The Sheriff

Sheriff David Jones was a big, strong man. 63 years old, but still running the Oak County Marathon, which he won seven times, most recently three years ago. He could crush an apple with his bare hands. He once beat a man to **** who was roided out on PCP and had disarmed him.

And he was at your door. And his daughter was sitting near-naked on your couch. Yet, you knew you were safer than anyone else from him. So, naked, you opened the door and allowed the good Sheriff and a female deputy to enter.

"Mr. Doe, Ms. Doe," he nodded to your naked teenage daughter. "I have some paperwork for you to sign. And some things to go over."

You led the two to your kitchen table, where he laid out a slew of documents. "Daddy!" said Mandy, interrupting in her present lack of attire, as she ran up to the Sheriff and gave him a full hug.

"Hi, sweet'ums. I figured I'd find you here. Didn't you tell me he had a crush on you in high school?" the Sheriff laughed, which kinda hurt you inside.

"I guess he got what he wanted," she said twirling around. "You're getting a new grandkid, and a great-grandkid. He fucked Alice."

The Sheriff turned towards you with a stern face. "You son of a bitch," he punched your side and you flew up to make a quick exit. "You're making me look old," he laughed loudly, "Great-Grandpa Dave, ha! Now those guys downstate will **** me to retire."

He laughed off the idea, and so did his fairly attractive deputy. You sat down, with Julie next to you, and Mandy next to her father. Julie began stroking your cock as Sheriff Jones explained the paperwork.

He explained that three-hour syndrome was something that had been diagnosed only a couple hundred years ago, but had been present in humanity since time immemorial. There's hints in the Bible, The Song of Solomon, specifically, and possible symptoms in chimpanzees, but you glossed over the history lesson.

Legally speaking, many 3-hourers had used their condition for nefarious reasons. Making themselves rich, powerful, even some of history's greatest sadists and serial killers had gotten away with their crimes because of three-hour syndrome (or supposed three-hour syndrome). The law was fairly set regarding the rights, or lack thereof, of most people when approached by a 3-hourer.

But it was fairly new territory for a 3-hourer to be bound by any law, sexually. Not until 1950, to curb a killing spree that killed over 3000 women. They had been lining up outside of this guy's apartment as he slaughtered them in groups of five before collapsing of starvation.

It was after this point that a few other 3-hourers got together and formed a compact, that the US government, UN, and most international agencies agreed to. The 3HC bound the police forces to strict enforcement. The Internal Revenue Services would not allow "unreasonable" profiteering from one's condition. The police and military would not allow any **** or gross mutilation of a living body. And the Congresses and state governments would no longer allow an election or appointment to political positions.

President John D. Mason, who had helped end World War II, and was considered the greatest President of the United States, had signed his name proudly on the 3HC, and promptly resigned the Presidency, retiring to the Virgin Islands and spawning a huge collection of so-called Masoños. Children of Mason.

You had no intention of following Mason's footsteps, and signed the paperwork provided. Stopping at the legal repercussions page, you told the Sheriff one thing.

"Umm, I do have a naked pizza delivery girl in the basement. Me and Frank **** her last night and tied her up."

"Was it Frank's idea?" he asks, his hand going towards his gun. You respond with a quick no.

"Just as long as you eventually let her go and pay for that pizza. Maybe tell her parents to save me from stopping by later. What's her name?"

"No idea."

He laughs. "Alright, get her name and give me a phone call. Try not to make a habit of **** people."

Your watch goes off, and you turn to the Sheriff's right. "Mandy, do you mind sucking me off again." She nods no, and slips under the table. You quickly position her to your right and within eyesight of her father.

"Sheriff Jones, I get off alot easier if someone is fucking the woman while she is sucking me off." He turns to Frank in the other room, but your eyes tell him in no uncertain terms that you mean him.

He sighs, and removes his gun belt, handing it to Deputy Flores, according to her name badge. He walks around the table and lets out an erect cock from his dark brown pants. He positions himself behind his welcoming daughter who has spread herself to accept her father's member.

Julie is sitting behind you now and squeals in glee, glad that you're getting what you want sexually. Sheriff Jones, though, must've been pretty pent up, because he comes immediately inside of his own daughter. Maybe it was the taboo of it all that made a 63-year-old man last as long as you back in your acne days. You laugh at the downcast Sheriff, then pull out and begin cumming yourself on Mandy's face and chest. She gets up and kisses her father on the cheek, spreading some of your seed on his face, which he wipes off with a towel while adjusting his cock back into his pants.

"You've been having fun," says Dr. Mitchell over your shoulder, having been allowed in by one of your other charges.