It had something to do with preserving anonymity but it was damn confusing. The Bob in front looked back at Lana. “Status Report, Bob.”She steeled...herself and spoke slowly. “Due to incorrect assumptions made --”“Don’t tell me fucking ‘why’ Bob, tell me fucking ‘what.’”Lana started over. “The dog has left the kennel.”“Bob,” said the one in charge, turning again to his compatriot, “our vetting process appears to be in need of remediation.”She stood up. “‘s not my fuckin’ fault --”“Shut up, Bob,”. Gus sleeps, oblivious in the campervan adjacent. A canvas bedroll laid out on the dry dirt serves as a cushion for their lovemaking. Clumps of stone or gravel press bruises into soft flesh. None of that matters now as Blake grunts with effort, driving inside her, on top of a gorgeous woman with endless legs.During the day the wind whips up from time to time and sprays sand and dirt. It’s mild now and as he plunges into her softness he’s chiefly concerned, not by the wind or the dark cliffs, but. More

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