August Moone
Timing is Everything
Chapter Five
Little Victories

	The mommy was cute, so were the three kids in tow with her.  With the departure of the rain August scooted along south out of the city and slid into reststop along the interstate.  It was here he deposited his first passenger, Debra--this after a rough round of doinking, spanking, and showering her with his pee.  With the Device Item 0110 he zapped her mind, obliterating (hopefully) her memories of her abduction.
	It was the middle of the night, the air chilly but she would be alright.  There were a few long haul truckers parked, some huge RVs  so she would seek shelter from them; only remembering being abducted and sexually fulfilled over and over again.
	Just before dawn at the reststop outside of Phoenix August released Carol and Amanda--after fucking them, making them clean each other’s gooey spunk filled assholes, spank and pee on each other.  Their minds, like Debra’s before them, were wiped of August’s memory--only the dire circumstances of what had happened to them remained.
	He didn’t go into Phoenix but took a small highway over to a larger highway and back up to I-40.  By early mid-morning he was back in Flagstaff.
	By noon the news of the “passengers” was big.  The weather was easing and a commercial on the radio caught August’s attention.  A class reunion.  A high school class reunion, celebrating it’s 20 years.  His high school.  
	August set back in his seat.  Now he understood, in part; why he was back in Flagstaff.  It wasn’t totally clear, but he assumed that his subconscious had driven him to return to his roots.  But why?  Or was there the need for a reasoning?
	He hadn’t been in Flagstaff in years.  Bad memories, good memories.  A beginning, but no end.  Perhaps that was it, a return to somehow “end” what had begun.  But that only returned to his original confusion--the end of what?  It wasn’t like he had had a complicated life filled with many jobs, adventures.  He had gone out of the country, hadn’t become successful, hadn’t made any mark that would be memorable. 	But a notion came to him.  He hadn’t made his mark, that was true--however; there was always time to do so.  He smiled and got a raging boner:
	 Leigh Anne  Sally Anne  Julie  Kim  Lee Ann  Tammy  Leeanne  
	Denise  Carla  Wendy  Teresa  Kim C  Tami  Lisa  Mary  Vicky
          Shawnra  Leisha  Donna  Christine  Trela  Claudia  Stephanie  Brenda

	24 girls  twenty-four wonderful girls   24 delicious teenagers
	Twenty-four girls who seldom acknowledged his existence.  Some did, but none held his hand, kissed him, danced with him, went out with him.  None were aware of how many times he had jerked off to them, stalked them, spied on them, desired to fuck their brains out!
	Course, now, though--they were all 20 years older.  He was only mildly interested in them now.  But, still was!  Still for just plain fucking because--because he hadn’t been able to bag them back then.  Now with the Device--the possibility was likely that he would have each of those bitches naked, legs up, and screaming his name.
	The reunion would be at the local upscale Holiday Inn; to be held in the upcoming month.  August wrinkled his nostrils; ’A month, a whole fucking month.’  what was he to do until then?

	The woman was cute, so were the three kiddies in tow with her.  He firstly noticed the woman’s ass, then the kiddies one-two-three, the basket of groceries, and the size of the car; a newer model subcompact.  Kinda small.  The woman was tall, too.  And a red head, short hair, thin build, solid 32 B cup, firm tight ass in Jordace jeans.
	August got a rise in his jeans…
	The Device seemed to be working well enough, even better than expected.  But he still doubted it, it had failed him in the past at inopportune times, it was somewhat unreliable.  When it worked, great-fine-wonderful.  Its powers and abilities were astounding and unmatched.  But that lingering hangup of sudden shut-down without notice--not a good thing.  
	Without a schematic or a clear cut insight on the inner workings of the Device, he didn’t know its power source.  He had no clear cut idea just WHY the fuck it did that or any idea of how to stop it from happening.  It shut down without warning, none whatsoever.  It infuriated August to no end, if it didn’t suddenly shut down like it did--why then his illicit doings would increase ten-fold.	Maybe that was a blessing.  Maybe that was fate.  Maybe that was a part of the Device’s programming?  Hmmmmmmm   he didn’t know, again, he didn’t know a lot of things--but he DID know that the young red headed mother was in for a good doinking!
	She did twist a bit, gyrate and put on such a confused face.  Her fingers dug tightly into the carpet as August settled upon her chest.  He leered at her, smiling, eyes gleaming.  The young woman, mother of three, focused in on his face, but couldn’t make it out no matter how she tried.
	She WAS aware, though, of being undressed.  Her shirt was ripped open and off.  Her bra was snipped and both luscious milkers were fondled albeit roughly, the nipples tweaked and the mounds squeezed. 
	Monica wriggled and a naked August Moone delighted in it--although her movements were causing slight distress to his vulnerable testicles.  He moved up and slapped his “meat” between her lovely young breasts and began a steady bout of titty fucking.
	During his spree his eyes came to rest on the kiddies one-two-three.  He wondered, again, at the abilities of the Device; what was its range, could it work its wondrous magic through objects (doors, windows, walls, etc.)  Did elevation effect it.  Just how long COULD it last on-going?  How many Subjects could be “acquired”/”affected” at one time?  Where there any limits in the Age of said Subjects?
	So far August had nailed (mind wise) a young person as young as nine.
	Now he had in his midst a little girl (the oldest) who was merely eight, another little girl at merely four years with a boy in the middle who was almost seven.  All were horribly frightened, all still clothes, all had pissed themselves.  As August had slung their distraught mother into his vehicle, then they themselves followed, they watched in absolute awe as their Tormentor stood and stripped off his clothes.
	Their mother began making displeasing noises.  August, too.  He slid down the woman’s body and latched onto her breasts, sucking on one and then the other, nipping the nipples and gouging her between her legs.  Passion’s Fire began to steadily rise within him, cumulating to the point of frantic lust whereupon he roughly ripped the woman’s jeans down, emptying his mind of any rational thought.
	She tried kicking.  She tried thrashing, kicking, screaming--all to know avail.  She could only take the assault, weep some, twist her body some--her body was his, his to command and control--well, so long as the Device Item 0110 didn’t suddenly shut-the-fuck-down.	It didn’t.
	 August pushed aside her panties and introduced her well fucked cunny to a real cock.  A manly cock.  A determined cock.  Monica thrashed more, August had to stop his doings to make minor adjustments to the Device, increasing Mind Control.  Then he was back to thrusting his determined schlong into her hot torrid pussy.
	With her legs up along his washboard abs he began slamming into her.  Monica’s mouth opened and for a while August replaced Monica’s face with those bitches from his high school.  How heavily he had lusted for them, each one through all four years of high school--and beyond.
	When a great load of his spunk splashed its way into the deep recesses of Monica’s cunny he withdrew, massaged his severely aching organ and let the woman be, for now.  Checking the Device quickly he saw that her mind was still his, but exhausted as he was--security first.  The woman was binded and gagged, as were the kiddies.  
	He had little strength for anything else.

						****

	Strangers in the Dark
	No matter how he tried the shadows still seemed to be present everywhere he looked.  As he frantically made his way down this tunnel and that he scattered up the throat choking spores that made up the tunnel walls.  Try as he might he couldn’t settle his growing intense fear.  But he tried:
	“You ain’t gonna FUCK me, again!” shouted angrily August.
	Famous last words.
	As he went sprawling thru a moss shrouded tunnel entrance and tried gathering himself a sinewy creature’s hand reached for him and pulled him into a room.
	This time, though, August wasn’t going to take the assault laying down or so willing as before.  He was still appalled, and still very frightened.  The creatures (now numbering a dozen) encircled him.  They were still all very tall, basketball player height, slender body build--although their true body was concealed by the crinkly moss-like drab gray single piece clothing they wore.  He could see no feet and no neck and no other distracting features…	Only their bony meatless arms slinking out from their bodies accompanied by their long bony schlongs.  August tightened up and tried to escape.  But the creatures held him fast in the doggie-style position, ripping his military clothes off.  He clenched up tight (his asshole) but the violation was going to take place regardless.
	The first “penetration” came and August thought for sure the “member” was going to tear thru his bowels and up into his gut (and beyond.)  There was nothing he could do but cling to the crinkly garments of the tunnel creatures.
	While one pumped him from behind another one shoved his schlong into August’s mouth.  It was just as gamey, repulsive, riddled with pock marks and hairy moles/boils.  It reeked and tasted god awful.  August hurled and only made matters worse as the vomit was everywhere for his face to endure.
	Endure.  His ass and mouth endured the violations until each tunnel creature had ejaculated their nauseating goo into his orifices.  He was then left to lay in a curled position on the stone floor.  After several long minutes he began re-gathering himself--he needed to flee (and flee quickly for fear that the heinous bastards would return for another round.)
	Several minutes longer were needed to relocate his booty, he wasn’t going to leave without it, not this time.  He had come thru far too much to go home empty fucking handed!
	He guessed an hour spent traveling down various tunnels, totally lost.
	Finally, though, he found a tunnel semi well illuminated with the small near microscopic life forms that emitted phosphorous light.  He came stumbling out to the small subterranean cave where there was the pool of water.  It was a simple dive to the bottom; then, following the stalks of seaweed up an inlet tunnel to the light and the pond’s upper surface.
	The water was cold, damn cold.  His strength was nearly out of him, his asshole bleeding, his balls and cock severely sore and aching, a foul retchedness seething in his soul.  
	There was nothing to do but do it; especially when he thought he heard scuffling from behind him…
	
	His adventure was still not quiet over--there was the trek back through the maze Charlie had led him, then out to the wrecker and back home.  It was a long walk, longer than he recalled from the first time.  He dragged his booty behind him and trudged onward.	When entering the sheer surface canyon maze-like area he became aware of a presence.  He gulped and held his ground.  The sky above was a cool gray, a warm breeze wafted on listlessly therms.  And there was nothing but dead silence all around.
	August stared ahead, straining to hear, to sense anything, anything unusual or out of the ordinary.  He had to scoff, ‘fuck,’ he said to himself, ‘EVERY fucking things been unusual!’
	He took a step, then another.
	There were sounds of something like a tambourine.  Then something like a drum, and voices.  As he took another step the sounds increased, growing not just louder but closer and faster.
	August’s heart began to race and he was close to bolting and making a run through the canyon maze.
	“Not yet, laddy.” spoke an all too familiar voice.
	August whirled about.  Charlie Dugout stood there.
	He was now clothed, in a heavy wool linen robe-like outfit.  He was clean shaven and looked neater, cleaner.  He was smiling and had all his teeth.
	“Charlie?” August quipped.
	“Aye, lad, it’s me.”  His voice seemed clear, too.
	“What’s going on?”
	Charlie changed his persona slightly, thinking--mulling.  Then he spoke, “Destiny.”
	“Destiny?” what the fuck was THAT supposed to mean?
	“Mine or yours?” August shot back.
	Charlie smiled and chuckled.  “Yours, laddy, yours.”
	“Oh.”  then, “Is that good or bad.”
	“Well, that’s the crux of it, ain’t it.” it was a statement rather than a question.  August stood there dumbly trying to finger it.
	“I-I don’t understand, Charlie.”
	“Well, laddy,” Charlie breathed, “From this point on, you fill your destiny.”
	“What does that mean?”
	“When you step out of this canyon, you’ll have some choices--”
	“What choices?  What kind of choices?”
	“To follow your destiny, or make one.”
	This wasn’t helping.  “You’re not making sense, Charlie, help me.”
	“I’d like to, August, but I can’t.”
	“Why not?”
	“I’ve got to go, to MY destiny.”
	“Will I see you again?”
	“Don’t know, lad, don’t know.”  then, “Follow your destiny, lad, you make it your own, be true to yourself and you’ll be fine.”  then, “But be careful, I warn you; it ain’t gonna be easy.”
	“Now whattya mean?”
	“The temptations are gonna be all over you like flies to manure!”
	“What kind of temptations?  What choices?  What’s the right--”
	They were interrupted by the ever increasing sounds of  tom-toms, Indian chanting, and loud tambourines.  
	“Run, boy!” almost shouted Charlie.
	August turned and ran.
	“And don’t look back!”
	His shoulder clunked hard against the narrow canyon maze, the sounds of the Indian War Chants were all around him, seemingly coming right out of the canyon walls themselves!  He stumbled, fell, and crashed headlong into the twisting canyon maze.  
	“And don’t forget about the clearing!” Charlie had shouted out as August fled.  “Wait until it changes to what you know!”
	August came to the clearing, he was almost home.
	The “clearing” dead center of the canyon maze, had no canyon walls on the other side but a landscape--emptying out into a lush green field of early wheat.  To the right a huge crop of corn, an orchard of apples to the left.  August held his ground, but the sounds of Indians on a rant trembled him so.
	“Come on, change, damn you!” August bitched.  He somewhat understood--if he stepped out into the new scenery, well--he’d be in a “new” place that was not “this” place.  And have to find his way back again.
	Why it changed he didn’t know, an Indian magic thing?  Still unknown.
	Suddenly the corn field disappeared as did the apple trees.  They were replaced by mesas, rugged, rustic, stretching up high to the clear blue sky.  He started to make his run, but noted that the lush green wheat field hadn’t changed.  As memory served him, the entire clearing was surrounded by sheer canyon walls of obsidion.  He wasn’t home yet.
	Suddenly behind him he heard voices, many voices.  And a thunderous amount of horses.  Turning he saw them, hundreds of horses with Indians on them.  Naked Indians.  Yelling, chanting, screaming, and firing flaming arrows at him.
	“Holy shit!” August screamed.  Panic overtook him and he bolted.	A small number of naked Indians leaped from their horses, jeering and screaming in some unknown tongue.  August swallowed hard and clutched his booty bag and began running.  Two huge lanky Indians ran faster, holding their naked schlongs with a strange look in their eyes.  August’s asshole clenched up and the thought of being buggered by an entire tribe of Indians was too much to bear.  He booked…
	The flaming arrows soared overhead igniting the wheat field.  Trying to bolt left only got him so far as the slope up to the towering mesa.  The Indians were already gathering and dismounting their horses, all running towards him with fire in their eyes.
	“Holy shit!” August uttered again.  He began swinging the booty bag, knocking a couple of stout Indians down.  But their numbers were too many and he was pummeled to the hot baking rocky sandy earth.
	Let the Sodomizing Begin!

	As many as half a dozen BIG Indians had had their way with him, another half dozen had stuffed his mouth with their schlongs  (but at least THESE schlongs weren’t as disgusting as the tunnel creatures’!)  Two big Indians held him fast with one having a very large and very sharp knife (Bowie) at his throat.
	Indians who were not fucking him in one hole or the other peed on him.
	Searing pain seethed throughout August’s body, mostly in his tormented asshole.  The butt fucker’s were not gentle in the least, they grabbed his balls and toyed with them roughly, rubbed their nakedness all over his face and pissed on it, too.
	Abruptly there came a sudden change within the Sodomizers.  Through his pain and anguish he saw some of the Indians simply vanishing.  There was a strangeness in the air, too; he couldn’t make sense of it -- but then again, he hadn’t been able to make much sense of ANYTHING since this fucking adventure began!!
	He soon found himself sprawled (nakedly) out on the desert floor.
	It was hot, uncomfortable, and some bird was screeching high above.  The sun basted his bare backside, his asshole smoldered and he was quiet ill.  A tremendous headache had he, he couldn’t think straight nor see straight.  He lay as still as possible, listening, straining to gather any information at all before opening his eyes.
	At length he did.	And found that he was virtually in the same place, but the “scenery” had changed.  It was all flat land, rocky and sandy, parched.  No towering mesas, no canyon walls, no wheat fields--and no Indians.
	That last part was a plus.
	He had very little strength but did manage to sit up.  He was out of breath and felt almost out of life.  He had no water and longed to be back in the pool again.  A long sigh of despair and then he saw a shimmering before him.  It was out a ways and he was curious about it.  He had no strength hardly whatsoever, but looking around at the desolation he was in--it was worthy of some investigation.
	The shimmer was large, about ten feet in circumference.  Several hues of blue with illuminating light pulsating from within.  Dead center was the brightest blue and brightest light.  A light “humming” humming of some sort warbled as well.
	August took another look around, rubbed his searing ass and stepped thru.

	Dizziness abounded and he began to retch.  He fell and clawed his way about in high disorientation.  Uncontrollable retchings, heavings, etc.  His mind went into a whir and a blur and he slumped to the ground once more.
	Hard packed earth, and just inches below it stone.  His eyes slowly allowed him to see about him.  He saw towering walls, black walls, obsidion sheer surfaces.  He was completely surrounded by the walls, he was in the clearing, the one he was supposed to be in.
	Desperately he whirled about seeking the path leading out of the insanity.  He saw that there were two paths.  One was the way out, one was the way back in.
	“Oh shit.” he had no idea.  He slumped against a wall and hoped to get a grip (of himself.)
	Then the chanting returned.  The tom-toms, the tambourines, the galloping horses!  Fear swelled within him--”No, no, NO, not again!”
	As the first horses came straight out of the canyon walls, something grabbed August by the shoulder and dragged him.  August went semi willingly and semi kicking and screaming.
	The Indians charged but as soon as he was out of the “clearing” they seemed to have stopped.  August was still dragged thru the canyon maze and deposited out into more familiar territory.  He lay still for a while on the hot blazing ground.  His mind, his body, his asshole, all in dire extremes of discomfort.
	He needed water.  Water and food.  And rest.  His bed.  His crummy little bed in his crummy little trailer in Mr. Peter’s crummy little wrecking yard.  Slowly he turned his head.  A searing blazing orb hung high in the sky baking him, broiling him to a hard crisp.  Down below the long hill sat a truck.  His truck.  Mr. Peter’s truck, the wrecker.
	Was it his imagination?
	He couldn’t get his breath, he couldn’t breathe, think, or draw up enough energy to get some saliva going.  Something suddenly plopped down beside him stirring up the still poof dirt of the rusty hill.
	August choked and saw that it was a very dingy ditty bag, a ruck sack.  A military ruck sack.  HIS sack.  His booty bag.  
	He blinked his eyes, wrinkled his nose and somehow found enough reserve energy to push himself up and look at the bag.  Timidly he put his hand out and felt of the contents.  There were lumps there, now if they just didn’t turn into snakes!!
	“Goodbye, boy, good luck.”
	August turned quickly, nearly falling.  At the entrance to the Adventure of a Lifetime stood in a glowing wool gown Charlie Dugout, 1952’s MVP rookie winner.  
	“Charlie.” August managed to say.  
	The old man waved his hand and slipped into the shadows of the canyon and August’s mind forever.
	