The Reverend (whenever he was close enough to actually smell the action, he even called himself that) saw the back of the van open up, his immediate thoughts of diving right in to check the haul evaporated.  His desire to make sure no one could lie about the amount of the take and cheat him of his rightful share was no match for the desires the rest of the packages were stirring. He could see the first one, a bit roughed up but clearly damned pretty, getting hauled out, manhandled by the scruff of the neck and a solid bowling ball hold between her tender thighs, up good and tight in her young cunt, and he nodded in appreciation.  For the first time he could remember, he felt like he was working with kindred souls, Hallelujah!<br/><br/>The smile he'd been trying to hide broke through his professional demeanor.  But it was Ok, because as he stepped closer to look at the rest of the van's contents, his cock adopted a very hard and professional demeanor of its own. He put one filthy work-stained boot up on the bumper and climbed in, the smell of sweat and fear and God knows what else overpowering, two more delicious morsels bundled inside. "How can I help, fellas?" and he could scarcely wait for an answer as he rolled up his sleeves, ready to get his hands very, very dirty.