A last clipped shout from her, and a brief, trembling silence – Bridget plainly doggy-style and her father square behind her, George well ploughing as he had her mom in the home video – then crazed hollers & squalls, Bridget baying to her sisters for help, that she couldn’t take it though he’d delivered to her by then already another dozen in as many seconds, the first fast moments of 20 more minutes the whole of which she’d remember as individual strokes: pack-slap, pack-slap – her buns shaken in short, jarring waves and as hard a ride as she would ever know, Gretchen and Eleanor witnessing this power-sodomy of their sister as as well their own fate. xxx 18 In. Gretchen communicated some courage to her sisters, then took the first foul swallow: her father’s produce
