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At one end it had been fashioned into a bracket that would attach to the tabletop. At the other, it was moulded like the head of a cock.Parting the child's moist little chink, Anne firmly pressed the cold metal cock head into the child, then fixed the other end to the table, fastening it into place and affectively holding the child's crotch completely still – unless she wanted to tear her cunt open of course. Anne licked her lips as she thought of that, of what it might be like to actually see it.Jeremy was ready and sat between Susan's legs. With the tip of a hook, he had caught the top edge of the child's clitoris and pulled it back sharply, exposing the tender and timid little tip of her bulb. Jeremy slid it between her body and her clitoris, and then slid the cotton sheaf over the little bulb, pulling on the fastenings that closed it over her clitoris.Susan was gaping now, her eyes wide with fright and her body shaking with her nervousness. Jeremy knew that this would pass as she. When the coughing subsided he grinned."Why would I do that? It would make me look like a cheapskate."There were two small packages under the miniature tree. We both knew what they were without looking.It was a tradition going back to our youth. Money was often tight for a single mom. She made sure we got something, but there was often no money for the siblings to buy presents with. After a few years, Don and our oldest sister would slip us a few dollars to buy something for our mom and each other.He used to go on and on about how much he loved chocolate covered cherries, but they had to be Queen Anne, nothing else would do. They happened to also be the cheapest. I think back then they were like fifty nine cents. My sister and I would always get him a box each, and he would make a production out of eating them, and pretending he didn't want to share. I loved Junior Mints, so every year he gave me a box.As we got older and could afford things, the presents would be more expensive, but.
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A plain white van stopped beside her, and two big men, wearing Richard Nixon masks, jumped out. Mary tried to run, but it was no contest against two guys, each a foot taller and twice as heavy as she. In seconds, they put duct tape over her eyes and around her head, then lifted her into the van, holding her down on the floor. As she heard the sliding door shut, she knew she was in real danger. The van drove a few miles on the paved road and then turned onto a gravel track. She could feel each bump through the floor. Someone was sitting on her back, mashing her breasts against the metal. Then the van stopped. The door opened. She was half lifted, half dragged across gravel and grass. There was a man holding each arm, and there was a driver, so there were at least three kidnappers. Escape was impossible. Stairs, a door, and she was in a building. She guessed it was one of the fifty or so fishing shacks along the river bank. If she screamed, no one would hear. .

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