Nostrovia!

Prescott had almost forgot about how painful his throbbing eye continued to be as he fantasized about his future plans. But also throbbing now was his revived cock as the ice had worked its magic.

Prescott was jarred out of his revenge fantasies as he heard his stepdaughter's panicked screams. He refocused his cyclops eye on her shuddering soft ass as the tallest of the thugs lined his long cock up with her puckering asshole, wedging the blood engorged head of his cock between her quivering ass cheeks.

Peter was gripping Lauren's soft round ass mounds firmly in his large hands as he pulled her body back into him, slowly penetrated her tight virgin ass.

Looking up at the little bitch, Prescott saw the fear and anguish that had contorted her young face. Prescott had visions of Edvard Munch's painting, The Scream, flash through his brain for a moment. Just like the painting, the girls mouth was contorted into a perfect 'O' as her pathetic groans filled the room.

The deeper Peter's cock plumbed the girl's virgin depths, the more high-pitched her groans became. When she reached the top of her vocal register, she maintained it as he sunk his long cock even deeper inside her.

Lisbeth escaped Arseny's clutches long enough to scoot forward and bury her distraught daughter's face between her soft breasts, somewhat muffling the girl's screams as she tried to comfort her as Peter pressed hard against the back of her anal cavity.

Pete had made no effort to engage in the usual back and forth action to ease the pain of his anal invasion. The bastard seemed to be enjoying the girl's discomfort, taking perverse pleasure from her anguished cries for mercy, thought Lisbeth angrily.

"You could have been easier on her, you bastard!" seethed Lisbeth to Peter as her own face contorted with rage. Then her head jerked sideways as Peter slapped her face with his large hand, almost knocking her over.

As Lisbeth regained her balance, her daughter broke their embrace. Lauren's body abruptly jerked upright when Peter found the curve in her anal cavity and buried the rest of his snake inside her. Lauren squealed in rapturous delight as her voice reached another octave higher.

Lisbeth sat back on her haunches and watched as her daughter lifted her arms in the air behind her head to grab handfuls of Peter's hair as she leaned further back into his body. Her face was no longer contorted in pain, but with the wonderous surprise of just how wickedly good it felt to have a man so deep inside her.

"Oh mama, yes! It feels so good!" cried out Lauren in lustful delight as Peter and Pavel finally began to seesaw in and out of her tight holes. But those would be Lauren's last words as Arseny stood over her and filled her last remaining hole with his needy cock.

All Lisbeth could do now was kiss her daughter's cheek and whisper encouragement into her ear as she began to knead her daughter's breasts. She could see in her daughter's eyes that she was somewhere else now, a place where there were only prodding penises and erotic wicked pleasures to be enjoyed.

Lisbeth occasionally snuck a peek at her husband whose balls had seemingly recovered. He had spewed a fresh load of semen all over himself. With one eye black and blue and swollen shut, her bastard husband looked absolutely grotesque as he leered back at her with his one eye.

The look on his face told her that the worst would not be over when these men left, but only beginning. Chills ran up and down Lisbeth's spine. She knew firsthand how incredibly callous and cruel Prescott could be, and her daughter would soon know it too.

Having sampled her daughter's bounty already, Lisbeth knew he would want more, much more. He would want at least as much as the men who were currently ravishing her young body. Worse, he would want to share her with his friends.

~~~~~

Lauren vainly cried out again from the foggy haze that clouded her mind. The men had been prodding and poking her young body for what seemed like hours now. Their assault on her body was relentless. No sooner did one man fill one of her holes with his semen than another one took his place. Hands ceaselessly groped and mauled her helpless body.

The neanderthal like man with the hairy body man and the megacock was currently stretching her pussy even more and man with the long snakelike cock was once again driving her wild toward yet another orgasm as he plumbed the depths of her ass. Only this time, for some reason, she was trying to deny them the satisfaction of seeing her surrender to her lust by orgasming yet again.

Somehow, her stepfather had joined them, and he was down her throat spewing another load of cum into her as she desperately tried to keep from choking as he cruelly refused to pull out for even a moment, to let her breathe. She was frantic with fear that the bastard was going to suffocate her.

Not only was her throat full of her stepfather's cock and cum, but her bile was welling up from inside her because the taste of her own ass coated the bastard's disgusting cock. He had just finished fucking her ass for the first time, filling her with his cum as he thoroughly enjoyed himself and humiliated her further.

The entire time he had reamed her ass, he taunted her with insults. Calling her a bitch, a slut, a whore, a slutty bitch, a cum slut, a slutty whore, and any other obscenity he could think of.

She kept hoping her mother would rescue her, but she was zip tied to the heavy wooden bedpost at the foot of the bed. She was bent over as Arseny flayed her back with his belt, leaving welts on her beautiful flesh as she cried out in agony.

With his belt in one hand, relentlessly whipping his mother's back raw, Arseny's other handheld a bottle of the Champagne as he took swig after swig, growing more drunk as he continued to flay her mother while staggering back and forth behind her.

Lauren cried out, begging him to stop as her stepfather slapped her face and buried his revived cock back down her throat. The three cocks began to throb within her again, spewing their warm loads inside her for the umpteenth time. Her overloaded cavities gushed cum from inside her, further coating her body with their smelly gooey semen.

Her body was coated with their spunk. It was matted in her hair and was crusting on her face. The stench of their sweat and spunk filled her nostrils as they continued to use her like a cum bucket.

Yeah, that was the new one...CUM BUCKET, thought Lauren hazily! She hadn't heard that before her stepfather called her that earlier as he buggered her ass for the first time. But he was right. That was what she was now. A CUM BUCKET!

"No! NO!" she cried out, convulsing in tears as all four men began flaying her with their belts with her mother joining them!

~~~~~

Prescott watched his bitchy stepdaughter from hell writhe on the bed next to her tranquilly sleeping mother. She constantly cried out from her intense dream. He had found her in the grips of this intense nightmare as he walked back into the bedroom after checking to make sure the intruders were gone.

She was calling out his name and calling him a bastard and a prick and countless other epithets as he entered the bedroom. He could tell that she was suffering in agony within her nightmarish state. Smiling to himself, he decided not to wake her.

He had just walked back into the bedroom after taking a shower. He was wearing his bathrobe now as he sat on the edge of the bare mattress. He watched his agitated stepdaughter with intent amusement as he leaned back against the sturdy bedpost as she remained in the throes of her horrific nightmare.

Perversely, Prescott enjoyed the idea of knowing he was tormenting the little bitch's dreams. He looked forward to providing her with the actual experience in real life. Prescott promised himself to exceed whatever terrors she was conjuring up in her imagination.

The three intruders had been gone for a couple of hours now as Prescott sat watching his stepdaughter continue to writhe on the bed in front of him.

Before returning to the bedroom, Prescott had checked the house to see what else might be missing and to check the four car garage to see if any of their vehicles had been taken.

"Of course they took the fucking Corniche!" Prescott cursed as he slammed the door to the garage and headed toward the library to make sure the bastards hadn't found the other safe. He found some solace in the fact that it had escaped their attention.

While he had the bookcase pulled away from the wall, double checking the contents of the safe, he made a DVD copy of the previous night's events to review on his laptop later.

All of Prescott's video surveillance equipment was housed behind the same bookcase with the large safe. Prescott wasn't concerned that the police might see the surveillance cameras throughout the house. They were miniature and state of the art, and virtually undetectable.

He then stashed the disk away in the rack to the left of the safe with the other DVDs of his 'favorite hits' from the encounters he and his wife had with their various playmates. His bitch stepdaughter would be making frequent appearances on these DVDs in the near future, Prescott promised himself.

Prescott closed and locked the safe and pushed the bookcase shut, making sure it was securely back in place. He reminded himself to watch the DVD later to see what he might be able to glean from it. He would have to review the recordings from all the other cameras throughout the house as well.

After closing the safe, he had headed back to the bedroom to shower and wait for the women to wake up. He had no idea how long that would be. He hadn't expected to find his bitch stepdaughter having such a colorful nightmare.

When he had come back to the bedroom earlier, Prescott had picked up the bottle of sleeping pills that the tallest man, the man that he supposed to be the leader, had left on the nightstand next to the four empty Champagne bottles.

Why did the bastards have to drink all his Pol Roger? Wasn't the Dom Perignon good enough for them, Prescott selfishly thought to himself as he headed to the bathroom with the bottle of pills.

Prescott had taken the bottle of his wife's sleeping pills with him to the bathroom, where the lights were brighter, to read the label, hoping to determine how long the two women would be out. Ordinarily Lisbeth took just one of the pills and it always seemed to do the trick, lulling her into a deep sleep.

But the man had given all three of them two of the pills. Both women gulped them down with the Champagne that was offered them. After hours of strenuous fucking, the two women were exhausted and nearly incoherent. They meekly swallowed the pills, just as they had swallowed the men's cum, Prescott thought to himself indignantly.

Prescott, on the other hand, had still been coherent and he wedged the tablets between his gums and cheek, trying to avoid swallowing the pills.

He pretended to be asleep as the men showered and dressed, and went about cleaning up after themselves, wiping all the surfaces for fingerprints, wiping the glasses and bottles and any other surfaces they had touched, trying to destroy any fingerprints and DNA evidence that might aid the police. They were very thorough, Prescott thought to himself at the time.

Two of the men had even carried the women into the shower before showering themselves. They carried the women to the shower one at a time, soaping and washing their bodies clean of any DNA evidence and douching out their orifices as well, before returning them to the bare mattress.

The comforter and all the other soiled bed linens had been stuffed in a trash can liner from the kitchen. And as far as Prescott could tell, they took the bag with them to dispose of elsewhere.

As Prescott sat on the edge of the bed, he tried to game plan how best to proceed. He had no idea how long his wife and stepdaughter would be out. He didn't want the police to arrive while his bitchy little stepslut was still having one of her nightmares. He had read the warning label on the bottle of sleeping pills and it said 'abnormal dreams' was one of the side effects. He could certainly attest to that now.

The stepslut might say something inappropriate that was hard to explain to the authorities. It was better to wait until they were awake before calling the police, regardless of how long that might be. He could always claim that he had been out cold too and had just woke up before calling.

For no particular reason, Prescott thought that 'stepslut' had a nice ring to it. It also had the added advantage of aptly describing how he felt about his bitchy whoring stepdaughter as she was now, and certainly would continue to be in the future.

For a minute or so, Prescott toyed with the idea of taking her ass again now, as she lay there on her stomach with her legs spread and her distended asshole begging to be filled.

But he resisted the urge, remembering that once the police arrived, they would want to take DNA samples from both women's orifices. Prescott enjoyed thinking about the two bitches' further humiliation. Not just in having their privates swabbed, but in having to relate the story of what happened to them. He wanted to make sure that every grizzly detail was on the record.

Well, almost every detail, Prescott conceded to himself. He would prefer that his coupling with his stepdaughter would not be part of the police report, and he was pretty sure both women would go along with that.

Prescott knew it was important to make their story as compelling and believable as possible to maintain his phony cover story. As far as the police and the insurers would be concerned, and as far as his wife and stepslut knew, the home invaders had made off with tens of millions of dollars in jewelry, stock certificates and cash from the safe in his office. And he planned on filing an insurance claim on all of it.

Prescott saw no reason why he shouldn't profit from the situation. No one would know the jewels were paste except the poor schmucks that stole them. And they certainly wouldn't tell the police or insurance company.

After all, the paste copies were in his wife's jewelry box in the bedroom. Only he knew that the real stock certificates and bearer bonds, as well as the real jewelry, were safely tucked away in his secret safe in the library.

He had made sure to bring in a master carpenter from Italy to build the ornate bookcases and other appointments in the library when he remodeled the house. No one other than himself knew the man's name, and he had paid him cash.

The safe had been purchased out of state from a private seller and was untraceable too. Prescott knew his plan was foolproof. All he had to do now was wait for the women to wake up, whenever that was, and file the police report.

Then he could sit back and watch the two bitches humiliate themselves as they recounted all the ways they had been used in graphic detail, with helpful reminders from him, if necessary.

His windfall from the previous night would be several times what the loser Russians might finally net for their haul. He would love to see their faces when they discovered that they stole a bunch of costume jewelry and fake stock certificates and bearer bonds.

Yeah, they got the fifty thousand in cash and his Rolex, conceded Prescott, but nowhere near what they thought they were getting. Prescott luxuriated in his triumph over the Russians as he waited for the women to finally wake up.

He had moved to the other Louis XV chair in the corner of the bedroom. The one not soaked with his own semen. With one hand, he sipped from the mug of coffee he brought from the kitchen as he fought off the urge to sleep. In his other hand, he held a bag of frozen peas over his swollen eye.

As he sat there looking at the two naked women sprawled on the bed and as the stepslut still thrashed around in the grips of her ongoing nightmare, Prescott continued to be nagged by one question. Why had the Russians cut his arms and legs free from the chair and dragged him into the walk-in closet before they left?

~~~~~

They still had nearly an hour to wait for their connecting flight from Istanbul to St. Petersburg. All three men had spent most of the time on the flight from Los Angeles getting much needed sleep after their marathon orgy in Beverly Hills to mark the last night of their current US trip.

Peter had slept for a little over 10 hours in two different stretches during the flight from LA and he was feeling well rested. As he sat in a restaurant with his companions inside the terminal on Istanbul's European side, he sipped a cup of Turkish coffee and munched on a simit, a kind of Turkish bagel, topped with their traditional apricot jam.

The other two men were engaged in idle conversation talking about what they were going to do when they got home and about their escapades of the night before. Peter was not one for small talk and did as he usually did after each US foray, he debriefed himself.

After years in the Russian military, Peter was hard wired to engage in after action debriefings, looking for mistakes that could be corrected and new lessons learned that would be useful in the future. So far, Peter's major takeaway was to carry a jeweler's loupe with him as part of his kit and to familiarize himself with the different ways he could distinguish a real diamond from a fake.

His colleagues back in LA had texted him midflight to let him know that even though the expensive Rolex was authentic, the diamonds he thought they had scored were fake. Prescott Pretorius, though providing them with a half million dollar watch, had also put them together like a cheap watch. And that gnawed at Peter.

Though Peter knew as a professional he needed to shrug it off, it still grated on him that the mudak had put one over on him. They would cycle back into LA on some future foray, Peter consoled himself, and he vowed to even the score with the Afrikaner prick, and perhaps renew his acquaintance with Pretorius' lovely wife and stepdaughter.

On the bright side, his colleagues back in LA told him that they had already had several bites regard the watch on their black market website. Several Russian oligarchs who enjoyed the accoutrements of wealth but didn't like paying full price had already put in offers.

The watch would be sold before the end of the day after the oligarchs completed their bidding war. His group's black market website was a sort of Craigslist for Russian kleptocrats and had become a good way to fence high end merchandise.

The car, on the other hand, would take a while to move. It first had to be shipped via container to the middle east, where it would fetch the highest price.

As Peter continued to critique the last 24 hours, he first focused on the chair into which they had strapped the prick Pretorius. In the future they needed to wear latex gloves until they had their victims restrained. There was too great a risk of accidentally leaving telltale fingerprints or DNA when they had to wrestle a struggling victim into a chair to be bound.

Then there was the matter of the duct tape. It was too easy to leave DNA, hair fibers and fingerprints behind because of the sticky nature of the tape. Had they used latex gloves at that point, they could have left the Afrikaner prick embarrassingly strapped to his expensive chair.

Instead, they had to take the time to rip the tape from his arms and legs and then wipe down the chairs surfaces, since he may have touched them inadvertently when he wrestled Pretorius into the chair.

The issues with the tape would have been a moot question had they remembered to restock their supply of zip ties in their kit in the first place. Peter would make sure they double checked their kits before each job in the future.