The Director handed me a manila envelope marked “A/R” and a Texaco map of Idaho
and Western Montana. Then he shoved a fat computer printout toward me.
“Look this over when you aren’t busy,” Director Calvin told me. “I think
you’ll want to talk to me about it.” He smiled his sallow, smug smile and
leaned back in his chair, lighting another cigar.
“You called me in here just to give me this?” I asked, rather peevishly, as I’d
seen a total of five “While You Were Out” messages from him when I got back to
“Well, now that you have it, Jack, I think we can move along quickly. But as I
said, take your time.” I looked at Calvin’s gut, which was getting bigger by
the day it seemed. The buttons could barely hold his expansive belly.
I stood up and stuck the material under my arm and said, “Yes sir, I’ll get
back to you tomorrow or the next day at the latest.” He waved me off and I
left his office.
I walked down the hall, took the elevator to the basement, got in the little 4
car train that runs between the buildings and sat there fishing my pockets for
a cigarette. I must have left them in my office. Along the underground walls
were pictures of the Bureau, the old offices, construction, Hoover, and tinted
B&W’s of old time “most wanted” posters.
I got off the train and walked slowly along the corridor to my dingy little
office. “Jack Durango, Sex Crimes Investigations Division” read the sign. I
pushed a four button code and went in.
The offices of most SCID agents are like mine, except for the women agents I
guess. I had crap scattered everywhere, there was a haze of smoke by my
banker’s light on the desk, photographs, magazines and cheaply bound paperbacks
were stacked high enough they threatened to fall off my couch and bookcases.
Behind my desk is a 3 ft. x 2 ft. full color poster of a little girl in a
bikini bottom sucking an old man’s cock. The man is only seen from the waist
down. The girl is life size. On the bottom, in big red letters, it says
“Liberty. From Jurgen, N.C.” Our evidence is the girl was no older than four
when the picture was taken. We had downloaded it off one of the dedicated
servers of a group we monitored. That girl does not live in Jurgen, North
Carolina. That much we know. I could never get over how unforced Liberty
looked. Or whatever the hell her name really was.
My name is Jack Durango and my job is to stop that kind of shit from going on.
I’ve been with the Bureau for six years. They recruited me out of a juvenile
reformatory. I was in for burglary, computer hacking, and sex offenses. As
for the sex offenses, I’ll lay this on the line right now, because I don’t hide
my past: when I was 16 I knocked up three girls, they were eleven, twelve and
thirteen years old, and they were the daughters of a local Baptist Minister.
The horniest three little shits I ever knew. So I have three kids, abortion
not being an option to the old man.
I guess the Bureau figured with my tastes (though now reformed) and skills, I
could do good work ferreting out cyber-sex offenses of the “pedo” sort. They
were right. I’d done two years of rigorous training in forensics, driving,
body building, sharpshooting, surveillance, the works. I’d been with Agent
Deena Sully for two long and frustrating years. She taught me all sorts of
ways to infiltrate. I never did get a proper piece of her pussy. The best I
ever managed was a night of butt-fuckery in Ralston when she was drunk and
totally whacked on some LSD a guy we were investigating slipped us.
For the last 18 months I’d been working on my own. Last month Director Calvin
assigned me an intern, Valerie Silk (yeah Silk), she’s Hungarian and 20 years
old and her name is an Americanized version of “Suk”. I’m hoping to find out
more about just how well she “suks”. Ha! I made a funny!
Old fat Calvin had my interest piqued and I sat down, cleared a space on my
desk and opened the Aerial Recon folder. It showed a compound in Montana, with
two large buildings and six outbuildings. It was nearly 2000 acres and was
fenced. Beautiful land. Streams ran through it and it was mainly forested.
Closest town was twelve miles away, and the closest thing to a city was 90
miles. The pictures were over a 2 week period and I counted quite a few cars,
newer model sedans mostly, and a few trucks. Also some farm equipment,
apparently not in use. And in many of the pictures one could see individual
figures. One showed a nightime gathering of about 100 people, and though it
was difficult to be sure, given that this was influenced by infrared on a night
with high clouds, it appeared to be a very large proportion of them were
children. It looked to me like we had a nudist colony on our hands.
I began to go through the computer printouts. Lots of e-mail, all encrypted,
not even the headers being readable. But they were downloaded from a dedicated
satellite, and dated the 2nd of each of the preceding three months. There were
about 20 transmissions in April, 125 in May, and over 12,000 in June. A yellow
sticky note was over the June summary and it was in the hand of Director
Calvin’s Secretary: “Jack, he thinks something is coming up in July or August.
Love ya, Carol.” Sweet Carol. The most lovely tits in Washington, if you ask
I turned to my computer and punched up a decrypting program written by a bureau
team and to which I’d made a few unauthorized tweaks. Then I loaded the info
from the printout, from the archive site, and subjected it to analysis.
It took about 20 minutes, given the volume of material, before I had anything
at all. At first I expected to be dealing with text based material, maybe
Microsoft or Lotus, but none of it was permeable. Then I thought I was looking
at audio, and I did some cross referencing, separation and resolution. I
turned on the speakers and ran a few samples. Garbage. Sound, to be sure, but
mainly noise, hard hot noise.
Could it be graphics? I tried that and the results were zip.
I got frustrated and typed in a suspend code and picked up the phone.
“Gail?” I said.
Gail was a woman I met on one of my first operations. She was a young single
mother, a drug addict. Gail is now twenty two years old with a nine year old
daughter. You understand the kind of shit we in the Bureau deal with. “How
are you Gail?” I asked, feeling my cock get hard against my chinos.
“Oh, you know,” she said, and I thought she sounded sad.
“Are you drinking?” I asked her, with genuine concern. She’d been almost an
alcoholic when I’d taken her in.
“Yeah, a little,” she admitted. Her preferred poison was gin tonics.
“I’m getting off soon Gail, can I come over? Maybe we could have a bite?” I
“Well, Julie’s out,” she told me. Julie is her daughter.
“Out?” I asked.
“Well, Jack, I told you Julie was too far gone….”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” I cut in, afraid to panic her. She must
have figured I was coming to bust her again. But I had an arrangement with
Gail, and the Bureau respected it. Intelligence counts for something.
Then I said, whispering though there was no need to, as neither her line or
mine was tapped, “Where is she?”
“Just out, Jack, you know how she is. Do you want to come see me?” she asked,
the word “me” emphasized.
Well, actually, I had kind of wanted to see Julie. Julie was hard to swear
off. But Gail was one of the sweetest though most insecure young women I’ve
ever met and if I could claim to feel love for anyone, I think I’d have to give
Gail a good square foot of my heart. Plus, she had probably the best ass I’ve
“Yeah, I want to see you, Gail,” I assured her. My voice was husky and I had
my cock in my hand, out of the zipper.
“Are you beating off?” Gail accused me.
I didn’t say anything for a minute. Then I said, “I want to cum in you.”
“I’m home, Jack,” Gail said, and clicked off the phone.
I slept at Gail’s place that night. Julie did come home, early in the morning.
She made a lot of noise, staggering up the steps, lurching against the wall.
She was hiccupping and giggling and I thought someone was with her but she was
just talking and singing to herself. It was Saturday morning and Gail and I
slept in until after 9. Julie, with the metabolism of a bumblebee, woke up
about 11, and was horribly hungover.
I gave her juice and guidance. “Shouldn’t be drinking so much at your age,” I
said, the kindly uncle sort of thing. She belched heavily, eyes bloodshot.
She was still in her party clothes, stained with wine and semen. Despite her
imploding skull, her appetite was ferocious. She shovelled the eggs and bacon
into her mouth and asked for coffee. I told Gail it was okay to give her some.
“Did you earn any money?” Gail asked her, her voice somewhat apologetic.
“Fuck no Mom,” she said, shaking her head and dragging the black cum-stained
hairs out of her eyes. “I’m a slut, not a whore!” she added with an annoyed
Julie opened her purse, which she’d left on the table when she came in that
morning. It was full of condom packets and business cards, and she extracted a
wad of bills. “I don’t know how much,” Julie yawned.
Gail counted it. There was four hundred and twenty three dollars.
“Rent,” she sighed.
Julie got up and said “My slit is awfully sore, Mom, I think I picked up
“But honey the condoms, what about those?” Gail said rising up flushed and
worried, “I told you to use condoms!” she almost screamed.
“Oh, MOM!” Julie bleated, crying now, “I don’t have to use them in my butt! A
couple guys switched, you know?”
“You mean they fucked you in the butt and then your pussy?” Gail demanded.
“YES! Okay Mom? Yes they did!”
“Shit,” was all Gail could say. Then she said, “Jack, can you authorize a
doctor visit? I’m sure she’s got the yeasties.”
I put my hand over Gail’s and said, “Sure, baby, sure.”
To Julie I said, “You should be using those condoms always, sweetheart.
Especially in your butt. Whatever made you think you didn’t need them in your
“But Jesus, Jack, it feels better without those geeky things,” Julie protested,
standing up assertively then promptly plopping back down, still dizzy from her
I got up. I was hard. Julie looked at me slyly, and back and forth between me
and her mom. “Go ahead,” Gail said, putting her cup to her lips, “I was the
So I bent Julie over the kitchen counter.
“At least we’re not going to fucking get arrested,” Gail explained to the
bluebird sitting on the window sill. It pecked mindlessly at the paint chips
and constantly blinked its iridescent black eye.
“No, you never will,” I agreed. We had an arrangement.
When it was over and I pulled out no one remarked that I hand’t worn a condom.
Guess I’m a hypocrite, so shoot me.
Monday morning I went to the Director. My program had given me limited
results. The files were mostly RA, video quality, but so tightly encrypted
there was no way for me to unwrap them. Most had a sound stream, which I was
able to crack about 10% of the time. It sounded like sex to me, mainly moans
and hotly expostulated cries of “Fuck”, etc.
There were eight text messages, one from last month that was only three words
long, and it said “You are all.” Apparently a failed message. The other seven
were about 3k to 5k long. Five of those self-erased when I tried to open them,
but I got a few phrases out of the others. Gold Mine! In one was the code for
the gate and a password: “o the 15th use ‘Goldilo”. Other snippets included,
“all welcome”, “Religion of the”, “sanctity of fami”, “sharing communall”, and
“priestess daughters, godly sons toasting the erec…. .. the Founder….all in
a…Muses and mysteries as Christ….there shall be no barr….mily love,
devotion…Spending freely in asses and c….without shame!…enis guide the
men, …..sts the women…for..gasm is the goal…thout shame I sayeth to
th…all in the fami..ex…plus have a lot of fun!”
I gave the Director my report.
“We’re going to have to infiltrate,” I told him. “I can’t break this stuff
down anymore. But my gut tells me we have a Kaiser operation.”
Kaiser operation is Bureau code for the kind of organized activity SCID
monitors. It’s named after Kaiser Wilhelm who, in his dotage, acquired a taste
for something other than orchids.
The Director smiled. As always, he was a step ahead of me. He shoved a packet
“Tickets,” he said. “You’ll take Agent Sully…” at which point I immediately
objected and he silenced me with a sideways wave of his hand, “And Special
Agents Gerthe and Hilda.”
At that I collapsed into the chair to hide my instant erection. Damn! Those
two tarts! They were the cagiest pair: 10 year old fraternal twin sisters from
Denmark, smart as whips, with perfect English. A recruiting coup, they were.
There was still a quiet diplomatic protest lodged by the Danes at the loss of
this brilliant pair of spy-provocateurs.
“You leave tomorrow,” he went on. “Intelligence has been tracking some
motorhomes that appear to be going to the center point. I think there’s going
to be a gathering of the clans.”
I went home and got packed. I had a clear plastic gun that held four rubber
bullets with explosive tips. Plus a taser, a blow dart, and a field knife. I
stuffed those in my bags along with a tape recorder, a micro cell phone, spare
tapes, a button camera and a still camera. The button camera operated on body
heat, and could transmit to a satellite or if out of range to phone wires.
Sully picked me up the next morning at 5:30. Gerde and Hilda were in the
backseat sleeping. I hadn’t seen Sully in a few months and I must admit she
was pleasant on the eyes. Her blouse was cut in just the right way, so you
could look right in and see her bra. Her breasts had a lovely swell to them.
We talked about our recent assignments, and she congratulated me on an
operation three months back called “Paradise”. We’d cracked a Dutch ring and
seized enough cash to bankroll covert ops for the next quarter, plus gotten two
very promising new recruits.
“Listen, Durango, you ever think about them in a, well, sexual sort of way, you
know, when you have sex with them?” Sully asked me.
That pissed me off. She was still trying to get me for something.
“The girls?” I asked, with innocence. “Oh, no, you know that’s in my past.”
“Good,” she said, smirking, looking at me looking in the rearview mirror at the
sleeping little sluts in the backseat. Damn little bitches. Teases. And
excellent agents too. Gerde shot a man in the chest once, as he was trying to
shoot another undercover agent.
She went on, “Because a girl I interrogated some time ago talked about you,
Jack. That’s why I wondered.”
“What did she say?” I felt defensive.
“She was obsessed with you. She believed you were in love with her.”
“Oh, well. I’m pretty good at cover work.” My words sounded limp, even to me.
When a man gets an erection and ejaculates, one does not normally think of
that as doing a thankless chore that he hates to do. But in the Bureau, we see
things a bit differently. We have a job.
The twins were still asleep.
We drove in silence for 10 minutes, then I realized Deena was my partner once
again for this assignment, and we should be able to speak heart to heart.
“I’m trying to do it again,” I said. “With women.”
Sully got that wicked little smile, a smirk almost. “You have a girlfriend,
“And you?” I asked.
She didn’t say anything, just patted her crotch. I laughed at that. Deena had
a knack with young boys that was the talk of the Bureau, and I couldn’t help
but think there was more to it than skilled police work. I leaned forward to
turn on the radio hoping to hear about wrecks, since traffic was ridiculous on
the beltway. A good thing Deena had picked us up two hours before the flight.
We took a flight out to Missoula and rented a Dodge Aspen. On the drive we
reviewed our cover and plans.
We are Jack and Deena Stanton, and our daughters are Hillary and Greta. I’m a
photographer (and I have a portfolio of advertising work to prove it) and
Deena’s a pediatrician (she does in fact have a Medical degree). I’ve got
passwords to various internet sites that the people at the compound probably
use. The girls have gold coins sewn into their boots and belts and I have
$15,000 cash and a half pound brick of the finest hash available, a gift from
our Spokane office. Deena carries a worn, well-thumbed bible we’d acquired in
raid in Denver. It had various chapters and verses highlighted in green,
mainly passages about incest.
We would enter the gates, using the code, give the password “Goldilocks” (God,
I hoped it wasn’t Goldilo, wouldn’t that be my luck!) and hopefully be taken at
Hillary and Greta could use their actual life history to provide details, if
asked, but with the simple difference that they were our natural daughters.
They would be careful not to speak in Danish, even when alone. They always
call us “Father” and “Mother”, no mama, daddy, papa etc. We’d be religious and
strict, in a bizarre sort of way. Kind of like Amish coke dealers. And I’d
admit my past to the group, including knocking up those girls way back when.
Deena would offer her medical skills. I felt we had a very good cover.
As we pulled in a motorhome was lumbering up behind us, very dusty. The plate
was from Arkansas. I got out of the car and keyed the code into the gate and
drove through. I stopped the car about 50 yards ahead expecting the other
driver to follow behind, but he waited until the gate closed, then got out and
punched in the code again.
I decided to try a ploy, ask the guy for help. It usually makes you less
suspicous if you ask for help.
Standing next to the Aspen on my wife’s side, I waved at the guy as he drove up
and said, “Say, friend, this is our first time here, could we follow behind
you? Don’t know the way.”
He was a bluff and blonde man in his 40s, strong build and red-faced.
“Why sure, friend!” he declared. “First time, eh? Welcome. This is my fourth
gathering. Whatcha got back there, couple of cunts?”
I slipped into the role nicely. “Yep, twin cunts. Fraternal, they are. Name’s
Jack Stanton, wife’s name is Deena,” I said, pointing back to the car with my
“Dick Durkan,” he said, “Babe’s my woman. Got two teenage cocks in the back.
Come on, get in your car and follow me up.”
We got to the compound soon enough and there was another small gate. A young
boy of maybe eight or nine guarded it. He was welling a yellow swimsuit, very
tight and narrowly cut. He went up to the motorhome, then waved Durkan
through. Then he came to our car. “Password?” he demanded and I thought he
sounded quite adult and even a bit officious.
“Welcome, friends, go on through. Here’s a brochure. First time?”
“Yes,” I said. My “wife” craned her neck at him and smiled.
“We have good fun here. This is your dormitory,” and he handed me a small map
with an “X” on it. “You share it with other families, but if you need privacy,
it’s plenty big.”
We drove down the lane and the cabin turned out to be the closest outbuilding
next to the main hall. Durkan was parked two buildings away.
I noticed several sportscars parked at our cabin, two Ferraris among them. I
figured those wouldn’t be family cars.
Deena and I settled in, setting our stuff out in the Master bedroom. Hillary
and Greta hung their stuff up and got comfortable. We met in the small living
room while Deena made us coffee using the microwave. The kitchen was communal,
as were the bathrooms.
“The way I see it is, I’ll sleep with you, Jack,” Greta began, then immediately
corrected herself, saying “I mean, Father, and Mother and Hillary can use the
second bedroom.” I agreed with that, remembering how tight and inventive the
low-slitted Greta was.
Hillary was quiet, writing on a pad. As the four of us talked about this and
that Hillary held the pad up to show her ideas.
“Fix me up with some of the men,” her first note said.
“I want to meet the leader. Who’s the boss here?” was the next.
Then Greta took the paper and wrote, “Start slow. Let’s fuck and be noisy
“Well, children,” Deena announced with decision and she had her hands folded
over each other like Mrs. Cleaver, “I think I want to get more comfortable,
don’t you? How about we undress and find something more casual to wear?”
I changed into a pair or green shorts and a black polo shirt. “Better put some
of this stuff on,” I warned everybody. It was a cream to ward off mosquitos.
“Yeah, they’re awful this time of year,” Deena told the girls.
Mosquitos must have been rare in Denmark because Greta and Hillary sniffed the
stuff and grimaced like it was some kind of medicine.
“We don’t put this on our cunts and holes do we?” Hillary wondered.
“No, God no!!” Deena laughed. “It’ll itch like crazy and nobody would want to
“So we are going to fuck?” Greta reiterated, clearly having sex on her mind. I
like Greta. She’s saucy, bold, her arms are very strong in bed, she’s a vixen:
not a hint of tit and hairless as a chihuahua. Hillary is cute too but very
wicked, and she doesn’t go much for bathing or wiping.
“I imagine that’s about all you two are going to be doing for awhile,” Deena
told them. Then she wrote down “You two lay low, reconnoiter. Give us
reports. And spread you legs for everyone you can.”
“I read you,” Greta nodded. Where did she pop up with that phrase? Must be an
Eddie Murphy movie. The girls were crazy about him.
We decided to hit the sack, it was only 9:30 but it had been a very long day
for us and we were zonked. Greta required a fucking and I found she had worked
out a new persona since I last worked with her. She was a total raunch queen,
foul mouthed, petulant, demanding. Just looking at her head and her flowing
blonde hair, one saw a radiant pre-teen beauty; from the neck on down she was
Delilah. She ripped my condom off with her teeth and threw it aside. “I don’t
want that shit in my cunt, Father!” she said, loud enough to be heard through
the walls. We worked hard to make the headboard shake and bang against the
wall and I had a monstrously good cum.
In the other room Hillary and Deena made love much more quietly but now and
then a cry of “O Shit!” or “Fuck, I’m cumming!” pierced the air.
As I rolled over to sleep I put my hand on Greta’s belly and kissed her on the
neck and said, “You’re a very ‘special’ agent, kid.” She responded by rubbing
her tiny butt against my crotch and I think I must have been half-hard all
night, lying against her that way. If only the director of the reform school
could see me now. Cuddled up in bed with a 10 year old girl whose sex hormones
were in overdrive, my cock still half hard after fucking her tight hairless
cunt. He’d probably think I was an unregenerate pervert. Whereas I knew,
Sully new, the Bureau knew, I was a damn good undercover agent. I’m a pro!
The next morning we all got dressed, the girls as sexily as possible, and went
to the main building for brunch. Deena read the bulletin boards, I surveilled
the perimeter and checked the kitchen, and the girls sat on opposite sides of a
long table and kibbitzed with some of the other kids. Since this was a family
type operation, there were at least as many children as adults, and I saw them
in all ages from about 5 or 6 up to 16 or so. And there was nothing of the
fantastical about it either, it was quite natural, meaning the kids were
average looking, if somewhat outrageous dressed in some cases. There were a
number of really attractive girls and Deena immediately picked out the best
looking boys, but by and large they were average looking. And so were the
parents. Again, here and there a real hunk guy or knock-dead woman, but mainly
guys with beer guts and women with slack boobs and hanging butts, the usual
stuff you see in malls.
The staff on the other hand was handpicked. They were all lookers. The men
were tall, strongly built. The women looked like stand-ins for Demi Moore or
Kim Bassinger. In addition, there was a cotillion of children staff, which we
learned soon enough were sired by the founder himself, who was referred to
simply as “The Founder”. Each child had a different mother, so there was a
variety: blondes, brunettes, redheads. There were between 9 and 13 years old.
They wore distinctive yellow costumes, skimpy and well ventilated, and had
wrist-bands that showed their names and ages. The bands also had an emergency
button and finder in case they got lost or were in trouble.
The couple that sat next to us was from Topeka. Harold and Eslanda Cooper. He
was a car salesman. They were black and had four kids, but had only brought
the two oldest with them, a girl and a boy, ages 12 and 14. The girl was cute
and had a nice round butt. She was obviously very much in love, sexual love,
with her brother, and his shorts were tented with a fine erection that he made
no attempt to conceal. Hillary kept staring at it.
On the other side were Sammy and Carol Friedlander, a Jewish couple from the
Bronx. They were somewhat obnoxious at first but during our stay I got to know
them better and found Carol, especially, to be a really congenial person, very
intelligent, interested in art and literature.
At 1 o’clock there was a gathering in the main hall and I estimated the crowd
at four hundred. The Founder’s disciple, who was called “Herald Square”,
hosted the meeting. He was an older man, in his fifties or sixties even, with
silver hair and the physique of Victor Mature, quite an imposing presence. His
voice was biblical in its basso, and he spoke each word as clearly as a
rollercoaster flattening ball-bearings.
“Welcome!” he intoned. “This is my penis!”
Two young girls in yellow caftans opened his robe and lifted up his organ. All
four hands found space on his shaft as they manipulated it to full erection.
It was at least a foot long. Even I had to admire it, as it was bigger than my
cock, by a fair penny. The crowd was moved and many of the children were
When the cacophany died down Herald Square said, “As you all know, sex is meant
to be fun and done without qualms. Anyone who wants to FUCK (he almost
bellowed the word) should do so when and where and how he or she chooses. Age
and relationships should be no barrier. Front holes, back holes and mouths are
equally appealing to the Lord. Homo-erotic love is a sacrament.”
“Incest is Holy!” the girls shouted in unison.
“The love of a man for a child is deep and wide. The penis proves his love!
Penetration is adoration!”
The girls chanted “Anal sex is Holy!”
“What better way to show love,” Herald Square went on, “Than for a mother to
suckle her son’s infant penis? To offer her schoolboy her plump bosoms and
hardening nipples to lick and play with? And when he is old enough to open her
legs to him, and collect his first spends?”
“Find the groove!” the girls declaimed in a hosanna. I had no idea what that
meant, but the crowd loved it.
“The Founder fucks his own children, boys and girls alike. You then go forth
and do likewise!”
The crowd cheered.
A huge mural was rolled down the back wall, depicting the Founder in yellow
robes with ruby fringes, his head enveloped in a halo. Around his feet lay
small children, naked, their buttocks exaggerated. His erect penis poked out
of the robe, monstrously large (no doubt artistic license, I thought) and a
string of cum hung from it. He was handsome, dark haired and pale skinned, in
his mid forties.
“THE FOUNDER!” many people cried. I didn’t, nor did my “family”. We didn’t
want to appear to be toadies.
“Now, my friends, come forth and offer gifts,” said Herald Square, and the
little girls by this point were almost fighting each other for control of his
huge prick. They were fustigating the damn thing like it was a baseball bat
that needed to be greased up for play.
So ended his speech and most of the adults made their way forward to the dais
and deposited gifts. Cash generally, but I put down two gold coins and a four
ounce slice of the hash. Someone else laid down a baggy full of peyote
buttons, and another man, well dressed in a blue suit, deposited a cardboard
box full of powder cocaine. I was impressed. Deena whispered in my ear as we
passed in front of him, “He’s actually cumming, Jack, see?” I looked up and
Herald Square was standing with his eyes squeezed shut as the little girls were
coaxing sperm out of his dickhead. Small spurts, but steady. I noticed a gold
platter at his feet, and his cum was dripping right onto it. “He’s got balls
bigger than church bells,” I told Deena. She nodded, smiling.
A staff member came up to us and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, your gifts are
bounteous and well made. The Founder will speak to you in private this
evening. Your lovely twin daughters are already widely noticed, and you will
bring them with you.” He handed me a card. Then he put his hand on my wife’s
ass and squeezed it and whispered something in her ear. She blushed!