August Moone
Book 8
Chapter Thirty One
Fuckapolozza

You do it, you know you do it; he does it, she does it, they do it—we all do it; I just did it and I’m ready to do it again!

Church observations continued
	Little thought was given to Rory V; he was no longer worthy of thought.  Little Jena, Rory’s used to be step-daughter, was worthy of thought; as was the others Mack had already “collected”; Bonnie and Hanna the twins; Sara, Tosha, and boys Charles “Chip” Arny, and Bryan Eppney.
	Quite a little lot to have all to oneself, aint it?  Mack thought about that—thought about that—that about thought it.  From the redneck church he had seen some “possibles”; Paul Mikelson filled the top notch and was already as steady resident at Mack’s remote abode.  Paul had the latest mind stunning device, a Flash device.  (he had used it on his daughter, Portia, in the church episode introduction two chapters backs.)  Daughter Portia (and son Eric) were brought out to Mack’s place, and wife Lyndsy, too.
	Disabled Lyndsy was awed by Mack’s place—moreso about the residents residing.  She wasn’t aghast, just awed—there’s a difference.  Mostly it was fear that someone would find out, something would happen to one of the kids requiring medical attention, and was there lasting ill-effects of a minding device on a Subject’s mind?
	Good question.
	Mack didn’t care—so he didn’t.
	Mack’s “favorite(s)” were Bonnie and Hanna, the Carney twins.  He liked Sara, Tosha, the boys, and the latest edition, Jena Lynn; but it was Bonnie and Hanna that he enjoyed the most.  With Paul and his family virtually moving in he enjoyed Paul’s daughter, Portia.  Paul enjoyed Sara and Tosha selecting them as his “favorites.”
	Lyndsy, of course, enjoyed the boys and enjoyed her new relationship with her own son, Eric.  It was a new way of life for them all; Mack’s EMAD and Paul’s Flash device changed the kids, rewiring their thoughts and actions so as the minding devices could be put away—until new arrivals, of course.  Of course!

	Bonnie and Hanna readily adapted to the “new way of life”; they were eleven with being “twelve” inside two months.  Their supple breasts were growing; their eyes of blue brightening all the more; their smiles; posture, and everything about them.  Mack was very much enthralled with their presence and graciously thankful to the EMAD.
	Sara was tall, long limbs, and so virtually lily white with blond hair that even the “bush” she had was basically impossible to see.  Sara’s twelfth birthday was months away; her breasts were smaller; she was a little shy but eager to please.  Mack liked that.  Often she could be found sucking on Paul’s cock while getting doinked from behind by Mack (or one of the boys.)
	Though Tosha had also been subdued by the EMAD, there was resistance.  She complied but there was hesitation.  The use of a belt and switch put her in her place—she was controllable moreso by Force and Threat.
	The boys, Charles “Chip” Arny and Bryan Eppney weren’t particularly keen on humping one another OR giving each other head OR sucking on Mack and Paul.  But, they were okay with humping the girls and somewhat enthused with screwing and doing other associative naughty things with Paul’s wife, Lindsy.
	Jena Lynn was also a participant in the Mack household shenanigans; she went nude and participated in giving blowjobs, fingering herself standing up, laying down across someone’s lap for a spanking; spreading her own cheeks to be licked out as well as fucked in one hole or the other.  But for the most part those incidences were just “once in awhile.”  Mack felt some strange relationship with the girl—a responsibility that was on a different level than that with the others.
	She was, of course, humped on, filled to capacity with generous quantities of cum, lightly spanked, generously peed on, and “shared” with the other boys—but not quite as often as the others…

	Equipped with an EMAD—no one was safe.  There were Subjects, Targets, and Possibiles, everywhere.  No one was safe.  And though Mack Borelin was content with the family he had at his home, more was always a possible.  It was a never ending cycle—a taxing to perplexing cycle; but one that Mack Boreline was willing to submit himself to.  He couldn’t explain it—there was no explanation to it, really.  He was consumed to the point whereas he wondered “who was controlling who?”  Meaning, was he controlling the EMAD or was the EMAD controlling him?

	At the redneck church, the haven of illicit activity he encountered Kim Whitmore.  He liked Kim, she was different—a modern woman, Chinese, in her early thirties, with two kids.  Hubby was a deacon at the church and ran a marriage counseling class at the church and local college.  Kim was a writer/historian and also taught social studies at the church and local college.
	The woman was friendly and always chatty.  She wanted to get Mack involved in the church, in the capacity of “teaching” (something); involved in a Singles group, utilize his skills as a carpenter to help refurbish some cabins up in a nook of the mountains where the church could retreat to for a week or so—for singles, for couples, for marrieds, and of course for children.
	Mack was keen on the children part.
	And Mack was keen on Kim, too.  She waylaid him in the parking lot, getting his attention as he was leaving from a business meeting he was getting involved in anyways.  She wore jeans, which she normally didn’t—she looked HOT in those jeans.  Usually her attire was a dress or skirt of some sort—knee length with no “V” neck plunging or otherwise.  
	She was one of the most prettiest Chinese girls he had ever seen.
	Her hubby was not Chinese but a plain ole white boy American.
	The kids took on a great deal of their Mother’s heritage but were as American as apple pie, baseball, and moose turds.  The kids were in the backseat of the modern American 4-door sedan.  The day was midday, warm, and Mack was bored out of his skull from the meeting.
	Parked under the shade of some trees along the far west edge of the parking lot Kim waved to get Mack’s attention.  He acknowledged and instead of walking across the blazing pavement he drove over, parked at an angle and then greeted the friendly woman with a generous hug.  And idea formed in him immediately.  You know the one…
	“So I was thinking you could take over Ham’s class once he leaves, and then there’s blab la bla bla blab” she went on and on and on and Mack acknowledged the kids in the backseat—Brittany and Bryan.  Brittany was twelve years young—her brother was ten years.  Brittany had the more Chinese eyes while Bryan had more “American” eyes but a Chinese face just the same.
	Both kids were well mannered; polite, well dressed, and more than once did Mack desire them.  The Mother, too, was at the top of the Desire list—along with just about every girl of every age and every woman of suitable young adult age.

	Making himself comfortable leaning against his car he tried very hard to make it seem as if he was paying attention to the continuous babble of Kim.  But he was doing something else on the sly.
	Brittany fidgeted in the backseat, her pesky brother fidgeted more.  It was hot, their Mother had shut off the a/c and instead opened the doors for “natural air” claiming “conditioned air” sustained was not good for you.  Whatever the hell that meant.
	Bryan made a pest of himself, talking to himself and making “raspberry” sounds; he also for some reason kept inching over to his sister’s side of the seat (encroaching on her space.)  A fight was inevitable.  Then,
	Brittany blinked her eyes “WTF?” outside and there was Mack with his hands on her Mom’s ass!  WTF!  And her Mom didn’t seem to be upset by it!  They were, in fact, hugging one another and was she (Brittany’s Mom) rubbing her leg up and down on Mack’s leg!?
	OMG!
	As Brittany watched (in some building horror) her Mom began fondling the man’s crotch—specifically his penis.  There was no doubt.  Then, THEN, Brittany’s Mom fished out the man’s cock!  She handled it, stroked it, massaged it sort of and then—THEN—stooped over and began sucking it!
	No way!
	Way.
	OMG!

	A blowjob in the middle of the day in broad daylight in a church parking lot—it didn’t get any better.  Well, it could get better.  After a few minutes of righteous sucking (and Kim Whitmore knew how to give) Mack stood her up, hugged her (no tongue) and manipulated her mind moreso having her undo her blouse and free those nainais (Chinese word for breasts.)  He fondled them (once they were freed) then seemingly (to her bewildered children) she undone her pants and tugged them down along with her panties.
	Bryan’s jaw dropped.
	Bryan’s heart stopped as beside him his sister undone her own blouse then her pants pushing them down along with her own panties.  Outside (sort of) and Bryan’s Mom was laying on top of the guy in the backseat of his car.  There was his Mom—nude!  Her legs were spread and he (Bryan) could see her ass and the guy’s cock.
	Blinking the sweat out of his eyes and he could see the guy’s penis going into his Mom.  It was then he realized the action to his own penis!

	Kim Whitmore gave him the best fuck feeling!  The feel of her ass, the feel of her tits grinding against his chest, the feel of her cunt snuggly engulfing his manly cock—it was the best feeling ever!  The woman knew how to fuck and Mack was glad of it.  She was a little dynamo in the sack—or backseat.  Mack’s cock, though, having had significant “action” of late took a little more doing (screwing) to get off.
	For visual aid to help his cause along he had Brittany take her clothes off, crawl over her bewildered brother and sit on the edge of the seat facing him.  Then, the girl laid back with her legs opened and began fingering herself.
	That did the trick, almost instantly and did Mack’s prick began exploding loads of luscious man spunk DEEP into Kim’s cunt.  He powered fucked the woman on top of him, gripped her ass tightly and pumped tenaciously until the feeling of fucking subsided—a whole minute later.
	Pushing Kim off he harkened for Brittany (hark-hark harkened he) and the naked pre-teen came to stand at Mack’s opened legs.  Her young mind was his to control—she was “aware” but then again not aware enough.  For a minute he had the girl stand—stark naked allowing him to gaze upon her allowing his cock to settle.  
	Bryan still sat in his family’s car—still mystified and totally wowed.
	The young boy’s “wow” went bombastically ballistic as he watched in awesome awe his naked sister go down on the guy’s cock!  She did!  She sucked on the cummy cock, sucked the hairy cummy balls, sucked-sucked-sucked.  Then she sucked some more before climbing on top of the nearly nude sweaty man; she settled her pussy right onto his sucked clean cock and wiggled herself—her sex until the man began working himself into her.
	‘Come here.’ A voice said to Bryan.
	Bryan blinked his eyes and felt suddenly ill—a huge wave of warmth kissed his young body all over and then—THEN he felt like something was pulling him—pushing him out of the car and to come stand up behind his naked sister.
	It was then that he realized that he was naked.  (naked with a raging boner!)
	‘Have you put your pee-pee into your sister?’ 
	Young Bryan heard the question and though it was supposed to be a secret he blurted out loud “Yes!”
	‘Have you put your pee-pee in her mouth?’
	“Yes!”
	‘In her ass?’
	“Yes!”

	And in her pussy, too.  He licked her pussy, fingered it, humped on the outside of it and slipped it in—but only a couple of times and though he was ten, she made him put a condom on his invader before they had sex—just in case.
	Mack smiled and gingerly eased his dick into the girl’s smooth virtually hairless cunt.  Penetration was possible but it took a little time.  The air was hot, they were in public, and the air was very hot.  Once he was sufficiently in Brittany’s cunt half way and the pumping began he got the naked Bryan to get into her ass and do likewise.
	It was awkward—way clumsy, but a humping was done and that was all there was to it.  Mack in no way could get all the way into Brittany’s sex; as much humping the girls at his remote home were getting from the boys—Mack wasn’t getting much of his manly manhood into them, either.  (luckily they had two other holes that sufficed!)
	After a time and it was getting almost too hot to think, Mack released a suitable amount of man jiz into Brittany’s sex.  Bryan still had a nice hard-on and so he was directed to hump his Mom.  Seemed the thing to do.  It was awkward in that doing, too; Kim on her back behind the seat on the floorboard; one leg cocked out the passenger side door, the other hooked on the headrest of the front seat—young son just a-plowing away in the pussy that bore him.

	It was clumsy, it was awkward; it was hot, sticky, and becoming just a bit putrid—but it was the grandest thing!  Bryan humped like it was his last hump finally unleashing a mighty torrent of young boy cum minutes later.  The boy’s whole body shuddered with his arms locked and his hips shimmering in an odd dancing manner as his cock within his Mom’s cunt flourished in a natural rhythm of sincere pleasure.
	The boy was pretty much useless thereafter; he was turned to his side back against the back of the front seats so as his sister could clean of his cock AND lick clean her Mom’s cummy cunt.
	Mack took a breather; his cock was way sore.  A little mind manipulation for the three and then he would be about done.  It was taxing enough to deal with one person let alone multiples.  Young Bryan had done good—humped his Mom, sat on her chest and humped her adequate breasts, humped her mouth; then, got sucked off by his sister.
	Brittany maintained a confused state of being—aware and not aware complicated by thoughts that were not hers—but then again, were.  ‘you like sucking your brother’s cock’ and ‘you want to suck your Dad’s cock’ along with ‘you love licking out your Mom’s cunt.’

	It was a tiring and trying thing to manipulate the Whitmore family but it was a done deal.  Kim and the kids would “seduce” hubby/Daddy, John; submit to Mack, and be naughty-naughty-naughty together on their own.  Mack was proud of his accomplishment (he had a feeling about John—another possible self-righteous member worthy of issuance of a Pervert’s card.)

*

just a little bit—just a little bit of my love on you
	Though most people didn’t particularly care for the scent of wild herbs; Mack did.  Many people didn’t care to live so far from town and emergency services.  Mack did.  Many people didn’t consume themselves with the absurd frivolity that was not the norm for mainstream society.  Mack wallowed in it with gusto.
	Bonnie Carney held his heart (and balls.)  Though she was the twin sister of Hanna, there was subtle differences separating the two and Mack knew the differences—and found he was drawn more Bonnie than not.  But both girls held his attention (and balls).  Both girls were growing, their breasts were developing more and more indicating that they had been with their perverted captor “awhile.”
	Mack’s heart, though, still held firm for them—he wasn’t ready to part with them.  Their time was coming, though, that was sure.  But in the meantime—
	Bonnie’s hands gently manipulated his swollen testicles with care.  Her face was golden—her hair was light brown with a braided peace going from one side of her head to the other.  Twin sister, Hanna, had a braided piece of hair going the opposite direction.  (one way to tell the two apart.)
	After some time of Bonnie fondling his balls the girl came up to settle on his lap; Hanna guided his missile into her sister’s cunt.  The “missile” fit most of the way in.  A nice slow process—the girl wriggled and tried to make the penetration into her body easier.  But Mack’s manhood was a bit much; she winced as she settled more and more onto his cock.  Mack eased up and with the cupping his hands to her sweet ass eased her up and down.
	Hanna suckled on his balls, licked her sister’s asshole and fingered herself while waiting “her turn.”
	Also in wait was twelve year old Bryan.

	Bryan was a handsome fart of a boy; about average in height, very nice eyes, good body overall and a decent cock that went hard most of the time.  The boy was stimulated greatly with all the nakedness about him; he couldn’t help but keep a hard-on going.  
	Bonnie clutched Mack as Bryan stepped up behind her and began with Hanna’s help entering her asshole.  The boy slid near effortlessly all the way in then began to pump.  Mack and Bryan locked eyes—
	There were only two boys in the mix, Bryan and Charlie.  Both enjoyed going naked; they enjoyed the naked girls; they enjoyed having sex with the naked girls—they didn’t, however, care too much for having sex with one another OR having sex with their kidnapper/benefactor.
	Tough titty.
	After Bryan got off (in Bonnie’s ass) he was directed to “get on your knees.”  He knew what was cumming.  Charlie—or “Chip”.  Chip had been humping Tosha’s butt(hole); he got off but after Sara sucked him and Jena laid out on the floor with her legs open fingering herself—he was hard enough (again) to bust rocks.  Naked Hanna guided the boy’s cock into Bryan’s hole—the boys had “hooked up” a few times since being brought to the remote home; they had showered together, sucked cock, spanked one another, and sodomized one another.  It wasn’t their thing but it was Mack’s thing so it was their thing.
	Bryan eased (was eased) into being receptive as he was fucked; young Jena came to be beneath him where he himself “went down on her” to munch out her young hairless cunt.  Sara took his cock and stroked it, squeezed it, then began sucking it (ewewe!  It was just out of Bonnie’s asshole!)  
	Chip gripped Bryan’s hips and humped-humped-humped.  Hanna caressed his ass; Tosha lay on the floor beside them fingering her dark chocolate cunt.  It was quite a scene—all viewed by Mack’s new friend, Paul, his wife, Lindsy, and kids Portia and Eric.
	Portia and Eric were in on the deal—going naked and humping, being humped.  Paul was very muchly in on the new way of life, disabled Lindsy got some of the boys but mostly she enjoyed watching.  Occasionally her involvement was laying someone across her lay for some righteous spanking.  Usually it was one of her own—with their minds capped by Mack’s EMAD the kids were inhibited to the feeling of being stricken.  Lindsy just enjoyed spanking them; she didn’t like to see them emotionally wrecked.  She did enjoy having her own son fuck her while her own daughter sat on her face!
	Mack and Paul enjoyed that, too!

The Replacements	
	Just before Midnight—
	Behind Industrial Park that butted against the dry river there was a semi secluded spot out of range of pesky mounted video cameras or roving security a van pulled up in the darkness with it’s lights off.  Inside the cargo area there was some light; the heavy black curtains and partition blocked the light from escaping.
	With extreme concentration, Paul slid his manly prick in and out of Sara’s cunt.  The girl twisted some, arched her back and exhibited signs of distress.  Paul’s concentration was so tight that he didn’t pay attention (or cared.)  
	Mack held little Jena on his lap, his cock buried up into her cunt and was only lightly humping her.  Beside them, Bonnie lay on top of Chip; Chip’s hands on her ass, his cock in her cunt.  Mack caressed Bonnie’s ass, squeezed the flesh and continued to watch his friend fuck Sara.
	Finally the pivotal moment came whereas there was no holding back, no ease in making love—Paul’s cock reached that wondrous moment where there was no choice but to speed up the humping action.  This, of course, only distressed the girl more.  It enthused Mack, though, and with his hands locked tightly on Jena’s hips he brought the girl up and down increasing the flow of his love—and juices.
	The air inside the cramped quarters began to stifle and become unbearable.  Mack opened the sliding door and after Paul got his rocks off, Mack brought Sara, the first one, out of the van.  He led her to a grassy area to a lone small oak and planted her there.  Her hands were tied behind her to the tree—then he watered her and spent ten minutes dinking with her mind—essentially wiping her memory.

	Downtown in the area behind the bus station did Tosha find herself—or listless passengers roaming the alley.  She was found naked, covered in pee and drying cum.  Down the street behind the newspaper building was were garbage collectors found Chip and Bryan—naked together, super glued together in a compromising position.
	The twins were not found together—and not even in the same town!  Bonnie was found behind the diner in a desert city; her twin was found one hundred miles away in a park.  Mack had a hard time parting with the twins, he loved on them, watched Paul love on them; both he and Paul loved on the girl at the same time and by morning’s dawn she was out.

	Jena Lynn was another toughie to let go.  Mack humped on her but mostly held her.  She was special; Bonnie and Hanna had been special, too.  So had Tosha and Sara.  Even the boys!  He had a passion for each of the captives; but by noon, even little Jena was returned to society—even to the church where she had been absconded from.
	Mack’s mood thereafter was a little sour; Paul (and family) gave him a wide berth and let him be.  ‘you can always get her again, if you want.’ Paul had supplied.  ‘or simply get some others.’
	Get some others.
	Replacements.

*

	“You got the look, you got the look!  Yeah, yeah!   You got the look!”
	Samantha McGurdy sang backup to her friend, Carly; Tina Frock danced about with the portable piano slung across her lithe preteen body while Freddie Kress, the only boy, banged away on the drums.  “The Shady Tree Garage Door Gang” had arrived.
	Well, they were in practice.  It was Wednesday and on the upcoming Saturday they had a school event gig that wouldn’t pay them money but would give them exposure.  That was better than paid advertising; word of mouth spoke more than printed flyers.  So they had to practice—practice—practice if they wanted to sound good and be noticed.
	They were “noticed” alright…

	Carly Shay, months from being thirteen, had lovely long straight blond hair with purple and green streaks.  The girl had a “fresh” face, inquisitive, a few karate lessons under her belt, sucked at anything with involving a ball but faired better running track.  But singing, flirting, grooving was more her thing.
	Samantha McGurdy had creamy dark skin, a kinky ‘fro, and about the sweetest smile ever!  Raven dark eyes, a blossoming chest, and three months shy of being thirteen.  The girl had a natural gift for music; she needed only to hear a note, a melody, a tune one time and she had it.  
	Tina Frock worked the bass guitar, she could also play other instruments but she got her groove with the bass.  The girl was nearly lily white—which made her a stand out contrast with Samantha’s dark skin.  Tina was a shy girl with her only hobby being music.  She sang back-up and wrote many of the group’s music.

	Freddie Kress was the other black member of the Shady Tree Garage Door Gang; he banged the drums and was pretty good at it; but also could play keyboard and flute.
	The Shady Tree Garage Door Gang—four pre-teens who grooved to their own thing; they tried not to be too noisy in Samantha’s parents’ garage and the neighbors were tolerable.  But they needed lots of practice—practice—practice.  When not practicing in the garage they were at their school utilizing the auditorium or the open sound stage by the soccer field.
	Just after Freddie hooked up the sound mike and took his seat making a sound check, Carly bent over making last minute adjustments to her own microphone.  “Ready Freddie’s” eyes were locked solid on the girl’s ass.  Carly didn’t “bend” at the knees like a proper girl (or anyone) should to save her back, she locked her legs and bent straight over.  Freddie looked like he was in some agony.  And he was.  
	Carly wore funky jeans with patches all over them but not because she was a tomboy and got rough with her clothing—it was the “in-style” and Carly was proposing a hip motion in her young peoples nation.  A layered top with denim jacket also adorned with patches.  The girl was cute, her long straight blond hair had a few clips in it but otherwise had no style but that still made her outstanding.  
	‘You’d like to see her naked, wouldn’t you?’
	Freddie automatically without hesitation nodded and confirmed so.
	‘Are you a virgin?’
	Unfortunately that would be a confirmed Yes.
	‘Would you like to FUCK her?’ indicating the still bent over Carly.
	That would be a fortunate whole heartedly confirmed Yes.

	‘Virgin?’
	“No.” she answered aloud.
	Samantha had two older brothers, an older sister, and one younger brother.  The sex was with the one younger brother and one of the older brothers.  Consensual.  She was only twelve—but almost thirteen; her “first time” was with older brother Ron, he was fifteen at the time and Samantha was barely eleven.  All her life she and her sibs had run amok their house naked and it was no big deal.  No anal but plenty of oral.
	‘Would you like sex with Freddie?’
	She shrugged her answer indicating that she hadn’t exactly considered Freddie for sex—he was just a friend.  
	‘What about sex with one of your other bandmates?’

	That was met with a ‘no way’ and a ‘no fucking way.’  Samantha McGurdy was a resound resolute straight girl.  No hanky-panky with same sex.  Period.
	Tina Frock, however, was open to investigate the weird ways of same sex exploration.  There was consideration of sex with Freddie.  Two other boys in her social also intrigued her, but she wanted precautions and safety (condoms).
	Carly was not a virgin.  She had an old brother but there was no sex between them; she was months from being thirteen—her brother was eighteen and a month from being nineteen.  Carly had “given it up” to a boyfriend who was more (or less) a friend.  One time; they had gone skinny dipping in some woods and afterwards engaged in plain straight sex.  No oral, no anal—just plain straight sex.  Last month, too.

	Carly was the most serious of the Garage Door gang; she was the organizer, she made the fliers for the group, talked to promoters and school staffers, and bargained with their parents for help in funding the group’s equipment needs.  She sat still, calm and quiet, “serious.”  Her pretty brown eyes stared straight ahead as gently into her mind came a voice.
	‘stand up.’
	Carly stood.  There was no holding back, no fear, no trepidation.
	‘Undo your pants.’
	No hesitation, Carly Shay unfastened her pants, peeled back the flaps, then (on continuation of input from the Voice) pushed the funky jeans down to her ankles.
	“Whoa shit!” blurted Freddie Kress.  Freddie was under the influence of an mind altering device but still had the ability to speak his own mind; which was allowed.
	Carly wore bright green bikini panties.  Freddie’s eyes were all attentive—and even more so when the girl tugged the bright undies down to her ankles, stooping over as she did so revealing her very nice partly tanned ass.  Carly stood up and remained completely under the influence (of an electronical device.)
	Samantha had short yellow knit shorts, kinda tight—a stark contract to her creamy dark skin.  Basic white panties she wore and young Freddie Kress was ready to explode.
	Tina Frock had powder blue undies.
	All three girls stood with their pants and panties at their ankles.  The girls were in the secluded basement of Mack Borelin’s secluded home outside of town, miles away from the sound stage the girls had been at.

	Freddie Kress had an option; ‘join me’ or ‘oppose me.’  Some choice.  The right thing to do, of course, was to oppose the Voice and try to escape; try to help the girls, or something.  But virgin Freddie was willing to “join” the Voice “as long as no one is hurt.” Freddie had put in a condition.  He wanted to fuck Carly (and Tina and Samantha) to be sure, but he didn’t want to see them hurt or harmed or anything.
	‘What about—spanking?’
	“How bad?”
	The Voice smiled, “That will depend on you.”

	She “awoke” with a headache.  Then her stomach was aching.  Confusion reigned supreme and it took a few minutes to gain some semblance of her senses.  Then she sat up and had to start all over again.
	Her mouth was dry, sticky, and downright icky.  A slight feeling of nausea began to surge and the pesky need to go to the bathroom began to pressure her, too.
	But where was she?
	A slight ringing in her ear confounded her, her butt(hole) itched, nothing concrete came to her about where she was—she was lucky just to remember who she was (Carly.)	
	As the webs of cob became untangled she realized to her shock (and horror) that she was naked.  “What the fuck!?” she exclaimed aloud.  The cobwebs still inundated her creating a blind spot (literally) blocking her peripheral vision allowing the young girl to only see directly ahead in a hazy cone shape kind of view.  It was, therefore, dark everywhere else.  
	Trying to gather info was difficult—when moving her arms and legs, even her head she got dizzier and more ill.  She saw, though, a brick wall, a cement floor, and not much else.  
	Then Carly realized that she was on a bed, a different kind of bed than she was used to—it had a metal frame and one mattress.  Beside her with arms and legs askew was Tina.  She was also naked.  Carly’s breath was taken—even more so when in another like bed was Tina—naked, legs open, her “girl parts” exposed for anyone’s viewing pleasure.
	“Oh my God!” Carly exclaimed.
			
	Not only was Tina nakedly exposed but so was Samantha.  Carly tried to get a grip on the situation but was too confused; she could scarcely move—scarcely think.  Then—
	Freddie Kress was before her.  He was naked.  His black cock was stiff and wavering right before her stunned eyes.

	“Oh my God!” she blurted.
	‘Take it.’ said a voice.
	Carly whipped her head around, “What!?” then, “No fucking way!”
	Way.
	A force suddenly was upon the young girl, manipulating her mind and body having her “take” Freddie’s mamba, wrap her fingers about the adequate preteen schlong and work it into a tizzy.  Carly’s mouth was mere inches from the wavering dong—
	‘suck it.’
	Carly sat (nakedly) bobbing her head (but not for sucking measures) in total disbelief.  Cocksucking her friend, though, was inevitable.  The girl slung her head trying to resist but in the end was unable and down on Freddie’s tool she went—much to Freddie’s pleasure and delight.
	Samantha and Tina took their turns, too; Samantha got a mouthful of Freddie’s jiz.  Afterwards, Freddie applied his tongue to the girls and with a sufficient hard-on sunk himself into each girl; he came off in Carly who he licked out and humped first and Tina who received his love last.
	Then it was down to spanking.

	It gave great pleasure to Mack to watch his new friend, Paul, hump his daughter, Portia.  The girl was “aware” but unable to prevent her Dad from fucking her.  Conditioning would be a long time in cumming; she resisted the EMAD and even the threats from her Dad but the power to resist the EMAD was more than she could cope.  The threats were spankings and locked in a dark closet for hours on end.
	“It’s just sex,” Paulie would explain, “simple sex.”
	Portia was resistant and knew that it was more than simple sex; the relationship (sexually) between her and her Daddy was wrong and she knew it.  But she was brought into a new world of sexual deviancy and that was all there was to it.
	No conditioning—pure acceptance.
	And spanking, too, was a way of life.
	Sex was one thing; getting a hummer, humping on flesh, peeing on flesh, watching flesh pee—all well and good.  But spanking—spanking was a new high.  Daddy Paul enjoyed spanking, usually his own daughter, Portia, but he also enjoyed laying hands on the Replacements; including the single boy Freddie and his own son, Eric.
	Carly wriggled as Mack administered his spanking delight.  The girl was sprawled out across his lap; she was told to “keep hands on the floor” or the administration of spanking will be harder and longer.

	Carly was already in distress and had begun to pee.  Several times the girl couldn’t help but bring her hands to her blistered ass to protect it.  That warranted her five additional spanks as hard as Mack could deliver.
	Portia received same on a nearby bunk in the basement; her naked brother, ten year old Eric, stood by with his hands behind her caressing his own ass in anticipation of getting walloped himself for no good reason.  He was a crier and any little thing often upset him.  This was one of those “little things.”
	When Carly’s ass was tomato red and the poor girl couldn’t take any more, the spanking ceased.  She was still in turmoil and could hardly contain herself or “get a grip.”  She trembled and had to be put into position for the completion of her torment—and that was on her hands and knees.  Her Tormentor positioned himself behind her and after caressing her burning ass, kissing it, licking the crack and especially the hole—he began penetration to her puckering hole.
	Paul had spanked Portia good enough—his hand was stinging.  After caressing his daughter all over he positioned her on her hands and knees, posing her before her trembling whimpering brother.  “suck him.” he told her as he got behind her placing his cock into her sex.  Portia reluctantly took in her brother’s cock and sucked him while she herself was fucked and fucked righteously hard.

And speaking of fucked and fucked righteously hard…

*

Things Sunday School Never Taught Me

 	Hwy 134 swept around Quarrel Mountain some 24 miles before turning suddenly into State Route 30 and was often called (by the locals who traveled it) Round Mountain Way.  Then, to add to the confusion, SR30 connected briefly with Desert Hwy 14 then split going to Mishap Mountain and Gingerdale.  
	And as for services?  Gas, food, lodging, State Highway Patrol, towing, etc. was sparse.  Turquoise Village that intersected 4-Korners Korral where SR 30 and 14 met with Desert Rd. 70 up from the South and Longways Hwy from the East was the only “services” available.  The next services going North from the Village was fifty miles past the Split to Vusqual; to the East was the Air Force Base, sparse housing about, small stores to support but nothing major.  
	Sonja Arasmess swung her late-late model station wagon around the long sweeping corner noting the water temperature climbing-climbing-climbing.  All the windows in the car was down and even the rear window on the “hatch” was raised up for air flow.
	The heat of the day was just about unbearable.  Just about—and traipsing about the desert-side with six children just wasn’t a good idea.  Somehow she had missed the turn-off to Aliforn City where she was supposed to meet with some church leaders to take her brood on a camping excursion.  
	“We don’t have much in the way of camping supplies or anything.” She had told Harold Riven one of the leaders for the young peoples’ camping trips.
	“That’s ok,” he told her calmly, “we’ll provide everything that’s needed.”
	Sonja was relieved, since becoming a Single Parent the extras of providing for her many children had been trying.  She provided well enough for what they immediately needed—clothing, food, schooling—the essentials.  Extras were hard to come by and if not for the solid relationship she had with her church it would be damned impossible.
	Once around the bend of the rough looking hilly mountain there was a downgrade; Sonja wisely put the shift selector into neutral and held her foot lightly over the brake allowing the car to “idle” and coast down the lone two-lane desert highway.
	Where she was she had no idea.  The mile markers gave her little idea where she was as they were written in code for the highway workers and patrol and not for the general driving public.  She “felt” like she was heading south but she couldn’t be sure.  The crappy mini globe directional navigator attached to the cracked brown dashboard didn’t help.  The water temperature gauge continued to rise to the “H”.
	Not one car had she seen since making the fatal turn over an hour ago.
	There were two “splits” on 14, the first one sent drivers on a round about traverse back to the 14—it was a big circle for no particular reason.  There were many off-roads to the various depleted mines in the area but mostly Junction 14 made a 40 mile round trip on itself.
	The other split from the 14 went off to the desert sand and Old South Vusquall, the first town of the northern high desert area from back in the early 1800s.  Only the locals knew the differences of the “splits”.  
	Sonja wasn’t a local.
	At the bottom of the grade she put the shifter back into Drive and a red light came on on the dashboard CHECK ENGINE.  That wasn’t good.

The Horrid
	“I feel like shit!” quipped X-man.
	“That’s good,” scoffed Scum, “’cause you LOOK like shit!”
	A great rousing cacophony of voices erupted with X-man giving Scum “the finger.”
	The day was hot, which was not unusual for any day in Summer in the high desert of Vusquall Crossing.  
	“We’s gonna do anythin’ today or just shoot shit?”
	“Could go up to Bent Pines,” said Booger, “might be cooler up there.”
	“Gettin’ low on beer.” said Vile.
	“Gettin’ low on everything.” spoke up Fuckwad.
	“Gonna have to make a raid, looks like.” Shit-for-Brains said sitting up and stretching.
	“Might as well go do something,” said Scum, “gettin’ tired lookin’ at yer ass.”
	The Horrid gang slowly motivated themselves from under the shade of a lone great oak.  Vusquall Patch was a long abandoned Mom/Pop roadside eatery taken over by the Horrid motorcycle gang.  The gang had made the roadside haven their home, their hangout.  
	The leader of the Horrid wasn’t a big bruiser but good enough to maintain his position.  For five years he had helmed the gang and had earned their respect.  He was in his mid forties, a little gray on the temples, a little swagger to his step, and had more kills under his belt than any other member in the group.
	Shit-for-Brains, the lieutenant of the group had the second best kill ratio; he was a big fella with a little Mexican in his blood.  He had narrow squinty eyes and once when a State Highway Patrolman told him he was going to be ticketed for not wearing a helmet, Shit-for-Brains said, quote “fuck you and your ticket, too” and SHOVED the patrolmen over his own car and down a rough embankment.
	Vile held the rank of Nasty Sergeant and though he had a low kill score he earned his position as one who was a reliable back-up and a skillful man with a variety of weapons.  He gave no backlip and followed orders only from Shit or Bastard, the leader.  He listened to the former leader, Xavier Miballsrbigg, leader emeritus when seeking his counsel.
	Scum was the youngest Horrid and held the rank of Sergeant last Class.  Not a lot of kills under his belt but he saved the life of Bastard during a “set-up” from a rival northern gang.  

	Booger held no rank, he didn’t want one but was ordained as “Mechanic Supreme.”  Anything that went wrong with any of the Horrid bikes and Booger was the one who scrounged for parts and made the bike rideable.
	Fuckwad was the group’s Command Sergeant Major.  It was Fuckwad’s duty to keep the others in line, keep them supplied with their needs—weapons, food, drink, pussy, whatever.  He had a few “kills” notched on his belt but he didn’t brag about them or make note of same.
	Cockbreath was in his mid 50s and was actually the Second in Command.  He had maps, he knew hiding places, he knew contacts, he knew backroads, whorehouses, and where rival gangs roamed.
	Xavier Miballsrbigg had started the Horrid gang as far back as the late 50s.  At the height of popularity in the late 60s and early 70s the gang hand numbers in the 50s.  The main group consisted of an even dozen with others scattered about the desert and neighboring cities.
	The group mounted their metal thundering rides and headed off to make a “raid” on some unsuspecting place of one kind or another.  The day was hot and what lay ahead was a virtual unknown—but the Horrid was always ready for the unexpected.

	Sonja Arasmess was not prepared for the unexpected and her 40ish year old heart virtually stopped when the red light on the dash of her late model station wagon began to flash.
	“If the Check Engine light comes on,” said an associate slash mechanic friend of hers from her church, “but,” he cautioned, “if it starts flashing you need to stop immediately.”
	The Check Engine light intimidated her—and frightened her.  There was no signs along the road telling where she was or where she was going.  The road snaked thru Bald Snake Mountain, the number “14” was on the white mile markers indicating that she was still (possibly) on the desert highway but “where” exactly she had no idea.
	The Sun scorched the desert and did doubly on the cracked paved road.  On the right was Bald Snake Mountain stretching up some hundreds of feet, craggy, chipped, and formidable.  To the other side stood up smaller hills casting off more heat like from an oven.
	Wisps of smoke began to billow out from under the hood of the car and it began to lurch and make an awful sound.  This was not good.  The Oil light came on, the transmission temp gauge bounced, the water temp gauge was all the way over and the car finally died coasting to a stop along the gravely side designated as the emergency lane.
	For a minute Sonja sat still with rivers of sweat cascading down her neck and breasts.  Her own thoughts of dread for a time drowned out the anxious voices of her children.  The older ones were just as much frightened and concerned with her oldest son, Jordan wanting to get out and hoof it.
	“You’re not “hoofing” it anywhere.” spoke harshly his Mom.
	“I GOTTA PEE!” announced ten year old Vivian.
	“ME TOO!” chimed in eleven year old Mason.
	Sonja closed her eyes hoping that when she opened them a state trooper would be pulling up to assist her or there would be a sign “just down the way” telling her of her destination was close.
	But no; upon opening her eyes the glare and heat of the day basted her and she felt ill.  The car’s doors were opened and the Arasmess children had bailed.  It wasn’t as hot (strangely) outside the car it was just that the car offered protection from the blistering heat.
	No trees, no bushes, no shrubs—just rocks.  Boulders-boulders-boulders.  Those who had a Pee emergency scrambled out of sight behind one of the closest boulders to do their business.  Sonja sat still realizing that she herself needed to go.  She held it; her clothes were beginning to seriously dampen as her sweat accumulated more and more.  The air in the car was stifling almost taking her out.
	“Mom?” asked her oldest child, Daphne.
	“Mom?” 
	“Mom?”
	“MOM?”
	The panicky shriek of Daphne finally brought Sonja around and after a moment she finally moved out of the car.  It had to be 115 degrees—at least.  No water, no food.  It was supposed to be a simple jaunt to take the kids to the staging area.  
	Looking over her bedraggled family,
	“Where’s Olan?”
	Daphne blushed and nodded to a jutting boulder.
	Calligh and Vivian slumped against a boulder that was in the shade fanning themselves with their short proper dresses according to their faith.  Usually, Sonja, would warn her children of such act as the act of fanning to cool themselves also revealed themselves…
	And Sonja knew it must be hot ‘cause boys Jordan and Mason weren’t fighting.  It was too hot to fight.  It was too hot to do anything and it was only 2 o’clock in the blessed afternoon!  She was supposed to have met with the deacon by eleven.  

 	Being late wouldn’t that make them wonder and possibly worry?  Wouldn’t the police, or state patrol be notified and a search conducted.  Didn’t the state patrol have airplanes and helicopters?
	Just as Olan came from around the boulder zipping up and did Sonja hear a thunderous noise.  Scanning the skies for a helicopter Sonja prayed for help.  She got a Busy Signal instead.
	The “thunder” was not in the sky but on the road.
	A small black mass of thundering destruction roared up the road taking over both lanes.
	“GET IN THE CAR!” yelled Sonja.  The startled children were frozen for a moment but the approaching thunder motivated them; young Vivian stumbled of course and had to be scooped up by Calliegh.  Meanwhile, Sonja furiously fought to re-start the car that had cooled down some.  The lights continued to flicker but Sonja threw the gear selector into reverse and tromped on the gas pedal.
	Not a lot of guff did the worn out family car have but it did move.
	The encroaching thunder drew closer—closer—and closer.
	Sonja whipped the wheel and turned the car facing the opposite direction yanking the gear select to Drive and once more tromped on the gas pedal.
	The old car belched some hideous smoke and moved at a staggering ten miles per.  The thundering doom came thru the black smoke sniggering and bellowing bashing their dreadful machines into the car; a rider had a chain and broke out the rolled up windows on the passenger side.  Sonja yanked the gear selector to D1 in hopes of giving the transmission more power ‘cause there was no power in the engine—then she whipped the wheel to one side sending the biker with the chain sailing over the dirt berm into a boulder.
	The hill that Sonja had cruised down in neutral minutes earlier slowed the car to five miles per; a huge burly dirty disgusting biker jumped onto the hood of the car and grabbing the windshield wiper hung on while bashing the windshield with a chain.
	Sonja tried to steer the car one way but the mass of bikers had her surrounded and the car was moving less than five miles per.  The biker on the hood stood and “whipped it out”; his cock, and began pissing thru the broken windshield.
	“Git outta the car, bitch,” seethed the biker, “or we’ll drag you out.”
	Sonja Arasmess, Pentecostal mother of six, freaked out, screamed, and had to be dragged out of the car—all the while her six children watched in horror.
disturbing factors disturbingly factored disturbingly
	“What is it?”
	“I don’t know, I feel a disturbance in the Force!” he replied quickly mimicking the small green Jedi character as best he could.
	The day was hot—again, not unusual for any day in Summer.
	Paul Mickelson was settling in in the new digs at best pal’s humble home.  His new pal seemed a little distracted; they had just recently “acquired” Replacements, the Garage Door Gang and after getting acquainted with them personally Mack and Paul grabbed some beer and settled under the misters of the patio.
	Mack seemed distracted if not unnerved and at length arose saying,
	“Going for a ride.” to wit Paul got the unspoken message, “and you’re not invited.”	 Which was ok, Paul didn’t mind and nodded his with the raising of his beer saying “May the Force be with you!”

	There was the van, his rebuilt ’67 Camaro, ’61 Harley, a regular “teacher’s” sedan, and a WWII vintage jeep.  Mack chose the jeep.  Whatever it was—there was something amiss “in the Force.”  He had a feeling, it was disturbing.  He factored in his mood, his way of life, his friend, the Replacements, the EMAD—everything.  But there was nothing to supply him with “whatever” was disturbing him. 
	At the end of the long gravely drive he paused; turning right took him to town; left ways went out to the desert areas.  The state line was four hours away to the left; a major grocery store was to the right at fifteen minutes.  Small desert communities, traveling north of the Bunghole Junction, Sand Canyon, Vusquall lay the more prominent mountainish community of Bushlund and minutes further the state line resort town of Eno.
	The refrigerator needed stocked; the pantry, too.
	The turn-signal indicator indicated “right”; there was no one behind him to see it, no one on the lone remote road, either.  Mack shifted to 1rst and turned Right.
	The WWII vintage jeep sailed along on new tread; the very-very compact motor had been completely restored as well as the complicated transmission.  It needed new paint and accessories (shovel, gas can, spare tire…) but those were “extras” and would come later.  The instrumentation needed work, too—the speedometer indicated he was hooking it along the two laner at 25 mph but Mack knew better than that.
	The distraction of the jeep’s needs distracted Mack’s mindset of the Disturbance he had felt.  Only when coming to the intersection where turning Left took him out to Vusquall and the northern areas just mentioned.

	For many minutes he sat still; the jeep idling listlessly; the air chokingly hot but the skies were becoming unseasonably dark with lethargic clouds beginning to muster as one.  The desert town of Jave, Aliforn City, and Farlo were to the Right.  
	With a sigh and the Force giving him no idea which way to go, Mack turned right onto Hwy 14 and motored toward Farlo.

A horrorful descent
	The hood of the station wagon was hot—skin searing hot; the Horrid who held her to the hood didn’t seem to mind.  Shit-for-Brains stood directly behind ripping her loose denim skirt off then began pawing all over her basic full brief panties.
	The kiddies in the searing hot interior of the car were freaking out.
	Various Horrid members grabbled with the Arasmess family dragging them out and standing them up against the car to “watch” as Shit-for-Brains did his thing.
	The First Thing was dropping his heavily soiled pants.  No undies.  His skin was leathery tan and in need of a serious washing.  His manly manhood stuck out some inches and up against the struggling Sonja it did go.  The Horrid gang erupted into a chorus of maniacal laughter watching as the flailing Sonja’s eyes bulged at the presence—penetration of Shit’s massive 8-incher.
	Sergeant Last Class Scum held fifteen year old Daphne to him, close; his grubby grimy hands went up and down her terrified body—twice she stomped on his feet but the man wore heavy duty leather boots and the impact of the girl’s stomp was barely noticeable.
	Sonja grunted as she was reamed—and seared.  Shit-for-Brains howled, gripped her ass hips, and plowed heavily (and hastily) bashing himself against the petrified woman with gusto.
	Nasty Sergeant Vile eyed the boys, Olan and Mason—twelve and eleven respectively.  With a quirky smile and narrowing eyes he said,
	“Strip ‘em.”
	Scum and Booger grabbled with the boys virtually ripping their clothes off.  The boys struggled and tried to fight but they were underpowered for the more powerful Horrids.  Once naked they were heavily swatted on the ass with Olan being hefted up onto the car—his shredded clothes placed there so as not to scorch his blistered bum.  Then,
	“Suck him.”
	Sonja’s mind was already blitzed—and upon hearing the command “suck him” she went further into oblivion.

	Bastard leaned in to whisper into her ear, “suck him, or I’ll cut ‘em off!”
	This didn’t help.  Sonja began to retch and very nearly hurl.
	Fuckwad struck the woman’s well fucked ass with biker chain.
	Somehow, Sonja Arasmess partook of her twelve year old son’s schlong.  The boy was shocked—as was the rest of his watching family.  For a time the intense heat was of no consequence.  The windshield bounced off the sun’s heat tenfold virtually baking the boy’s backside; his hands got burnt as he steadied himself, legs open, cock being sucked…

*

a little distraction in the Force
	Pink shoes, pink patches on pants, pink open shirt with a pink undershirt.  It was a safe bet that she probably had pink panties on, too.  Pink hair braids, pinkish lip bloss; pink fingernails, pink earrings.  It was guessed the ten year old’s favorite color was “pink.”
	With her was a girl who had no particular color; she wore a denim beret with turquoise studs all over it; a denim jacket with studs, TIGHT jeans, and a nice green tee shirt top.  For ten years old, the girl had a nicely developing “chest.”
	The girls were together at a chain restaurant impatiently waiting for their parents to pay their bill.  A boy, was impatient and made his way out thru the gathered throng of peoples at the cashier’s stand and out side where he found some small stones to chuck at the birds on the nearby phone lines.
	One such “chuck” smashed the window of a nearby car.  The “chucker”, eight year old Keith Molina, little brother of one of the impatient still inside the restaurant, dashed around the corner out of sight while the damaged car had a conniption fit.
	The small gathering of peoples who had been inside the restaurant came out to see what was going on—including the “chucker’s” sister and her friend, Erica.  As much as the owner of the car never knew what hit him (his car), the children didn’t know what hit them, either.
	 Dolly Molina and her friend, Erica Besser were a pair of very nice looking girls.  The boy, the “chucker” and brother of Dolly, was nice, too.  The three rode quietly in the jeep as it sailed effortlessly down the 14, turned onto a lone dirt rode that went up into desert hills.  The day was hot, uncomfortable but things for the three passengers were about to get much more than that.

*

the horror—the horror of the horrid
	Sonja Arasmess was just about out of consciousness as she watched the Horrid motorcycle gang have their way with her family.  One by one the Arasmess family was assaulted in some vile despicable way—eldest daughter Daphne getting a gangbang; thirteen year old Calliegh sucking off those cocks that previously had been in her fifteen year old sister’s cunt; ten year old Vivian got spanked and then sodomized by the vile bikers; oldest boy, Jordon James Arasmess tried to be the hero and fight back but was pummeled into utter submission and thusly sodomized by not all the bikers but several.
	Twelve year old Olan and eleven year old Mason were spanked and sodomized but they had to “spank and sodomize” one another.  It was a vile thing and something the Horrid enjoyed—forcing others to do something despicable to someone else (usually a family member.)  Already they had Sonja suck off her sons one by one and as the day’s heat settled to a flat all out skin scorching burn—a new round of depraved diabolical deviltry befell the Arasmess family.

	Ben Redmoon and half-brother Tonga slowly came up to the derelict station wagon; the bashed windows, flattened tires, and scattered articles of clothing told the two American Indians something bad had happened.  And it was another safe bet that The Horrid had something to do with it.
	Tonga got off of ’48 Indian and stooping down scooped up a pair of rent panties.  Green tinted, small.  Ben sighted another pair of panties, then another.  Boys’ underwear was all around, too.
	Tonga sighed, shook his head saying, “They didn’t come our way.”
	Ben nodded and shaking his head said, “No, they went back to their lair.”
	“Big family.” Tonga said.
	“Not any more.” surmised Ben.	
	“We should tell someone?” Tonga wondered aloud.
	Ben unzipped and pissed off the side of the road, farted, then shook his head, “No, wouldn’t do any good—too late now (for them—the family.)”
	Ben plopped onto his bike but didn’t fire it up.
	Tonga squinted his eyes, cocked his head listening intently “up the road.”
	“They coming back.”

*

fancy meeting you here
	Pink panties!  Pink shoelaces, pink shoes; pink outer shirt, dark pink undershirt; pinkish pants with deep pink patches; pink hair pieces; pink trainer; and lastly—pink panties.
	Pink was Dolly Molina’s favorite color.
	Green was Erica Besser’s favorite color but she didn’t cover herself in one color scheme of the like—regular short jean britches; deck shoes; short sleeved off-white but green stripped shirt (buttoned and tucked) with a light lime green undershirt with a great bullfrog emblazoned on the front with a daisy in its mouth.
	Green hair braids in her somewhat styled auburn hair; and green panties.  (green ankle socks, too!)  The girl wore braces, emerald earrings, and a watch with a green band.  Her bra was white.
	On her back lay Dolly with her pants and panties at her ankles, knees up, legs open—revealing.  Her young impressionable mind mindless; she stared up to the pale blue sky just staring—and sweating.  The air was stifling with no let up for hours to come.
	Beside her, Erica Besser, best friend, was positioned on her knees, naked.  Her legs were spread out a bit and “some guy” was caressing her thighs and especially her very warm ass.  Right behind her was eight year old Keith Molina with eyes bulging mind on fire.
	So was his young eight year old cock.
	Though the air was stifling and searing—they were not right out in the open scorching air.  Off of Desert Way 14 on a lone dirt road that wound its way up to the six hundred foot level of some rustic hills was a secret secluded spot Mack enjoyed.  It had some bent awkwardly pines, a disenfranchised oak, and a cistern.  The cistern was a pond not too deep but clear and cool and fed by some underground spring.  It was not level with the surroundings; to get in you jumped and to get out you climbed.  The sides weren’t steep (but they were HOT) with plenty of handholds and a ledge just under the surface.  Usually the pond was some eight feet deep, some days it was less and other days it was more.
	The thing about the reclusive pond was the healing properties.
	No, it isn’t the same pond in the “Pike Elsworth” story (and we will be getting back to him (eventually) but the pond has similarities just the same.

	Upon arrival, the trek from where the jeep came to park and the final destination where Mack wanted to go was made without too much trouble.  The air temp hovered in the mid teens of the 100 degree mark.  No air movement whatsoever.  The girls barely were able to respond to Mack’s minding device and Keith didn’t seem to be “captured” at all.  But the boy obeyed and the girls did, too.  It was too damn hot to argue!
	Up the small winding path thru the great boulders up a hundred feet to where there was at least shade from the misshapen trees.  Mack had the girls get undressed and the boy, too.  Keith stared and stared at the girls—mostly to his sister but Erica got his attention, too.
	“You and your sister fool around?” Mack asked of the boy.
	The eye-bulging boy shrugged, “Kind of.”
	“Tell me.” Mack said in a firm demanding voice.
	Keith sighed, he’d gotten a severe bare ass butt spank for the “kind of” fooling around with his sister—they simply went naked in the house.
	“And your sister,” Mack had to ask, “did she get spanked, too?”
	“Yes.”
	Other than “going naked in the house” together, not much else happened.  They DID pee in the backyard in the middle of the night; they DID check out more closely the other’s “parts”; and in the bathroom they DID—well, “fool around.”
	“Explain.”
	“Dolly pulled her panties down and I put my pee-pee against her butt.”
	Only this—and nothing more!  
	Well, he did rub the girl’s butt, up and down and all around.  No penetration and not even into the crack!  The boy DID get to rub his penis against her pussy when she turned around but they were scared they’d get caught (again) so they quit.  That was last week.
	In the bright day of sunlight the full viewing of Dolly and Erica was right there for the enjoyment of viewing.  Keith’s little eight year old schlong was very-very erect.
	“Do you know how to fuck?” Mack asked.
	Keith turned red—redder than what Mother Nature was cooking him.
	“Would you like to FUCK your sister?”
	Keith’s mind was about to explode—so much so that he really couldn’t answer.  But, yeah—yeah he did, he DID want to fuck his sister.  He wasn’t particularly sure of all exactly how to go about it but he knew the general concept.
	And Erica, too—yeah, he wanted to fuck her for sure.

	But it was hot—sweltering hot.
	Keith got up against his sister and once more began to rub his aching cock against her super fine tweeny butt.  On instruction from Mack, though,
	“Put it between the cheeks.”
	Keith did so and that was ok briefly.
	Thing was—it was fucking hot!
	The EMAD thingy was ok and had worked well in the beginning.  But the oppressive heat made the mental connection a little trying.  No matter, guile, forceful vocal commands, and balls kept the three kids in line and upon seeing the nice—cool—refreshing water didn’t worry about it’s depth or anything else.  Gleefully and readily they jumped into the water—from the lip of the blistering hot sand and rocky surface surrounding the amazing pond to the surface was some six feet or so.  Mack stripped off his clothing and no one seemed to noticed…

	“Bob-bob-bob, splash-splash-slash and a couple of nods up and down;  no one’s safe after they say grace--when the tin man blows into town.” Sung to the tune of The Wizard of Jiz (er, Oz).  Well, it was better than the relentless-mindless “Marco!” to wit answered the chorus “Polo!”  The kids’ cares floated away on the ripples formed in the secluded pond; the day’s hours were wearing down and more than once did Mack the girls to come “sit on his lap” and ride the magic donkey…
	Erica was the only one who “claimed” to have touched the bottom of the pool.  Once out, the girl was once more positioned on her hands and knees; the day was less warm—there still was no air movement but it was less stifling than it had been.  The nearest paved road was some twenty miles away.
	Once more and Keith was up against his sister’s best friend rubbing his young willy all over her ass.  His sister, Dolly, lay on her back, naked, legs open, fingering herself methodically while unknowingly masturbating Mack.  Keith didn’t pay that route much attention and settled to making anal attempt entry.  He firstly had to “probe” the girl’s hole with his finger—then his tongue applying a bit of spittle before fully making hey.
	Once he was in—there was no stopping him.  Erica’s hole was “tight” and virginal.  The boy made dutiful entry humping tenaciously for several minutes before experiencing something relatively close to an orgasm.  At eight years young, though, the boy only had the briefest notion of what a true orgasm was about.

	Keith would hump Erica’s asshole two more times before Mack took his turn.  The boy also “broke-in” his own sister but humped her pussy instead of her asshole—this after discovering the savory indulgence of cunnilingus.  He had heard of “eating out at the Y” but didn’t know particularly its exact reference.  
	Erica made a face and wasn’t sure about the ordeal, either.
	Dolly had moved from handling Mack’s cock to sucking it.

	Vusquall Desert didn’t “cool off” until hours after sunset.  Then it really cooled off until a couple hours after sunrise.  Go figure.  Anyways, despite his young age, Keith Molina had amazing stamina—in the hard cock department.  After multiple penetrations to his sister and Erica the boy amazingly managed to maintain a suitable boner.  Mack liked—a lot!
	Keith James Molina had long silky hair of dirt brown; brown eyes, and had more than his share of scars.  Optimum word there—had.  After a dunking in the mysterious remote pool those scars were gone.  So were the numerous knicks, bruises, scratches, and scrapes.  All gone.
	Whether the boy enjoyed humping-penetrating his sister or her best friend wasn’t clear.  Nor did it matter.  Pussy, asshole, mouth—it was all good and both girls gave the youngster “good feelings.”  Those “good feelings” ensured his drive; instilled upon him that like being hooked on some drug, sex was his main goal in life.
	He was less thrilled with Mack fondling him, sucking him, and very muchly less enthused with being buggered himself.  His sister and Erica watched as he was bum robbed on his hands and knees, then on his back, then—THEN sitting on the man’s lap at the small campfire.  It was then and there the girls had to suck the boy’s cock, lick-suck his balls, and one-more-time take his little boy dick to their pussy and/or asshole before laying down to sleep for the night.
	Turd Burglar:  Police Report (Minnesota):  First burglar we got, eh; the second burglar we got, eh; but da turd burglar got away, eh.
	Turd Burglar:  Hamburglar’s more fusty and less popular predecessor  

	Dinner had consisted of hotdogs—without the buns and lots of sodas.  Usually the kids weren’t allowed to have multiple sodas or so late at night.  But there was a reason, and shortly before midnight it was Dolly who arose first for the Call of Nature’s Need.  

	The young girl sat up looking a little more than simply confused.  Her hair was all mused up, eyes still very sleepy, but the pressure of her bladder motivated her to sit up and get her bearings.  
	The EMAD had initially walloped the kids well enough, but for some inexplicable 	reason it failed.  The unit itself showed that it was working, it even revealed the fact that there was a “link” from the minding device to the kids’ minds, but that was all.  
	But that was ok, Mack used simple force of severe discipline should the kids disobey OR run off.  Fear was also a great motivator to keep someone in line without the use of restraints.  Still, though—
	Mack slept lightly, the kids got the use of most of the blankets he had brought along, so he had one army blanket to cover him prompting him to keep close to the small campfire—but not too close so as to disrupt his visual check on Dolly, Erica, and Keith.
	“Gotta pee?” he asked of Dolly.
	The young girl was still confused, brushed some loose strands of hair out of her face, farted, then nodded.  Mack smiled and took her hands standing her up—then moving her off to one side of their small camp.
	“Spread your legs.” he told the young girl.  
	Dolly stretched slightly, shook her head as if to try and clear it, had a face of severe confusion and extreme tiredness.  But she spread open her stance and soon commenced to peeing—the remarkable science of gravity took over allowing the girl’s bladder to become gladder.
	Three sodas, a bottle of water, and Dolly Jane Molina had a piss storm five minutes after midnight!  She tooted, too.  She didn’t care and didn’t particularly be aware that a naked man with a raging hard-on was holding her hands while she stood butt naked in some area of the desert peeing.
	After returning Dolly to where she had been sleeping, tucking her in so to speak, it was her best friend, Erica’s turn.  The golden brown haired girl was equally confused and easily manipulated—she came to stand inches from where her friend had peed.  Dolly had beginnings of pubic hairs coming in on her young cunt—friend Erica maintained an absolute smooth hairless cunt.  Mack fingered the cunt, rubbed/caressed the ass and enjoyed immensely the act of seeing a girl pee (while standing up!)
	Once back under her own covers, Keith shot his head up announcing, “I gotta pee, too!”
	Mack smiled and took him by the hands…

Cum stains—on your shoulders, make me horny
	Posted on a small sign at the city limits:
	No vehicle without a driver may exceed 60 miles per hour
	Riding a bicycle in any swimming pool is strictly prohibited!
	No dog shall be in a public place without its master on a leash
	It is not permitted to wear cowboy boots
          (unless there are at least two cows in the barn)
	All dog “waste” must be removed from yard within 7 days
	No bowling on sidewalk at any time
	Detonating a nuclear device within city limits will result in a fine
	No sleeping on public or private roadways
	It is prohibited to be drunk on any given Sunday
	It is illegal to drive more than fifty sheep in any direction of
          Boulevard Lane
	It is illegal for a man to beat his wife with a strap wider than 2 inches 
	without her consent
	It is illegal to lick toads
	It is unlawful for roosters to crow within city limits
	Camels are not allowed on city streets (at any time)
	Motor vehicles may not drive on city streets unless a man with a 
	lantern is walking ahead of it
	The owners of houses with Christmas lights on them past February
 	2nd  may be fined up to $250
	No elephants on city streets unless with master on a leash
	It is not illegal but is suggested not to wipe vehicle windshield with 
	used underwear
	Giving oral sex is illegal; receiving, however, is still ok
	You may not take flowers from the city cemetery
	It is advisable for males not to dress as females within city limits
	(I’m still thinking about the law against licking toads…)

	How on earth the American Indians survived living in desert areas was beyond Mack’s comprehension.  It was just too damned hot to do anything constructive!  Hours after the sun had kissed the desert sand and the insufferable heat was already leaching away his energy and drive.  It was almost too hot to fuck.
	Almost.

	Dolly’s brother had fucked her three times, got off in her ass(hole) twice, and many times in her mouth.  Mack wished the boy was old enough to cum, he would have liked to see jiz leaking out of the girl’s three holes.  Erica also got banged and buggered by Keith—the boy was very-very happy to help the cause of Mack—paving the way for the man to properly introduce himself as a bastard.  
 	Dolly was the first to receive his love tool; despite her brother having fucked her repeatedly the pussy was still tight—snug-snug-snug.  That was okay with Mack, he glided his hot rocket against the girl’s pocket then made respectful penetration.
	Dolly gripped the hot sand beneath her, gasped aloud, bulged her pretty eyes and couldn’t believe the audacity of the naked vile man.  She arched her back and wriggled; Mack caressed her ass, slapped/spanked her ass, and slid most of his manly manhood into her ass for a duty free fuck fest.
	
*

welcum to my horror
	The oppressive heat was—oppressive.  Heavy laden was the air making even the simplest tasks—like breathing, difficult.  Tied to wooden stakes impaled into the hard hot ground, naked, spread eagled, made breathing near impossible.  Sonja “her ass in a mess” Arasmess struggled to breath, thinking, and live.  
	Fifteen year old Daphne tried-tried-tried to “keep it together”.  As a budding artist she had learned somewhat to remember details—she hoped and prayed that when it was over she would be able to give authorities exact descriptions of the horrible biker gang.  But as the hot day(s) wore on and the outlandish sexual abuse continued to perpetuate—Daphne’s mind began to unravel.  The more she was a captive of the Horrid the more she became compliant.  Mostly, at first, it was to save her family—like when her thirteen year old sister, Calliegh had to put her mouth around the tailpipe of one of the Horrid motorcycles—if Daphne didn’t comply to the Horrid wishes then the biker sitting on the motorcycle would turn on the motor.
	Calliegh, too, was assaulted while her mouth was around the exhaust port of the bike; already her young teen naked body was seared by the sun; she got the belt from one of the bikers, then roughly sodomized by as many as five others before she passed out.  When she awoke from a wash of several bikers urinating on her she was once more placed to suck on leader’s bike.

	So Daphne sucked off the leader of the Horrid; then sucked on two more men before giving lip service to her brothers, Jordon, Olan, and Mason.  All three boys were cummers but at the time of being sucked on by their sister they already had engaged sexually with their sisters AND Mother.  Olan and Mason had sodomized one another after admitting loudly that they did so at home, too.
	Daphne barely managed to get Olan “off.”  Jordon and Mason were cummed out—so they all were spanked with motorcycle chains until Daphne passed out.  Young Olan rushed one of the bikers and was backhanded so hard he lost consciousness in midair as he was flung backwards slamming up against a boulder.
	Mason and Jordon charged the disgustingly naked hairy biker called “Scum” and it was quite hilarious (for Scum’s cohorts) to watch two naked young boys try and take the six foot six man down.  Mason did manage to grab Scum’s cock and balls and give as mighty a squeeze as he could.  Jordon got one of the wooden stakes used to secure his Mom and stab it into Scum’s backside.
	The laughter was over with Shit-for-Brains and Fuckwad jumping in to save their stalwart companion.  Shit secured Mason, flinging the naked boy over the hot seat of a motorcycle and whipping him with a greasy bike chain; Fuckwad managed to pin Jordon against a boulder and promptly sodomize the fourteen year righteously.
	The breath of life was slowly ebbing away from Sonja as she watched the horrible torment unto her children.  “DAMN YOU!” she exclaimed in an unquavering voice.  “DAMN YOU TO HELL!”
	It was highly uncharacteristic of the religious woman to curse so; her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw and bleeding as she wrestled against the tight rope bindings.  The biker gang paused; then,
	“Lady, that’s where we’re from!”
	Laughter all around erupted from the gang as Xavier Miballsrbigg Leader Emeritus made his comment.  The torment to the Arasmess family was really—only beginning.
	Olan Arasmess twitched as he lay slumped against the boulder then slowly slumped even more.
	“Hey,” said Cockbreath squatting down, “I think this little fucker’s dead.”
	Vile, Nasty Sergeant, grabbed up a holt of the boy’s thick dirty hair slamming the head back into the rock.  He squinted at the boy and stared-stared-stared.

	“He aint breathin’,” said Vile, “fucker must be dead.”
	Second-in-Command Cockbreath shook his head, “Damn shame, I didn’t get the chance to fuck him!” 
	“Well, shit,” chortled Vile, “you’ll just have to hump one of the others twice!”
	The “others” referenced were just about done in themselves; they lay twitching on the hot sand with Olan gasping for breath.
	“You fucking bitches wanna live thru this,” said Bastard, leader of the Horrid, “and you don’t wanna be like yer brothers,” he waved his hand slowly to the dead and dying boys, “then you best behave and do what the fuck is told you to do.”
	Daphne retched and then hurled.
	Calliegh whimpered and Vivian curled up into a tight fetal position.

	“OH, GOD!” screamed out into the bleak night Calliegh.  A biker was in her asshole—all the way in her asshole.  Another grungy scum sucking dirt bag was in her pussy—all the way into her thirteen year old pussy.  Laying on her side in the still very warm dirt the girl was hammered doubly so.  The desert air was cooling, there was a half moon hanging listlessly just two hands up from the horizon.  The poor girl had no idea where she was, there was some old-old-old buildings to one side, the remains of some other buildings on the other.  A fence that supposedly served at one time as a coral; there were some trees but in the dark she wasn’t sure what kind there were.
	Vivian was on her hands and knees with a biker plowing her sweet young ass from behind her—a bike chain fashioned around her neck like a dog collar.
	Two other bikers double teamed Daphne while another biker beat Mason’s ass while he fucked his unconscious Mother.  The campfire flickered creating odd shapes on the surrounding boulders; the cries of the Arasmess family, the nighttime creatures, the burping-farting-laughing of the grunting grungy Horrid allowed for twelve year old Olan to “slip away.”
	He wasn’t missed until hours later when night segued into day and Bastard noted the supposed “dead boy” gone.
	“Git yer fucking sorry asses up!” he bitched kicking naked bikers at his disposal.  “One of them’s got away, go git him!” he barked loudly (and angrily.)
	“An’ don’t fuckin’ comes back until you got ‘im!” added Xavier.
	Several bikers pulled their clothes on and began their search.
	Thing was, though, Olan hadn’t “slipped away” after all…

*

the fuck of it
	He didn’t know why what was happening was happening and felt badly that his new best pal, Paul, wasn’t along to enjoy it.  It wasn’t intended, the capture and seduction of Dolly, Erica, and Keith.  It hadn’t been planned.  He did send a message to his pal that he was Ok and still on a mission seeking out the disturbance in the Force.  Paul was worried and concerned but was assured that all was ok.
	After one more round with Dolly, her brother, and Erica, Mack ditched them at a rest stop on the other side of an air force base then took a desert dirt road north from that base further out into the rugged desert hills.  The vintage WWII jeep handled the “trail” easily taking him up to the five hundred foot hill known to the locals as Suvack-Crystal Mountain part of an ancient volcano.
	Fuck if it wasn’t hot!  Thankfully there was plenty of water and not too far off there was the dump site for Cubeck City, then the golf course.  Cubeck City was a small-small town and not much in the way of a “city”.  It was good for retired peoples and those who liked a little warmth to their cold souls.  The golf course was ok, there were two public swimming pools and all the homes had some sort of a pool in the backyard.  
	Desert Hwy 14 was just beyond, a dingy equally ancient trailer park, a larger “city” more suited for travelers to the south.  A whole lot of nothing but searing hot rugged boulders, canyons, depressions, a roving biker gang, some mines, small mining towns, and all points north to the mountain communities, state border towns, casinos, all places much-much cooler.
	But where he was currently was no where near being cool.
	His thought processes, though, kept him bound up.  There was a disturbance in the Force.  He couldn’t explain it, but something—somewhere, was amiss.  Definitely.  
	It was too hot to wait and figure it out—whatever was wrong wasn’t going to come to him; he was going to have to get motivated and go find it himself.  As he “motivated” the jeep down the steep decline of the ancient volcano to the flat desertscape he knew that he shouldn’t go it alone.  After refreshing himself with a brew and another brew in Cubec City he made another call home.
	“Bring the van.”
	He didn’t know why but he “just had a feeling.”  Go with the Force, it’s the best feeling there is.

*

of it, we’re fucked
	“I think we should start heading back.” Bradley said coming around the great boulder.  She finished zipping up and buttoning up—catching the wary eye of her young friend, Josh.  Other friend, Melody, nodded in agreement.
	“Why does the desert gotta be so hot!” 
	Bradley wasn’t even going to attempt answering that one.  Sometimes her friend personified the “blond” stereotype.  But then again, too, Melody often made jokes at her own expense and/or made references no one else got.  It confused Bradley (and everyone else).  She let it go, mopped her brow and neck then collected her daypack.
	“You think Old Benny was pulling our leg?”
	Bradley adjusted the daypack and somewhat regretted the long trek back to the ranch a good two hours walk away.  Although they had hiked some six hundred feet up to the rocky ridge—it wasn’t any cooler at that elevation—in facts—it was hotter!
	“I dunno,” Bradley replied to Josh, “maybe.”
	“A hidden pool would be great to find right about now.” Melody commented.  She fanned herself with her shirt soaked with sweat and poured water from her canteen.
	“You’d better hold on to some of that water,” Bradley cautioned, “we’ve got a long ways back to go.”
	Melody nodded but felt refreshed by the water drenching anyways.
	“We should have taken our horses.” Melody somewhat grumbled.
	“Too hot, this climb would have not been good for them.”
	“It’s not good for us!” commented Josh.
	The trio turned, Bradley Maceti, sixteen years young led the way back down the twisting path to the hot-hot desert floor; fifteen year old friend Melody Christon followed with thirteen year old Josh Bieutumph taking up the rear.  His young eyes (and cock) focused solely on Melody’s tight-tight ass.  
	The small group of friends who worked at a nearby dude ranch wound their way down having missed the pool they sought by a few minutes walk north.
	The trek down, of course, was much faster than the trek up.  Old Benny was the resident Indian of the ranch; he spewed forth great stories of Indian lore, including the one about a mysterious hidden pool that had miraculous healing powers.

	A cold-cold shower was going to feel great.  Some lemonade, something from the kitchen, then maybe a walk away from the horseshit with “Bo” Rivers the resident cowboy.  Bo was barely 20, Bradley was sixteen (and a half) years young.  He kind of liked so she thought (and hoped); they did dance together and so far as she knew he wasn’t hanging with any other girls.  
	Melody had thoughts on a cold shower, too; then a nosh in the dinning room and then hanging with some of the others who worked at the ranch as well as some of the visitors she had gotten to know.
	Josh wanted to go for a swim—after having a bite at the dinning hall, too.   Next time, he was taking his horse—fuck walking!
	The trio made the last turn before the thirty minute walk to the ranch.
	It was the last thing any of them remembered clearly.

Rude awakenings
	Secured securely to the old rickety fence post (that wasn’t so rickety as she couldn’t break it and be free) Melody Christon was in fits.  The air was hot—damn hot; she was tied up (to the rickety fence post); and after so long a time—she had to pee.
	Which was, of course, the kidnapper’s desire.
	“Piss your pants (for me).” the man hoarsely whispered.	 
	“Go fuck yourself!” Melody exclaimed.  She was frightened and well scared and concerned for her welfare but had enough fight in her to resist the sorry sonofabitch who wanted some sort of cheap thrill.
	“Suit yourself.” seethed the man who pressed his body against her.
	Melody fought off the confusion in her head; closed her eyes tightly and hoped that when she opened them she would be at the ranch.
	No such luck.
	Her head hurt, it was hella hot, she was hungry, and tied up to an old rickety fence “somewhere” in the desert ridge that ran most the length of the desert.  It was hard to breathe—harder still due to the circumstances of being kidnapped, tied up, and some creep of a man wanting her to pee herself.
	Before her was Bradley and Josh.
	Bradley was on her hands and knees, Josh was off to one side.  There seemed to be another man, too.  Melody’s mind was cooked, it was so hot, there was no air to breathe or cool her.  Suddenly,
	Bradley let out a loud yelp—she let out the loud yelp ‘cause the man who wanted Melody to pee smacked her ass with a belt.  Melody’s eyes bulged; she struggled even more so to breathe and comprehend exclaiming,
	“WHAT THE FUCK!?”
	Another smack followed by another and the belt wielding man came up to Melody saying, “piss your pants, sweetie, or she gets more and then some.”
	“You sick fucking bastard!” exclaimed Melody.
	The man smiled, “Thank you for noticing!” he smacked the belt in the air making it snap, “Now, it’s up to you,” the man continued pressing himself more and more against the teen, including his hand to her crotch, “it’s up to you if your friend gets more attention.”
	Melody’s neck tightened—she hadn’t pissed her pants since she was a kid.  
	The belt cracked again and smacked Bradley’s ass (again) prompting Melody to do what she hadn’t done since she was five.  And once the flow began to flee there was literally no stopping it.  The relief felt terrific but the embarrassment was something else to deal with.

	Meldoy twisted and was aghast after pissing her pants the horrible man undone her pants peeling back the flap—then to add to her horror he began fingering her.  
	‘Calm yourself.’ 
	Melody shook her head as something vile she had mistakenly eaten.  The air was incredibly hot, she was tired, stinky, but then—then she began to feel better.  Her mind went blank and—and she was “calm.”
	Mack sighed and continued fingering the girl out.
	Young Josh Bieutumph stared in utter awe—with a boner staring, too.
	Paulie waited, sweated profusely, and marveled highly the abilities of the minding device.
	Down came Melody’s pants.
	Down came Mack’s pants.
	The summer sun was cooking them (all) so the time spent was to be a lengthy endeavor.  Melody was calm, Bradley was freaking out with horror.  Josh had a boner that wouldn’t quit, Paulie was ready to fuck boulders.
	While Mack continued to play with Melody, Paulie and Josh took their attention to Bradley.  Josh was unsecured and after being told by Mack, “take off your clothes” did so.  The young teen then came up to Bradley who come to be on her knees.  The naked Paul stood before her masturbating blatantly smiling all the while.  Bradley was horrified and not smiling.
	“Suck him.” Mack said as after he lowered Melody’s panties and fed the girl more water.
	Bradley resisted but with the threat of being spanked some more and then one (or both of the others) treated same until she did—she did.

	“Is this your first blowjob giving?” Mack asked as he waited for Melody’s bladder to refill. 
	Bradley was pissed but sucked on the second man’s gangly somewhat misshapen cock.  She managed to shake her head indicating “No.”  Loose strands of her brown hair were pasted to her face; the girl was sixteen and had a decent body for her age—a little taller than most in her peer group but she was average other than that.  And a nice tight butt, too!
	Josh got the task of undoing Bradley’s pants (and taking them down.)
	Mack asked of Melody if she were a virgin.
	Answer:  No.
	Mack was pleased, sort of.  
	“In the ass?” Mack continued.
	That was reported as a solid NO.
	She didn’t give head, either.
	Melody’s “first time” came when she was nigh but twelve years young!  Experimental with a neighbor boy of the same age.  One time only.  Her second experience was with a high school boy when she was in junior high.  One time with him, too.  The third time was with one of the guests at the dude ranch she worked at.  He was seventeen; suave, a caballero, very dashing, and a good fuck.  
	When Melody’s bladder was finally full she was once more talked into releasing the pressure therein.  It thrilled Mack and disgusted Bradley.  Josh was a little awed and after he had gotten Bradley’s pants (and panties) down he got to get his nakedness up against the teen and “put it in her.”
	Thing was, though, it was up to his discretion “where” to put it in her.
	Meanwhile, Paulie was filling the teenager’s mouth with his gangly odd shaped schlong as well as with a bountiful amount of man jiz.  Bradley made faces but engulfed all of the love tool and its squirting cream.
	Josh poked Bradley’s asshole and realized that it WAS her asshole.  Although the boy had heard of “sodomy” and all its associative nomenclatures.  But poke the hole he did before settling on dragging the head of his prick against the girl’s cunt.  Then he somewhat clumsily if not awkwardly made insertion.
	Once in, though, the natural instinct of fucking took over and all the way into her sex he went.  Natural instinct continued with the pumping action.  Josh’s hands locked onto the girl’s hips and the harshness of the desert, being kidnapped, forced into submission mattered not.  The sun baked his bare skin but the humping was all that mattered.

	A long steady stream of pee began to spew from Melody’s cunt.  The flow showered the man’s cock who leaned against her; her shirt and bra had been undone with her western girlie shirt taken down to her bound hands.  The girl remained “calm” and pissed up quite a storm.
	Paul had cum and then some in Brad’s mouth.  Afterwards he took his cock and humped the teenager’s face.  Josh had fucked two-three minutes before unleashing his own torrent of love cream.  It was the most fantastic thing ever!  He had, of course, jerked off ever since finding out how fucking fantastic it was to do so.  But actually sticking his cock into a girl’s cunt and cumming off therein—wow!

a terrible thing happened to a family (it was Horrid)
	A little further away…
	Jordon Arasmess humped with all his might; his backside had been blistered by biker chain and the searing hot summer sun for failure to complete his task twice and he hadn’t much umph left in him.  But if he didn’t cum this time—
	“One of yer fuckin’ sisters will get it!”
	The breath of the Horrid biker breathed right into Jordon’s ear and into his brain creating an image the fourteen year old Arasmess didn’t want to see.  His sisters, Daphne, Calliegh, and Vivian had already suffered greatly at the hands of the despicable bikers and to have them stricken by biker chain, fan belts, and basted by the sun as he had just wouldn’t do.
	So he fucked his Mom—fucked his Mom—fucked his Mom striving to cum.  Under duress he had had to admit his sexual improprieties—screwing his sister Daphne, humping the ass of his other sisters.  A girl in his social; another girl a little younger—
	“How young?” asked Shit-for-Brains.
	“Francine Betterman.” Jordon replied.
	“That not what I asked!” yelled Shit and he struck the boy with the broken fan belt across the lad’s legs.  Jordon arched his back and cried then cried out “Ten, she was fucking ten you fucking freak!”
	Whether or not his Mom heard or his surrounding siblings heard the admission was not clear.  Jordon temporarily lost his ability to keep fucking his Mom and was stunned to horrified that he had admitted his secret.
	“An’, uh, jest how freaking old were you?” asked a grizzled hard calloused Fuckwad.
	“It was last year,” cried the boy straining as he remained arched, naked, arms stretched out trembling as he lay on his Mom naked, “couple days after my birthday.” (making him fourteen at the time.)  atta boy!

	Jordon Arasmess finally managed to cum (in his Mom’s cunt).  Afterwards he had to scoot up to straddle her chest, lay his cock between her big momma tits and hump there.  Momma Arasmess was unaware.  She babbled incoherently, tossed her head side to side and lay stretched out on the grungy ground at the biker’s hangout.  
	Every time one of the scruffy bikers needed to pee—he came staggering over to piss onto Sonja Arasmess’ face.  Horrid biker “Booger” did just that as Jordon lightly humped the space between his Mom’s tits.  After he finished peeing, he stood stroking his cock staring at the handsome teen, then he smiled (farted) and straddled the woman’s head pulling the skin of his dick back.
	“Suck it.” he commanded. 
	Jordon had sucked his brothers, licked out his sisters’ cunts, licked butt hole of his sisters, and sucked the leader of the biker gang—but it wasn’t a preferred thing to do and the man’s cock was not overly “clean.”
	“Suck it, bitch—or take it in the ass!” he seethed and chortled.
	That was even less appealing.  Some choice!  The mouth—or the ass.
	With the shaking of his head and tight lipped closed mouth—the choice was made and Jordon had to “turn around.”  How many Horrid bikers had fucked his ass already he couldn’t remember—the whole event of being in with the bikers was hard enough.  His face was pushed down onto his Mom’s cunt—it was funky and yucky with his fresh spilled cum mixed with the previous fuckings by his other brothers and of course the Horrid.
	Jordon’s ass was fondled, squeezed hard by the fucker who was going to fuck it.  The day was just about done—and so was Jordon.  He had no fight in him and what fight he had had earlier had been beaten out of him.  His balls went into his Mom’s mouth and Booger began sliding his cock into the boy’s hole.
	Horrid biker Xavier came to nestle himself between the woman’s legs—her legs spread out wide with ankles tied to iron railroad spikes spiked into the hard packed desert ground.  He was mostly naked, grungy, grimy, and equipped with a huge hard cock.  The sixty something year old Used to Be Leader (of the Horrid) slammed his cock into the woman and pumped hard for a minute or so—then pulled out and slammed himself into Jordon’s mouth (after all.)  But Jordon hadn’t been asked if he wanted to suck or take it in the ass.
	Jordon thrashed about as the leader emeritus filled his mouth not allowing him to back away and the other biker plowing hard in his ass.  There was retching and gagging and the pain in his hole was reaching limits.
	Suddenly,

	Booger went into convulsions and did his own thrashing.
	Xavier Miballsrbigg stared at his underling with bulging eyes.  His tongue darted in and out of his mouth as if he were a dog.  The fleeting rays of the summer sun made for shadows in the lone biker gang’s hideout—somewhat shielding the exact cause mannerisms of the two grungy bikers.
	Shit-for-Brains and Vile smoked a joint and swigged on some hard liquor; Fuckwad and another biker sat nakedly swaying as their minds were fucked up with something more harsh than marijuana and booze. 
	Only Bastard, current leader of the Horrid, noticed something was wrong.  He stared and stared then watched as Booger fell to the ground with his hands to his throat gasping for air—blood trickling thru his fingers.
	“What the fuck?” Bastard asked a rhetorical question.  An arrow ripped thru the air grazing his head (but piercing his ear).  He stood up stunned and watched as Xavier also fell to the ground sputtering blood out of his mouth gasping for air.
	Too much booze and happy smoke prevented the current leader from fully grasping what was going on.  Jordon Arasmess didn’t know, either, but saw what looked like an arrow thru the neck of the old previous leader.  
	“Hey!” sputtered Bastard as he narrowed his eyes and saw an arrow in Booger’s throat.  “What the fu--”
	Another air ripped the sullen air and pierced his throat right at the gullet.  Another arrow struck him in the chest propelling him backwards pinning him to the one tree in the biker’s encampment.
	Jordon jumped up to his feet—which was unfortunate timing as he got in the way of another arrow destined to finish of the Horrid leader.  The arrow ripped thru the young teen’s body cleanly but left the boy with an even more traumatic trauma than it already had!

	From their vantage point, Ben Redmoon and Tonga let fly their arrows.  Thru the years they had taken out various members of the Horrid gang—this was the first time that they had ever had such success.  It was unfortunate, though, that they hadn’t been able to prevent such destruction to the Arasmess family.  One of the boys had managed to escape (earlier); but he hadn’t really but the Horrid thought he had and scrounged about the desert seeking him out.
	Most of the Horrid took off on their bikes; others scurried about on foot.  “He cant have gotten off far!” bitched the former leader, Xavier.  It was devilishly hot, the rocks and desert surroundings made trekking anywhere formidable to say the least.

	Being naked, no foot wear, no water—young Olan Arasmess couldn’t get very far.  And he didn’t.  He never left the camp!  Only two other bikers remained at the hidden lair of the rogue gang, they were pretty stoned and not much in the way of a threat.  As the heat of the day increased and increased, the young naked twelve year old boy slipped out from his hiding place.
	He had a choice, his naked Mom staked out to the ground or his siblings.  He focused on his naked sister, Daphne.  Being a boy he thought firstly of rescuing his brothers, Jordon and Mason.  But Daphne was the oldest and she was pretty smart, too—for a girl.
	At the last minute, though, Olan made for his Mom to try and free her.  Seemed the logical choice.  But the bindings were too much and he took too much time.
	“Come over here!” bitched sister Daphne.  The young boy frustrated darted to his bound sister, tripped, skidded, and came up with skint knees and heel of hands.  The rope securing Daphne’s hands was pretty tight, too; her ankles she had rubbed raw of skin as she had fought the grungy biker who had bound her.  All the bikers had taken a turn with Daphne with Bastard and Xavier double teaming her.  Shit-for-Brains had taken the task of securing her hands and feet—and gotten a kick to his chest as a result.  After a harsh spanking to settle her down the man roughly tied her up—
	Too tight for young naked Olan to untie.
	He tried with Calliegh and then Vivian before a voice cleared itself behind him—
	“Ahem!  This might help.” 
	Olan whipped around and saw the Horrid biker called “Bastard” standing with a huge knife in his grimy hand.  The man threw the knife expertly slicing the air and sticking the stump of a tree inches from the boy’s head.
	Too stunned was Olan to make a grab for the knife.  Bastard made a whistle noise and three other bikers emerged from the surrounding rocks of the Horrid’s lair.
	“I figured you were smart enough not to go traipsing off into the desert.” He smiled then with a subtle nod to one of his lackies set back and watched as a new terror came to the Arasmess family.

*

happy is he who humps thee
	Josh B would make a fine addition to the Mack Borelin clan; he had some reservations about screwing his friends, Bradley and Melody, but those reservations were the embarrassment and the “knowing.”  The knowing was the girls’ “knowing” that he was boning them (and boning them kind of willingly.)
	And it didn’t matter to what girl OR what hole!  But generally speaking the boy preferred Melody AND preferred humping her pussy.  Mack had the boy hump both girls AND all three of their holes.  Josh managed to cum in Bradley pussy right off.  He fucked ten minutes in Melody’s cunt and didn’t get off—but it felt good just the same.
	Paul screwed the boy’s ass while Mack plowed his mouth hole.  The girls, meanwhile, watched as they sixty-nined.
	Josh wasn’t so much into “receiving” or “giving”—he was curious about “taking it in the ass” as well as giving head AND getting head, but that was about all—he really wasn’t into the gay part of sexual misconduct or any kind of conduct.  He liked girls and was only mildly curious about guys.
	After a brief rest from doinking Bradley, getting fucked in the ass and mouth, the boy resumed his arduous task of making hay with the girls, back to Bradley where he finally managed to fill her teen cunt with his young teen cum.
	Paulie took sloppy seconds while the boy settled on Bradley’s chest titty fucking her.  Bradley worked the boy’s cock and sucked it dry while Mack humped the hell out of Melody’s cunt.
	After a refreshing dunk in the mystery healing pool, Josh took a turn at the girls’ assholes.  Melody first.  Meanwhile, Bradley admitted under duress that most her sexual encounters were not with boys—or girls; but with dogs.
	And a horse.
	A horse?
	Yep—a horsey.
	Two doggies humped her asshole, one of those same dogs humped her cunt.  She and an girlfriend—owner of the doggies, were very naughty and highly experimental.  With the horsey, also owned by the girlfriend, the use of a hay bale was placed under the stud and the girl(s) laid out on the bale, legs open—stark naked, too, by the way.  Then the other girl whacked the horse off until he orgasmed shooting a massive load of horse cum all over the other girl’s willing cunt.

	The girls would press the horse dick to one another trying to get the head into the crevice of the friend.  Not much luck there but there was a lot of fun in trying!
	Mack thought Bradley would be a good “addition” to his group, too.
	And of course, Melody would be more than welcomed.
	But, back to that “disturbance” in the Force.  Something strange held his attention—he didn’t know what but it was a distraction.  One more round with Bradley and Melody—and Josh, then their young minds were affected by the EMAD and they were put to sleep.  Mack and Paul hit a bar and contemplated the mysterious of life over pretzels.
	“Why don’t we ever see baby pigeons?”
	“What’s the difference between “partly sunny” and “partly cloudy”?”
	“When you are bored at breakfast, you read the cereal box. When you are bored on an elevator, you have the option of letting one rip or read the elevator-inspection certificate, which in most lifts is posted inside the elevator and includes not only emergency procedures but specified weight and passenger capacities.
 	“In most civilized societies where elevators are in high usage it is a crime or a civil violation to overload an elevator.”
 	Really?  Just how exactly are these rules are enforced?  Are there elevator police conducting spot “weight traps?”   Are the local constabularies corralling hordes of unsuspecting citizens at the end of their lift journey and putting them on cattle scales?  Is Interpol using those electric eyes on security elevators doing head counts?
 	“Furthermore, who is legally responsible for the overloaded lift?  The last person to enter the elevator?  The other people for allowing the last person?  And if you on an elevator going up (or down as the case may be) are you responsible for knowing the weight of your fellow passengers?
	“A guy goes to a sex shop to buy a blow up doll.  He tells the guy behind the counter “I want a doll with long blond hair and a big cunt.” 
 	When he gets home and blows it up it’s got a bald head and a 10” cock.  Immediately he returns to the shop and says “You fucking asshole, this doll is bald and has a 10” cock!” 
 	The guy behind the counter says “You idiot, it’s inside out!””

	Whatever had “disturbed” Mack wasn’t known.  By the time he and Paul stumbled out of the desert bar the “feeling” had lapsed and gone entirely.  The two men made for the nearest hotel and crashed there until noon the following day.  After a shower, lunch, some aspirin, they headed for home (with their “extras” in tow.)

	If Mack had of turned “Left” on the desert highway he would have eventually found the source and cause of his “disturbance.”  All around a remote hideout lay the Horrid biker gang—arrows piercing their throats and impaled into their chests multiple times.
	Bastard, the current leader of the Horrid, had five arrows in his chest, one in his throat, and one that took off his left ear.  He actually remained alive long enough to watch the rest of his gang perish.
	Shit-for-Brains the lieutenant for the Horrid took an arrow in the eye, two in the chest before collapsing grasping for breath.
	Vile, Nasty Sergeant for the gang, took three arrows to the throat.
	Sergeant Last Class, Scum, took a single arrow in the mouth—after a wayward arrow pierced his groin making him yell out in anguish.
	Booger, no rank but rank enough, took a single arrow in the throat, one in the eye, and an arrow thru the chest pinning him to the old shed that served as their hideout home.
	Fuckwad, the Command Sergeant Major, received a flurry of arrows as he saw what was happening and tried to make a run for it on foot—and naked.  A swarm of arrows pricked his bare backside, his ass, legs, and back.
	Two other unnamed biker maggots met their fate falling off the edge of the ridge to topple a hundred feet down to lay in a crumbled (dead) heap.
	The former leader, Xavier Miballsrbigg coughed and sputtered as arrows guided their way into his neck, ripping thru his scrawny beaten body, and one right into his head.
	Second-in-Command, Cockbreath, had stood in defiance of the assault and brought to bear a shotgun.  He managed a couple of shots off striking Sonja and Calliegh.  The two Indians, Ben Redmoon and Tonga stood up from where they had been lauding their assault and peppered the half naked biker with the remaining arrows they had.
	Cockbreath dropped his shotgun, fell back against the lone building and made some sort of blood filled guttural sound before slumping to the ground finished as a Horrid biker.
	“I think we got ‘em.” Ben Redmoon said.
	Tonga patted his crossbow saying “done and done.”
	Ben Redmoon sighed looking over the carnage, there were no survivors, save one of the Arasmess family, Daphne Jane Arasmess.  The two Indians eased down to the slaughter securing the lone survivor and then assessing the situation coming to the conclusion that the Horrid would probably not be using their bikes.  Tonga smiled as the sale of the biker gang’s bikes would go a long ways in helping his people.

Welcome to Happy Hump Day
	As for a ritual and respect, new boys brought into the home of Mack Borelin were brought (naked) before Paulie’s disabled wife, Lindsy.  The thirtish year old woman assessed the naked youth, eyeing mostly his dangling cock but the sweet face, too.
	Lindsy was a little “overweight” but that was by the complication of being disabled and unable to properly exercise.  When dolled up—the woman had a pretty face.  She had HUGE knockers—to some that was a turn on—to others it was a turn-off.  To Mack and Paulie it made no difference, they knew the woman—they had fucked her brains out and she had sucked their dicks off!  Young Josh Bieutumph had a difficult time getting an erection; for one thing, Lindsy was not Bradley or Melody.  The boy preferred his bitches to be a bit younger.
	Lindsy fondled the boy’s cock, his balls, and caressed his ass before wrapping her lips about the boy’s dick.  Josh just stood there, eyes wide, watching in awe.  Then two naked twelve year old girls came into the room, one white and one black.  They were pretty!  They were naked!  
	Needless to say—Josh B got wood.

	And speaking of “wood”, Freddie Kress of the Shady Tree Garage Door Gang had serious wood.  Since his induction to the perverted captured world he had been sucked on by his bandmates, Carly, Samantha, and Tina.  It was hard to explain but he was somewhat like Josh Bieutump—he knew right from wrong but being a guy when a naked chick comes to suck your dick—you let her.  You let the naked chick suck you AND you like it!
	But Freddie also had help—in his mind he was “calm” and those pesky morals that otherwise would get in the way of his trying to a “man” and not like being sucked and trying to find a way out of their predicament that they were in; trying not to show how much he liked being sucked; trying to be chivalrous rather than submitting to his perverted side.  Fuck that! 
	But the fellow STGD girls didn’t just prance about naked, stand up and finger themselves, lay down with their legs open and blatantly masturbate exposing themselves for his viewing pleasure—they opened their legs for his cock to fuck them.
	Freddie had no problem with that, either.
	In the beginning, even before the first suck, he knew that he and the girls had been kidnapped.  He knew that being naked with the (naked) girls was not quite right—although despite that feeling he enjoyed it just the same.

	The thirteen year old African-American had a decent mamba (cock) and thrashed it quite often at home; there were two younger siblings at home along with three older brothers and one who was out of the house.  Of the two younger sibs?  Not much going on there; he saw them naked, heard them rip butt blasts, but they were too young to even consider messing with.
	No solid girlfriend, just “friends”.  
	Of his bandmates?  Yeah, he thought of Carly the most.  She had a great ass.  Being the drummer for the group he saw Carly’s ass as she paced back and forth during rehearsals.  He jerked off to her most often with Samantha taking up his handiwork second.  Tina also gave him good visual effect and more than once did he think of having his way with all three girls.
	But they were his friends.  They played together, they hung together, even went camping together with their families the year before.  He had male friends who bragged that they were “getting some” on a regular basis.  Fred figured most of that was bullshit.
	Putting his cock into Carly had blown his mind—literally and figuratively speaking.  It was more fantastic than anything he could imagine.  He didn’t think of what it meant—defiling the girl who was his friend or any of the other pesky shit that would otherwise defuse his morality.
	After several minutes with Carly and finally unleashing a horrendous spew of spunk he lay on the girl, sucking on her smallish tits and melting.  He was only vaguely aware of the other girls in waiting watching.  Of course, they knew that their friend was not under his own volition—his own will.  Or was he?
	After some rest on his back, Samantha McGurdy came to rest on him, taking his cock and guiding it into her cunt.  She was not a virgin but hadn’t had a lot of sexual experience.  She gave Freddie a pretty good ride, it was a little awkward and sometimes she rose up too much allowing the boy’s cock to pop out.  No matter, Sam reached back and tucked the more than average cock back into her sex and they went until they had their orgasms.

	Carly, Samantha, and Tina—all three had sucked Fred’s cock and sucked it well (including sucking his balls.)  Then, the girls were drilled by Freddie’s cock.  Only Samantha had an orgasm out of the coupling.  They showered together in a regular shower cubicle—all four somewhat to mostly willingly participating in the group therapy session.  They knew—including Freddie, that they were not themselves.  There was apparently nothing that they could do about it, though.  They knew that they had had their minds waylaid by quite possibly a minding device of some kind (of some kind.)
	They were, in essence, aware of their situation but were unable not to participate (or fight back.)  There was nothing to do but to participate and go with the flow regardless of how it made them feel.  The embarrassment of being naked and being naked with their friends was a big issue and a difficult one to overcome.
	Of course, engaging in sexual improprieties was equally difficult.
	For the Shady Tree Garage Door Gang, though, it was only the beginning.  Firstly, Freddie went on to sexually be inappropriate with newcomers Bradley and Melody.  Newcomer Josh Bieutumph went on to do likewise with the Garage Door players.
	The boys were mostly willing—the girls?  not so much.  
	The girls, though, were submissive and accepted their fate; the exceptions were Carly and Bradley whereas the minding device did not one hundred percent control them.  They needed a little “disciplinarian” action (spanking) to bring them in line.  Carly immediately fell into accepting her fate; Bradley was a hold out and despite her spanking.

Adding to the replaced
	Still disturbed by the “disturbance”, Mack brooded.  When on the daily blab report reported that an entire family had recently disappeared with absolutely no sign of where they had gone—Mack wondered if the disturbance he had felt and the missing family were related.
	Not a lot of time was spent with the “replacements”; he still pinned for the previous inhabitants but found some pleasures with the new; the Garage Door gang were just about the right age group Mack enjoyed.  He enjoyed, too, the younger set and buddy Paulie didn’t have a particular preference one way or the other.
	The more and more the replacements were affected by the near constant assault by the EMAD the more they were in compliance and accepting not their fate but their new way of life.  That allowed for the lessoning of the EMAD assault and allowing them to “be themselves.”
	Of the newbies, Mack took to Carly right off.  Paul seemed to like Tina and Melody.  Mack liked Melody, too—typical blond teenager with sizable breasts, a great ass, and pleasing personality.  Bradley still had to be curtailed—her mind was more resistant to the electronical prowess of the minding device so much so that eventually she had to be “trained” with an electronic dog collar.  She couldn’t be trusted and if she ventured from the confines of the basement she was shocked.  If she got out of line in any way she was shocked.

	It wasn’t the suitable alternative but it would do to ensure her safety as well as the safety and security of the others.  Mack liked her—for her tenacity, for her resistance.  She was pretty but not overly so—sort of a Plain Jane kind of girl but she had a great body.  Mack enjoyed his time (sex) with her just because she was not so willing.  He “put it to her” just to show her who WAS in charge, who WAS the boss.  The spanking and other forms of deviltry was to ensure that she knew her place.
	“Submission is better—far better than not.” Mack told her plainly.
	“Resistance is futile.”
	It was “comply” or suffer.
	The girl, however, refused to be broken.  And that was ok, it kept Mack on his guard and that was a good thing.  Although he enjoyed “putting it to” Carly, Samantha, Melody, and the others—his time was Bradley was special.  
	Paulie found much pleasure with Tina and Samantha, but had a thing about humping his own daughter, Portia.  It was a given, a natural thing and at least once a day he got something from the twelve year old—a blowjob, spanking, peeing on her, cumming off onto her face, simple fucking, or “up the ass.”
	There, too, was his ten year old son whom Paul took pleasure in having screw Portia (his sister) and then the rest of the replacements.  A time or two and the boy also was fondled seriously by his Mom, Lindsy.  Fondled and sucked and then prompted to fuck her.  Lindsy seriously got off on getting boned by her own son—she couldn’t wait until he was older (teenager.)  Lindsy got off just for the simple fact that Eric was her son; he was young; he was cute; it was wrong and immoral to have sex with him.
	Josh Bieutumph was fairly easily to “turn.”  Mostly he liked fucking, pure and simple.  He didn’t particularly care for “being” fucked, sucking dick, being spanked, pissed on, or licking butt holes regardless if they were a girl’s hole or other.
	Freddie Kress also like fucking and like Josh, easily adopted the new way of life.  And like Josh, didn’t particularly care for fondling another’s guys junk, sucking junk, or being plunged.  Mack, on the other hand, enjoyed watching those two particular boys engage in just such immoralities.
	And mostly it wouldn’t be so bad for the aforementioned boys if they engaged in those despicable deeds alone—alone and out of sight of the girls.  But usually the girls were present when Mack had a notion to put the boys thru their paces with one another.

*

The Adventure of Olan starts now
	The air was more than hot—it was damn freaking hot!  Nothing stirred; there were no sounds, there was nothing.  Blinking his eyes then squeezing them tight young Olan Arasmess, apparent lone survivor of his family clenched the hot desert sand he lay on.
	He was alive.
	Sort of.
	Every fiber of his being was on fire.
	His head hurt, he could hardly breathe, the horror of the Horrid reigned supreme in his mind; the horror of what had happened to his family also occupied his mind.
	His watch was broken at 2:22 but he thought it was just hours after sunrise.  But he wasn’t sure—he wasn’t sure about anything including if he was actually alive.  Moving more than his thoughts and fingers was about all he could do—but the sun baking his naked body motivated him to seek shelter and think things out.
	Easier said than done.
	Every fiber of his being…
	In his mind he saw his family being abused—it would be a long-long time spent in therapy.  Turning his head he saw a spider of some sort, his mind was too fucked up to recognize the tarantula.  The desert scavenger didn’t bother the naked youth—merely paused then scurried quickly to seek shelter.
	Shelter.
	Olan knew he had to find shelter; already he felt the sting of being cooked.  It took a great deal of umph and energy to push himself up.  That was about it for a few minutes, then he managed a little more and a little more and soon was standing.
	He was alone—there was nothing but rocks, boulders, sand, bushes, and scurrying lizards.  Olan thought that a good idea—the sand was already very warm and not kind to his bare feet.  Not far away was some large boulders that lifted up a ridge.  Olan made for that hoping to scramble up to the highest part of the rocks to see if there might be a road somewhere.
	The ridge was hot.  Too hot to do any “scrambling” so finding a nook the naked pre-teen, lone survivor of the Horrid incident, sought shelter and waited for night.

	What a long day—broken by boughts of sleep.  He was hungry, his body hurt all over, his mind was in uproar, and he couldn’t think straight—ahead.  All there was was to survive.  To live.  He knew that he needed water to do that and there didn’t seem to be any water anywhere near.  He would have to move from his shelter eventually.
	When night came the boy was on the move.  His body was seriously in peril, the sharp edges of the rocks he made his way over were equally not kind as was the searing hot sand.  At the top of the ridge it was a little cooler but when it got dark in the desert—it got dark! 
	There was nothing, though, that young Olan could see.  No lights traveling this way or that.  For a moment it seemed as though he might lose it and break down.  His head felt awful with horrendous images of his family being abused.  What exactly happened to them he couldn’t recall and wondered why he was left.
	Suddenly,
	A stiff breeze swept up from the hot desert sand five hundred feet below.  A strange odor filled Olan’s nostrils—then a stranger sight filled his eyes before him; a swirl of mixed colors like a mini whirlwind that after only a minute or so formed to form a person.
	An old Indian stood before him, no headdress but he had many beads and feathers to adorn him.  Other details about his “dress” were unknown to Olan—it was too dark to make those particulars out.
	“You are lost.” spoke the old Indian.
	Olan was too parched to answer—not too mention stunned.
	“Follow me.”
	There didn’t seem to be much choice so Olan did.
	It hadn’t been noticed before but there was a small narrow foot path at the top of the ridge and after an hour of trekking they came to a stop.
	“You are here.” said the Indian.
	“Where?”
	“Here.”
	Olan looked around and saw only rocks, boulders, and then something sparkling.  Then he got a whiff of something he wasn’t sure of.  Kneeling down he saw a pool of water!  It was a bit of a drop to the pool but Olan didn’t care and plunged in.
	There was instant shock and his entire body felt like when his arm fell asleep.  The tingling sensation was all over and all over within a couple of minutes.  Then it felt good.

	When Olan crawled out of the pool the old Indian was gone.
 	Naturally.
	The young boy didn’t realize at first but his body ails had been healed.

	Although he had slept during the day it hadn’t been a good sleep, just an exhausted one.  After the refreshing dunk in the mysterious healing pool the naked youth laid out under the odd shaped pine tree and fell to sleep—only to be awakened by a screeching/squawking vulture.
	“I’m not dead!” bitched Olan sitting up rubbing his eyes.  The ugly desert scavenger fluttered off and Olan was alone—again.  A dunk in the pool was jus the thing and that was when he noted his scrapes, dings, and even hunger mysteriously healed.
	He didn’t check to see how deep the pool was; he lounged and swam about, got out and barrel dived back in over and over until he got tired and had to lay down under the lone pine tree again.  When evening type time came again he climbed up the tree to see if he could get a better vantage point.
	Not much and there was nothing to see, either.  No lights anywhere.
	A little disheartened the boy settled under the tree emptying his thoughts.  
	“You must not leave here.” said a voice.
	Olan whirled about finding the old Indian had returned.
	“What?” he said.
	“This is a safe place, you must not leave here.”
	“But I want to go home.”
	“Now is not a good time.”
	Olan didn’t know what to say, he wanted to go home but the old Indian was suggesting that he didn’t.
	“My family--”
	“You are your family, now.”
	Olan didn’t understand.  The old Indian waved his hand over the rocky sand and a small fire came to be.  That was good ‘cause young Olan began to feel the nip of the desert night air.
	“Nom-a-tay-hey-hey, ay-ya-ha-ha-, eh-yeh-yeh-ya-ha-ha--” the old Indian began to chant—and chant—and chant some more.  When Olan awoke hours later he was gone and a new day had begun.

	“Stay here.” the old Indian had said.  Olan shook his head, he had to go home.  He couldn’t stay.  There was nothing to do, he had to find his family.

	Before striking off, though, Olan noted some clothing.  Shoes, a long sleeved shirt, another shirt, an undershirt, and a pair of pants.  Wow!  He blinked his eyes and looked quickly around, scrambled up some boulders but didn’t see anyone around.
	The shoes fit.  So did the shirts and pants.  Wow!  
	After dressing he looked around again then made for the biggest boulder to get his bearings.  A breeze swept up from the desert rustling the boughs of the pine—then there was a voice it seemed as if from far away but Olan could make it out:  “do not go into the desert.”
	Stay here.  Stay put.  Don’t go wandering.
	For a few minutes Olan hung at the base of the tree but the drive to go home overwhelmed the wise words of the mysterious Indian.  So, with no water carrier, no food, no sense of direction, no idea where a road was, no head protection from the dazzling sun—twelve year old Olan left the sanctuary of the healing pool.
	An hour later and he wished he had heeded the old man’s words as the desert sun sought even harder to bake him.  The trail along the top of the ridge was difficult to follow—the rocks were hot and the sun’s heat blistered off the sides of the ridge severely cooking him.
	Finding a another small niche to protect himself from the day he curled up and fretted.  The old Indian was probably right.  Olan decided that when the sun went down he would go back to the pond.
	Exhausted to the extreme the youngster went right off to sleep—only to be awakened by some sort of sound.  It was hours later and what the sound was didn’t immediately register.  Olan couldn’t believe that it was dark already.  He was hungry, thirsty, and more than a little burnt and sore.  He knew that he should have worn the long sleeved shirt along his trek but had chosen the short sleeved one instead.
	Clambering up the rocks that were still mighty hot the boy looked all around—‘what had made that sound?’ and, ‘what WAS that sound?’ He strained his ears and finally heard from behind him the sound of a vehicle!
	Quickly he scuttled over the rocks falling and banging his body all over again coming down the rocks to sticker filled hill seeing a pair of jostling lights of some vehicle of one kind or another not far away.
	Olan began hollering “HEY!  HEY!  OVER HERE!  OVER HERE!”
	The vehicle seemed to be lumbering, grinding gears, and not sounding very well.  But it was moving.  Olan scrambled tripping over rocks, deadwood, tumbleweeds all coming to a small desert road.  The vehicle came to a stop with its lights blaring; the dust settled and a creaky door opened.  

	“Well, well, well,” said a grumbling voice full of piss and vigor, and whiskey, “what the fuck we got ‘ere?”
	Olan blinked his eyes and felt a slight twinge of fear—again.
	The driver came to the front of the lumbering pickup; he was tall, grungy, grimy, and wore dingy jeans, boots (motorcycle type) and a sleeveless denim jacket bearing patches.  A large patch also known as “colors” or brand was on the back of the jacket.  If young Olan had of seen that patch first he would have run and run hard.
	“Get your ass in the truck!” shouted the man.
	Olan was compelled—fear has a way of doing that.  The desert was unkind and motivated the youth to once more traipse into the realm of danger.  He said nothing as he got into the truck, the man slid into driver’s side, yanked on the column shifter and gouged the accelerator motivating the old worn out truck to move.
	The man said nothing.  Olan said nothing.  The truck lurched and grumbled, sputtered, and didn’t sound well at all.  The desert road was narrow, bumpy, rocky, and unkind to passengers traveling in worn out pickups.  At length they topped a great hill.  The truck was about give out and the driver brought it to a stop shutting off the motor.  The lights remained on stabbing out into the bleak night.
	Cockjaw got out and stood aways from the open door—Olan could hear him peeing.  Afterwards, the Horrid survivor made his way around the still grumbling truck.  Opening the door he barked, “Get out!”
	Olan didn’t know what to think—if he could have thought he would have bashed the door open onto the man and scrambled out the still open driver’s door.  But he didn’t, he eased out of the truck and stood in trembling fear.
	“You gotta pee?” he asked.
	Olan didn’t know—he was too scared to realize if he did or not.
	“I don’t want you pissin’ in my truck.” bitched the Horrid.
	With trembling fingers young Olan Arasmess unzipped and hauled out his pre-teen schlong.  Gravity took over in mere seconds and more than a hearty piss began to spring forth.  It felt good.  Real good.  A long pent up piss and the release was fantastic!
	Thereafter and Olan customarily returned his pecker inside the pants that weren’t his but fit well just the same (including underwear!)  
	“Get in.” sparked Cockjaw.
	Olan planned on it but felt something was not good.
	“Ut-uh,” said the Horrid member, “turn around, lay into it, on the seat.”

	Olan felt a knot forming in his gut; the bench seat was well worn, green, and cluttered with papers, rags, and motorcycle parts.  As he moved to lay down on the seat,
	“Take ‘em down.” sneered Cockjaw.
	“Oh shit.” blurted Olan.  Seldom did he ever curse, his Mom busted his ass with a belt more than once because of his foul mouth.  He clenched all over and pushed down the pants and underwear.  
	“Thattaboy!”
	Olan lay partially on the seat, his knees against the sill, his clothes at his ankles.
	“Spread ‘em!” Cockjaw barked.
	Olan spread his own cheeks and waited.
	He didn’t have to wait long, the last surviving member of the Horrid Motorcycle gang of Vusqual North area positioned himself against the naked boy, smoothing his hand over the lad’s bared ass.  Olan trembled and squirmed; Cockjaw smacked the boy’s thigh and ass—then repeated the smacking finding intense pleasure in doing so.
	Olan thought he would come out of his mind as the man behind him wasn’t gentle about penetrating him.  The last remaining member of the Horrid drove his manly cock fully into the boy’s asshole driving in hard and “all the way.”  Then he began to pump and wasn’t kind about it, either.  All Olan could do was hang on.
	Cockjaw humped and humped and “tore it up!”  After cumming he pulled out and smacked his gangly cock against the boy’s ass; then reached underneath to toy with the boy’s toy.
	Olan’s asshole was on fire and he was oblivious to all else.  It took a long while before he could get a hold of himself—and get a hold of a piston.  The nifty item belonged to the motor of a two-stroker.  Gripping the motor part Olan whirled around, kicked and brought the head of the piston to Cockjaw’s head.  Olan then managed to roll onto his backside and with both feet kick his attacker’s chest.
	Cockjaw stumbled back, gasped for breath and shook off the attack.
	“You little fucker!” he yelled and charged the boy who clumsily was trying to pull up his pants.  Cockjaw wrestled with the boy grabbing Olan’s ankles and wrenching them as hard as he could slamming them to the dashboard before pushing the legs back with knees to the boy’s chest.  He tried once more to rape the boy but before he could he stumbled backward again gasping for breath.
	Olan set up clutching the piston.

	Cockjaw stumbled backwards colliding to a boulder with his hands clutching his throat.  The man sputtered with blood spurting thru his fingers.  Great fear filled the young boy.  Getting his clothes up was only part of his plan, getting away was the next.
	After getting out of the truck (passenger side) he stood for a moment curiously staring as the Horrid member slumped to the ground sputtering with what looked like an arrow in his neck.
	The man reached out to grab Olan—but he was eight feet away.  
	Something behind Olan made a noise—the truck officially dying.  A stiff breeze came bringing a foul stench; the Horrid member continued to gasp.  Olan stepped up to the man—and kicked him with all his might to his exposed man parts.
	The piston he still clutched went with equal might upside the man’s head.  Then he was off with great gusto.
	He’s adventure was still not over, though.