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August Moone Time Chptr 5


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

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

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

“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?” 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

“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

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

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

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.


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