August Moone
Book 9
Chapter 44
Plan Nine Point Two
(from somewhere out in space)

Bad neighbor
	Kosmo Koaltraine
	“Kiss my ass, all you sons-a-bitches die!  Got no use, for any you motherfuckers—no lie.  Got to hell, I hate you faggot-commie freaks!  Kiss my ass, got to hell, this life surely stinks.” Sung in a mournful blues-type manner on a single instrument—Kosmo’s choice was a 1934 guitar.  But he played harmonica, harpsicord, keytar, and American Indian wooden flute.
	Kosmo Koaltraine; he was a miserable bastard and he knew and everyone he knew him knew it.  He liked nobody and nobody liked him—and that suited him just fine.  What Kosmo did like, though, were kitty kats.  Dogs, turtles, birds, not too much into snakes, or rabbits.  Those folks unfortunate enough to live near by him were not so keen on his animal friends—especially stray cats.
	One particular neighbor took offense to his feeding and caring for all the stray felines in the neighborhood and one morning, 4AM to be exact, the neighborhood bitch pecked on his door demanding he stop feeding the animals.
	“No.” was his sleepy answer.
	She claimed that she was a police dispatcher and worked very hard and the cats were “scratching” on her house by her bedroom window, crapping in her flowerbed, peeing all over her yard and house, and bla-bla-bla.  Kosmo gave her the finger then slammed the door in her face.
	This didn’t sit well with the neighbor and she had animal control “control” those pesky bothersome felines—trapping them!  That didn’t sit well with Kosmo.  He fumed for about three days, then—
	Knowing the woman’s routine—he waited.  She worked a ten hour shift, usually 3PM to 1AM.  When she got home, 1:30AM, she showered, sometimes had a bite to eat, parked herself at her computer—sometimes naked, and did whatever on the computer until about 4AM.  She was fifty-something years old, a cunt hair under 2meters tall (6-ft), dish water blond hair in a funky curls, a small nose, big ass attitude.
	Kosmo waited—waited—noted the time (3:30AM) and then waited some more.  At 4:10, Diane Whatserface, shut of her bedroom light.  Kosmo waited—waited—and at 4:30…
	KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK on the front door.
	Not a soul was in sight along the neighborhood way.  No lights save the street lights at the corners and a couple of houses.  Otherwise—it was dark.  Kosmo saw light in the house and the woman cautiously opening her front door.
	“What’s going on?” she asked in a sleepy/tired voice.
	“I have something for you.” Kosmo said restraining himself from calling her what she was—a bitch.
	“What is it?” she asked not trusting him.
	“A gift,” he said simply, “an apology.”
	“It’s 4:30!” she whined, “Do you know what time it is?”  … … …
	“Well, I thought you were always up at this time,” Kosmo said finding it ever increasingly harder to restrain his outbursts, “besides, I’ll be off to work myself soon and wont be able to give you your gift.”
	“Well—w-wh-what is it?” she said still not undoing the brass chain connecting the door to the frame.
	“It’s a gift, a surprise.” Slight paused for dramatic effect, “An apology.”
	That got her.  She closed the door and then opened it; the only light was from a nightstand by the door—she HAD turned on the porch light but strangely, the lightbulb in it was—missing!  How strange!
	When Diane opened the door—still cautious,
	“Here it is!” and Kosmo zapped her with a taser.
	The woman fell back as the prongs of the electrified gun struck her going thru her thin robe and nightgown.  Kosmo hurried within shutting the door then retrieving the prongs.  He waited a moment as the woman twitched uncontrollably on the floor.  When she settled down and was babbling, drooling, Kosmo hit her again with a handheld stun gun.
	More twitching, more babbling, some peeing, and the woman was basically incoherent.  To make sure—he hit her again before assaulting her.
	His rage and discontent towards the woman seethed within him.  He loved kitty kats, dogs, birds, turtles, and the sorry excuse for a human had no cause in disrupting their lives by having them carted away to some unknown fate.  He loathed the woman.
	While she continued to twitch he removed her robe followed by her nightgown.  She was in her mid 50s and wasn’t a bad dame—just had a nasty hateful attitude.  No bra but she had pink panties.  Those were removed and then Kosmo laid into her—literally.
	She was a single gal, used to be married—divorced.  She had two boys, one was a city cop and the other a highway cop.  Kosmo entered the woman’s dry cunt giving all his seven inches with great deliberance.   Diane fussed a little but was still dealing with the effects of being electrocuted.
	She wasn’t the first fifty year old gal he had bagged—probably wouldn’t be the last.  And as far as fucks go?  He wasn’t denied an orgasm.  Titties were already, ass was firm, pussy was snug.  He gave her a decent load of man juice—then shoved the handheld zap gun into her pussy and depressed the trigger.  He grinned watching her twitch and babble incoherently.
	So then there was the particular nasty business of—now what?
	Kosmo did not have in his possession an EMAD.  Of any kind.  Nor did he want one.  He knew right off those things were dangerous—for the User/Possessor as well as the Subject they were intended for.  Kosmo preferred the old fashioned method of subduction, deviltry, nastiness.  Force!
	Diane wasn’t pretty enough for buggering (butt fucking) and also not pretty enough for skull fucking.  So he double dipped—another fucking with even greater force.  He also pressed the prongs of the handheld tazer to her body that both electrocuted him as well as her.
	It was invigorating!
	Afterwards, more babbling from Diane.
	He watched his cum oozing out of her pussy and knew he had to take care of that.  Using her own panties as gloves he fetched a bottle of bleach from under the kitchen sink.  And poured it onto her pussy and his oozing cum.  The woman instantly freaked the fuck out.  So much so that she required another jolt from his handheld plus another round from the stun gun.  Like a fish out of water she thrashed about on the floor before laying in a pool of piss and sweat.
	Kosmo drenched her cunny with the bleach as well as prying opening her cunny and dousing the inside too—totally irradiating evidence of his sperm.  She babbled, drooled, shook, trembled, and stank—of bleach, piss, and poo.  Ewewe!
	Still, though, she was a pain and would be even more when she recovered.
	He had just taken in an orange strippy momma cat in his garage.  He was sure that when the bitch Diane got wind of it she’d have a hissy fit.  That wouldn’t do.  No, it wouldn’t do at all.  And he didn’t rightly feel like leaving her to be found by co-workers, or her sons.
	“Bitch, you’re more fuckin’ trouble than you’re worth!” and he dragged her across the room to the side window and promptly pushed her out.  Then, with panties still as a glove, he switched off the lights, closed and locked the door (from the inside with the brass chain latch) then followed Diane out the window—closing the window as a final touch.  Then it was carting the still twitching babbling woman into his 1955 Panel truck.  It was still in the refurbishing mode but still got him where he needed to go—which was miles out of town and then some.
	Just before 6AM along the 2-lane oilfield road that dissected between huge fields of oil fields, cattle grazing fields, and endless rolling hills, Kosmo pulled off into a wide depression that was lower than the lazy U road above.
	Here there was a lone scrub oak tree and a lot of cacti.
	Also a galvanized culvert being of some size and not the small ones that were normal for passing under a road.  He could have gone another hour into the nearby mountains and up to a couple of places where stashing something that wasn’t supposed to be found for awhile—or ever.  But that was a lot more work and time than he had intended.  Diane still twitched and still babbled.  Daylight was coming on strong and soon oilfield trucks would be zooming all over the place as well as oilfield hands darting about to the various wells.
	Stuffing Diane into the culvert about halfway and he was satisfied.  Sort of.
	There were lots of debris within; tumbleweeds, pieces of plank board, cardboard, general cast off trash.  But he wasn’t quite thru.  Just to make sure the neighborhood bitch wouldn’t cause a problem he shoved seven inches of his trusty hunting rifle into her cunny and pulled the trigger.  Oh!
	There was no time to go home, catch some zees, change clothes, shower, or grab a bit o’ breakfast.  He grabbed fast food and made for work—oilfield related warehouse worker.
	An unmarked white car was at the curb of Diane’s house; detective type car.
	A crime scene investigator van was in the driveway.
	As Kosmo made for his door a Suit with a badge asked him of his neighbor.
	“Sorry, been at work.” Of which the Suit with a Badge asked him “what time” and “had he heard or seen anything” to wit Kosmo answered he hadn’t seen or heard anything and he himself was a sound sleeper usually waking up after the alarm had expired.
	When in the house he peered thru a window seeing what the CSI people were doing—dusting mostly.  They were in the house scouring the place down—nearing the window Kosmo had dumped Diane hours earlier.
	That’s when he saw Diane’s panties.
	“SHIT!” followed by “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” a major fuck up.  Diane’s pink panties he had used as a glove he had cast off once he was thru the window himself and retrieving the woman’s body.  Shit!
	It had been a long-long day.  Slumping in a chair by the window to keep an eye on the Suits with Badges he bided his time.  It was 5:30 and being summer type time—wouldn’t be dark until after 8PM.  SHIT!
	Slowly he made way to his detached garage—Kosmo’s house was a single story abode with a crappy green detached garage that set way back from the curb and the house.  There was a huge backyard—hardly any front yard.  The house was a late 50’s style—it was sound and at the time of purchase—cheap.
	Out the backdoor, into the garage, and grabbing the shears.  There was a chain-link fence separating the properties.  Over the years and a healthy ivy bush had consumed the bush from the curb to the back fence.  Kosmo went trimming.
	Trim-trim-trim.
	All the way down to where the panties lay.
	The diamond shaped holes of the fence were too small for his hands—and the panties themselves were “just out of reach” anyways.  He couldn’t believe he had fucked up so.  He just knew “Columbo” would be all over this evidence.	
	Back to the garage—fetching the wire snippers this time.
	Snip-snip-cut!  Just at the bottom of the fence and just enough to get his hand thru and to the “evidence.”  He managed to cut his arm and get a face full of bush—the other kind.  His face was scratched up, crap in his hair, arm bleeding, but he had the pink panties!
	Into his bathroom and the evidentiary garment was cut up and flushed.
	“Piece together THAT! motherfucker!”
	Then he showered and hit the bed.
	Diane’s body wasn’t found for months when a rain storm washed debris into the culvert pushing her body out.  It was decayed and foul, ripped by animals, and difficult to make out.  But dental records made the identification.  The “Who” “When” and “How” remained undetermined.  Well, the “when” was known but not the rest.
	Kosmo, in the meantime, had taken on a family of kitties; a momma cat and her kittens.

The Creation of a Vagina
Seven wise men with knowledge so fine
Created a pussy to their design.
First was a butcher, smart with wit,
Using a knife, he gave it a slit.
Second was a carpenter, strong and bold,
With a hammer and chisel, he gave it a hole.
Third was a tailor, tall and thin,
By using red velvet, he lined it within.
Fourth was a hunter, short and stout,
With a piece of fox fur, he lined it without.
Fifth was a fisherman, nasty as hell,
He threw in a fish and gave it a smell.
Sixth was a preacher whose name was McGee,
He touched it and blessed it and said it could pee.
Last came a sailor, a dirty little runt,
He sucked it and fucked it and called it a cunt!

I love the smell of lead poisoning in the morning
	Kosmo Koaltraine was pretty tolerant—no, no he wasn’t.  He did let things go to some extent—but not for very long.  Especially after a tough week at work.  The neighbors located directly behind Kosmo pushed his buttons on more than one occasion.  Usually he let it go and they quit their being unneighborly usually before Midnight.  Usually.  On more than one occasion and did Kosmo yell at them to “knock it off!” at 1-2AM.  The neighbors usually abided—they just got out of hand.  There was a small-small alley separating their backyard; lots and lots of overhanging eucalyptus trees.  The alleyway was a goof by planners and whoever constructed it not realizing it was not capable of allowing a vehicle of any size to traverse it—save a golf cart.  So the neighbors could easily be heard on the weekends when they partied, had a birthday party for some rugrat of theirs or someone else’s.
	One particular Friday and Kosmo snapped.  A tough week at work and at Midnight he had had enough.  The inconsiderate neighbors were asked to “please calm down the noise.” He had to work the following day so was in no mood to be tolerant.  He got a hardy “FUCK YOU!” from the party goers—including a “birdie” from one of the kids.
	Kosmo, amazingly, at that time—let it go.
	But that only went so far for so long—at a quarter to two fucking a fucking m and Kosmo Koaltraine snapped.  From a gun safe hidden in his closet he retrieved a military assault rifle and equipped it with a high tech muffler.  Then stuffed it with appropriate ammo, donned some military grab, face paint, and…
	A eucalyptus tree was in his yard—it was huge and the peoples who had had the house before him had had children.  Therefore, a wooden ladder was fashioned into the tree leading up to a platform of an unfinished tree-fort.  Kosmo made way to that platform but the overhang of his tree and the neighbor’s tree that was the same kind prevented him from optimum viewing.	
	No problem, determined to end the party goers ungodly loud music and unneighborly conduct he scurried out across precariously along a branch that entwined with the unruly inconsiderate neighbor’s.  From the new vantage point he could see well enough into their backyard.
	Pulling the trigger ended their festivities.
	Another pull of the trigger silenced the stereo.
	The dad—a big bull of a man, tall, beer belly, bare chested, fifty percent Mexican, stood leaning against a wooden pillar supporting the open porch roof riddled with a few bloody holes still clutching his beer can.  The mom, full Mexican, lay on the ground dead still—along with her aunt, uncle, three cousins, four family friends, some bratty kids, and the family dog.

	Suddenly there was a flash, movement—from within the house.
	Out of the tree he swung dropping the ground, rolling, darting to one side and slamming himself up against the puke peach stucco house wall.  A mad dash to the open patio door and inside rolling hit the kitchen table and toppling beer cans and a bottle of tequila.  He waited—heard whimpering and made his way stealthily down the hall finding slinking in the hall bathroom a 9yr old girl and her 8yr old brother.
	They were petrified.  The girl, in a short-short red checked sun dress, was peeing.  Her little brother had already done so, too.  Kosmo paused, then;
	“Take off your dress.”
	No hesitation, the pretty Mexican child hurried out of her dress.  Her yellow panties were soaked with her pee.
	“Panties, too.”
	The little girl pushed down her panties and stood trembling, crying, frightened out of her mind.
	Kosmo told the little eight year old boy to get out of his clothes but he was too scared to and didn’t comply.
	“Help him.” Kosmo told the girl.
	The boy was rendered naked.
	Kosmo hauled out his cock, stroked it, then waggled it before the frightened little girl.
	“Suck it.”
	Gulping, crying, trembling, the youngster took holt of Kosmo’s schlong and proceeded to suck it—like she knew how.  Kosmo pulled out to fuck her tear stained face, then back into her mouth.
	“You suck your brother’s tool?”
	The little girl nodded that she did.  Then,
	“You suck your daddy’s tool?”
	The little girl nodded that she did.
	“Uncle?”
	The little girl nodded that she did.
	Awesome!
	There was no orgasm, not yet.  He pulled out to hump her face than had her suck her brother.  While she did so on her knees, Kosmo caressed her ass slipping a finger into her asshole.
	“Been fucked in the ass?”
	The little girl nodded that she had.
	Kosmo slipped a finger to her pussy.
	“What about here?”
	The little girl shook her head, No, not there.  Not yet.
	Kosmo positioned himself behind the girl dragging his cock up and down her crack, poking her hole, then sliding into her vagina.  Naturally and the little muchacha wailed (still with her brother’s dick in her mouth).  A little thrust and he was in.  More thrusting and he was the devil.  Gripping her hips he rocked the girl into another world.  He was a bastard.
	When done, he pulled out shooting a massive wad of spunk onto the child’s ass.  She collapsed onto the floor cringing, crying, carrying on.  Kosmo used her panties to wipe his dick clean.  The little boy had an erection and Kosmo directed him to fuck his sister.
	It took a hard swat to his little ass to get him motivated.
	A few pumps into the incestuous deed and Kosmo was caressing the lad’s ass.  Then he began playing with the boy’s hairless nuggets before earnestly fingering his dirt chute.  Then he inserted the barrel of his assault rifle.
	Afterwards and he got the bleach…

I’m a bastard, you’re a bastard, wouldn’t you like to be a bastard, too?
	“A woman goes to her gynecologist complaining that she’s finding postage stamps in her vagina.  The doctor takes a look and explains, “Lady, those aren’t postage stamps—those are stickers off of bananas!”

	Ever been fired?  (from work?)  Me?  I’ve been fired out of a cannon—a short lived career as a midget clown.  Long story.  Also been fired out of a woman’s cunt.  Longer story.  Our main character here, Kosmo?  Fired from work.
	Kosmo had been fired before—not out of a cannon, but other jobs.  No fault of his own but it seemed that he could only hold a job for about 4yrs and then-kaput!  Either the company got bought out and suddenly there were too many employees—so the last hired were the first fired; or, got caught sleeping with the boss’ wife.  That’ll cinch right there!
	He wasn’t a bad employee; he mostly worked by himself as he had little to do with co-workers—or the universe.  Yeah, occasionally while driving for the company he used the company credit card for something other than gas for the company truck—soda, hot dog, porn magazine.  One time he used the company truck to move some of his stuff from one place to another place.  Other employees found him abrasive and not helpful.  He made deliveries to other company warehouses and when a company employee lacky asked him “what’s this for”—Kosmo’s response was “How the fuck should I know!?”  he was just there to deliver not explain what the stuff was for.  Sign here—here—here—initial there.
	So he was canned.
	Thing was, though, he had gotten the job thru a so-so friend.  Complicated.  The friend—and the boss, were standing members of the church Kosmo was going to.  … … wait.  Let that sink in.  Kosmo.  Church.  Hmmm
	Nope, those two words do not go together.
	But, as it was, Kosmo DID go to a church; not for any religious reasons.  Pretty girls were there!  He had at one time wanted to branch out and be “sociable.”  But more importantly, when between jobs at the time he was in a bind with payments to his ride, rent, and student loan.  He had learned that a church sometimes helped out their parishioners in those difficult times.  Well, the church did—but usually to those who were regular attendees.  At the time and Kosmo was not.
	So he bit the big one (the other one) and began acclimating himself into the church.  He didn’t sing but mouthed the words and when the preaching began—he tuned out.   Eventually he made a friend, one.  He knew most of the other peoples of the church, became so-so friends with them; there were barbeques, outings to ballgames, and church socials.  Kosmo bore it all waiting for time.
	At length and he explained to the “one friend” that he was in a financial bind.  Within days the church “helped” and his financial bind was no more.  That same friend hooked him up with another member of the church—he was a district manager of an oilfield warehouse.  Within days and Kosmo was once more employed.
	Four years later and it all came undone.
	Days later and Kosmo’s Revenge began…

Fancy meeting you here
	Most folk at the oilfield warehouse were “ok.”  They were nice enough to Kosmo, he got his share of donuts, no one gave him gas.  But, there’s always a “but”, the warehouse manager, “Brad” was a backstabbing SOB.  More than once did Kosmo overhear the manager ridiculing Kosmo; his name, his swagger, just about anything and everything about him.  The other warehousemen went along and joked becoming backstabbers themselves.
	Didn’t sit well with Kosmo.
	So, when he was “let go” he seethed and seethed revenge.
	He bided his time with drinking.  Always the answer.  One day and Kosmo was downtown City hanging out at his favorite tavern, a nice pub having roots of dear ole Ireland.  Good food, music, and especially Guinness!  And he seethed.  There was no rage raging within; just vengeance.
	Then, as it happened, he stepped outside in the early evening hours contemplating fate—when fate contemplated him!  A man running down the sidewalk as if something terrible was after him got Kosmo’s attention.
	First thought was—‘should I be running, too?’
	Then he saw the man clutching a briefcase.
	The man being in scruffy clothes, unshaven, unclean, and in a panic mode that was determinate to flee his pursuer told Kosmo that the man was a thief and no monster was after him.  The man didn’t fit the part of one who would be a “business” type person owning said briefcase.  So Kosmo cold cocked the man sending him cartwheeling and then into a sidewalk tree.
	Two men in Suits were in hot pursuit and when the taller man reached the deranged man with blood pouring out his nose Kosmo backed off.  He had done his part.  The tall man in the Suit grabbed the bleeding man, a scruffy Mexican-American scuz and threw him up against the wall.  The second Suit picked up the briefcase and briefly checked its contents.  He gave a nod to the other Suit.
	“Manny,” said the first Suit, “you really are getting on my nerves.” and punched him HARD in the chest.  “Manny” slumped to the ground coughing, spitting, gasping for breath.
	Just then and sirens were blarring.
	The two men looked to one another and though they did not display panic they were concerned.
	“This way.” Kosmo said with a nod.  Into the alley and to the side door of Murphy’s Pub.  It was a store room.  The two Suits followed—just in time.  A small crowd of peoples had assembled—as did a small swarm of cops.  Kosmo handed the Suits, Onion and Rocky, some clothing other than suits.  Green smocks suggesting the wearing worked in the pub.  Kosmo took the Suits’ suits tucking them behind some boxes.
	They waited a few minutes; nothing was said.  Kosmo peeked out the peep hole security hole of the iron door looking out into the alley.  Four cops were poking around with one checked the security of the door.  It was locked.
	Into the pub the three went; Onion and Rocky growing more concerned with the presence of more cops.  Covering their heads with green bandanas, stuffing their watches and rings into the briefcase, the men tried to look as “normal” as possible.
	“This way.” Kosmo said leading the men thru the pub and to another door—a secret door used way back when during Prohibition.  This led to the other side of the building and out.
	“Thanks,” said the tall man, Onion, “that was a close one.”
	“Appreciated,” said the black man nodding his head, “you risked your neck.”
	Kosmo shrugged it off saying “I always help others.”
	“Do they help you?” Onion asked.
	‘Not No but FUCK NO!’ he said to himself.
	“No, not really.  But that’s ok, I’m used to it.”
	The two minions looked to one another.
	“You need work?”
	“I just got … laid off.” Fired was a rough word conjuring up questions.
	“We might have something for you.”

	The prospect of employment with Suits who were not socially acceptable looked good to Kosmo.  The Suits gave him an “advance” and a business card.  The job required driving; not fast but knowledge of the City was optimum.  And the cargo?  None of Kosmo’s business.  And he didn’t care, either.
	With employment settled—

Kosmo’s revenge
	Brad Berriweel.  He was young, late 20s, married, two kids, buzz cut haircut, seemingly nice enough guy—but talked shit behind your back.  He ran the warehouse; was in charge of all the employees, equipment, and sales.  Kosmo was a low monkey on the rung and only got hired thru connections.  He waited awhile, bidding his time before enacting his revenge.  1 month—two months—three!  Then,
	Brad Berriweel and his family lived 25 minutes out from the City; 30 minutes from the oilfield warehouse in another direction.  Three months and some days and on a bright crisp mid-week morning—
	TAP!  TAP!  TAP!  Officer Kosmo knocked on the door of a nice suburban home that was just like the fifty other homes in the ‘burb.  Single story, small tree in the front, well manicured lawn, drive-way still unsoiled by car stains.
	A pretty woman in her late 20s opened the door and was visibly shocked to see a police officer standing there.
	“C-can I help you, officer?” she said instantly concerned.
	“M’am,” said Officer Kosmo, “do you have a husband by name of Brad Berriweel?”
	“OH!” she startled instantly thinking the only reason a cop would be at her door asking about her husband was something had happened—to her husband.
	Carrying a clipboard, Kosmo asked if he could come in.
	Denise grabbed her chest and was in the beginning stages of panic.
	“Yes—yes, of course!”
	And as soon as Kosmo was inside and the front door was closed—she wished she had said No for Officer Kosmo suddenly produced a stun gun stunning the woman.  She collapsed to the floor of the entranceway; twitching.  Kosmo dragged her into the living room and the proceedings of revenge got underway.

	“Got something to take care of.” Kosmo said.
	“Need help?” Onion asked.
	“Nah, got to handle this one on my own.”
	Onion nodded, then; “Need anything?”
	A pause; then, “Yeah, a cop uniform.”
	Onion smiled, “Done!”

	Denise twitched on the floor; she also peed herself.  Wearing a nice thin red flowery summer dress the woman was nice; short cropped curly hair, blond; blue eyes creamy white skin with just a hint of tan.  Long legs; 32Cs, small lips and a small nose.  Dainty emerald earrings, green finger rings, and one on her middle toe.  Odd.
	Kosmo waited until the twitching had run itself out; then he zapped her again then set about setting up a small video camera on a small tripod.  His uniform was of a City officer; the brass nameplate said “J Hoboboh”.
	Just then he saw someone crossing the hall to his right.
	He froze and waited—waited—and waited some more.
	Then he heard a toilet flush.
	With extreme stealth he moved to the hallway keeping just out of sight.  The home was moderately furnished with good furniture; it was a bright house with big windows, a kitchen letting in lots of light, skylights, the works.  A little girl about seven or so rubbing her eyes, pulling up her panties, made her way across the hall back to a playroom where she had been playing with her little sister.
	Hmmm

*

Opening scene
	Tough day at work; forklift driver toppled some pipping.  A delivery truck was stolen (while driver was inside making a delivery of his own.)  Lost a very important file on a customer.  Lunch was Mexican and it wasn’t sitting well with him.  Pulling into the drive he found it odd that the lights were not on on the porch or inside.  It was still daylight, summer type time but still…
	Once inside—more oddness.  No children racing to embrace him.
	Then, on the flat screen television screen a post it note:  PLAY ME with an arrow pointing to the CD player connected to.  Brad pressed the button and the opening scene was his wife—naked!  Naked on the floor with her legs spread WIDE and some dude—some dude was fucking her!
	Brad about lost his fuckin’ mind right there.  But wait!  There’s more!

	Out of breath he floundered bashing against the wall down the hall to his bedroom where on the bed he found his naked wife in totally delirium.
	“WHAT THE FU—” he blurted out.  Then,
	From behind the door stepped a figure wearing a cop’s uniform and a full facial mask of—of—a monkey!
	“Peek-a-boo, motherfucker!” and a baseball bat upside the head took the buzz cut haired man out.

	Brad awoke later—naked, tied to the door; arms up over his head, a rope securing the wrists the rope went down the backside of the door and under to secure his feet.  He was delirious with a mild concussion.  His vision was a bit blurry and he didn’t feel well at all.  On the bed his wife—his NAKED wife moaned.
	Confusion reigned supreme in his mind.  So delirious was he that he couldn’t even blurt out a “What the fuck!?”
	At length, though, his vision cleared enough to see—to see a man—a naked man—on top of his wife fucking her.  Denise moaned, thrashed a bit, and made unintelligible words.
	As Brad’s vision continued to clear he saw his children, Megan and Bonnie.
	They were standing by the side of the bed—they, too, were naked!
	NOW Brad blurted “WHAT THE FUCK!?”
	Struggling against the door only gave him more discomfort than he was already in.  The man fucking Denise achieved his orgasm—this was evident as he pulled out and a stream of cum was dispensing from his dick—and his wife’s pussy.  The man then moved up Denise’s body for a titty fuck—he also grabbed a holt of her head and pushed her down onto the saucy cock making her suck him.
	Brad was freaking the fuck out—a mix of emotions; being highly pissed off and broken.  The man humped Denise’s sweet face having suckle his hairless ball sac before dismounting.  Masturbating he stood before the seven and three year old bringing them over to their daddy.
	Wearing a monkey mask, the details of the man’s face was hidden—but he was smiling, even giggling!  Brad freaked out more when the monkey mask man began masturbating—him!
	What the fuck!?
	Naturally and Brad wasn’t getting a hard-on.  The situation didn’t warrant it.  But the monkey mask man fondled his balls, caressed his ass, and wanked him just the same.  Brad was almost to tears.  His wrists were bleeding as he struggled against the wall.  Then it got worse.
	Monkey mask man put seven year old Megan before her daddy and had her take over masturbating.  Brad thrashed against the door closing it.
	Megan was crying.  Little Bonnie was crying.  Denise moaned.
	A flurry of words blasted hotly out of Brad’s mouth—none were intelligible.
	After a bit more of masturbating her daddy the little girl was prompted—by a swift swat to her ass to “suck him.”  Naturally and the little girl and her daddy were freaked out to the max.  But another swat and the little girl performed the oral copulation.
	It just wasn’t going well for Brad.  He cried, he thrashed, he got a boner.
	Little Megan was no pro, but it was just the act of “sucking” that got her daddy hard.  She cried and blubbered and after only a minute or so and the monkey mask man pulled the girl’s mouth of the daddy dong.  But it wasn’t over for her—monkey mask man then guided her daddy’s schlong onto her face for a good ole fashioned face fuck.
	That was followed up by an act even more horrific—the little girl was hoisted up by the naked monkey mask man with her back into the man’s naked chest; then, her legs were spread and she was pressed right up against her daddy’s slobbered on cock!
	It was awkward but the monkey mask man held the girl and worked her against her daddy just about getting the semi hard schlong into her sex.  Monkey mask man took holt of the man’s dick and guided it up and down the child’s crevice—then he began to masturbate the man in earnest.
	“Don’t you want to cum on her, Brad?” Kosmo/Monkey mask man was smiling inside the mask—not a happy-happy smile.  The other kind.
	“You talked a good game at work.” Brad was overheard to comment on teen cheerleaders and how they were “hot.”  The discussion went on to not just college but high school—and junior high!  Then, at a company picnic Brad’s eyes were on a very pretty ten year old in tight-tight short britches.  
	“Goddamn!” Brad said gouging the heel of his hand to his crotch, “I’d like to spank her!” The other two men giggled along with him.  Funny, he wasn’t giggling now.
	After much ado about poking and gliding his cock up and down his daughter’s pussy, Monkey Mask man sat the girl down telling her “Stay!  Don’t move!”  The pretty blond haired girl nodded that she would.  Monkey Mask Man then scooped up little three year old Bonnie.
	“NOOOOOO!” screamed Brad.
	“YESSSSSS!” screamed back Kosmo.
	Trembling little hands on the daddy dong, a few strokes, then a kiss.  Brad was in fits.  Blood was trickling down his arms from the wrenching of the wrists.  More spouts of unintelligible words spewed from the man’s mouth.  He was seething; highly pissed off.

	Once more and a child of Brad’s was hoisted up to receive her daddy’s dick.
	She squirmed and the child on the floor who had been told to “Stay!” and “Don’t move!” suddenly jumped up and charged Kosmo/Monkey Mask Man.  He attack was frivolous but the gesture was sincere—trying to rescue her sister.  For her reward she was backhanded and sent toppling to a wooden rocking chair.
	Brad broke a wrist.  It was heard to snap and the pain was immense.  For a while he was stunned.  Monkey Mask Man continued gliding the daddy dong against the child’s cunt before setting her down.
	Now, what to do—what to do!?
	Ah!
	Reaching for Megan he pushed the seven year old against the bed and struck her bare bottom.  The child instantly reached that pivotal apex whereas her screams could only be heard by dogs.  Kosmo relentless let fly a flurry of swats until his hand stung.  Then, still smiling inside the mask he stepped out of view of the camera capturing the entire ordeal.  Only momentarily, he returned to view with the handheld stun gun.
	And right to Brad’s balls.
	What a sight!  The naked buzz cut haired man tied to a bedroom door freaking the fuck out so.  So were his children.  Brad peed and lost control of his bowels.  He words were not words, he drooled and twitched and was going catatonic.  Monkey Mask Man cut him down from the door where he lay in a crumbled heap on the floor for several minutes.
	“You shoulda defended me, asshole.” There was still great pissedoffedness in Kosmo.  The warehouse job was the best job he had had—ever!  Good pay, some Saturdays (OT!) and he worked alone!  With a sigh he hefted the man up slinging him onto the bed pushing his face into his wife’s pussy.
	“Eat up, motherfucker!” Kosmo said smacking Brad’s ass.
	Brad didn’t really comply—he was out of his mind.
	Next up was pushing Brad up further onto his wife and shoving into her cunny his not-so-hard dick.  Then, spreading the man’s ass cheeks he inserted the barrel of a 9mm Glock.  It was nasty, vile, disgusting—Brad’s loose bowels made the task a little gross.
	The discharge of the bullet entered his wife’s right side piercing her internal organs.  Brad made odd sounds as the discharged bullet ripped thru his own organs and the exiting.  Kosmo wiped the barrel of the Glock on the bed then looked at the huddled children.
	With Megan he merely lay her out on the floor, legs spread, and commenced to fingering her.  A lot.  Then he had her play with his cock and ball before fully engulfing his member sucking it.  Little Bonnie got her turn, too.
	Then,
	Fetching some bleach from the kitchen and Denise’s pussy was cleansed of his semen.  Inside and out!  Between her titties and on her face—just in case any of his seed could be found thereon.  The little girls were put in the closet and the rocking chair braced against it.  All his shit then was collected.  He took a shower and poured bleach wherever his bare hands touched handles and such.
	Going out a bedroom window he made way to the alley and then all the way around the block back to his car parked at the curb of a house that was For Sale thus no one occupying said house.  As he drove away he smiled (with monkey mask removed) watching as the house of Brad and Denise went up in flames.
	From Brad’s own cell phone he placed a 911.

	Kosmo drove to the City, passing two large fire trucks along the way.  He told the 911 operator, “Better hurry!  There’s people inside!” calmly and without emotion.  Goes to his pub and has a brew.  Minion Onion comes to sit by him.  Nothing was said for a while; then,
	“Heard there was a fire in Shittaton.  Personal business concluded then?”
	Kosmo sucked on his stout, furled his lips, suppressed a fart, then nodded that it was so and slid across the smooth wooden bar a brown manila envelope.  Onion tucked the envelope into his breast pocket.  The two men drank their drinks then departed.  Tomorrow was another day.

Part II:  Kosmo’s Revenge
	Getting a job position thru “connections” usually wasn’t a good idea and seldom worked out.  Kosmo had felt that he had merely gone along with the flow of what the others were doing—using the company card for other than gas/oil for the company truck.  But really, quibble over a dollar soda?  A fifty cent donut?  A five dollar porn magazine?
	He waited another three months—he was in no hurry; he was now a driver for the Agency.  That was cool.  Pay was good—and there were perks!  When he got his first paycheck there was a little something extra within the envelope.
	Kosmo knew what it was right off but still he said,
	“What’s this?”
	“I think you know.” said Onion with a slight smile.
	“Consider it a bonus.” said Rocky.
	Kosmo stared at the small item in his hand.
	“I don’t need this.”
	Onion nodded but closed his hand over Kosmo’s.
	“Keep it, backup plan.”
	Always have a backup plan.

	Participation at the church was still a go with Kosmo; but now with a new emphasis.  There was a new goal—and district manager David Mantrapp’s teenage daughter was a part of that goal.
	 She wasn’t extraordinarily “pretty” but she was pleasing enough.  Not plain, just not extraordinary.  Beautiful eyes, skin, hair; she was taller than most girls her age (fifteen) and looked great in all the clothing styles she wore—dresses, skirts, jeans, pants, shorts, and jammies (one night at the church there was a sleep-over whereas the participants wore their pajamas.)
	One on particular night service session and Kosmo made his play.  As usually and Kosmo wasn’t paying attention to the preacher preaching but to his subject, Patricia.  As it happened, though, she was not the first to tempt Kosmo.  The church had several girls of various ages, and some young adults that Kosmo found appealing.  One of the girls on his radar got up from her small group slinking to the back of the large room making her way out the double doors.
	Bathroom most likely.
	The Target was way down in the front with her own group.
	Kosmo waited—one—two—three seconds then slipped quietly out those same double doors himself.  The MENS room was to the left and the WOMENS on the other side.  In the foyer there were some desks, counters, unused coat rack, church propaganda, and some lingering parishioners and one doorman.  Then there was another foyer that was enclosed as well that was at one time not there at all and was open to the church’s inner courtyard.  But the church constructed the enclosure for to clear up the lingering parishioners in the inner foyer.
	Anyways, Kosmo waited—perused the leaflets and checked the message board for upcoming events, pictures, the calendar and re-worked his Revenge Plan.
	Subject Allison emerged from the restroom; she wore a nice yellow top with frilly edges—the hem and short sleeves.  Nice girl.  Fourteen.  Blue eyes, very nice bouncy blond hair, trim body, nice-nice ass in those tight jeans.  A pretty girl—definitely in need of a good fucking.  Definitely.
	‘Stop!’ whispered Kosmo into the Agency’s Device.
	Amazingly and the girl “stopped.”
	Kosmo didn’t know much about the Devices; he knew that they were rampant and a bane on society.  They were illegal and led to immorality most high.  They weren’t for Kosmo but he saw the convenience of their use.  The one that the Agent Onion had given him was for a simple use only—a mind zapper.  To stun the mind rendering it inactive.  The Device the Virus had given him was a little more—“we like your work and would like more.” and with the help of the Device it made videoing much easier.
	“Go outside.”
	And like a zombie (but not dead) Allison Rostrum walked outside.
	In his ’55 Panel and Allison sat mindless—just the way he liked ‘em!
	She was a pretty girl; virgin?  Let’s find out!
	Remembering what the Agent who went by the name “Virus” said to him he switched on the video camera.  There were no windows in the cargo area of the panel truck; it had once been a bread truck, ice cream delivery, and newspaper delivery truck.  Now it delivered something else—sin!
	‘Take off your clothes.’ whispered Kosmo into the Device’s microphone.
	Slowly, with some confusion on her brow, Allison pulled off her bright yellow top.  Her bra was a simple one, white with front clasp.  A nice set of titties was there to greet Kosmo.  Teenage titties were the best!
	Kosmo helped remove her black street shoes/tennis shoes.  She wore pink ankle socks.  Cute.  He also helped with her tight jeans.  The girl herself undone them but Kosmo tugged them off.  Basic white panites—with a floral print!  Wearing his monkey mask he “went down” on the girl tugging the undies down with his teeth.
	Then, being silly, he pound his chest with the panties still clutched in his monkey mask teeth!
	Teen pussy.  There really was nothing better than teenage girl pussy.
	Kosmo Monkey Mask Man went down on the girl reveling in her teen pubes.  He assessed by looking and tonguing that she was most likely a virgin.  Only his cock would tell for sure.  And only then it would be not for certain—not all girls lost their virginity upon being dicked.  Some got their hymens busted by riding a horsey, a bike, gymnastics, or finger banging themselves—with fingers, screwdrivers, or bananas!
	Entering Allison’s pussy delighted him greatly.  He almost let out a moan.  Every inch he slid into the girl thrilled him.  The thrilling sensations erupted all throughout his body; a tingling sensation that was unbounded.  He began to pump in a rhythm that created waves of euphoria.  And though Allison’s mind was numb she herself moaned—and her young tender teenage nipples got hard!
	Fucking teenage pussy was the best!  Time was taken to feel of her breasts; to squeeze each one, tweak the nipples, then squeeze-squeeze-squeeze!  It delighted him so; he felt enormous waves of pleasure cumulating with a fantastic blast that was orgasmic.
	Volumes of cum exploded into the girl’s quim.  Kosmo sighed as his energy was depleted.  Such a fuck!  And when he pulled out there was more.  Juts of his liquid love spewed onto the girl’s cunny and up her stomach.  Laying his pipe into her cunny he humped a good humped spewing even more!
	She was a virgin.  The evidence was on his schlong and mostly coating his hairless nut sac.  There was a sudden rush of feelings overwhelming him; desires.  He wanted this girl, to fuck the shit out of again—and again—and again.
	Up the poop chute, between the tits, and in the mouth, too.
	He wanted to spank her.  He wanted her on her knees and to shower her with his piss.  He wanted to fuck her so hard to see her eyes bulge and cum drizzling out of her pussy that was his and hers.  He wanted to bring her to such a euphoric state of being that she would never be the same again.
	His hands went roaming all over her body; her sides, thighs, and breasts specifically.  It wasn’t adoration, just admiring the girl as she was—naked!  Teen girls were the best!  Time was against him; he gave the girl another full fuck, a little harder and a little faster.  Had there been proper time he would have tried for the poop chute.
	It was too early to bring the girl to the Agency; that would make things complicated he figured.  Later, though, after he had gotten his revenge.  The girl was cleaned up and dressed then returned to where she would remember last being.  The church services were almost concluding.  Allison made an appearance but seemed “out of it.”  Kosmo noted his Target standing (as were everyone else).  A nice dress, long legs, nice butt.  He had to bide his time.  He had to wait—wait for opportunity.

Opportunity
	One gloomy Sunday morning (not all Sunday mornings are “bright and sunny”) opportunity came rising.  And Kosmo was ready.  She was sooooo effin’ pretty!  A nice-nice summery dress, just below the knees.  Blue with a moderate amount of blue flowers in various shades of blue.  Kosmo betted she had on matching blue panties, too!  She was a tall gal, long narrow face—sooooo sweet a face!  Those eyes!  Brown hair that was professionally styled.  Safe bet that she was a virgin.
	It was a busy day at the church—“Friend Day” it was.  Bring a friend, a neighbor, a relative; get a mug (with church’s name on it), pens, a book written by the pastor of the church, free donuts, coffee, friendship, a bible, and religion.
	Allison was there, soooo pretty.  A little reserved notably.  She stayed with her friends and looked around with some moderate anxiety.  She was in a dress, too; yellow (her favorite colour).
	The wheels in Kosmo’s head spun.  Among the Target and Subjects there were, too, Choices.  Young choices.  Young girls; buck toothed, missing front tooths, dainty girls in dresses, short dresses, jeans, and shorts.  Girls with boobage, girls who were flat.  All were viable choices.
	But first!
	Patricia.

*
Rude awakening
	With a tremendous headache, Patricia Ellen Mantrapp awoke with the most horrible headache she had ever had!  The back of her neck ached, her vision was blurred, and she felt “hot” all over.  Her memories were jogged, unseated.  All there was was a cloud of confusion—a feeling of being seasick.
	Suddenly, there—there was something there.  A figure.  A man?
	No.
	Not a man.
	It was—it was—it was a monkey?  No.  It was an ape!
	Holy shit!
	Patricia screamed.
	The “ape” grunted, slung its head, beat its chest, then began tearing at her clothes.  Patricia fought back kicking, raving, thrashing madly.  No use—her feet were tied together and her hands were tied behind her back!  The ape thrashed her, too; powerfully the jungle creature grabbed her turning her over roughly ripping her dress off—then spanking her ass!
	Patricia’s face was hard against the floor—which was spongy.  Carpeting.
	It was too dark, though, to determine its colour.  The ape gave her little time to think; her dress had been literally ripped off of her body—along with her basic white bra and powder blue panties.
	“OH MY GOD!” she screamed.
	This only infuriated the ape who smacked her now bare ass hard.
	Then she was wrenched back onto her back and the ape creature held her ankles firmly.  She tried kicking and managed to smack the ape in the face and then the chest.  This pissed the creature off and he hoisted her legs up angling her body up as well.  Then he quickly brought her legs down smacking her backside to the carpet with such a ferocity that the velocity caused her to lose her breath.
	While she was in severe panic mode the creature undone the bindings to her ankles.  But she was not free.  Her legs were spread out with one ankle being tied outward to something enabling her to lash out more or kick or do anything.  The other ankle the same.  The situation was dire.  She was naked, secured, and possibly about to be raped—by an ape!
	The “ape” began fingering her.
	This—was not—happening!
	Patricia struggled to get her breath back.
	The ape fingered—fingered—fingered her.  It felt—strange.  There were unique feelings that were stirred up.  Admittedly, she fingered herself “now and then” but wasn’t avid about it.  She had no idea that another finger, a BIGGER finger could enable such outrageous sensuous feelings.  No idea!
	Her fingerbanger stopped fingering her to bring her attention to something else.  A banana.  The ape produced before her a banana.  A big, bright yellow, banana.  The “room” was semi dark, light came from “somewhere”; there was no furniture she could distinguish and there was the unmistakable smell of grease, gas, and oil.  Having brothers and she could attest to their involvement in their machines in the family garage.
	The banana was pressed against Patricia’s pussy.
	She freaked.
	‘He’s—he’s going to rape me with—a banana!?’
	The girl was horrified.
	The banana went up and down her vagina, then went into her vagina.
	Not all the way, just a couple of inches.  Then the ape began masturbating her, simulating fucking.  Patricia clenched herself and tried to close her outstretched legs.  This wasn’t happening!  The banana went in a little further then was withdrawn—and the ape creature sucked it!  He did!
	OMG!
	Then the banana was reinserted—a little further—a little further.  Then in and out once more simulating fucking.  Then it was removed and put into Patricia’s mouth.  She tried not to suck but the ape creature insisted growing insanely pissed off.  Having no idea what the ape would do to her she thought it best to suck.  So she did.
	The ape began fingering her pussy again.
	Then he took the banana and—and—and shoved it into her asshole!
	OH—MY—GOD!
	Not all the way—just half way.
	Then the ape mounted her.
	Patricia tried to scream but her scream got nowhere audible.
	The ape stared down at her—her eyes were focused on his.
	She felt penetration.  It wasn’t a banana.

	Halfway thru the ordeal and the ape costume had to go—he was sweating too much and felt the stirrings of unwell.  The roof vent was open but it wasn’t giving him enough air in the full costume.  The head piece stayed on, though—to keep up appearances.
	With the rest of the jungle creature costume off he felt better.  Fingering the girl’s pussy he found her juices flowing.  This pleased him.  Checking the camera he adjust the light sensitivity setting then turned up the light inside the cargo area of his truck.  Patricia floundered gasping for air, gasping for rationalizing what the fuck was happening to her.

	A little cleanup of her pussy and Kosmo/Ape Man went down on her.
	She was no virgin.  She didn’t have a “camel toe” but she did have four brothers.  The banana was wiggled in her asshole, a little further in, then he returned to fucking her.
	“You let your brothers fuck you?” he asked—no mind altering device used now—just from the beginning to get her into the truck.  He then left the overflow parking area where he noted the lack of security.  No guards and no cameras!
	Crying, slinging her head, she blubbered “YES!”
	This pleased Kosmo.
	As the fucking commenced, the girl somewhat settled out.  The brothers, Alvin, Stan, Chris, and Parker, all were decent boys.  Alvin was the oldest at nineteen.  A snappy dresser, clean cut, going to college to be an architect.  He sang in the choir, was a door greeter, and banged his fifteen year old sister “now and then.”  The first time they fucked she was merely elven years old!  His birthday fuck!  Stan and Chris were twins at seventeen years and Parker was coming on strong in the looks department at thirteen years young.  All had taken a turn banging their sister.
	“Up the ass?”
	“Sometimes.” She cried.
	Kosmo humped her hard after that driving his bone into such an euphoric state it was inconceivable.  The flow of cum thereafter was equally so.  For a time during the orgasm and Kosmo lost himself.  He went catatonic.  Teenage pussy was the best!

*

Scary monsters aren’t always under the bed
	It was a busy day for the Ape Man; after having his way with Patricia he returned to the church noting that for moment—no one had noticed her “missing.”  But there were a lot of peoples at the church, extra peoples due to the “friend day” thing.  As he mingled Kosmo took note of a young boy taking note of a young girl.  The boy was a little overweight but not out of line—a little exercise, curb some fast food, a little excise, and he would be back in fine shape.
	A nice friendly face, short brown hair, a little chubby—little.  And he had eyes for the young stuff.  All ages.  Girls from as young as five to as old as twelve.  Girls in dresses, shorts, jeans, skirts, whatever.  It was when a pretty black girl of about eight did a cartwheel revealing her tight snug tight white panties that sent the boy to the nearest restroom—possibly to whack off.

	Kosmo mingled; his cock ached from the outstanding fucking of Patricia.  He wasn’t thru with her; he had plans.  She was delirious and had been zapped with a stun gun so for a time she would be safe in his panel truck.  He farted so he moved away from the small group of mixed sexes.  A young boy got the blame from the teenage girls.
	Choices!  Teenage girls, young girls, some pretty young adult women.
	A little overwhelming.  Back to business.  The boy, Karl, emerged from the bathroom a little refreshed.  His eyes instantly returned to the bevy of girls all over the inner courtyard area.  At length and he settled on one of those bleachers like at ball parks to view a game.  He was with some other fellows and some girls.  One particular girl was down on the bottom bleacher bench facing the others.
	She wore large open legged beige shorts.  The boy, Karl, was approximately thirteen.  The girl in the shorts, approximately fifteen.  Nice girl, big titties, big thighs, revealing panties.  The open legged shorts gave way for any looky loo to “look” down the shorts leg to catch a glimpse of panties.
	Kosmo decided to help the boy out.  It was figured that the lad was probably a virgin and in desperate need of a good fuck.  Kosmo just felt it was a nice gesture to help out his fellow man.  (insert jungle ape beating his chest and making grunting sounds here.)

	“Here’s how it is, you play along and all is good.  Don’t play along and all will be bad.  Very bad.  Understand?”
	Thirteen year old Karl shrugged, he wasn’t too sure.
	“Ok, I’ll spell it out for you—you wanna fuck—or be fucked?”
	Karl blinked his eyes—the concept was a diff one to be sure.
	“Uh—f-fu-fuck—I-I guess.” He swallowed and began to sweat.
	“Alrighty, then—take off your clothes.”
	“Oh, shit!” but the pudgy lad gulped and slowly removed his clothing.
	The naked boy’s attention was then turned to the girls.  Girls.  More than one.  Both girls he knew, Nellie Woodpipe and Patricia Mantrapp.  Too frightened and confused was Karl, though, to achieve a hard-on.  He did, though, methodically please himself staring at the girls.  Kosmo, wearing an ape mask, patted Nellie’s inner thigh and she nervously opened them.
	“Do you want spanked—or fucked?” Kosmo asked of Nellie.
	The fourteen year old was horrorstricken with the proposal.  Brown eyes were wide, she lay clenching the carpeting way more confused than the naked Karl.  The question was repeated; the girl gulped and visibly tried to get a grip.
	She didn’t want neither but had to make a choice—or the fucker in the ape mask would make it for her.  Incredibly frightened, greatly concerned, she shrugged and cried “Spank?” how bad could that be.  Let’s find out!
	As Kosmo made for tugging the girl’s beige shorts down she gasped and clutched at her clothes.
	“No,” said Kosmo Ape Man, “bare ass spanking!”
	Nellie let out another gasp and began crying.
	“None of that, now,” smiled inside his mask Kosmo, “discipline can be harsh!”
	Still, though, the girl resisted having her shorts taken down.  Kosmo produced a small handheld device—the other kind—and pressed the prongs to her thigh.
	The girl freaked the fuck out.
	The other girl, Patricia, lay in a curled fetal position a little out of it.
	Although it was roomy in the cargo area of the ’55 panel delivery truck it got a little stifling.  The roof air vents helped but not enough so the side doors were opened to let in a more volume of air.  Outside was a desert, it was also late evening with the sun setting bringing the coolness.
	Nellie, on her back, had her legs hoisted up by the stronger Kosmo.  He nodded to his sidekick, Karl, conveying “take ‘em off.”
	Karl sighed then slid the girl’s shorts up her legs.
	White panties with pinkish flowers all over them.  Nice!
	The boy’s previously not-so-hard hard-on began to get hard.
	Kosmo spread the girl’s legs.  She was still feeling the effects of being electrocuted and tried to keep her panties from being removed—but was zapped again totally disabling her efforts.  Karl slid the panties up her long legs and off.  Kosmo spread her legs and the boy focused all his attention to the girl’s nakedness.  The other girl he saw naked, too, but just from the backside.
	A little effort was needed to turn the girl over fashioning her onto her hands and knees; ass up.  Karl’s schlong was righteously hard as he ogled the girl’s ass end.  There wasn’t much sufficient lighting in the cargo area but it would do.  Karl could see the girl’s asshole and furry cunt—that was enough for him.
	“Why don’t YOU give her a whack first?” snickered Kosmo.
	It took 20 seconds before Karl’s mind took holt of what was implied.
	He nodded, farted, continued to stroke his cock with one hand and haphazardly smacked Nellie’s upright ass with the other.  It was lame and barely made a sound.
	“Either you spank her right or YOU will get spanked!” said a growing anger Ape Man.
	Karl clenched his ass and momentarily ceased operation of whacking himself and landed a more deliberate swat to Nellie’s ass.
	“Again!” said Kosmo.
	Karl complied.  And then again—and again—and again!
	Each swat was harder than the last.
	“Give her ass a kiss.”
	Twenty seconds were needed before compliance.
	“Kiss her asshole.”
	More than twenty seconds there before the command registered.  Then with a puzzled look he stared at the naked man in the ape mask, “What?” he said.  Karl was no dweeb in the knowledge of sex and some sex acts; he knew what a blowjob was, and anal.  He even knew what sixty-nine was!  Giving a girl (or guy) rim jobs, though, was a little elusive.
	“Kiss her asshole or take a beating.” Kosmo said to the boy sternly but calmly.
	Karl’s mouth hung open; he licked his lips thoughtfully, farted, stopped pleasing himself and leaned in putting his lips to Nellie’s shit hole.
	“Again!” Kosmo said.
	And again the boy kissed butt hole.
	“Lick it!”
	Slight hesitation but—Compliance!

	Nellie lay on her back, mind in a blur, watching as the naked boy and the man in the ape mask ogled her.  Then, the boy she sort of knew crawled in between her legs.
	Oh My God! was on her face but she couldn’t get the words out.  She started to clench and deny the boy but the man in the monkey mask showed her the stun gun and activated it.  In no way did she want to be electrocuted again.  So she relented and thirteen year old Karl got laid.
	He wasn’t particularly good at it—it was his first time.  Nellie was a virgin, too.  Was.  Karl didn’t go all the way in before his cock popped out and he humped her crevice.  He did manage to go back in and this time ALL THE WAY in and commenced with a fine job that was fucking.
	When that was said and done—Kosmo took his turn.
	It wasn’t ye olde sloppy seconds—the girl’s pussy was still very snug and very cock pleasing.  Nellie experienced orgasms of her own which blew her mind.
	“Do you finger yourself?” Ape Man asked of her.
	Nellie nodded that she did.  But she never-ever achieved such pleasure.
	When Ape Man Kosmo had finished he turned her over, ass up.  Then, Patricia beside her was fashioned onto her backside, legs spread wide.  Karl’s mouth hung open as he stared at the girl.  Nice titties!  A nice body over all.  And Nellie was put to the task of eating her out.
	“Lick her pussy,” said the Ape Man, “or be punished.”
	As the terrified Nellie complied, both Karl and Ape Man spanked her.
	Dat ass!
	As much as he liked fuckin’, Karl found out that he kinda liked spanking, too!  Kinda.  After the spanking of Nellie the second time, young Karl’s schlong was the hardest ever!  Then he was told,
	“Stick it in her.” to wit young Karl gave his benefactor the “Huh?” look.
	Stick what?  Where? Karl needed clarity.  So,
	“Put your cock in her ass!” Ape Man Kosmo said a little pissed off.
	The boy stared at the girl’s ass—more specifically her ass-HOLE.
	He knew what anal was, sodomy, up-the-ass.  But actually doing was something else.  Mostly he thought “up-the-ass” was regulated to gay guys.
	“Put your cock in her butt or—” and the stun gun was once more displayed.
	“I’ll zap your balls!”
	Karl instantly froze and freaked, “Don’t zap my balls!” he was genuinely frightened and sashayed himself up to Nellie (who was genuinely eating out Patricia’s cunt.)
	Nellie, though, was an anal virgin, too; so optimum butt fucking wasn’t happening right off.  She required pre-fingering penetration.  Tight.  Some spittle, some cum, all resulted in Karl not getting in.  Sooooo, jungle boy produced another banana (there was one already in Patricia poop chute, remember?)
	The banana was hard, firm, so making forced entry though difficult for the virgin hole finally paved the way for optimum butt fucking.  Karl, again, though, had problems completing the task.  His cock bent for one, popped out, wouldn’t go all the way in, and bent.  Eventually, though, he was steadfastly butt fucking and achieving orgasm.

*
Must be something in the air
	Looking out across the desert he had thoughts.  Not all good thoughts, no.
	Nellie was an extra and not overly planned.  So was Karl.  It was Patricia he had planned on.  And his plans for her was far from over.  But it was getting a bit complicated.  The truck’s cargo was ok; for one.  But with “extras” and plans for all of them he needed more room—more security.
	And there was still more; Nellie and Karl.  Their minds.  Patricia’s, too; but that girl was already about out of her mind.  He didn’t want them to come to any tragic end—not unless necessary.
	Just about Midnight and the truck’s doors were shut and he got underway.

	He had a two hour drive to make but it would be worth it.  Karl sat in the passenger seat; naked.  He, along with the extra girl, were a part of the reason for the road trip.  Patricia was figured to have totally lost her mind by the time she would be returned to society.  She wouldn’t remember much about what had happened.
	Nellie and Karl, though; their minds would be scrambled alright but not enough.  The nifty mind altering device Kosmo had did only a few things; mind whacking was not one of them—not erasure of traumatic events.  So, a road trip to a “friend” who DID have a Device that DID have a mind erasure of traumatic events.  Long drive, but it was worth it—besides, he hadn’t seen his friend in a long time.

A Touch of Evil
	Opening scene:  rustic school, junior high.  Brick buildings from the brick era, post-world war two.  One long building holding some classrooms, administration, private offices, and the band room.  Then five long buildings outward from the one long building housing the various seventh and eighth grade classes.  In between the buildings were open grassy courtyards; beyond were the sports fields.
	The whole school was surrounded by pines and cedars, some spruce, and redwoods in a setting that was high desert.  North on the central desert highway just ninety minutes was a popular resort town having a ski lodge, a large lake, and a casino.
	In the private office of the vice-principal, vice-principal Francis Darrel was dispensing some corporal punishment.  A young lad of thirteen was buck naked! leaning against the brick wall, legs spread, clenching.  Mr. Darrel was striking the boy with a long wooden paddle.  The boy’s turned bright red in just four licks—er, swats.
	Why had the boy, Alvin Zipp, received such treatment?
	Snapping a girl’s bra.
	Mr. Darrel stopped swatting and started fondling!  Firstly he smoothed his hand over the boy’s burning tush; then he spanked it a couple of times before “reaching around” and taking holt of the boy’s cock and balls.  The boy was too stunned to resist; but also knew any fighting back would result in more swatting.
	Fondle! Fondle! Fondle!
	Alvin didn’t get a boner but he did get “aroused.”  His cock was a bit more than “limp.”  The VP fondle him managing to get him a little more stiffer before undoing his trousers and pushing them and his underwear down.
	“Alright, turn around.”
	The boy pushed himself off the wall and was stunned again seeing the VP.
	“Suck me.” Mr. Darrel said.
	In no way was Alvin going to go for that—not willingly.
	“Suck—or take more spanking.  Your choice.” The VP stroked his not-so-flaccid schlong.  “Just do it—and get it over with.  No more spanking.”
	Alvin cringed but went to his knees and took the vice principal’s cock into his mouth suck-suck-sucking.  Mr. Darrel pulled out to skull fuck the boy having him suckle his hairless nut sac.  Then,
	“One more thing,” he said standing back stroking his hardened manhood, “up here.” he said patting the not-so-ornate but plain-simple green crappy 1950s desk.
	A nervous naked Alvin stood up and braced against the desk, hands on the edge, angled, legs spread.  Mr. Darrel got up against the boy, reached around again to play with the lad’s cock, then worked his cock against the boy’s virgin poop chute.  From his desk he retrieved some cock grease and lubed up his dong plus applied a dab to the boy’s rectum.
	The boy pursed his lips and endured being royally butt fucked.  Royally!
	The VP ass mastered the boy righteously for several minutes—then; when done, spanked the boy’s ass with his bare hands whilst the boy lay across his lap while the boy blubbered and squirmed.  After the ass smacking the boy was on his knees caressing his blistered ass.  Mr. Francis Darrel sat before him locking eyes; he wore one of those airline pilot’s microphones (also popular for pop singers on stage); in his hand was an activated EMAD.
	Its purpose; not so much for warping or bending a Subject’s mind but for erasing.  It took a few minutes; the Subject was dressed and though his ass still stung from the beating and he couldn’t account from why his asshole hurt save for taking a massive shit, the Subject returned to class believing he had only been severely reprimanded orally.

Kristy Needs An “A”
	Among his duties as a vice principal, Francis Darrel also posed as a history teacher.  And in his 20 years as instructor there was always one student per semester who was either on the verge of failing—or failing completely.  Kristy  Samlikesithot was one such on the verge of failing.  History just was not her thing; she liked English… … that was about it.  And baseball.  History—not so much.  She just didn’t get it—the dates, the people, all of it—just didn’t stick.  So, she was failing.  All the Cs and Ds added up to a No Passing Grade.  And for the thirteen year old who had managed so far the Spring semester to keep her failing to herself and not let her parents know—the final grade THAT WOULD BE SENT BY MAIL TO ALL PARENTS frightened her greatly
	So great that she accepted Mr. Darrel’s “extra credit” option.
	“My office,” he said, “after school.”
	Kristy mostly thought a scolding or something.  She had done extra credit most of the semester to eek out and maintain a “C” average but the last few tests she had just bombed—bombed—bombed.  No amount of extra credit was going to save her.  Not passing 8th grade meant Summer School.  And if she didn’t pass that—no high school.  Talk about embarrassing!  And summer school would certainly foul up her parents’ holiday (vacation) plans.
	So Mr. Darrel’s extra credit option in his office seemed very doable.
	Whatever it was.

	School let out at 2:55PM.  Kristy was at Mr. Darrel’s office at 2:56.
	Mr. Darrel didn’t show until 2:58.
	In years past, the “office” was some sort of other room, storage or something; it’s “room” was square but had a long hall forming an eight foot narrow hallway.  The room was filled with bookshelves and extra desks.  A bank of windows that were angled downward to deflect the sunlight gave enlightment to the otherwise dreary room.
	“Take a seat.” the man who was usually cherry and cordial said.
	Kristy, who was usually happy-go-lucky timidly parked herself on a wooden chair with a well worn green cushion.  She sat on the edge, bookbag at her side, very-very nervous and clearly so.
	“This wont take but a moment,” Mr. Darrel said scribbling something down on a paper pad, “it depends on you.”
	“Me?”
	“Yes, how far you are willing to go.”
	“Willing? To go?”
	“Your options are—your way, which will result in your spending time here again in a few weeks thru summer.  Or MY way, which will result in you being here.” He patted his lap watching the brown hair girl’s eyes and reaction thereof.  She was a fairly pretty girl although he had not seen her come to school or any school function in anything less than jeans.  She was an excellent pitcher taking the school to several wins.  However, pitching wasn’t enough to save the school’s team and they lost the season to a rival school.  Oh well.
	Kristy gulped and despite the air conditioned room she began to sweat.
	Mr. Darrel patted his lap and leaned back in his armless chair.
	“Oh—shit!” said Kristy.  She had heavy bangs, a couple of blue plastic hair ribbons, turquoise earrings (her mother’s) and was a nice enough girl to have more than one suitor seeking her attention.
	“Y-you—you want me to—to—to—”
	“Yes, to come—to come over here and lay down—across my lap.”
	“Son-of-a—” she gulped and felt a surge of panic ensnare her.
	“A few swats—and we can improve your grade—to passing.”
	It was so unbelievable that it was unbelievable.  She shook her head and wanted to flee.  But then,
	“Or will it be summer school and vacation plans canceled?”
	“Jesus!” Kristy said to herself and aloud.  ‘some choice!’
	“Ok,” she said in a slight huff, ‘Goddamn it!’
	Leaving her book bag she scuffled to the bald headed man and curiously wondered how many other girls had met the same fate.  (or boys!)
	It was awkward and very-very weird.  She couldn’t recall whenever she had been spanked.  Maybe as a young child.  Maybe.  If she had to take summer school and then even fail that—what would her mother do?  She had once pissed her mother off so bad she had gotten slapped.  (broken window, lying about broken neighbor’s window (with errant baseball), sneaking into her bedroom after hours, having more money on her person than she ought to, all resulted in a highly pissed off mom.)  That was last year.  What the fuck would she do finding out Kristy had been lying about her “good grades”?
	Laying across the man’s lap she gritted her teeth.  Her mind was blanking out.  This wasn’t happening!  This wasn’t happening!
	Mr. Darrel firstly caressed the girl’s ass.  Then he patted it and asked,
	“Ready?”
	Kristy nodded but couldn’t get the word out.
	SMACK!
	Kristy’s ass instantly clenched.  The smack was not kind in being “soft” for the first time.  Nor was the second or third.  Kristy thrashed about a little and received a sharp smack for doing so.
	“Settle down!” said sternly Mr. Darrel and he released a final smack.
	Kristy was close to tears.  Her ass, though protect by jeans, was on fire.
	Mr. Darrel’s ass smacking hand stung and he rubbed it with the other hand.
	“So, did-did I pass?” Kristy said rubbing her searing ass.
	“Well,” drawled the VP, “not quite, I’d give it a D plus.”
	The colour in Kristy’s face instantly drained away.
	“A D!?” she almost screamed.  “Are you fucking serious!?”
	“Yes, a D—D plus.”
	Slight pause; then, with a heavy sigh of near defeatism,
	“Ok, so what do I do for a C—or a B?”
	Mr. Darrel nodded and hid his smile, “For a “C”—pants down.”
	Kristy was stunned.  ‘So, what the fuck do I have to do for a fucking B?  Blow him?’ close.  Real close.  She shook head—this was not good.  More—much more than she bargained for.  She hated that cliché—but it was too true.
	“Ok, Goddamnit.” she said pissed off and undoing her light blue jeans that were fairly tight-tight-tight.  Tugging them down and she felt faint.  What the hell was she doing?  This was insane!  But, ‘a better grade was just a pervert’s swat away!’
	Down across Mr. Darrel’s lap she positioned herself again.  And again Mr. Darrel smoothed his hand over her ass.  It was still burning; she clenched in anticipation.
	SMACK! the first swat nearly sent her out of her skin.
	“SON-OF-A-BITCH!” she yelled out.
	Another SMACK! sent the girl out of her mind.
	Then another smack—then another and then—
	Her off-pink panties were inched down.

	4:20PM
	It was a little confusing; usually she was home by 3:20.  It was a bit of a walk from Brookstone Junior High but she usually made it by 3:20.  She was an hour late.  What happened?
	In the kitchen on the fridge door was a note:
	Sorry, Sport, going to be late  get yourself a pizza  coupon attached  Mom
	And a notation:  NO PARTY!!! Underlined several times.
	There was a twenty and a coupon.
	Upstairs in her room she slung her bookbag, kicked off her shoes and still couldn’t figure out what had happened for the missing hour.  Taking her pants off and…
	“What the hell?” her ass was sore.  Very sore.
	So was her pussy.
	“What the hell?”
	Panties off and she turned to look at her rear in the mirror.
	“What the hell?” her ass was red—very-very red.
	Confusion confounded her.
	Then she found her cunny strangely sore.
	“What the hell!?”
	Laying down on her bed she curiously began friggin’ herself.  Her pussy tingled and strange-strange feelings swept over her like a fire.  She couldn’t stop herself and frigged-frigged-frigged herself into a euphoric state of being.  Wave after wave of orgasmic bliss consumed her leaving her a blissful mess on her bed.
	She had no idea her new daddy secretly videoed her via a baby/nanny cam for later personal viewing (and then subsequent selling to highest bidders.)  Gotta have a hobby!

Birds of a feather
	When the stresses of life; work, school, social, spouse/mate, get the best of a man—he goes fishing.  Kosmo was one who like to go fishing not at sea or traipsing along some stream.  Kosmo liked to lake fish—usually from shore.  In the low mountains of the high desert just above the high desert city there was a nice lake usually stocked with fish good enough to please most fishermen.
	It was here Kosmo met Francis “Birdinhand” Darrel.  Both men were getting away from the rigors of life; work, school, social, spouse, and the lake was just the place—good weather, above pollution and noise…and people.  After fishing, cleaning, consuming the two struck off for a little hike to a stream Darrel said had gooder fish—some deep holes where the water feeding the lake was at some waterfalls.
	Along the way—girls!
	More specifically—girl scouts!
	Being sneaky, the men spied on two girls about eleven years of age.  One girl, a long haired blond girl looked around then undone her scout shorts and squatted behind some bushes.  Hmmm  but wait!  The other girl!
	The other girl stood, looked around, raised her scout skirt, pulled the crotch of her panties to one side and commenced to peeing!  She did!  She had long dark hair and was well adorned with badges of merit.  Both men spying lusted heavily.
	“She needs a good spanking!” remarked Darrel.
	“Damn straight.” replied Kosmo.
	Although neither man knew one another well they determined that the other was just as much a perv as he himself.
	“A good spanking—a good dicking!” snickered Kosmo.
	“You know,” said Darrel, “I can arrange that!”

	Becky Tannerwise, eleven, and her friend and co-scout, Cheryl Windbroke, also eleven, found themselves in some kind of peril.  They didn’t remember any of it, however.  Kosmo and Darrel, though, did!  After the girls had had their pee—that was about all they remembered.  Darrel’s ride was a common jeep-type vehicle usually more suited for city driving but was four-wheel drive.  Kosmo’s ride wasn’t four-wheel drive but it had four wheels!
	The girls fit better in the ’55 panel, though, so that’s where they were placed and Darrel led the way further into the mountains on rugged dirt roads.  Just at the point where Kosmo didn’t think he’s ride would make it—Darrel stopped at a rustic hunting cabin.  It was his and hadn’t been used in some time.
	After a little cleaning out, some sprucing up, a fire in the fireplace, some lanterns lit, the girls were brought in and the festivities began.  At the time, the girls were fully aware of their predicament and had pissed themselves as a result.
	Darrel took Becky, who had pissed her beige shorts very visibly, across his knees.  Firstly he smoothed his hand over her butt.  The girl wriggled and cried; her hands were tied behind her back but not her ankles.  When she began to fuss so she got her butt smack—hard!
	“Settle down!” commanded Darrel.
	The other girl, Cheryl, stared in petrified fear.
	Kosmo took the girl to himself smoothing his hands up and down her front side.  The girl quietly wept—and peed.  Sitting down in a questionable chair Kosmo pulled the girl onto his lap then leaned her back into him while pulling her legs up.  She wore long green socks and hiking boots.  Yellow panties, too.  This was seen when her legs were pulled back revealing such.  Darrel paused in his swatting of Becky’s ass to ogle Cheryl’s ass.
	Wet panties didn’t bother Kosmo.  He patted the girl’s ass slipping his fingers inside her panties fingering her wet pussy.  The girl naturally gasped.
	“Just relax, sweetheart, it’ll be better for you.”
	“I’m scared!” cried the girl.
	“I know.” He patted the girl to try and reassure her.  Didn’t work but he tried.  The wet yellow panties were inched up her legs—about the same time as Becky’s shorts were moved down to her knees.  She flailed her legs and got a swift smack to her green cotton panties for her efforts.  The girl shrieked and got ANOTHER swat.

	Darrel looked across to his new friend, Kosmo.  Kosmo had his prize scout naked, legs down, legs spread, pussy being well fingered.  She was very frightened, terrified, and though no longer under the effects of an EMAD her mind was well enough stunned.
	Becky was settled onto Darrel’s lap to watch (in horror) as her fellow scout friend was raped.  Cheryl was moved to one of the three cots with a single mattress.  The man dropped his pants and undies and brought the girl’s head to his very hard manhood.  She at first tried not fend off the intended oral assault but the man yanked her hair causing her to open her mouth.
	Holding her golden hair back in a hard fist the girl’s head (and mouth) was moved back and forth along Kosmo’s cock.  A time or two he pulled out to fuck her face pushing into her mouth his hairless nads.  The girl wailed and peed some more.
	“Do you want more spanking?” Darrel Francis asked of Becky.
	“NOOOOO!” wept the terrified girl.
	Darrel stood her up and then stood up pushing down his own pants and undies.
	“Suck me.”
	Defeated, Becky put her mouth to the man’s cock.  She blubbered and stamped her feet but performed the horrible sex act.  Darrel, placing his hand behind her head helping her perform, watched with sadistic glee as Cheryl was well on her way to being fucked-fucked-fucked.
	After the oral pleasuring, Kosmo pushed the very upset Cheryl down onto the mattress, width wise.  Her legs were parted and she received a sharp smack to her inner thighs for her trying to prevent Kosmo of further pleasure.  Legs spread and hoisted up a little, Kosmo then went down on the girl neverminding the fresh pee.
	When the vile act of rape began, Darrel brought Becky to one of the other cots and did likewise unto her.  Her munched out her pussy swirling up strange feelings she had never before experienced.  Then he rose up and mounted her sliding into her virgin sex his throbbing hard-on.

	All thru the night the girls were fucked.  Spanked.  Peed on.  And skull fucked.  Both men took turns with the girls, trading off one for the other.  Darrel, though, preferred Becky while Cheryl was a favorite of Kosmo.  The bindings of the girls were removed; their wrists—on condition that they would behave.  They said they would—on condition that they wouldn’t be spanked.
	Done!
	Kosmo thoroughly enjoyed Cheryl; she had two brothers, one younger and one older.  Both she had seen naked with older brother Mike an avid masturbator.		“Anything going on with them?” Kosmo asked.
	No.  They saw one another naked and there WAS some touchy/feely—but that was all.  Cheryl DID know what oral sex was and though she had heard the term “butt fucking” and “up the ass” she was kind of clueless as to the actuality of meaning.
	Not so with Becky.
	Becky, too, had a younger brother and a horny older one.  As with Cheryl she had seen her brothers naked AND playing with themselves.  But their relationship went a little further than touch and feel.  The older brother, for the price of his allowance, got to stick his dick up her ass.
	Just once.  Becky didn’t particularly care for the backdoor banditry.  The boy, of course, aimed for getting into his sister cunt.  That was going to be costly, more than a simple week’s wages.  She wasn’t ready for full on fucking.  And after getting well fucked by Darrel (and Kosmo) making her pussy sore she was determined to never be fucked again.
	Just before sunrise and the girl vowing never to be fucked again was double teamed.  The two horndogs took great pleasure in getting pleasure from the event—then;
	KNOCK!  KNOCK!  KNOCK!
	“Anyone in there?” a voice at the door!

	Although EMADs were rampant and all over the world and the general populace more than alarmed there were still those braving going out into the world—alone.  Especially women.  In the days of mind controlling devices girls and women of all ages were never-ever to go anywhere alone.  (but with the advent of new and improved Devices it didn’t matter—alone or a group—the mind could be compromised.)
	At the door was a bright and peppy young adult, Dill, inscribed on her brass nametag.  She was a little on the short side, five-foot-five, slender build; she was peppery, smiling, flaming red hair in a loose ponytail, and a forest ranger.
	Armed.
	“Good morning!” she beamed, “I’m Ranger Dill and I saw your smoke from your fireplace.” She was way-way too cheery for 7AM.
	She chastised the men for not letting the nearby ranger station know they were in the area—but did it in a nice way.
	“You should have checked in with the ranger station to let us know you are out here in case of fire or bears or something like.” She smiled the whole time.
	Kosmo and Darrel, clad in pants only and reeking of sex sweat nodded “Ok.”  Behind them and the cots had been upturned on their sides with the girls behind them—unseen.
	“Be quiet,” Kosmo warned them sternly, “make a noise and you’ll be spanked severely!” this didn’t help, the girls whimpered but managed to keep from being heard.
	Then,
	“Have you seen any girl scouts in the area?”
	The men looked to one another with puzzled looks.
	“Well,” said Kosmo, “we were fishing yesterday and saw a group of them hiking.”
	“Is there a problem?” Darrel asked.
	“Yes, there is, two girls are missing.”
	The sun was coming up peeking over the pines; the air was chilly, the air was fresh, the men were funky, and Becky Tannerwise disregarded the tenderness of her ass by bolting up screaming “HELP US!” with Cheryl jumping up screaming “WE’RE MISSING!”
	Kosmo turned into a rage facing the girls.  They huddled together tripping over one of the upturned cots behind them crashing into the wall.  Ranger Dill grabbed her holstered sidearm, standard issue .45 drawing it on Darrel.
	“FREEZE, MOTHERFUCKER!”
	“You move and I’ll blow this motherfucker’s brains out!” she shouted directing her attention to Kosmo.
	Both men stood absolutely still.
	“GIRLS!” the armed ranger said, “Can you come to the door?”
	The girls were too frightened to do so or even answer—the glare from Kosmo frightening.
	The .45 was inches—mere inches from Darrel’s face.  He was literally staring down the barrel.
	“GIRLS!” shouted the woman who was visibly pissed off to the nth degree as well as displaying some fear of her own.  “Can you come to the door?”
	Just then the ranger’s parked ranger truck—moved.
	Dill turned her head, “What the fu—” although set in gear, the three-on-the tree slipped and the truck began to move down the slight incline.  The moving of her head was all Darrel needed to swipe the woman’s gun.
	The gun discharged taking Darrel’s ear off.  The blast wasn’t good, either.
	Kosmo barreled into the both of them, Darrel mostly as his frame was blocking the door.  The impact of the collision sent all three tumbling out to the ground.  The ranger’s truck rolled smacking into a boulder.  Dill struggled being tackled.  Darrel, although having his ear shot and the blast of the gun damaging his hearing, managed to knee the woman in the taco.  She managed to hold onto her weapon, though and that was a bad thing.
	The weapon discharged again grazing Kosmo’s shoulder.
	Darrel head bopped the woman stunning her even more so.
	Kosmo finally wrestled the gun from her hand—smacking her hand to the a piece of dropped firewood.  Game over.  Good try, though, good try.

	“You alright?” Kosmo asked.
	“No.” there was a lot of blood, though.
	Nancy Dill was wrestled with, kneed in the taco again, then slung up into the wall of the cabin.
	“Those shots might bring more.” Kosmo said trying to be manly about the graze to his shoulder.  Then,
	“Those fucking bitches!”
	With her arms pinned behind her and her own handcuffs to her wrists, Nancy Dill was wrestled into the cabin.
	“Can you deal with her?” Kosmo asked.
	“Yeah, why?”
	“Her truck,” winced Kosmo, “gotta get rid of it.”
	Darrel nodded, “Good idea.”
	Kosmo left and Darrel took a turn at glaring at the girls.
	“We’re so dead.” whispered Cheryl.
	Becky nodded and clenched herself.
	Darrel wrestled the ranger to one of the cots trying to secure her with her secondary cuffs—and got kicked in the balls for his efforts.  That nearly did him in; his ear near shot off and a hard kick to his nut sac.  Not good.  No, not good at all.

*

Three on a tree
	Three-on-a-tree; old school.  Not too much of a challenge for Kosmo; when he first came to have the 1955 Panel Delivery truck it was a three-speed, too.  The ranger truck, though, had issues.  It wouldn’t stay in gear and the driver operator had to hold the shifter.  The clutch wasn’t too good, either.
	If you cant find ‘em, grind ‘em!  Kosmo hated grinding the gears but he did.  The truck finally moved off of the boulder it had gotten wedged on.  He worried about his new friend—his ear had practically been shot off!  The ranger’s truck was also not four-wheel drive but traversed the rugged mountainous road ok.
	Not knowing the area was a bit of a concern.  It was just above the high desert line.  Good hiking, fishing, hunting.  He saw a couple of other cabins in the remote area—no vehicles about so maybe no one about either?
	The road finally emptied into the back area of a recreational area; a state park some miles from the main road.  A couple of vehicles and a school bus were parked but no park ranger vehicles about.  Kosmo had no bleach to wipe down the steering wheel or the door handle so he used lighter fluid from his disposable lighter—then set fire to the wheel wiping it down quickly.  Then it was a nice long walk back to the cabin.

A Walk in da Woods
	The scent of something familiar took him off his route.  Only a few times had he himself partook of the whacky tabbaccy; it wasn’t his thing.  Kosmo wasn’t into drugs, pills, smoke, or “other.”  He didn’t drink excessively, either.  He had other vices.
	He guessed two miles, maybe three.  A brisk morning as he walked; the rugged mountainous road wound its way thru heavily scented pines and cedars, spruce, and an occasional towering redwood.  Woodpeckers could be heard, a babbling brook, and birds.  The “scent” brought him to two teenage girls out for a morning hike.  The girls were giggling; one was a long dark haired girl with a sort of flat face—big smile, nice tits.  The other was a strawberry blond, round face, very small nose, equally nice titties.  Both were toking on their own joint—
	and taking their clothes off!
	Hmmm  this was interesting.
	No EMAD on his person, though, and the grazed wound on his shoulder needed some attention—it was beginning to throb and sting.  There wasn’t a lot of blood but the hot lead bullet had scraped the skin just barely missing the bone knuckle.  The ranger could have very well killed him!  A few inches to the right and …
	Back to the girls.
	They had slipped off their shirts; the dark haired girl “Karlie” had an outer shirt then an undershirt plus a simple halter to contain those bodacious teenage hooters.  The other girl, Samantha, looked the tomboy part, more serious, and had about the same sized hooters for an average teenage girl.  She wore an outer shirt plus a smaller shirt then a tee-shirt and simple bra.
	Once the girls were topless they giddily bounced themselves against one another playfully.  What a time to be without an EMAD!  The girls bounced against one another, flopped their hooters, jiggled their hooters, and then fondled their hooters.
	Then they kissed.
	What a time to be without an EMAD!
	Giggling, laughing, toking, the girls embraced and deeply kissed.  Kosmo noted the lack of passion—they were just giddy teenage girls (approximately fifteen.)  The girls soon fell away (to the ground.)  Kosmo waited—he feared stepping on a twig or something alerting the girls to his presence.  He continued to hear them giggling.  It infuriated him to no end.  He thought of busting them—then busting their butts for smoking marijuana and carrying on with each other.
	But they might balk and call out to whoever they were with—like a parental unit or something.  He’d bide his time and slowly crept back to the road.  What a time to be without an EMAD!

Meanwhile, back at the raunch
	Nancy Dill knew she was in for it; the man she had shot his ear near off roughly pinned her to one of the upturned cots.  There she saw the two missing girl scouts, naked.  The man smacked her ass—HARD before wrapping an elastic cargo cord about her neck securing it to the iron cot.  She could neither move her head up or down.  And with her hands and feet cuffed behind her—she would have to wait for opportunity.
	The man busied himself at the cabin’s sink tending to his nearly shot off ear.
	The man was busy for several minutes; he cried out in some pain a couple of times giving Nancy the thought that—“I’m going to regret this.”  She would be right.
Whose woods these are—I-I don’t know
	He really would have likened to have a thrill or two—or three with those two teenagers.  But he scampered on making tracks back to the cabin.  Hmmm, a little easier said than done.  The road he was just on was…uhm…it was just right there.  Wasn’t it?  hmmm  it moved!
	There was a specific reason why Kosmo was not a boy scout.  He didn’t like crowds, didn’t like people, he did like tying knots but that’s another story.  Earning shit to please others—fuck that.  Another specific reason he didn’t go into the boy scouts—north was east of west and south of someplace else.  Another reason he didn’t become a taxi driver, either.
	Where he thought the road was—wasn’t there.
	So he trekked a little south—or north—or … where he thought the lake was.
	Nope, not there, either.
	He thought about going back to where the girls were and busting them anyways to help him get back to wherever they were camped and thusly get his bearings and find the damn road back to his cabin!
	They were gone.  He did recognize the spot where they had been—not to mention the lingering happy smoke they left behind.
	“Well fuck me!” he bitched.
	A twittering chipmunk jittered about a tree; a bluejay made his appearance (and noise).  He sighed and picked his way thru the woods—the sun was no help as the fucking trees blocked its exact position in the sky.  He knew that the cabin was situated whereas the cabin was juxtaposed with open rugged country of giant boulders, scrub brush, and a few trees scattered about loosely and the thick density of a forest on the other.  The lake was nearby in the full sun, too.
	But where?
	Suddenly, there was a small clearing.
	A small clearing with a camper truck.
	A small clearing with a camper truck and a picnic table.
	A small clearing with a camper truck and a picnic table and a half naked young girl sprawled out on it.  A small clearing with a camper truck…and a half naked balding man in “grandpa” age between the legs of the girl sprawled out on the table.
	The girl looked a little—disinterested?  She wasn’t in a fit about being fucked; she turned her head this way and that, clenched the edge of the table, grunted and made some sort of noise when her grandpa began stepping up his granddaughter fucking efforts, but otherwise seemed to take the grandpa fuck with nonchalance.  Hmmm
	Kosmo pulled his prick out and began tugging on it.
	What a time to be with an EMAD!
	The grandpa wore bib overalls, was not too tall, had a ball cap on, and his bib overalls were at his ankles.  He got his nut and pulled out slapping his grandfatherly cock against his granddaughter’s cunt.  She was about eleven.  Her off-yellow tee-shirt was pushed up to reveal her small impish breasts.  Her basic white panties dangled off of one ankle.  The grandpa shoved his fuck stick back into her cunt and humped a little more to get the final nut.
	Just then the door of the nearby parked camper open and a naked—NAKED black boy about eleven came out—smiling with a pronounced boner (and cum dripping out of it.)  The girl on the table sat and looked to the boy—she said nothing.  Her face was expressionless but she didn’t seem too pleased.
	As the boy crossed over to the table to the ice chest fetching a cold soda and naked—NAKED four year old girl appeared at the door of the camper!  OH!  The grandpa stepped out of his clothes becoming totally naked.  His cock was still hard and over to the little girl he went scooping her up lest she trip and fall off the truck’s bumper.  She was a cutey!  Long-long blond hair in serious curls; incredible blue eyes, and cum dripping off of her cunny.
	The grandpa held her at the ass, danced a bit with her while some country music played from the camper’s radio.  The naked girl on the table slipped off, collected her clothes and made for the camper.  The grandpa settled the little girl in his arms on the table, opened her legs, then pressed his grandfatherly cock against her fresh fucked cunny.
	The black boy slurping his soda masturbated nearby.
	The dark haired girl in the camper had disappeared but re-appeared, fully clothed, sitting at the entrance to the camper.  She watched as the grandpa fucked the little girl, her sister.  He didn’t make full vaginal penetration but the head of his dick DID disappear within.  He seemed to struggle to get his second nut; he pulled out to slap his cock against the child’s cunny then settled in on humping her slit.  A look over his shoulder to his granddaughter and he made a head nod to her signaling her to come over.
	Reluctantly she did—and once more shed her clothing.
	Laying out on the table she spread her legs and the black boy mounted her.
	This enthused the grandfather (and Kosmo!) and he entered into the four year old a little more.  Meanwhile, the black boy was ALL the way in on his girl fucking hard.
	Kosmo let them be.  He didn’t have a mind controlling device (electronic) and he didn’t think barging in on the group would be cool.  He wondered (to himself) casually—who would he have done if he could have?  The dark haired girl, the eleven year old?  Or the blond haired girl, the four year old?
	Did it matter?
	No.
*

There are just some sounds that everyone loves:  shoes crunching on snow; a babbling brook, a crackling fire, rain on a tin roof, snapping someone’s neck who had pissed you off, a cat’s purr.

	The first swat nearly took her out of her skin.  The second one did.  Every pore, every fiber of her being was erratically on fire—like having one of those sneezes where it feels like your blood is coming thru your skin.  Nancy Dill clenched tight her handcuffed hands having no way console her blistered ass.
	The man administering the swats was relentless; he was pissed off for one.
	Nancy’s pants and panties were at her also handcuffed ankles.  She knew that she was going to be raped.  She thought about her co-workers; but she hadn’t really given anyone an idea of where she was—she was nowhere near Desert Korner where she had intended to go.  When she heard about the missing girl scouts she met with their troop leader and she thought the girls had slipped off to go exploring the lake.  So Nancy did, too.  Her encounter with the crazed perverted lunatics was a happenstance.
	She knew, too, that she was probably going to be raped.
	Another swat and she was begging “STOP!  PLEASE!  OH, GOD!  STOP!”
	Her ass was fiery red, tingling.  So was her pussy.  She was crying, the girls Becky and Cheryl were crying.  The twisted sick man missing half his ear—not crying.  He did stop spanking her, though.  Turning her over and putting one of the cots correctly on the floor he placed Nancy thereon.  Then spread her legs saying,
	“Keep them open!”
	Nancy was so frightened that she nodded—but closed her legs after a few moments.  The man had the unrestrained girl scouts come around and hold the woman’s legs open while he shaved her cunny.  There was some soap at the sink and that was used in lieu of shaving cream.  Then a buck knife was used to shave Nancy’s pussy.
	There were some nicks and scrapes but oh well.
	“Suck it!” demanded the man saying to Becky.  The girl cried and wailed but got to her knees taking the man’s dong and sucking it.  She retched, gagged, and very nearly vomited but slicked up the man’s cock enough that he was pleased.  Then the girls watched in awe as he slid his manly manhood into the woman’s pussy—and promptly got busy with the art that was fucking.
	Nancy stared near blankly up to the rafters.  She had been fucked before but never “fucked”.  Her mind though not afflicted with an electronic mind altering device was blank.  Her nipples hardened and she began to make noises more accustomed to one enjoying getting boned.
	When the deed was done there was a river of cum oozing out of Nancy’s cunt.  Francis heaved, sweated, farted, and played with his cum squirter.  The girls stared at Nancy’s cunt and also eyed the man’s cock where sperm was still issuing out of the piss slit.
	“Did you like that?” Francis asked leaning up looking dead into the woman’s eyes.
	Her eyes.
	Nancy’s face said “NO!” but her eyes—Nancy’s eyes said “YES!  YES!  OH, HELL FUCK ME, YES!”
	So Francis turned her over patting her ass.
	“Hold her cheeks open.”
	“Oh, God!” uttered Nancy, “Not there!” a woman who didn’t like it up the ass.
	Francis fingered her funk hole applying a generous lube of cum.  Then he made strides of anal penetration.  The girls, holding the woman’s ass cheeks open, stared in absolute awe.
	“OH—GOD! … … OH!—GOD! … … OH!—GOD!” repeated Nancy as she was royally sodomized.   Francis “Birdinhand” Darrel ploughed the woman into a sexual frenzy; helped along by surreptitiously reaching around fingering her pussy—specifically her clit.
	When THAT deed was done and he pulled out more rivers of cum spilled out.  Looking to Becky he smiled; the girl was near ashen—stunned at what she had witnessed.
	“Why?” he asked of her seeing the question of “why do guys want to fuck the butthole?”
	Becky shyly shrugged.
	Francis smiled, “Because it’s there!”  only this—and nothing more!

*

That thing you—do it again!
	Though Kosmo was not a motorcycle enthusiast he did like them and appreciate them.  He once had a ’49 Indian and a Harley.  The motorcycle in the woods at a remote—very remote campsite was a modern day cycle; three-wheeler with a small tear-drop camper.  The owner/operator of the 3-wheeler was naked and seriously putting it to a girl of about twelve.  Awesome!
	The man was in his 60s therebouts, balding, clean cut looking man, naval tattoos and the like like that there.  The girl, probably his granddaughter—probably, was also naked and on all fours with her pretty little head down on a sleeping bag.  Beside them was a very pretty little girl of eight years—also naked.
	After about a minute or so the naughty grandpa pulled out; he was sweating, farted, and stroked his grandfatherly cock.  The preteen granddaughter he was fucking turned over onto her back.  She spread her legs and was smiling, giggling, and had some nice titties for a girl her age.  The girl beside them was also on her back, tossing back and forth being silly.
	The naughty grandpa positioned himself between the twelve year old girl’s legs and re-entered her.  The act of fucking commenced—all the while he fingered the other girl!
	Kosmo couldn’t take it—not being involved was a killer.  He had to get back to the cabin.  Next time—next time he was bringing an EMAD!
	The motorcycle grandpa got his nut; whether or not the little girl did or not was not clear.  She frigged herself and wasn’t too keen on the load of spunk on her cunny.  The other little girl commented “Ewewewe!  Yucky!”  Her motorcycle grandpa “went down” on her.  Kosmo very muchly wanted to do same.  His cock ached and it was time to mosey on.

	Finding the stream of water he thought that it would surely lead to the lake he found instead a tall man doing naughty things to some children.  One of the children, a boy about seven, yelled out “Hey!  Uncle Jessie, check this out!” whatever “it” was was on the other side of the old ’67 Chevy pickup.  It was yellow, in several shades, and needed a lot of TLC.  The tall man with dark hair, a slight beard, gangly, came back around carrying a wee child of about three years.
	Looking around for security’s sake and the man laid the child out on the green vinyl bench seat.  Then, looking around again he removed her wet bright green kiddie shorts.  She had both fell into the nearby creek as well as pissed them.  The boy of seven was joined by another boy also of seven.  They were twins.  The girl was their sister.  The boys had dark hair like their uncle while the little girl had blond hair.
	Uncle Jessie tossed the wet shorts and accompanying yellow panties into the back of the truck.  The little girl was all giggles.  The boys stripped off their clothes, too!  Whether they did so on their own or their uncle told them wasn’t clear.  Didn’t matter.  The uncle looked around once more than fished out his pud and began bashing it against the little blond haired girl’s cunny.
	One of the naked twins set up onto the little girl’s face placing his hairless nut sac into her mouth.  Uncle Jessie was by now humping his niece.  He wasn’t in her but grinding against her for a couple of minutes until creaming.  The boys took turns dropping their nuggets into their sister’s mouth.
	After cumming off Uncle Jessie wiped his dick all over the child’s cunny.  Then he helped the boys do same; placing one boy at a time and simulating fucking.  Neither lad went into their sister—they just grinded.
	Jessie then plucked up the wetted in clothes and rinsed them out in the nearby stream.  The little girl was “rinsed”, too.  The boys splashed about nakedly and Kosmo took his leave of them.

	He thought he heard a truck, or some sort of vehicle.  For sure and there was a noisy helicopter in the sky above.  Coming onto a marked hiking trail was a good thing; but what direction to go?  Left—right?  Flipping a coin and after pissing on the sign that merely said WOODPECK TRAIL he went Left.
	Less than a mile and there was a parking lot with a few cars—and way too many ranger trucks with a state police car there, too.
	“I think I’ll go the other way.”
	A mile “the other way” past the sign and there was a campsite complete with restrooms, firepits, tables, a small cabin, bear proof boxes for campers to stow their foods, and lots of peoples.  Half a dozen or so girl scouts with several adults.  There, too, were the two girls Kosmo had seen earlier smoking dope and kissing.  Also, Uncle Jessie was there with his niece and nephew.  Also, the naughty grandpa and his granddaughters.  Neat!
	Kosmo slipped off into the woods taking note of where the nearby lake was.

*

Whose woods these are—they’re on fire!
	“How goes it?” Kosmo said entering the cabin.
	Francis smiled, meekly, the pain in the remainder of his ear was beginning to be a pain.
	“Well, you can at least save on earrings.”
	The bullet graze to Kosmo’s shoulder wasn’t pleasant, either.
	“Looks like you’ve been having some fun.” noting the naked ranger.
	“She could be a disciple.” said Francis.
	Ranger Dill wanted fucked—long and hard.  She wasn’t too thrilled with being spanked but would tolerate it—if she could fucked long and hard.
	“AND—leave the kids alone.”
	Nancy Dill would submit willingly to getting fucked “long and hard” if the two scoundrels left the girls alone.
	“Well,” said Kosmo dryly, “we’ve already fucked them!”
	So Nancy Dill got fucked—long and hard.
	Kosmo, already in a bad way, took up the cause drilling the Dill until she did so infacto go ballistic.  She thrashed about crazily achieving multiple orgasms.  Time was a problem, though; so was the buzzing helicopter encroaching upon them.
	It would be one thing to be caught in the cabin with the ranger—but to be caught with the missing scouts?  Not good.  No, not good at all.  Regardless, Kosmo took a slight breather and noted that the helicopter had buzzed off.  The group of peoples he had seen earlier, though, were now the problem.
	Just as Kosmo and Darrel Francis were putting it to the ranger in a double team—
	KNOCK!  KNOCK!  KNOCK!
	“Hello?  Anyone in there?” asked a not-too-manly man voice.
	Pursed lips and a glare to the girls kept the cabin quiet.
	Was the door locked?
	There were only two windows in the cabin, one was on the side of the cabin looking out to the lake and the other was above the sink—looking out to the woods.  Both had curtains and vinyl blinds that were closed preventing any lookyloos looking in; a bear, sasquatch, fretful parent, whatever.
	The men waited.  Waited.  Waited some more.  Then Kosmo crept up to the window that looked out to the lake.  A small group of peoples were there fanning out going out in two directions.
	“I think we’re gonna have to split.”

	“Follow me, but if we have to split, meet at the café.”
	Kosmo nodded and fired up his ride.  Francis pulled away in his and they made their way opposite the peoples and the lake and deeper into the woods.  The road was worse and got more with Kosmo’s ride bottoming out now and then.  In the cargo area of his ’55 were Becky and Cheryl while Ranger Dill rode with Francis leading him (hopefully) to some backroads and to the main highway.
	The undercarriage of the ’55 survived; dinged up but no significant damage.
	It was late afternoon by the time they came in sight of the desert highway.
	Traffic was thick with state police and ranger vehicles.
	“Now what, rabbit?” Kosmo said.  “We need a new plan.”
	“And I have one.”
	Ranger Dill still sat in Francis’ ride, Kosmo was taken to her and showed the “new plan.”  The woman was taken to Kosmo’s ride and right off he noted that something was odd—something was off with her.  A helicopter buzzed the forest; the men and their rides were parked just inside the woods (but still could be easily seen from the air.)
	There was no more time for any more hanky-panky.
	“Their minds—erased!” smiled Francis after he manipulated Becky and Cheryl.  He showed Kosmo the EMAD he had and its primary function—mind erase.  “They wont remember a thing!”
	Kosmo thought that that was all well in good an’ all, but;
	“Our “evidence” is still on them—IN them.”
	Could be a problem.
	Even if they were found with their clothes on they would still be taken to a hospital to be “checked out.” 
	“Could be a problem.” mused Francis.
	“Got bleach?”

	Kosmo didn’t happen to have any bleach stowed in his ’55; but he did have some hydrogen peroxide.  It didn’t sting but sizzled and did a fine job of eradicating sperm evidence.  Francis Darrel said he used a spermicide.
	The throp-throp-throp of the helicopter annoyed Kosmo.
	“I think we need to scat outta here.” He was beginning to panic and he didn’t like that.
	“Follow me.” Francis said.
	Once the helicopter went off back towards the lake Kosmo followed Francis who took an even more rugged road going out into the ruggedness of the desert hills where old abandoned mines were.  Twice and did Kosmo’s non-four wheel drive get stuck and bottom out.
	Finally, though, they came to a mine abandoned back in the 50s.  old mine carts everywhere, mine machines, equipment of this and that, and remote.  Kosmo was in a snit and took Cheryl to him swatting her ass.  He had dressed her after pouring bleach onto her pussy.  After the swat and the mind fucked girl confused more than ever and Kosmo took her clothes off once more.  Spreading her legs while she lay out inside the ’55 and nakedly outside the ’55 he raped her—again.
	Becky, sitting on Francis’ lap looked on blankly.  She seemed to be lost in thought.  As the rape commenced—Francis turned Becky onto his lap and swatted her ass.
	Becky’s scout shorts were pushed down; no panties—those had been used to wipe her pussy the first time she had been fucked and sodomized; then again when her pussy had been doused with evidence cleaning bleach.  More spanking ensued.  The girl felt the swats and wriggled on his lap but was swatted HARD for her efforts.
	Meanwhile, Kosmo was DEEPLY involved in fucking Cheryl’s brains out—and his!  The girl also was somewhat aware of her fucked predicament.  Kosmo didn’t care and stabbed her asshole with his cock, too.  When she fussed too much she was turned onto her side and had her ass beaten—HARD.
	Enthused by his friend’s antics and Becky got her finale, too.
	Francis Darrel finished spanking the girl then placed her on the sand on her hands and knees.  He firstly admired her reddened ass before posing himself before having her service his cock.  Like Cheryl, her awareness was high.
	Fright and fear kept the girls tethered to obedience.  After sucking Francis’ cock the man made way to Becky’s still reddened ass.  There he fondled her ass, landed a couple more swats then inserted his manhood into her pussy.  Kosmo had finished with Cheryl and stood back working his steaming organ.  Cheryl drew herself up into a fetal position whimpering.  Kosmo’s backside was equally reddened by the noonday’s sun.  He drank heartily a bottle of water then made his way to Becky shoving his fuck stick into the hapless girl’s mouth.
	After peeing on the girls’ vaginas, skull fucking, one more round of bare ass spanking,
	“Now’s the time to make their nightmares of this encounter disappear!” smiled Francis.  He produced his specialized EMAD he called a Mind Eraser.
	“They wont remember a thing?” Kosmo asked—to make sure.
	“Not a thing.” And with that—the Device was activated and the girls’ minds went blank.
	Then there was Ranger Nancy Dill.
	Same thing with her mind—after a righteous round of fucking.
	Fucking, sucking, spanking, sodomizing.  The woman seriously enjoyed getting dicked—rough dicked.  She didn’t like the girls being raped and spanked and she wasn’t too smooth on being fucked up the butt; but, there was a dark side to the woman whereas her cunny fanned the flames of sexual deviancy she usually kept under wraps.  And at one point the men managed to shove both their dongs into her cunny!
	She was double teamed—without interruption, spanked—HARD, peed on, and fucked-fucked-fucked until the men fucking her thought for sure their schlongs would fall off!  She was a good fuck.  Becky and Cheryl were good fucks—Kosmo enjoyed gawking at the nakedness of the girls; Cheryl especially.  A nice smooth hairless cunt—his cum coating it!  He enjoyed greatly face fucking the girl having her suckle his nut sac as his cock humped up the side of her nose.
	And spanking—he enjoyed that even more so!
	But all good things cum to an end.
	The girls and the ranger were returned to the forest’s edge just at evening fall.  Deep within and throngs of peoples were searching for them.  Ranger Dill was dressed—minus her panties!  Her mind was completely erased which was a bit of a bother—for the simple reason she wouldn’t remember the joy of the mistreatment.  Both Kosmo and Francis put her on their list to re-pay her a visit sometime in the future.
	With lights off the two vehicles surreptitiously sneaked their way to the desert highway and home.  There WERE roadblocks, the roads were choked with police agents of every kind.  Francis and Kosmo made it home and that was that.
	End Part 1