As Amanda sat in the back of the van with her hands bound high above her, her mouth stuffed with her dirty red panties, and a large black dildo locked...deep in her cunt she felt them slow down and turn into some type of dirt road. She looked down at her son, Tristan who was still hogtied, gagged with a large ring gag, and his cock hard and leaking precum. She started to cry and struggle as she knew that what the black man had told her a few moments earlier was about to become their reality. She. Five-O.Daddy, dressed in a sport shirt and khakis, just shook his head. Something so obvious. Like a misspelled word in a headline over body copy that had been proofed a dozen times.I think, once in a while, of that asymmetrical Tuesday. That glorious roller-blading morning with those magnificent Italian arias just permeating the loft. The graceful way we swooshed around on the hardwood floors.Then Bulldog. Straight-ahead, no way to cushion it, telling me my friend, Sister Mary Packer, had been. More

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