After ten in the morning. I blinked, surprised my sisters, especially Sam, weren’t up and making a racket. Maybe it was because Mom was visiting her...friend in Vegas.I stood up and stretched. My bladder demanded I do something about it. My stomach rumbled. I grabbed a discarded t-shirt, pulling it on as I stumbled to the door, scratching at my balls through my plaid boxers.It felt good to piss and relieve myself. As I did, I became more and more awake. My stomach rumbled. I needed breakfast. I. I am a sniper in the Untied States Marine Corps holding the rank of Gunnery Sergeant. My name is Frederick Wolfgang Steiger, but go by my nickname, Rick, for obvious reasons. My spotter is Lance Corporal Thomas McMurray. We had just taken up our position when we observed three hostages being led from the nondescript building. They were dressed in loose fitting orange jumpsuits, each with a cloth hood over their head. Their would be executioners forced them to kneel in front of them. The three. The kids were at camp, leaving Katie and I alone to our own devices for the week.I'm not a mind reader, but I already knew how the next few days would play out. I knew that Katie would be on the hunt again, looking for any and all strange cock she could line up. For her it had been a long dry spell, since the children were growing up and asking too many questions, she had to limit her activities to times the kids were out of the house for a day or two.Even after the children, Katie had managed,. Pat mutters something about lawyers on his way out to her job at Hooters. I doze off on the couch from such a rough morning. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! What the fuck? I ask myself, when did Pat install a solid brass door knocker? Nothing worse than Tuesday morning Jehovah Witnesses, and I’ve had it up to here with them. The pellet gun I stole from my grandma looks just like a real .45, so I sling open the door and take a shot. Instead of white-shirted Jesus freaks running for their lives, Olga.