"Okay then billy, I have some more ideas I want to try, the site wasn'tupdated today, but I am sure they can't update it every day, we willwatch for m...re ideas from them as well and continue with what we aredoing."Billy was relieved, he was not sure where her talk was going to go."Billy, I want to sort of give you the day off today," she told him."Getting used to those shoes will be very difficult, maybe you could justdo what you want today, sit when they are too much, try to walk as muchas you. His knees gave way and he nearly fell, catching the edge of the bed. I grabbed his thin hips and pulled him back onto the bed, over me so he was fucking my face. His T shirt was hanging down, blocking his view of his cock and my mouth. After a couple of minutes he sat up, his cock still firmly in my mouth, and pulled his T off. I guess fucking comes naturally after a certain age. He didn’t have to be told what to do. At a later date he told me he had not had sex before, and I have no reason not. As I was handing out the plates I noticed something new on the patio, and it made me wonder where the hell they had been hiding it. It was a stockade and I instantly knew I was going to end up in it. Not the kind from medieval Europe, all heavy and rough, but exactly the kind of thing you'd get for your well equipped sex dungeon, metal framed, padded. It was designed to get the sacrifice in a vulnerable position, and it didn't look like a fun one. "You've got to be kidding," I. Martin Nash had on a gray suit, collared white shirt and bluish tie, looking ‘GQ’ as always, but at least he had on sensible walking shoes. The two FBI automatons had on suits and shoes that were better for office wear. Oh, well. As I looked around, I saw a two-track dirt lane going into the woods in a southeast direction. ‘This is the road to the cabin where we found them.’ said Clark Webster. ‘It’s a couple of miles walking. There were a lot of tracks on it at the time, boots, shoes, dirt.