August Moone
Timing Is Everything
Chapter 28
Nutshells

	Proof in the Pudding
	Cum splashed into her mouth repeatedly from her Tormentor as well as the two boys, Kevin and Rusty.  She sucked their balls and fondled their bare asses, sucked the cum out of them fully and even licked their corn holes!
	She licked the girls, and lay nakedly with her shoulders to the wall while the boys humped her pussy and rode her breasts.  She held the boys’ balls and fingered the pooter holes, then sucked their cocks dry.  The boys peed on her and she spread her legs wide as the girls all took turns licking her pussy.
	All this while part of her mind was “aware” and the other part, accepting.  The “aware” part tried in vain to protest and understand how she was “agreeing” with the horrid doings.  The “accepting” part just did that, accept, readily all the commands and suggestions from the Tormentor.
	All but one of the “passengers” were released, it was late and raining and someplace unknown to the very confused Charlotte.  The boy known as “Rusty” spoke very little when he spoke and when he did it was very soft.  He had numerous bruises on his body, welts, too.  At first Charlotte thought they were from the Tormentor, but then dismissed that as the Tormentor didn’t seem to be that cruel.  He was just a sexual pervert who merely spanked bare handed, and used the Convincer device when he didn’t get his way straightway.
	They were rolling.  A long-long drive somewhere on a lone stretch of road.  Charlotte had no idea, but assumed possibly towards Kingman.  With the vent piece up on the roof she could hear the highway, it was wet and still raining.  She heard very little traffic.  At length the van pulled off of the road.  The kids had been released somewhere en route, one at a time at intervals along the highway, she assumed that either she or Rusty were next.
	The van (panel truck) stopped and the engine went silent.  Moments later the Tormentor came in thru the black curtain.  He didn’t flip on the light as he usually did, but there was enough light streaming in from the night sky and her eyes were already adjusted enough to see that her Abductor was still nude.
	He sat down before her, legs crossed.
	“How you doin’?” he asked her in a calm voice.
	Her first reaction was “Fuck you!” but she found herself no longer angry or pissed off.  She remained silent, mixed feelings and emotions.
	“Yer never going to be the same.” he said matter-of-factly.  “And there’s no denying the fact that you HAVE enjoyed some of the stuff that’s happened to you.”
	There was a seething emotion just aching to be set free, but it was quelled by calmness.  The angry tide of wrath ebbed away and she realized that his words were true.  “You’re a bastard.” she mouthed.
	“Yep.”
	“I hate you.”
	“Yep.”
	He slid forward closer to her, opening her closed legs, then sliding her down.  He then crawled atop of her a glided his prong into her pussy.  “It’s a new life for you.” he cooed, then engulfed a mound of titty flesh and began to hump, slowly at first, then after enticing her womanness humped furiously, striving to get the former reporter to cum.

						****

Forward Momentum
	“I don’t understand you.”
	“That’s okay, I don’t understand myself.”
	His blasé statement lingered on the cool morning air, all around them the grand expanse of some desert; it was morning, a crimson sky above, a few birds in a loose formation flew aimlessly along the cool unusual breeze for a mid August morning in southern Utah.
	Some unknown mesas loomed up in the distance, thoughts of No Man’s Mesa, Haunted Mesa, Longneck and others came to August’s mind.  “canyons so deep you have to look twice to see the bottom!” resurfaced to his mind, the dry washes and many-many-many twisting canyons finally emptying to a lone mesa with a long flat plateau, hidden from sight was a tricky wall with a hidden narrow path into…
	Quickly the rest of that little scenario was x’ed out.  He didn’t want to remember.  He still tried to rationalize all that HAD happened as a result, it only caused him to gain tumultuous headaches and undue stress.  Reality, what a concept.  He could almost handle the Time Tripping stuff, but the Device becoming a part of him--that was a biggie.  And the last part, he had no idea what he had become.
	What had he become?  Or, had he become anything?  It had been days since “awakening” in the middle of a rainstorm parked in the darkened parking lot at the downtown 7-11.  A dream.  A dream sequence, brought on by--lack of sleep, too much sleep, psychosis?  A dream.  A silly dream.  But it had seemed so real!
	But he wasn’t so sure for certain that it HADn’t been a dream.  But if it HAD happened--mercy!  It was unbelievable, unconscionable, inconceivable, and totally fucked up.  He remembered, slowly, bits and pieces.  And he only understood a part of it.  
	It was the time travel portion that nixed him mostly.  That was the stuff of fantasies, science fiction, Hollywood.  To actually be a part of it, to experience the Old West, to segue into one aspect of American Life to another and to actually be a part of it, to feel-taste-smell-and everything--that was mind blowing.
	It seemed unfathomable that it had been merely a dream, so he chalked it up to being a part of his psychosis, or fantasy.  That was more likely.  But he had SMELLED Ms. Ingalls homemade cornbread, and felt the butter dripping down his chin.  He had felt the sharp stings of the bullet from the small calibar handgun (Derringer) fired from the savage Indian at the massacre, he had felt the lope of the horse’s gait he rode chasing after bandits.  He had felt and experienced the environment of every time period he had segued into.  He had tasted food and drink, and felt the stirrings of sexual bliss.
	So was all this merely a part of his fantastical psychosis!?
	There was, however, no proof.  Just the Device.
	Which led him to further wonder further--was the Device real?  What WAS real?  Was ANYTHING real?  Was he laying in some hospital in a coma?  From what part of his life?  When he had first met Charlie Dugout, was he still down in the tunnels of the Pirate Ship, had he been possibly captured at the governmental installation after all and was now some sort of government project?
	More questions without answers.
	One answer he resolved to NOT resolve.  The answer to many of his questions lay in that land beyond:  where his psychosis began, encountering Charlie Dugout and venturing into the unknown, the OtherSide.
	The Reunion.  According to the current time line, it was over and done with.  So had he scored with the 24, had he even gone?  He had no friggin’ idea.
	The Device.  Governmental Issue Item 0110.  A curse.  He knew it, Charlie knew, everyone (encountered) knew it.   Curse.  A bane.  Something to have been left alone.  He figured as much that he could have actually done all right without it.  He had spent years of his life, though, investing time and money and time into understanding the various nuances of the thing, time he could have spent in school, or in the military, making a normal life for himself rather than disrupting those lives of virtually everyone he met/encountered.
	But he hadn’t gone that route, he had chosen another vocation.
	He had become a demon. Pure and simple, a creature without morals, a persona of explicit debauchery, going with the wills of his cock rather than anything else morally just.  
	For no other reason than just because, he shared his fantastic story with Charlotte.  He needn’t to, and he didn’t really feel that he had to, he just wanted to; wanted to share with someone.  Possibly in hopes of this sharing she would see a different angle not explored, or shed some new light on a dim portion of his dilemma.
	It was a fantastic story, only backed up by the evidence of the Device.
	It was still unbelievable.
	Soooooooo, a little proof in the pudding was needed.

	Although previous passengers Katey, Kellie, Kevin; Hanna & Missy had “performed” to his whims and wills, more proof was needed.  Charlotte was not 100% trusted, and she knew it.  But she knew, too, that she was a bitch--in her advocacy against perverts, molesters, rapists, and other immoral unjust peoples.  But there was dark side to her, a small portion that was hidden and kept deeply buried, never to be awakened or acknowledged.  It was a part of her, a part of her past (as well as present.) It was locked away never to be released.
	But it was released, but vented in the opposite direction of intention, against the flow of her demeanor and persona.  It was always there, hanging in the background of her psyche, her subconscious.  It was the driving force for her advocacy against the immorality of her city.
	August had sensed it, had detected it.  She was good, though; burying very deeply, out of sight out of mind.  Sort of.  She was mildly aware consciously that it was there, but she blacked it out never to acknowledge it truthfully.  If it should ever come to light, it would wreck her marriage, her status, job, placement in society, and announce her as a hypocrite.
	And that just wouldn’t do.
	But along came August Moone the Tormentor and his wondrous hellish device, the Device.  It was for this she hated him for it, for his Device to force her to acknowledge her dark past.  She hated herself and hated August for it.
	August didn’t know the full story, but he had time.  He still didn’t trust her, a wise move.  She was allowed to be unrestrained, but the Device held her.  It seemed stronger now, the Device, but he still feared the thing would shut-down on its own without provocation or announcement or just cause.  Just because.
	But, he was willing to take that risk, he knew he could get the Device to get Charlotte to “give up her secret” readily, but in this incidence, no, he would rather her give it up herself.  He had quite the shine for her…
	Rusty remained in the background, he slept a lot, didn’t speak, and let things be.  Charlotte dealt with her demons, pissed at August for it, and conjured up her new life.  She knew that with her recent experience her life would be dramatically changed.  She hated August for that, too.
	When the sun had cleared away the crimson clouds and the cool breezes wafting up from the desert-scape, it was time to move on.  
	He wasn’t exactly sure for certain but Mexican Hat was only a few miles away.  He didn’t want to go there.
	“Maybe you should.” quipped the still naked Charlotte.
	“Maybe.” maybe, sometime, but not now.  A mild case of the “heebie-jeebies” crept up on him and frightened him.  Was he afraid of the Indians of the Purple Schlong fucking him in the ass--repeatedly?  The tunnel buggers?  Or Time Tripping again?  
	Basically all the above plus the Unknown.
	He turned the panel around and returned to Arizona land.

	South down on the SR 191 to the interstate (I-40) and then east to New Mexico and entering into Gallup.  At the interstate Charlotte put on some clothes, no underclothes, though.  August dressed, too.  Rusty remained naked, crashed out on the floor in the back.
	“How did he get those marks?” Charlotte asked as she relaxed and became somewhat more trustworthy.
	“His father, and mother--beat the hell out of him on a regular basis.”
	“God, did he tell you that?”
	“In a matter of speaking.” August replied, patting the Device laptop by his side.  “It’s a truth maker, of sorts, a Q&A function.” he had told her the full story, bits and pieces, most of what he could remember and deemed okay to spill--which was pert near all of it!  A few odds and ends now and then needed to be redefined and re-introduced for clarity.
	August had asked her earlier if she wanted to go home.  She didn’t immediately reply, she knew there were now issues to deal with.  So he told her in essence that he, too, had the ability, via the Device, to allow her to return to her original mind--to have her forget about him, the Device, her capture and sexual depravation.
	She didn’t reply to that, either.
	Shortly before coming to the interstate Charlotte reclined more in the seat, a naked ankle up on the wing window, the other up on the dash, lightly she fingered herself.  She wore her beige slacks, but they were undone, the window was down and the wind whipped her hair about, her shirt was open and her naked breasts were caressed by the wind, too.
	“You can really make me forget?” she quipped at length.
	“Yep.” just like he had done with the former captives, before turning each one loose he made them “forget” the encounter.  They would be unable to describe their Tormentor, the vehicle they had been in, and everything, only the evidence of their broken pussies and assholes would tell the tale.
	Charlotte said nothing more and they moved onto the interstate and headed east.

					*****

	She had issues, with herself as well as with August.  He had opened up the doors she had locked away and barred, forcing her to remember things (and issues) she did not want to.  And for the most part she didn’t really know if she could.  As the miles ticked away, she struggled once more to bar the door and close it tight.  
	She wasn’t as bad as August, not as.  But close.  She had issues, with herself, black marks that went against the grain of what her persona was, er, that of which everyone saw her as.  She was a public figure, very public.  A mother, a wife, a friend to many.  She had a reputation for rallying the masses against molesters and perverts of all kinds…
	When in facts she herself had traipsed on the wild side of debauchery.
	She continued to keep it to herself, when the flash images began to burble to the surface she quickly thought of something else; watching the passing traffic, amused at the fact that they were traveling behind a truck carrying coffins.
	The miles clicked on, New Mexico came closer, her old life--her former life left her behind.  Could she embrace the new one?  With August and his fucking little Device, a new life certainly awaited her; a new freedom.  She DID long for a certain risqué about her life, but she had quelled those surges as they were not a part of the norm.
	But she knew that she could not return to her old life and pretend nothing had happened.  What was that, though, that August had mentioned about one of the Device’s abilities--the memory nipper?  
	She mulled it, but that said maybe.  Would the mind wipe of her experience be permanent?  There was no guarantees and without she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t chance suddenly “remembering” her harrowing experience with the Tormentor.
	   Slowly it was understood that she was two peoples, or one person harboring split-personalities:  being the pinnacle of a modern day woman with a family, career, prestige and status well entrenched in big city Americana.
	But, there too, was the other side.  The dark side.  For years it had languished in a sea of turmoil, just waiting to be washed ashore and be set free.  And thanks to August Moone and his fucking Device, it had.  Charlotte had to come to grips with, to terms with those darkened things in her past.
	To say the least she was annoyed.  As the images came to her she again shook her head violently and looked out the window.  She had stopped fingering herself, zipped up and returned her feet to the floorboard.  It wasn’t a van after all, but close.  She was of her own free will, but she had no will.  None to leave.  There was hate, vile ugly hate.
	The state line came and they cruised into New Mexico.

	At a rest stop just inside the state line August brought the panel truck to a stop, it needed a rest and so did he.  A pit stop.  Nearby was parked a catering truck, taking advantage of the foul weather inhibiting the timid drivers and (smart ones).
	 “Want something?” August asked of Charlotte.  She looked at him with a blank face, then he moved his shoulder and she could see the catering (roach coach) truck with its sides up and peoples flocking about it.  She sighed and shook her head, her mind was too jumbled to think clearly for sustenance.
	Rusty nodded that HE wouldn’t mind something, he was still nude, poking himself half way into the cab area.  He didn’t speak but the longing for something was in his eyes.  August slipped away and Charlotte turned to the scenery beyond.
	She realized sure that right now, with her abductor gone she could escape.  She could escape and tell everyone, anyone, about him, and all that he had done.  She didn’t understand why she didn’t, though.  He was a monster, a tormentor, a bastard.  He had single handedly brought her back to face her darkness.
	August, though, hadn’t “disappeared” and wasn’t all that trusting of Charlotte.  He knew that he had “touched” her and forced her to face some demons of darkness and debauchery, but for the most part she was herself, her own person.  He suspected that she might make a break for it and try to make trouble, call attention, etc.  She might try to return to her former life and go on as is.
	But the Door to her darkness had been piqued, it would never be settled and would be a part of her--forever!

	On the sly August had swiped the Device, he wasn’t all THAT trusting!  He utilized the infamous Invisibility mode and lingered about the truck for a moment, he could trust Rusty, but the other passenger was iffy.
	She beheld that lost look in her face, torn between Right & Wrong; hatred and understanding.  There was no evidence of any thankfulness.  There were many things he could do to smooth the situation over, but he was still bugged about his own dilemma.
	He made a few purchases and deposited them in the panel, then scooted on to the nearby bathrooms.  It was taking a BIG risk; leaving Charlotte utterly alone.  But it was a test.  
	There were other choices to be made, too--like while in the shitter; a cute little boy, a pre-teen boy, two misbehaving boys sharing the same stall (one boy was actually trying to pee while the other was making fart noises and upsetting the other.)
	August let them be and moseyed outside, checking the panel.  He didn’t see Charlotte.  A tad bit of hysteria ran amok through him.  He did see the truck moving, though--shaking.  That was a sign--whether or not it was good one or not he didn’t know.  Back into Inviso mode again.
	The black curtain was drawn so that didn’t help.  He had to carefully-carefully open the door and lean in, peering into the rear of the vehicle.  He heard movement and saw a little, but nothing to indicate whether or not he should be panicking.  He did note that no one was running, screaming, or anything of the like to (or from) the truck.
	Very-very carefully he opened the curtain just so at the edge and peered in.  Charlotte and Rusty were within, putting away some of the munchies in the small refrigerator.  August sighed, all was well.
	And at length, Rusty on his knees noshing on a moon pie and slurping a soda with his back to Charlotte touched him.  Not only touched (willingly) but caressed his ass.  August watched her (on the sly) as her face was without expression; her hand made gentle circles on the young boy’s butt, then up and down his backside.  Was she enamored or curious about the many welts and bruises?
	It wasn’t long before the boy got wood.  He spread his legs some and Charlotte worked her hand (lovingly) between his legs and began fondling his balls.  Her other hand she fondled herself as she lay askew on the floor.
	August didn’t want to disturb or disrupt the interlude, so he maintained himself and waited.  He didn’t have to wait long, Charlotte leaned in and KISSED Rusty’s ass.  Her rubbing his ass (with both hands) became more and more steady, her mouth attempted to put hickies on his flesh, and soon she was tugging his cheeks apart and digging her tongue into his corn hole.
	August had wood, now.  But he felt that he should remain where he was, it was a private moment between Charlotte and Rusty.  And it got more private as time went on.  Rusty began fondling his prick, so much so that Charlotte lent a hand and helped out!  This only brought about the boy turning about and Charlotte wrapping her lips about the young pecker and devouring it.
	The whole prick and nothing but the prick, her hands now clamped onto the boy’s ass as she fully engulfed the twelve year old’s cock.  She made yummy sounds and thrashed her head about, slurped and sucked and sucked and sucked until finally at last Rusty began to cum.
	She continued to suck him (dry) until there was no more essence of love to give.  Then she sucked a little more and then began noshing on the boy’s testicles!
	The boy languished with this, humping Char’s face with his quickly dying cock, but reeling in the pure enjoyment of the expert suck off.  He clutched at the counter his ass leaned against, Charlotte soon took his bony young legs and placed them on her shoulders, she then stuffed her mouth with BOTH his cock and balls.  Rusty went into sexual oblivion.
	
	Charlotte hung on for dear life, her eyes fluttering, mouth undulating, breasts jiggling--in her womanness Rusty Phart humped furiously for all he was worth.  (whatever that means)  Behind her August Moone drove his talented fuck stick into her backdoor, driving her insane as her orifices were filled to capacity.  Sort of, most of.  There was no rhythm involved, but she could “feel” the two cocks of varying sizes pounding away inside her.  It was invigorating.
	She tried desperately to keep quiet, her sweaty body wriggled furiously as she was doubly nailed, “Oh yeah, oh, yeah-yeah-ohhhhhhh-yeah-yes, more, ohhhhhhhh, oh my fucking god, ohhhhhh, yeah, yes--ohhhhhh.” and repeat.
	There were multiple orgasms to her lament, she finally struggled for the last and succumbed like a male and drifted to a blissful relaxful state of being, personal cum juices oozing from her snatch.
	The night air filled the cargo area, there was a foul lingering odor of sex about, too.  August carefully slid open the side door and stepped out, not caring if anyone saw his nudity or not.  But then again, it was the middle of the freaking night.  He strolled along butt bare assed naked without the Device to the bathroom, just strolling.  He paused in the shadows of some bushes and wetted them down, scratched at his dangling balls, farted, then caressed his ass.
	This was new.
	A new life.  Sort of.  He was still confused and wondered, worried, where it would all lead to.  If anywhere.  Was he still in a coma somewhere, maybe laying down in the pirate cove alongside Charlie’s body?  Or was he further along in the time line than that?  Maybe he was still in Deadwood, or at the Ingalls’ place in Walnut Grove, or up on Walton’s mountain--the bear!
	The incident with the bear filled him--he had nearly surely bought it there with that fucking bruin!  It would make sense that as torn up as he was with that battle that he could simple languish in the Walton home and everything since then was a dream!
	But that sucked.
	There was still all the “realness” of his experiences since; the episode with the gang in Milwaukee, and now with Rusty and Charlotte.  It felt too real to be a simple dream.  But he couldn’t discard it, either.  It just might be.  And that’d be REALLY fucked up!
	After pissing on the bush he casually made his return to the truck, and found Charlotte sitting on the stepdown sill.
	“Don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?” she asked.  She was butt bare assed naked, still, running her fingers thru her wetted hair and calming down from the two hour fuck fest.
	“No,” then, “you smoke?”
	“Used to.”
	“Bad for you.”
	No comment.
	They said nothing more for a while thereafter, August sat beside her and the former reporter was quiet.  Off in the distance big rigs roared along the interstate, a falling star was seen, a coyote howled.
	“I still hate you.” Charlotte finally mouthed.
	“Yeah, I know.”
	Moments later they were 69ing on the fresh wet lawn by the truck…