Ace's Point of View
We convened at the designated rendezvous, and the swift transfer of the money commenced. Only four of us pursued the van; the remaining two maintained their positions at the meeting point. The hijacking itself was executed with precision and speed. Upon arrival at the target location, we immediately collaborated to offload the substantial sum, completing the task efficiently and cleanly, leaving no trace of our presence.
Returning home, the weight of the recovered fortune evident, Father announced his intention: to bring smiles to people's faces. True to his established pattern, he divided the sixty-five million dollars into three portions, though this time, the distribution was unconventional. He allocated forty million dollars to one cause, two separate sums of ten million dollars each to others, and a final five million dollars set aside independently.
A wave of curiosity washed over me. What was he planning? I waited, anticipation building, for him to reveal his strategy.
In the secluded sanctuary of the "Bulk room"—a clandestine space ingeniously integrated into our new house, its existence known only to family—Father and I stood alone. The room, a testament to our need for discretion, was designed to evade external detection.
Finally, he broke the silence, outlining his vision for the money.
"The forty million dollars," he began, "will go to the widow." He continued, "Ten million dollars is for our family, another ten million for the orphanages, and the remaining five million for the public."
His intention became clear: to cultivate public awareness of our name, to foster a sense of support within the community that could potentially shield us should unforeseen circumstances arise.
"Our first visit will be to the widow's home, followed by the other designated locations," he instructed. My sisters and I, clad in our distinctive hooded yellow dresses, a uniform of sorts, prepared for our mission. Customized caps and vests completed our ensemble.
Arriving at the widow's residence, we donned our masks. I approached the main door and knocked.
A young girl cautiously opened it, her voice tinged with apprehension. "Who are you people?" she inquired.
"We are here for your benefit," I replied gently. Her gaze flickered towards our concealed faces. "Why are you hiding?" she asked.
"May we speak with your mother?" I countered.
She nodded silently and retreated, her light footsteps fading as she descended the stairs. Moments later, heavier footsteps ascended, signaling the approach of an adult. The door opened, revealing the widow herself.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Are we in trouble?" she asked, a note of alarm in her voice.
"No, madam, you are not," I reassured her.
Vesta then asked if we could speak inside. Fear was etched on the widow's face, yet I sensed a resignation, perhaps an understanding that our presence was not easily dismissed. She hesitantly invited us in.
Shielding her children with her body, she pleaded, "Please, don't harm us."
"We mean no harm to you or your children," I stated firmly. I proceeded to explain the injustice she had suffered, the deprivation of her late husband's dues, and our intervention to recover a portion of what was rightfully hers.
We presented her with bags containing the forty million dollars. A wave of disbelief and then overwhelming joy washed over her, tears streaming down her face.
She recounted the hardship she and her children had endured, their dwindling resources and her impending need to seek a loan, interrupted only by her daughter's announcement of our arrival. The unexpected arrival of such a substantial sum left her speechless.
We then presented the family with our customized vests and caps. "We are DAUGHTERS," we declared, a subtle yet significant introduction. "Remember us."
Leaving the widow's home, we embarked on the next phase of Father's plan.
"We need to build recognition," he had explained, "because someday we might face trouble with the authorities. In such times, the only true sanctuary could be the public, willing to shelter us, no matter how clever we believe ourselves to be."
"People are easily won over," he asserted. "Everyone appreciates and desires money."
Our public outreach began. As soon as a crowd gathered, we discreetly withdrew, relocating to another area far from the initial distribution point, a necessary precaution against potential police intervention.
Our gifts extended beyond mere currency; we also distributed our customized vests and caps, further solidifying our unique identity in the public consciousness.
Interspersed with these public giveaways were visits to various orphanages, where we delivered their allocated share of the funds.
Our plans included extending our reach to other cities. Mother had requested advance notice of our departures. Mince attempted to contact her, but her calls went unanswered. Earlier, she had mentioned needing a hot shower; perhaps she was still occupied.
Charles' Point of View
Our daughters are out there, strategically disseminating wealth to familiarize the public with our existence. This calculated generosity is intended to foster cooperation, to ensure that when we are engaged in our endeavors and require assistance, the community will be inclined to offer it.
Milan and I were the only ones at home. Her youthful vitality never ceases to amaze me. She was engrossed in a computer game, simultaneously monitoring the calls and movements of our daughters.
Abruptly, she paused her game and hurried past me, retrieving something. The way her underwear accentuated her figure, the perfect curve of her hips flowing into her backside, instantly ignited a familiar desire within me. Even after all these years, her captivating form still holds an undeniable power over me.
I reached out, pulling her back into my embrace. "What do you want?" she murmured, her tone laced with playful affection.
"This," I responded, my hands settling on the soft, yielding expanse of her backside. Large, curvaceous, and undeniably alluring, it possesses a resilience that I find utterly irresistible. I couldn't help myself; I gently guided her down onto the nearby sofa and intimately connected with her from behind.
The pleasure latches onto me, creating a feeling that runs right from my testicles up to my brain.
Her soft backside rhythm flow keeps sending a want more signal to my mind as her laps keep hitting mine. I tangled her hair around my right hand to draw her head closer to me, and my left hand pulled her waist down to the sofa, creating a posture that allowed me to hit her well from behind.
It was a very enjoyable and memorable sexual session between us.