjoy.  The knife wielding man smiled, leered, and worked his foul cock into Mindy’s asshole.  It was a clumsy effort at best and at one time he put the knife to one side and had Mindy raise her hips up.  He spanked her a little then fingered her hole before sliding his manhood into her and promptly sodomizing her until he got his second nut.

	“Don’t move!” Sawyer told little Mindy as he moved from her to the other girls.  Placing his knees at Donna’s head, he assessed Nina’s ass—then spanked it, pried the cheeks open and diddled the asshole.  The girl wailed and fussed causing Sawyer to spank her ass HARD—“settle the fuck down!” he yelled.
	Then he pushed off his pants, straddled Donna’s head, and penetrated Nina’s virgin asshole.
	“NO!” screamed Nina, “Oh, God!  NOOOO!”
	Sawyer drove his hard cock fully into the distraught girl; meanwhile, beneath her and the man’s swaying musty balls, Donna wept.  Mindy curled herself up into a ball and watched.  Nina cried flinging her arms and legs about—receiving spanks for her efforts.

	After Sawyer got off in Nina’s ass, he scooped up Donna’s panties, wiped his dick and scooted around to her face.  There he had he suck his cock before shoving it into Donna’s cunt (Donna wasn’t a virgin but she was still tight!)  Sawyer made comments about the “tight pussy” and when he began cumming he drove his dick in as far and deep as it would go, power thrusted, squirted a copious amount of man jiz then pulled and made Nina finish sucking him off.
	Then,
	Eleven-thirty comes around, see, and the parental units, Daddy James and Momma Ellen, come waltzing in from a night out on the town finding articles of clothing strewn about the living room floor—along with James specialty imported (and expensive) beer bottle about, too!  (along with the all too familiar odor of marijuana!)
	OH!
	James went tearing down the hall to the bedrooms; Ellen closed the door and was in disbelief, she stooped down to pick up a pair of panties noting the “soilage” stain on one pair—and blood on the other.
	“What the—?”
	Something startled her distracting her attention.  Looking up—there was a naked man she didn’t know standing at the hallway entrance wielding a knife!
	“Get over here!” he demanded.
	Ellen was at a loss for breath—it felt like someone had hit her square in the chest.  She blinked her eyes excessively and tried-tried-tried to catch her breath.  Then she was moving on wobbly legs.  
	“W-who-who are you?” Ellen finally managed to blurt out.
	“A nightmare.” the man said simply.  Then, as Ellen neared, “take off your clothes.”
	Ellen’s eyes bulged—“I will not!” her confusion ran rampant in her mind; she couldn’t make sense of what was going on.
	“Take off your clothes—they live,” the tallish man said, “don’t and—” he drew the already bloodied blade across his throat.
	Ellen peed.  She felt faint and then suddenly sick to her stomach.  Her girls.
	Blinking her eyes excessively again, “My girls!  Where are my girls!  What have you—”
	“Listen, lady, maybe you haven’t gotten the crux of what’s goin’ on ‘ere.” Tapping the blade against the palm of his hand, he turned his body just so just so as Ellen could see husband James laying part way into the bedroom of Donna Jo.
	“OH!” called out Ellen; she began to heave—the knife wielding man reached out quickly grabbing her by her thick golden blond permed hair and threw her up against the wall.
	“Take off your fucking clothes!”
	All the while Ellen, thirty-seven, stripped off her evening dress and shucked her slip and wet panties, then halter and bra, she kept her eyes on her lifeless husband.  She heaved, felt sick, and retched a couple of times.  Had he killed her girls, too?
	“Your bitches are alright, so far,” grinned the naked man, “an’ as long as you do what yer fuckin’ told to do—they’ll remain that way!” his nostrils flared, his skin was very tan with some blotching here and there.
	“On your knees, Momma!” the man said tugging on his cum dripping bone.
	Ellen felt even more sicker; she retched and gagged at the very thought of what was proposed.
	“Yer gonna suck it—and like it!” seethed the man.
	She was going to suck it—but she wasn’t going to like it!

	A minute or so into the sucking the hellish man’s cock,
	“Yeah, that’s just how your “girls” did it!”
	Ellen seriously retch and nearly spewed.
	“Oh, my God!”
	Sawyer chortled and smacked Ellen upside the head with the butt of his knife.  Just as she fell—and fell to unconsciousness, she saw her husband twitch.  He was alive!

	When Ellen awoke—she nearly passed out (with unaided help.)  On the bed of her teenage daughter Donna straddled the lap of her Daddy.  Both were naked and Daddy James’ cock was up into daughter Donna’s pussy!  James’ hands were on Donna’s ass and they were having sex!
	But it was coerced—the naked man Ellen had sucked off on in the hallway patted his bloodied knife against Donna’s ass.  Blinking her eyes, shutting them tight, then opening them again—Ellen was horrified to the extreme to see Nina and Mindy standing at the naked intruder’s side.  Once more and did Ellen struggle to breath and regain herself.
	“You’re a monster!” she proclaimed.
	Sawyer smiled, nooded, “Yeah.” stating factly, “but much worse than you can imagine.” he seemed so sincere!
	Suddenly and James was cumming.  Streams of his spew coated his cock invading his daughter’s cunt; he clenched his hands on her ass and power drove his cock to the hilt enjoying his final orgasm.  Before all was spent, though,
	“Suck him clean!” demanded Sawyer pushing both Nina and Mindy on to the bed.  James’ prick slipped out and both frightened girls went to the task of sucking the cock clean.  Meanwhile, Donna Jo slid up her father’s body to come at last to rest on his face and grind her cum sopping wet cunny thereon.
	Ellen was beside herself—retching.  This was the most horrible thing she had ever witnessed.  When James got a hard-on again, Nina slid her non-virgin pussy onto the shaft and took her ride.  Mindy sat on her knees, diddling herself (as per command of the knife wielding man) and slowly glanced at her distraught (very distraught) mother.
	Sawyer stroked his half limp bone, patted his knife against Nina’s ass and licked his lips.  Mindy didn’t seem too emotional—neither were her sister or her friend.  That was odd.  Sawyer caught the glancing looks between young daughter and mother—
	“Git over here!” he demanded of Mindy.  Mindy moved faster than ever before.  “Suck me!”
	“Oh God!  NO!” begged Ellen.
	Sawyer shook his head, laughed, then grabbed a thick candle from off the nearby dresser—and as ten year old Mindy sucked on the cock,
	“’ere, shove this up your ass—and I’ll think about it.”
	Ellen couldn’t catch her breath—or the candlestick.  She picked it from the floor, stared at it, then stared at the man.  ‘WTF?’
	“Shove it up your ass,” Sawyer repeated, “or I’ll shove mine up hers!”
	Donna lost her composure and began to cry.
	Nina began to cum.
	Ellen had half breaths—which turned into no breath at all as she guided the 3-inch diameter green candle into her anus.
	“All of it!” seethed Sawyer tapping the nasty hunting knife on top of Mindy’s head.  It took awhile.  Finally,
	“It’s in.” Ellen said grunting and straining hard to keep her anal muscles from pushing the foreign object thought to be a turd out.
	“Lay down, on your back, show me.”
	Ellen thought she was going to puke!  She laid out on the floor on her back drawing her legs back exposing her asshole.  The new position definitely was difficult in keeping the candle in her hole.
	Sawyer pulled out and skull fucked the little girl, slapped her face with his cock, then had her get up onto the bed on her hands and knees.  Ellen wept, retched loudly, and slowly began to lose her mind.
	“Leave us alone, you fucking bastard!” screamed Donna.  In her rant, she whirled on her daddy’s face and charged off of the bed to the knife wielding man—who took the brunt of her force with his upraised arm.    The girl was already at an awkward angle for her attack; Sawyer’s block propelled her backwards onto the bed where she bounced.  The bounce propelled her to the end of the 4-poster bed where her temple hit the top part of the wooden foot post.

	Donna collapsed in a heap twitching some but otherwise lifeless.
	Sawyer looked at her; Mindy sniveled, Nina wailed, Daddy James was speechless and horrified, Mother Ellen was stupefied.  After a moment or two,
	“Git yer ass on the bed and give yer daddy a ride!” snarled Sawyer tapping the hunting knife on the girl’s head.  Mindy scrambled up onto the bed, giving her sister another look, then mounted her daddy who mouthed the words “is she dead?”
	Mindy shrugged, she didn’t know (not for sure.)
	Sawyer smacked Donna’s ass—first with his blade then with his cock.  Then, smiling, turned the girl so as her ass was against him and while Mindy rode her daddy’s cock—Sawyer shoved his fuck stick into Donna’s crap chute.  Ellen, who had been continuously holding her legs back, rolled over to her side and vomited.

*

	Along with “force”, Sawyer Puzz also had a little “helper.”  It was electronical in nature, of course, had limited abilities, but it worked to subdue a mind and that was all that mattered.  But force was his general manner of compensating with life.
	Once all the expensive beer had been consumed, Sawyer enjoyed all the domestic beers.  Then settled to watch a ballgame!  At a break in the game he returned to the bedroom finding little Mindy sitting up with a dazed-glazed look etched on her sweet pretty face streaked with tears and blood.  In a corner sat Nina rocking back and forth mumbling incoherently to herself.
	Sawyer picked Mindy up by the elbow taking her into the living room.  Once there and resettled in the super comfy suede chair he pulled little Mindy across his lap and lightly smacked her ass—firstly with his hand and then with the even more bloodied hunting knife.
	Then there was the dog bark(ing.)
	On and on it went, from the 3rd Inning to the 9th Inning—bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-fuck humans-bark-bark-bark.  It was very annoying and to Sawyer, exceptionally so.  He found it disturbing.
	“Stay here.” he told Mindy.  She nodded and curled up in a fetal position on the floor.  Sawyer stood up, farted, peed on the little girl, tugged on a joint he had been smoking, then rifled thru his backpack selecting another weapon to deal with the Bark & Bite.

	The Jamntoe house had a small backyard with a very small alley.  Lots of trees, lots of big trees of differing species.  The alley was more of a trail-walkway than anything else and the incessant barking of the neighbor directly behind could easily be heard.
	There were lights on in the neighbor’s yard, an above ground whirlpool, kids playing, a barbeque in progress, and two parental units standing on a brick deck not minding the barking dog.
	“HEY!” yelled Sawyer, “You wanna shut that fucking dog up!”
	“Aw, don’t worry about the fucking dog!” yelled back the man, a Mexican with a small gut, long hair, Chicano beard, lots of tattoos.  His short skinny wife flipped Sawyer off with one hand and drank a Mexican beer with the other.
	The dog barked louder and with more viciousness.  The kids began yelling at Sawyer and their dad wisely told them to go inside.  It was mid morning by this time, way after the time good (or bad) doggies, should keep their traps shut—and unruly neighbors should be wary of who was peeking over their back fence.
	More banter, more yelling, bla-bla-bla.
	“Maybe I’ll just call the cops—”
	“Whatever, dude!” said the Mexican man.
	“Go fuck yourself and call ‘em!” said the partially drunk woman.
	She never heard the shot.
	She felt it—as the first one blasted into her shoulder sending her backwards over some big broadleaf pants colliding with the stucco wall of her home.  
	“Fucking grueso!” (street scum)
	“Fucking bruto!” (redneck) bellowed the Mexican man, he charged the fence in a furor—and he; too, never heard the shot.
	Two steps, three, four steps Alejandro Benez stumbled and fell against a huge clay pot bleeding from two bullet wounds in his chest.  Sawyer swung himself up over the fence and aimed at the bull mastiff that was going absolutely berserk with barking, snarling, dropping, and about to break the measly chain he was attached to.
	Sawyer pumped three bullets from his 9m Glock Special.  The “special” was the add-on enhancement colloquially and fondly known to street thugs and professional hit men as a “silencer.”  
	Alejandro still clung to the clay pot gasping for air; Sawyer kicked his legs out and he fell with a thud to the gravely path that meandered thru the Mexican style landscaped backyard.  The woman, Alexis, sat in the foliage stunned into utter disbelief.  She looked up to the man who marched nonchalantly up to her and aimed the Glock at her head.
	The trigger was pulled but only blew out her knee.

	Alexis slung her head and tried to call out for help as she reeled in extreme agony on the ground.  Suddenly, Sawyer grabbed the woman and slung her to a great boulder just the right size where there upon the rock her slacks were yanked off—followed by her panties.
	Sawyer wasted no time and got busy with the humping to Alexis.
	Alejandro was freaking out—still breathing (still bleeding) and stretched out his hand watching in horror as his wife was raped.  Sawyer shoved his fuck stick DEEP and HARD into Alexis’ pussy and fucked crazily until finally releasing his seed.  Alexis sputtered and said something in Mexican.  Sawyer laughed it off and jammed the smoldering barrel of his Glock into the woman’s asshole—and pulled the trigger.
	Inside the house, five kids had scrambled to hide—the front door was wide open, big screen television blaring along with the mega stereo beneath it.  Sawyer strolled in from the patio into the kitchen, into the living room, then on to the hall bathroom where two of the five children hid.  One girl about eight or so huddled with her younger brother about five.
	In a shared bedroom other children hid, under the bed and in the closet.
	Good Mexican beer in the fridge, Sawyer helped himself then moved back to the backyard where he took note of the whirlpool.  It was a little effort but he moved Alejandro’s body into the extra large device followed by his wife.  Then the dog.  Then, one by one, the children, save for nine year old Leera.  The cover was found and placed on top covering the family.  The unit was on, too.  With hammer and nails the top was pounded into place; a power drill and some LONG screws continued to ensure a tight seal.
	Then it was back to the Jamntoe house where it was just breaking dawn.
	Sawyer casually dressed, collected his backpack, Mindy and Leera, and into the Jamntoe family expensive English SUV.  Neither girl in his company were dressed.  Nothing was said.  Sawyer drove perfectly, out of the ‘burbs, onto the freeway, skirted the city, went over the river bridge, and out of sight.
	Two days later and little Mindy was found on a rural route wandering down the lane naked and delirious.  Little Leera was never found.  (and it was weeks before someone decided to open the whirlpool lid—that person was never the same again.)  Sawyer would have likened to have seen that person’s reaction.  But by then he was long gone.

*

	But being “forceful” wasn’t always the way with Sawyer; there was the subtle method using subterfuge al la a little electronic device—the EMAD.  As previously stated, it was small in minding power abilities—but it worked.
	One particular incident involving the subtle use of the EMAD occurred when Sawyer was in school; junior high, 7th grade.  His personal life at home wasn’t good—school life wasn’t much better.  In his 7th grade class he was pressed upon to reveal some “talent.”  Other students excelled in playing a flute, a violin, a guitar, painting, tap dancing.  Sawyer Puzz was into none of that and flat out told his teacher so, “I aint gots no talent!”
	She insisted.
	He got pissed.
	She sent him to the principal’s office.
	He went home.
	Some time later, and back in class, Sawyer sought revenge against his “talented” class.  Timing was everything, he waited until the afternoon and then utilized his one talent he did have—electronic mind altering of classmates (and teacher.)
	The minding device he had was small, worn on the wrist like watch but a bit bigger.  The oversized time piece had limited abilities—it may well have had more but “limited” abilities were all Sawyer could uncover at the time.  Complete Mind Stunning was one such ability.  An ear piercing whine went out suddenly from the oversized watch and then suddenly all were quiet in the class.
	Slowly Sawyer made way to the open class door and closed it.  He had about 45 minutes to do some shenanigans and he planned a lot of those.  He firstly had to make sure everyone was indeed under the electronical spell of the EMAD.  Standing in front of the class he daringly made a raspberry with his hands to his lips.
	No one giggled.
	No one’s jaw dropped.
	He grabbed his crotch, stuck out his tongue in a sexual manner.
	No one made any reaction whatsoever.
	Waving his hand before the brown eyes of his teacher, Ms. Crowtoe, brushing his hands up against her breasts ensured him that she was, too, under the spell of the minding device.  On Sawyer’s device, there were sections, quarter sections of differing colors; green, orange, yellow, and red.  When the time was about up for the minding device’s mind hold on subjects—the colored sections would begin to flash.  Each section was for fifteen minutes. 
	With no time to waste, Sawyer went to Becky Notaile.  Long, long honey blond hair, incredible blue eyes, good form/posture, nice tits.  Some days she was in jeans or pants, some days a dress or a skirt outfit.  She wasn’t rude to him like most girls were; Sawyer had long hair covering most the right side of his face, an earring, and wore odd clothing.

	Clad in nominally tight light blue jeans, Becky Notaile was hot!  A sleeveless top, glistening lip gloss, and she smelled of roses!  Sawyer had wood—as did most boys in the 7th grade.  Pulling her up from her desk he stood before her just gazing at her knowing that time was tick-tick-ticking away.  But he couldn’t help it—it wasn’t often that he got the chance to gaze on a girl without being hit, slapped, bitched and yelled at.
	Then, nervous fingers undone her light-light blue top that had rows of pinkish roses.  Way too many buttons but he got the garment undone and then off followed by her bra.  A minute was stolen ogling the girl’s breasts—his cock was aching and time was getting away.  Down came her pants and another minute was stolen just looking at the girl in her powder blue panties—with roses all over!
	His fingers trembled more as carefully he lowered the undies.  A big smiled etched on his face when the girl’s naked poon came into view.  He didn’t know if girls shaved their snatches completely or trimmed them or what—this one trimmed hers and trimmed it well!
	Determining virginity status was elusive to Sawyer Puzz; he didn’t know how to tell (and didn’t care.)  A discovery was made, though, when tugging the girl’s panties down—rose petals!  There were rose petals all inside the panties!
	No time—no time at all—scarcely twenty minutes!
	On the floor, Becky’s pants and panties off, Sawyer’s pants at his ankles, he mounted the girl and guided his cock into her for a full out five minute fuck.  He suckled on her titties, cupped her breasts, and admired her angelic face.  Becky Notaile had an unusual face—not striking or anything but very pretty.  She was not a virgin.  Sawyer went to the brink of orgasmic bliss, crossed over, and fucked furiously until there was no more.  Then there was no more time, on his oversized watched the final quarter section was pulsing—when the sweep second hand reached the number “12” at the top, time would be up and the Device’s mental hold on the class would be over.
	Getting his clothes on as well as Becky’s was a chore; his zipper caught his nut sac and that wasn’t good—there was blood.  He stumbled once and fell to the floor hitting his chin—chipping a tooth and hurting his elbow.  Snapping Becky’s bra latch back he couldn’t do and he was spending too much time trying so he let it go and finished dressing the girl and sitting her back in her desk just as the watch let out a whine and people in the class began bobbing their heads, slinging the heads to clear them and so on.
	A day later and it was Carly Coldnose.  There wasn’t any time for any other girl, just Carly.  But that was ok, Carly wore pants, too, but they were easy to get off and she had a bra that had a clasp in the front.  No roses in her panties.  Sawyer had the girl suck him—she didn’t act on her own; he had to move her head back and forth.
	And the girl was a virgin.
	The blood coating his cock grossed him out.
	A paper towel from the back of the classroom he used to clean the girl and himself.  Afterwards, he put the girl on her hands and knees and was going to stab her asshole but shadows kept passing by outside the classroom annoying him.  the class section was an old brick style; the whole campus comprising of junior high grades as well as 4rth thru 6th.  The younger grades were on the other side of the campus separated by a large grass courtyard.  No building taller than two floors.  Lots of vegetation, trees, shrubs, what have you.  All buildings were built in the fifties, brick-brick-brick with the cafeteria the newest remodeled building having brick corners but a stucco façade.
	Sawyer’s “talent” class was in a building closest to the parking lot, a long wide building, two story, being mostly classes of Art or art related subjects.  With the influx of peoples from the city to the suburbs, the “artsy” classes had to also take in regular students.  The teachers of those artsy classes tried to find talent within their class.  Well, Sawyer had talent—a special talent.

	Banging a girl on the classroom floor—with the classroom (and teacher) present!  Amazing!  Shelly Nailme was his next girl; she was in a dress, red with black spots of some design.  Black panties.  Black bra.  Dark hair, dark eyes, Italian descent, played the violin, harmonica, and cello.  No roses in her panties, either.  Sawyer put her on her hands and knees, once getting her naked.  Then he sat back and took a full minute admiring her ass—hole, and pussy.
	Then he caressed the girls ass before cinching up and sliding his prick into her backdoor.  His hands cupped her lovely teenage breasts as he slammed her hole; there were some eight other girls.  Two black girls, a Chinese girl, a girl with glasses AND braces, small tits, large front teeth…
	One girl a day—that was all the time there was.  He took his time, admiring the girl, fondling, some spanking, and full body exploration before—during, and after fucking her.  Every girl was different.  Brown hair, round titties, ski slope titties, long arms, long neck, blue eyes, green eyes, some with perfume, one with rose petals in her panties…
	After sinking his pud into Veronica Slapmesillie, the girl with the buck teeth, braces, and glasses, there was time enough for Ms. Crowtoe, the teacher for the “talented” class.  Veronica had been good, virgin pussy and asshole but seemed to strangely know how to give head.  Once naked, the girl looked pretty good—she needed a bag over her head—maybe even two!
	Ms. Crowtoe was in her thirties, not too tall, slim, 32B type titties, globes.

	Most days of instruction she wore jeans or pants.  Sometimes a dress or skirt.  She always smelled good and was friendly enough.  Sawyer had no idea if she were married or not (or even how to tell!)  And he didn’t care.  Twenty-five minutes was spent with Veronica, that left him time enough to do something with Ms. Angela Crowtoe.  Twenty minutes wasn’t sufficient time to spend with his teacher.  Not near enough.  This day, it was slacks, beige-like.
	At her desk, Ms. Crowtoe was simply bent over onto the desk with Sawyer behind her.  Down came the slacks and then the basic white panties.  More than a minute was spent admiring that lily white ass.  He spanked it, fingered the hole and hairy pussy, and though he had just fucked Veronica’s pussy, mouth, AND asshole, cumming off in her mouth and pussy, Sawyer found himself with a raging boner aching to get even more action.
	There was no denying his cock and into his teacher’s cunt he went, clamping his hands onto her hips and humping madly.  The feeling was sensational.  He still had Becky Notaile on his mind, Beverly Itchsum, Nora Xu, but Ms. Crowtoe was something—really something!
	Having already cum twice, though, his cock was extra-extra sensitive to the point of desensitized.  As he felt the strain of orgasm coming—the oversized watch on his wrist began to flash in its last quarter.
	“Shit!  Piss!  Fuck!  Motherfucker!”

	Balling a girl, a naked girl, on the classroom floor—that had to be tops!  The audacity of it all!  The boldness, the sheer gall, everything!  Other EMADs on the market had much more developed mind altering abilities; Sawyer Puzz’s oversized watch EMAD had just one ability—mind zap.  But it worked!  Nellie Twatrain was the last girl in the classroom to nail; a nice girl, small tits, small mouth, quiet and shy and a hot little dynamo on the classroom floor.  Sawyer found her pussy tight and snug—but possibly non virginal.  By the time he had gotten to the “last girl” in the classroom—his cock was might sore.  But he was far from being done with his class.
	Screwing his teacher ON HER DESK was another notch for him to chortle about.  Pussy, mouth, asshole, between those amazing globes, spanking her, squirting his cum onto her pussy (and leaving it there; pulling up her panties just as time was running out.)
	But Sawyer Puzz didn’t just limit himself to the girls of his class—
	Kelly Gofertoad.  He was a bully.  Not a full out and out kick-your-ass kind of bully, but one who enjoyed picking on others, making fun, goading fellow classmates to make fun and snicker behind your back.  Twice Sawyer and Kelly had gotten into fisticuffs; once they were sent to the principal’s office but lucked out as the principal had an emergency of his own and didn’t show.
	After screwing all the girls in his class, Becky and Veronica twice, he took a week off.  A solid week—his dick demanded it and he was getting sore and tired all over.  The EMAD he tucked away—out of sight out of mind (but the nifty gadget was always on his mind.)  Ms. Crowtoe had also called in “special agents” during that particular week—checking the class and those within it.  Checking for “what” was never revealed but it was learned that the use of a minding device was the cause for security.  EMADs at that time were not so well widely used but a surge in their use was on the rise.
	During the “week off”, Sawyer made it with Nellie Twatrain without the EMAD!  They chummed together, went to a miniature golf place, a movie, and a walk along the river.  Under the trestle (train bridge) they smoked a joint and went skinny dipping.  Thereafter, they fucked on the shore and then again up way up under the bridge where the incline of the bank was right up against the bridge—right when a huge locomotive went roaring above them.
	It was intense!
	During the weekend before resuming activities involving the minding gadget, Sawyer learned how to utilize some of the other nifty features of his mind altering device.  By simply turning the bezel he could whisper “commands” to his Subject.  Neat!
	His first subject was Kelly Gofertoad.
	Monday afternoon during the last hour of class—
	“Stand up, bitch!” Sawyer whispered harshly while standing at Kelly’s desk.
	The dark haired boy slowly arose from his desk.  Sawyer made sure everyone was under the spell of his minding device then continued with Kelly.
	“Take yer fucking pants down—underwear, too!”
	Kelly didn’t even pause and unhitched his pants and tugged them down along with his tidy-whiteys.  Sawyer pushed his own pants down and stood stroking his meat deeply thinking.
	Once Kelly had complied, Sawyer reached out and played with the boy’s cock!  He did!  It was soft but after working it a bit the pud in hand stiffened up.  Sawyer wasn’t aware of the Q&A feature, he tugged on the boy’s dick, fondled his balls, then worked him to extreme hardness essentially jerking him off.  Kelly’s spew squirted onto Sawyer’s cock and balls.  Sawyer smiled and after embracing the boy, clutching and caressing Kelly’s ass,
	“Suck my sac clean, bitch!”
	Kelly did blink his eyes but went to knees and sucked on Sawyer’s ball sac AND cock!  He did!  Sawyer fucked Kelly’s mouth, face, mouth again before whirling the bully boy around and reaming the asshole.  It was tight (the asshole) and Sawyer enjoyed a good ten minute plunging.

	It was Sawyer’s goal to make Kelly his “bitch.”  Ass fucking, cock sucking was just the beginning.  He didn’t know it but he could make “suggestions” to his Subjects, changing their ideas and “way of life.”  Kelly would go on to be a homo and love cock.  
	Another incident was with Audrey Glibnib.  Sawyer noted her while transitioning the underground passageway.  On one side of the multi use school was a large trailer/mobilehome park with a small access road surrounding the lot; then there was the four lane highway that was short being less than a mile but connected to the business highway into town as well as connecting to the North/South highways out of town.  Then there was the railroad that went across the southend of the school property, the cotton warehouse that took up space on the other side of the tracks.  The passageway went under the highway.
	Audrey Glibnib was not in junior high, not yet.  She was twelve and in the 6th grade.  Up to that point, Sawyer had never given a thought to “other” girls, girls younger than his classmates.  A new beginning was coming.  Audrey was the first, in the passageway with little lighting, no security, Sawyer nailed the girl as she traveled alone going home after school one day.
	She wasn’t too bad looking; kind of plain, long brown hair, kind of plain, bad posture, small breasts.  It didn’t matter much to Sawyer—a conquest was a conquest.  The oversized watch did excellent work and nailed the girl from where the steps came down from the school’s side.  Most of the student body from both campuses had gone thru—why Audrey had lingered was unknown.  Once she had stopped in about the middle of the underground passage Sawyer raced to her, fondled her breasts, fingered her up under her short plaid summery dress.
	Audrey made no moves and Sawyer began working her panties down when voices alerted him to others traversing the passage.  He stopped his antics and moved on to the other side taking his time.  Some other students came along and he let them be—remembering that he could just as easily zapped them, too.
	But he didn’t.
	Fearing being busted kept him leery and he just pulled Audrey’s panties to one side and slipped his dick into her cunny.  Her breasts he freed, mawed, suckled, and nipped the nipples—and was promptly interrupted by more underground passengers.  He got his nut, held the girl to himself and let the passerbys pass by.
	The next day he got her again—before school.  And be damned being busted, he got the girl naked and nailed her on the floor right in the middle of the passageway.  It was kind of a daring thing—the twelve year old girl stark naked and thirteen year old Sawyer Puzz fucking her brains out.  Quite a sight!

Scrog me; scrog you
	Strangely, Sawyer didn’t pursue the girls of the 6th, 5th, or 4rth grade.  Just Audrey.  And more strangely, of all the girls in his class he slipped his bone into, Ms. Crowtoe and Audrey were the ones who came up pregnant!
	For the summer, Sawyer went to work at a warehouse; good hard work.  The EMAD he put aside (his cock was sore!)  One night on his way home there was a serious thunderstorm that rolled in.  The warehouse he worked at was located a ways out of town, cold storage for mostly potatoes but other fruits and veggies, too.  On his way home on the long road by the railroad he got a blowout just as the skies opened up.
	Guess what?
	What?
	Spare was flat, too.
	Sitting off the road after working hard all day didn’t suit him.  Anger began to fill him; the rain stormed around him and a thunderous choo-choo roared by him.  It was a long train.  After a while, Sawyer got lost in thought watching the individual cars rumble by.  Something about the click-clacking of the wheels against the rails, the rain thumbing on the roof of his car, all of it summing up to some sort of somber moment quelled his anger.
	Then, the final car rumbled by with the little red light on the end car (FRED—Flashing Rear End Device) disappeared in the gloom.  Sawyer sighed, it was a good walk to the intersection Scrogg Way and Scroggum Lane.  On one side of the nearly remote intersection was a big gas station, next to it a truck stop with café.  Across the street was a couple of fast food joints, a non-name brand gas station, and a bar popularized by the hard working class of folk from the warehouse area.
	Over the tracks and was a small section of low-low income/redneck & Mexican dwellings.  A vast field of nothing, and a church.  The truck stop wouldn’t have a tire for his car, a late model 60s Muscle Car.  The gas station was just that—gas and go.  No service.  He would have to call a buddy.  In the rain that buddy would have to be an awfully GOOD buddy—and Sawyer, 17 and on his own, didn’t think he had that kind of a good buddy.
	The rain just poured and poured.  Sawyer didn’t want to spend the night in his car; he thought of in the morning he probably could catch a ride to work so as not to miss any time; then, during lunch or if he caught a lucky break and it was a short day he could get someone to help him with car trouble.
	But it was late evening—he didn’t relish kicking it in his car all night.
	He could grab a bite to eat at the truck stop’s café and possibly hang out there for awhile before someone ran him off for loitering.  He shivered as the bite of cold crept into the car.  Turning on the engine he got the heat going—
	Spending all day humping it hard in the cold storage area of the warehouse was bad enough—then come out to the heat of the day in the rest of the warehouse, then car troubles and there he was shivering from an uncommon summer storm.
	“Can my life suck any more?” he mused to himself.
	His stomach grumbled.  If not for the flat tire he’d be home now; mac & cheese dinner, maybe a chili cheese dog; some TV, then a quick shower and hit the bed.  Work again at 7AM—be there or be docked or booted!  Dock manager told all lollygaggers that “I’ve got a stack of applicants just waiting to take yer place!”
	The pay wasn’t bad, wasn’t great, but it was hard earned pay and well deserved.  Sawyer had given up on high school, it wasn’t his thing and since he was over sixteen—FUCK SCHOOL!  (and everybody in it!)  He had no use for school and it seemed school didn’t much care for him, either.  
	The church across the tracks had a light on.  Services were in progress.
	A few cars on the gravely parking lot.
	A garden plant sales outlet was next door; old train cars, old tractors, old house lay all about the church area behind and to the other side.  before Sawyer knew it, he was huffing it across the tracks to the church.  He didn’t know why—he just was.
	He had a thing against big churches—especially those where Caddys and Lexus’ and other expensive cars dotted the parking lots.  He didn’t have anything against the cars, especially Cadillacs, but their owners—he thought church was for people who had God at the top of their list; but if they had big fancy expensive cars—maybe not so much.
	Then again, he was to understand that maybe—just maybe—God was rewarding His followers with deserved gifts?  It was confusing.  Sawyer didn’t understand religion—and he was sure it didn’t understand him, either.  For a long minute he stood outside the door in the drenching rain.
	Was it a sign?  Was it a “push” from God?  A rainstorm was unusual for the time of the year—usually rain for the area came in March, April, and May; then September and sometimes October but that was rare.  Very uncommon for rain to come in the middle of summer.
	And to have the spare be a flat, too?
	Signs.  Sawyer thought them all to be “signs.”
	Or maybe coincidence…
	Anyways, the door suddenly opened and there was a man.
	An old man, short, gray haired, gray mutton, chubby face, dressed up for a hone hour evening midweek service.  At first he looked surly and unfriendly.  Sawyer was ready to pop him one and head back to his car.  Then the old geezer beamed and took Sawyer by the hand pulling him into the church.
	There was a foyer, an entrance with a wall partition separating the entrance from the rest of the church body—it was a small church having a max. capacity of 150.  The church never saw that many but there was capacity for such.  It was warm in the foyer; there were flower vases, small ornate polished desks with pamphlets and more flowers.  Bathrooms left and right.  A coat rack.  Portraits of Jesus, the Last Supper, the Crucifixion.
	Another man came around the partition, the church body was singing some song Sawyer didn’t know.  A shiver began and his stomach rumbled.  The next thing he knew…

	It was a bed.
	A warm bed.
	Much better than the crappy oh-so-crappy bed in his rinkyhdink trailer.
	He was warm.
	Comfortable.
	And there was little to no strife whatsoever in his mind.
	No worries.
	When awoke he just lay there—quiet (and warm.)  He saw a paneled wall, paintings, a nightstand with some old fashioned lamp on it; a big dresser, a big curtain probably covering a big bay window or something.  There still were no thoughts plaguing his usually troubled mind.  It felt good just to lay in a warm comfortable bed and vegetate.
	Drifting in and about his mind were scenes, images he knew and didn’t know.  A little confusion began and as he struggled to get a hold on those confusing images a woman suddenly appeared.  At first he thought it was his mother.  A strange—strange feeling enveloped him; he missed his mom, hated his dad, and missed his mom.  When he was barely eight his mom began leaving the house and staying gone for long periods of time.  His dad made breakfast—which he never did; it was mom’s job. When he asked his dad “why” he was told that she was sick.
	When he was nine, mom was gone for longer periods of time.  Dad was making pancakes by then—up from basic cereal.  By the time Sawyer’s dad was making waffles, mom was gone.  
	The woman had blond hair—like his mom.  A sweet smile, blue eyes, a friendly-loving appearance.  Just like Sawyer’s mom.  More confusion reigned making Sawyer uncomfortable and uneasy.  The woman said something but Sawyer’s confusion blocked out whatever it was she said.  He suddenly shivered and then got a whiff of something incredibly delicious.
	Potato soup!

	He loved potato soup—just like mom used to make.
	Potatoes, small and large chunks—fork tender!
	Bits of carrot, beef, onion, barley, thick-rich sauce/cream, and cheese!
	Bacon bits were on top with more cheese and sour cream!  Delish!
	Sawyer was in heaven.
	Well, close.
	He was in the house of the Nadmac family, seven of them.  Eric Nadmac was the head of the household and head preacher at the church Sawyer had come into and dripped all over the place.  Vaguely did he remember being escorted into the bathroom and handed a towel and then some clothes from the church’s lost & found and donated.  Then he got a meal from the church’s small kitchen and taken in by the church body and then the Nadmac family.
	He completely forgot about his stranded car (and work!)
	His car and work no longer mattered—he was warm, well received, well fed.  He took it for what it was worth and reveled in it.  It felt good.  There were other “good feelings” awaiting.  After consuming his soup, he got a whiff of the woman’s perfume.  He stifled a pesky fart and smiled at the woman—she continued to speak but Sawyer couldn’t hear her…

	The bathroom was across the hall.  Loosely and did Sawyer remember crossing the hall to make use of the bathroom.  At one point he decided to take a bath—it had been a long while since last he had been in an actual bathtub.  To soak in a warm sudsy bath felt good.  While he bathed and relaxed—the bathroom door opened and a sleepy headed young girl came in, shut the door, pulled her blue pajama bottoms down, panties, then copped a squat on the toilet and did business.
	Sawyer remained still suddenly remember ‘where’s my watch?’
	A flood of memories suddenly exploded into his mind—he DID remember his car—and work.  He remembered himself, too.  He didn’t know who the young girl was, but she was about ten.  Frizzy hair, kinda cute, way sleepy.  She peed, tooted, and nearly went to sleep sitting on the pot!  With business over, she wiped, flushed, tooted again, then left the bathroom never knowing Sawyer Puzz was in the tub!
	When after he had bathed enough he got out of the tub and dried.  A clock on a hallway table told the time of just after midnight.  He didn’t know the day, how long he had been in the good graces of the Nadmac family—how much work had he missed?  Was his car still there or towed away as abandoned, or had crummy thieves helped themselves?
	In the guest room he found his watch in the nightstand—along with wallet, keys, hopes, and dreams.  For hours he sat on the edge of the bed with the watch in hand—thinking.  Contemplating and thinking—contemplating and thinking…