Apocalypse Cum

Apocalypse Cum

The apocalypse had been real and not a hoax.

Just a year earlier, surrounded by my friends and family, I had celebrated my eighteenth birthday at a wonderful party given by my adoring parents. I had been a senior in high school then, going to football games, making out with my boyfriend in the back seat of his car, getting ready for college, planning for my Senior Prom, and trying to convince my boyfriend to wait a while longer before we had sex.

It never occurred to me how dramatically my life could change, but here I was a year later, with a man old enough to be my father between my legs, eating my pussy and making me orgasm and cum for him and more disturbingly . . . fall in love with him.

*****

Opinions differed . . . some people thought it was a virulent strain of the flu developed as a biological weapon by the military that had somehow gotten away from them.

With all of the devastation and loss around us, it's hard to believe that a lot of people thought the news stories were a hoax. This viral pandemic with a mortality rate so high that only a tiny fraction of the population survived had begun to spread over a year ago in Asia. It wasn't until last spring that it finally reached the United States and began to spread like wildfire across the country, attacking large and small cities, rich and poor, old and young, good and bad, everyone was vulnerable.

Despite all of the evidence to the contrary, my Dad chose to believe the virus as a hoax. He felt that way up until the day he contracted the virus.

*****

After both our parents succumb to the illness, Michael, my older brother, and I decided to drive to Ojai, a secluded, mountain town where other members of our family lived. We naively thought we had somehow been spared the virus since we hadn't become ill along with our parents, but a few days after loading up the car and getting on the highway, Michael became ill . . . very ill. We pulled off the road and made camp hoping with a little rest he'd be better, but he wasn't, and within three or four days, he too died.

I was only eighteen, scared, and truly on my own for the first time in my life.

I managed to bury Michael, and after another day of trying to decide what to do, I gathered my courage, and I began the remaining drive to Ojai. Before I had gone fifty miles, the car started to sputter and eventually stopped. I had run out of gas. I glanced down at the fancy motion-activated wristwatch my parents had given me as a graduation present, and the time showed as just after one o'clock. My first thought was to stay with the car until someone else drove by. After an hour with no other passing cars, I decided it might be better if I began to walk along the highway where I could at least get a little closer to my destination, and be able to hide if I needed to quickly.

*****

The sun was lowering. It would be dark soon, and I needed to find someplace to shelter and sleep before it became too dark. I was tired, thirsty, and hungry but made myself continue for another hour before I saw the outline of a dark, shuttered house situated off the highway. My first impression, as I approached the house, was that it was empty and, in all likelihood, scavengers had probably already been through it and taken any food or anything else of value. I crept cautiously into the darkened house, my vision aided by the dim light that filtered through the windows and illuminated the shape of the furniture in the room. Two of the interior doors were locked, but after checking the other rooms and being satisfied they were empty, I propped a chair against the front door. To my surprise, the water was still working in the bathroom, and taking advantage of it, I took off my rode dirty clothes and washed them as best I could, before I cleaned up and stretched out naked inside my sleeping bag and was quickly asleep.

The room was pitch dark and quiet, but I had been awakened by the sound of movement in the room, I thought at first that it must be a small animal or maybe a dog that had gotten in somehow. I was lying on my side and was suddenly rolled over onto my back. My legs were roughly spread open, and I screamed when a man's fully erect penis was pushed inside me. Still screaming and trying to fight, his hands went to my throat and tightened.

"Shhhh, shhhh . . . it's been months . . . I need to do this. Just let me put my cock in your pussy." He said breathlessly.

"Hurt . . . you're hurting me," I tried to protest as the man's large rough hands squeezed the breath from me. Even as I tried to pull his hands away, I could feel a warm veil of darkness descending, and I quieted and stopped struggling.

"You're a fucking virgin," he said in disbelief . . . "what the fuck were you doing out there by yourself?" He said angrily, even as he continued to thrust into me.

I lay like a limp doll under him, dazed, no longer struggling. I felt his hands loosen and move to my breasts, pinching and rolling the hard sensitive nipples between his thumb and index finger. It seemed to go on for a long time before the man's body stiffened on top of me, and his arms went around me, pulling me tightly to him, his hands under my ass pressing me against him as his hips began to thrust deeper and harder. Then with a loud animal grunt of release, he came, filling my pussy with his semen.

It was so dark in the room I couldn't make out the features of his face as he looked down at me and saw my tears. "There's no point in crying," he mumbled as he continued to slowly grind his softening cock inside my pussy until he had emptied his balls.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. As my body pushed his limp cock out of me, the man stood and watched me with a look of unrepentant lust on his face. He reached down to touch me, and I cringed away from him. "I'm . . ." he began and stopped, and then abruptly turning, walked naked across the room to a door that stood open, entered the room, and closed the door.

*****

I don't know how long I lay there in the darkness, softly crying, too afraid to get up, and even more afraid to close my eyes and sleep. Eventually, the movement in the other room quieted, and the faint light no longer showed under the door. I quietly got up and went into the bathroom to retrieve my clothes. I pulled on my jeans and t-shirt, draped my backpack over my shoulder, and tiptoed to the front door to leave. The chair was no longer jammed against the door, and the door was locked, I couldn't open it. I went to the window, but it had long ago been nailed shut as were the other windows in the room. He had done this, locked me here in his house? Locked the doors so I couldn't leave?

Trying to suppress the growing sense of panic, I began to shout, "Let me out! Let me out of here, you bastard! Let me out!" When he didn't respond, I started banging on the door to his room, but when he warned threateningly, "get away from the fucking door and stop that goddamn noise or I'll make you stop," I quickly backed away.

I sat down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, thinking to myself that he couldn't keep me here and that once it was light outside, I'd find a way to get out of here. As I sat there, my exhaustion quickly overtook me, and my eyelids grew heavy and soon fluttered closed. Nodding there in the chair, I could feel a vague soreness, and the dampness between my legs where his cum had seeped out and collected.

I must have dozed off for a while, and when I startled awake, I was seated at the table with my head resting on my folded arms. The room was bright and sunny, and the man was standing across the room, quietly watching me.

When I looked up and saw him there, I immediately got up and moved as far away from him as I could.

We eyed each other, neither of us speaking.

Finally, he said, "My name is Steven."

He was rough looking, intimidating, and kind of scary. He was a man without humor. He had a weathered complexion from years of being outdoors and a shaved bald head. Large, wideset brown eyes with thick brows and deep lines at the corners of his mouth. I'd guess he was in his forties, 6' 1" tall, about 190/195 pounds with a strong, muscular build. He had a large tattoo of a bulldog on his left upper arm and another tattoo that covered his entire right arm.

He had been outside chopping wood, and when he had come inside, thought shirtless, he had on a pair of camouflage pants and black work boots. His military appearance and demeanor reminded me of my Dad.

"Why did you lock me in here? What do you want?" I asked.

"And you are?"

"My name is Anna. I want to leave," I told him.

"I locked you in last night because I was afraid you'd try and leave. It's too dangerous for a woman to be outside at night alone, but you're free to go whenever you want."

"Would you like something to eat before you leave?" Steven asked out of the blue.

I didn't reply.

"I saw you yesterday evening when you came down the road. You looked scared and too young to be traipsing about alone, what were you doing out there anyway?"

"I'm nineteen years old, I said indignantly, and I wasn't alone. I mean not at first . . . I was with my brother, but he died a few weeks ago."

"Why didn't you say something when I came into the house if you saw me on the road?" I pressed him.

The man didn't answer.

"When you leave here, where are you going?" Steven asked.

"I'm trying to get to Ojai. I have family there," I explained.

"You know, Ojai is still another hundred miles or so from here, and obviously you're not aware that nobody's there anymore; the virus just about wiped out the town and those who were left headed out for other places."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" I asked him.

"Believe me, Anna, I'm not lying," Steven said, taking several steps toward me. I began to back away from him. After his attack, last night, I was terrified of him, didn't trust him, and just wanted to get away, far away from him.

"You must be an intelligent young lady, and I'm sure you realize that it's not safe for you out there alone."

My head snapped up, and I looked at him and with each word dripping with disgust said, "Just like things were safe in here last night, weren't they," Now crying despite struggling not to, I looked at him and with a trembling, wavering voice said, "I had never been with a man before, but it made no difference to you, did it?" I all but screamed at him as I hurried to the front door.

After a long pause, he said, "I'm sorry, I know what happened was wrong, but there's nothing I can do to change that. It happened."

"Go to Hell, you perverted bastard," I said as I turned to open the door.

"No! Wait, wait, Anna," he said.

"Think . . . just calm down a moment and think. You're not going to be able to make it anywhere on your own, but if that's what you want to do, then I have a proposition for you. Stay for a week. Stay for a week . . . and let me have sex with you. No refusal or struggling, just your . . . your cooperation," he said in a blunt, business-like manner.

I couldn't believe what he was saying to me. "You're crazy if you think I'd stay here and let you use me, use my body like that."

"At the end of the week, if you still want to go, I'll give you enough food and water to last for at least a week or two."

I stopped and closed the door. I must have stood there for a while without responding, just thinking, trying to decide what to do and if I could trust Steven to keep his word.

"Well, what's it gonna be?" he finally asked.

I looked at him

"Do you promise? After a week I can go, and you'll give me supplies and water for two weeks? And you promise not to hurt me and not to treat me like you did last night?"

"Yes . . . yes, you have my word. As long as I have your promise to let me fuck you when I want?"

Sniffling and trying desperately not to start crying again, I finally answered, "Yes, I promise."

What else could I have done? I could use the supplies, and more than anything, I wanted to be with my family, and if that meant I needed to let this man fuck me, then I would.

I didn't trust Steven, and if truth be told, I think I might have been afraid of him, worried that he would not keep his promises, that he would use me and then send me on my way with nothing. Despite everything, I hoped I was wrong about him.

*****

As we sat drinking coffee in the small kitchen, Steve told me about himself. As I suspected, he had been in the Marines until his retirement about ten years ago. Once married but now divorced, no children, he had grown up and gone to school in this area before joining the Marines, and after he left the service, he moved back here and built this house. He had started a small construction business that had been doing well and growing.

While he swore he was not a survivalist or anything like that, once the talk and rumors about the virus started endlessly popping up in the news, on the internet, and television, he had begun to plan and make modifications on his house. In his basement, he installed a refrigerator, freezer, and a small generator and began stocking it with provisions and other things he might need if worse came to worse.

On the outside of the house, he installed iron security bars on the windows and the doors. He built a special enclosure that he kept locked where he had two three hundred gallon water tanks that were filled by a direct water feed from his well that he had constructed, a large commercial generator, and an underground propane tank that he kept filled at all times.

And though he only infrequently needed to use it, he also had a pickup truck that he kept in top running order.

*****

Steven told me he had seen me walking down the road last evening and how he'd been initially pissed when he saw me veer off the road and head toward the house.

He said he had watched me for a while in the fading light. "You looked exhausted, and I guess I felt a little sorry for you, anyway when I saw you coming in this direction I went downstairs and unlocked the door and went into the study. I didn't want you to know I was there."

"I see people walk by every few days and some attempt to get into the house, but they usually keep going when they realize they can't get in. A few become aggressive, belligerent, and abusive because they can't get in, or I won't let them in. There was something about you. I heard you walking around in the front room, checking the doors, the empty rooms. When you were satisfied there was no one else here I listened as you propped that chair against the door and went into the bathroom to wash up. I stayed quiet, and I could hear you crying, and it wasn't until you fell into an exhausted sleep that I opened my door and walked into the front room where you were on the floor sleeping, inside your sleeping bag. I hadn't intended to have sex with you, I swear. You were sleeping on your back, and the sleeping bag was partially open, exposing one of your small white breasts to the cool air in the room, making the nipple hard and erect. I remember looking down at you and thinking how pretty you were."

Steven nervously looked around the room before he continued.

"It had been a long time since I had had a woman, been inside a woman. As I watched you sleep, my dick became so hard it was throbbing almost painfully. I unzipped the bag the rest of the way and stretched out next to you. I thought if I could just touch you and not wake you that I would go back to my room and masturbate until I relieved myself. Touching you wasn't enough. When my hand slipped between your legs, and you started to moan in your sleep, I knew what was going to happen. I started rubbing and grinding my cock against your ass, and when you woke and tried to push me away, without really thinking about it, I quickly got between your legs and began probing for your hole with my cock. I know you must have been terrified, and you were trying to fight me, but overpowering, you was easy. My hands went to your throat, not to hurt you, never to hurt you but just to quiet you. I squeezed, and you began pulling at my hands, trying to loosen my fingers. By now, I was so excited and desperate to fuck you that I pushed hard into you and felt your body resist me, and then I heard you scream as my hardness tore through your innocence. You stopped fighting me then, and though I was ashamed of what I had done, was doing, I kept thrusting into your soft, warm, pussy until I came, pounding deep and hard inside your sweet, virgin pussy.

I remember whispering, "Shhhh, shhhh, don't cry," next to your ear as I slowly stroked in and out of you until your pussy muscles had milked my cock dry. When I pulled out, I wanted to say something, but the look on your face stopped me, and I turned and walked back into the room, closing the door behind me.

*****

Our deal had been made. It was only for one week, seven days . . . I could do this.

Steven lived in a relatively large house, four bedrooms, an office, kitchen, living room, bathrooms, and it looked as if it were comfortable and nicely furnished and decorated before the virus. My first day there was mainly spent airing out and cleaning the room that I had chosen, a large room with three big windows near the front of the house. Steven gave me clean bedding, and after making up the bed, I set out a couple of vases of fresh flowers I picked from the yard behind the house, and it made the room seemed more welcoming and friendly. By the time I had finished my room, it was close to four o'clock, and though I was a bit tired, to show my willingness to help while I was there, I decided to cook dinner. With the foresight that Steven seemed to have about most things, he had stocked the large freezer in the basement with game he had hunted, fish he had caught and beef, pork, and chicken that he had raised. When Steven came in tired and hungry, after washing up, he sat down to a dinner of roast chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans. Certainly nothing special, but enough to give me a good feeling about my future and myself.

While Steven finished his coffee, I excused myself and went to my room and then into the bathroom for a well-deserved shower. Borrowing one of Steven's shirts, after showering, I slipped it on and went back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Standing at the sink, I felt Steven moving behind me and then his fingers under my shirt. My resisted the impulse was to pull away, remembering his treatment of me the night before. Unsure what to do, after a few seconds, I closed my eyes and gave in as he cupped both breasts and began to fondle them, pinching my nipples until they were hard and erect. Steven reached down and spread my outer pussy lips and started rubbing my swelling clit in small, tight circles.

"Fuck, you're so wet, is that for me?" he teased.

He unzipped his pants and slipped his cock between my thighs, brushing his cockhead against my clit with each stroke. I could feel my arousal increasing as my hips began to move, to sway, and I whorishly pushed back against his groin as Steven brought me to orgasm.

*****

I stood there, flustered by what had just happened as Steven grabbed my arm and pulled me into his bedroom. He hurriedly took his clothes off and standing naked in front of me, placed his hand on my shoulder, and said, "Get on your knees."

His large oversized white shirt opened, exposing my breasts and the smooth, soft pubic mound below, I knelt between his legs, my head lowered, until he reached down and tilted my face up to look at him, "have you sucked a dick before?" he asked.

Embarrassment made my face flush an even brighter pink, and I tried to turn away. Steven holding my chin, forced me to look at him, "have you?"

"No . . . no, I haven't," I answered.