Apocalypse Slaves Pt. 14

Erin closed her eyes and took a couple deep, calming breaths. A year of surviving since coming out of cryo has come to this; she was in hiding, mom was being fucked in a brothel against her will, and her dad was now swinging dead from a noose in the town square. After the fiasco at the general store where mom had told her to run, Erin had looped back around when she heard a single gunshot and her mom cry out in anguish. She eluded her pursuers long enough to get to the roofs in time to see the Montana Militiamen hang her father. Tears threatened to come back as the memory was all too soon and fresh in her mind. Her father's harsh voice from early on in their preparedness scenarios came to her. Do you think that your pursuers will give you a minute to have a pity party while you're feeling sorry for yourself? GET UP! MOVE!

Her father was right, even if he was dead. She couldn't blame him for going back to get mom when she was crying out for help as she was held down and stripped in the general store by the fucking Militiamen. If she'd been married, she would've gone for her spouse too. Hell, she wasn't married, and she still went to help mom and dad even though more of those assholes were flocking to the store. "Right, dad," Erin said with renewed determination. What was it that Caine liked to say in paraphrasing that old hero movie? Hey... worst case scenario; if we can't save our folks then we can avenge them?

She couldn't help but wonder if the Caine who was wreaking havoc out east was the Caine that she knew and loved. Her eyes settled on a copy of the Lincoln Gazette in which some woman named Lauren had written an in-depth expose about the infamous man and his sudden return from obscurity. She looked at the picture attached. It could be Caine Douglas, but she just couldn't tell for certain as the man in the picture was wearing sunglasses and it was a nine-month-old paper that only got to this area five or six months ago. Erin reread the article. Caine, whoever he was, had been busy. As she looked over the article for what had to be the umpteenth time, she realized what she had to do. She couldn't go after the Militiamen directly as Caine had done with the Crusaders out east. She didn't have the backup or the name to do it. But she would have to become Caine's student... his apprentice... his disciple. She'd have to learn how to be like Caine.

But how to go about it? She checked the article again about Caine's past exploits. He was apparently a fan of subterfuge; casing places before making his strike, searching them out for weaknesses, and then, once everyone was on edge and jumping at shadows, he made his move. While she probably wasn't a master of disguise and intrigue like Caine is, she did have a few things going for her; namely her tits, ass, and twat. She got up and moved to the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. One look at her clothes and she decided that they'd have to go. Erin determined that's why they'd been sticking out like sore thumbs; they were still using clothes from before the apocalypse occurred. They screamed like they were from another time and another place. They'd accounted for every possibility except people's fashion sense nearly a century into the future.

Erin got her knife and first cut her hair. It was all the way down to her ass, so she took it off at the shoulders before doing the rest up into a bun. She'd be able to pass for a boy if she could find clothes tight enough to keep her large C Cups down a bit, and then baggy clothes to go over those. She'd need to get a hat or something and then remembered that wide-brimmed cowboy hat that Dad had picked up off of a raider not too long ago. She went tearing through the bags and easily found it. Erin put it on, stuffing her bun up into the hollow. Then she went back to the mirror. Looking better. She couldn't do anything about her clothes right now. Her mom's pants were too tall for her, Melanie being 5'10 to Erin's smaller 5'6 body, and her dad's pants were way too big and baggy. So, for a quick fix she took the knife to the top of her t-shirt that she was wearing and spit it down the middle from the collar to about her sternum to make some cleavage. Then she slashed at the bottom of it to show some midriff as a plan formed in her head. With her jeans, she made turned them into Daisy Duke shorts and went to go find her mom's boots that came up halfway on her thighs. There we go... perfect outfit to go clothes hunting in... she figured.

Before leaving, she took one of the pistols from the survival packs to tuck into her back waistband. No free woman, she saw, went around unarmed. She then put her bowie knife into one boot and her knife that she used for her clothes alterations into the other. For good measure, she found the RadRoot she kept in her pack, broke off a small piece, and chewed it. Now ready, Erin left the small second floor apartment, locking the door behind her, hiding the key nearby, and then crawling through the twisting tunnel of wreckage and debris that she and her parents had spent a week making just to get to the out of the way space. She paused at the opening into the hallway, watching and waiting to see if anyone was nearby. Then she poked her head just out of the tattered, draped curtain that covered the hole and waited again. When she was satisfied that no one was around, she left and walked down the hall and down the stairs as if she belonged there.

Night had fallen in the time it took her to make her escape, check on her ill-fated parents, and then take a long, circular route to their hideout before having her pity party. She kept to the sides of the trash and debris laden streets, hopping into alleyways or darting behind old rusty dumpsters and other fallen objects that'd been left over from the Flare whenever someone came her way. Erin kept as quiet as she could until she got to the outskirts of town where she knew that the picket scouts would be out patrolling. Huddled groups of civilians were now starting to congregate in whatever parts they'd carved out for their homes, clustering around fire barrels for comfort and for heating up food. Erin's belly growled as she caught the scent of some roasted meat but stayed with her plan. It'd been some time since she'd had a decently cooked meal and the smell was tantalizing.

Once she'd found the guards and scouts that guarded the inner core of Billings where she'd come from, she stared to look for her pick to take down. As much as she wanted to start mowing Militiamen down, she refrained from doing so. To do that would attract more attention than she wanted. She took some shelter under the half-fallen roof of an old store and kept watch on the street. After some time, with the help of the full moon above, she spied a young man who was kinda geeky and gangly but was small enough for his clothes to be her size. That was her target. He laughed and joked with the other Militiamen, but it was clear that he was out of place among them. She'd even heard some cracks about his virginity. He'd probably been recently recruited by them and had yet to work his way up in the ranks. Perfect. The way the other, more seasoned members were treating him, he wouldn't be missed. She watched him until he was dismissed for the night and then she shadowed his path, keeping parallel to him so that she could pick her moment.

When they were in a stretch of town that was pretty barren in terms of people, the no-man's land between the civilians and the inner core of soldiers where the militiamen lived, she got in front of him, started rummaging around the trash and refuse, and turned on the tears. She made sure that she was audible enough for him to hear but not loud enough to attract any unwanted attention. "Hey!" he said, leveling his rifle at her. At least he had enough military bearing to be suspicious of her. "Freeze!" he ordered. "Who are you? You're not supposed to be here!"

"OH!" Erin yelped dramatically, raising her hands up in surrender and facing him. "I'm... I'm sorry, sir," she said in the most helpless voice she could muster. "I'm just tired... and cold... and hungry... I'm just looking for something to eat!"

The scrawny looking eighteen-year-old looked skeptical but still snorted in amusement as he slowly advanced on her. "Hmph... I got something you can eat," he said derisively. Then she saw the light go off in his brain as he obviously remembered the crack about him being a virgin from earlier. "Up against the wall," he said, grabbing her arm and throwing her up against the nearest one. He kicked her legs wide apart, shouldered his rifle, and patted her down. He easily found her pistol, tucked in the waistband at the small of her back where he then quickly pocketed it. Then his hands lingered on her hips before coming around to her firm, denim clad ass. He squeezed her rump then leaned into her, as if he were still frisking her, this time sliding his hands up under her new midriff t-shirt to grope her breasts still encased in her bra. She felt his head nuzzle hers, knocking her hat forward a bit, and heard him inhale the scent of her hair. "You want something to eat, bitch?" he asked in such a way that made him sound like he was trying way too hard. "I got a cock you can suck on before I actually feed you."

"Ooohhhh... please don't hurt me, sir," she moaned and shuddered. Erin had to refrain from rolling her eyes. It was to the point that she was almost going to feel bad for him. Almost.

He put a hand on her neck and steered her down the dark road. "Walk," he said, pushing her.

"Ooohh... where are we going, sir? Please don't hurt me!" she said, playing up the part of the helpless prey.

He pushed her a few blocks down the road before turning her into an old neighborhood with reclaimed houses in it. She was guided to one non-descript house that looked like it was an old two-bedroom place where he shoved her through a door and locked it behind them. "Now," he said as he pushed her up against a wall before taking off his rifle, utility belt, backpack, and leather uniform top. "Now I'm going to frisk you down properly and fuck you, slave," he said in the harshest voice he could muster as he cozied back up behind her. His hands immediately went back up to her breasts where he grabbed her already cut up t-shirt and ripped it open down the middle. Then he reached down and hastily opened the fly of her new cutoffs, roughly sliding a hand inside and under her panties to feel her up. "You don't shave? You bad girl!" he admonished her, taking his hand out and swatting her across the ass. "You'll shave for your Master from here on out!"

Now Erin did roll her eyes as she'd had love taps hit her rump harder than this guy. Nevertheless, she turned on the fake tears for him and gave him what he wanted to hear. "OW! Ohhhhhh... p-p-please! Sir! I'll behave! I'll be a good girl! I'll do what you want!"

"I know you will, slut. Now get down on your knees! Daddy wants his balls drained!" he ordered, pointing down to the floor.

Erin gave him a whimpering, pouty look as she knocked her hat back off of her head, looked up at him with a pitiful expression, and dropped to her knees as he fished out his hard cock. She had to give the boy credit; he was packing. It was almost a shame, really, what she had to do. He stepped back forward, grabbed the back of her head, and 'forced' his cock down her mouth. She took him easily, whimpering as she started sucking on him while he controlled the movement of her head. "Yeeeeeeah, that's it, bitch," he said gleefully. "Take it! Take it all!"

"Mmmphh!" Erin said in mock protest as he face fucked her.

"Take off your bra while you're at it, slut!" he ordered. Erin shucked off the torn remains of her t-shirt and reached back to unclasp her bra, letting her breasts fall free. She looped her arms out of the straps and dropped it to the side while still looking up on him and sucking on his cock. He wasn't paying any attention to her, however. He had his head tipped back and his eyes closed while he got a blowjob from her. "Oh yeah, I'm gonna cum, bitch, you better take it all," he breathed while gyrating his hips back and forth. A moment later he did just that and Erin, expertly swallowed every drop of cum he shot down her throat. When she tried to pull back, he held her head in place. "Oh no, you don't!" he hissed. "Suck me 'til I get hard again so I can fuck your ass! So, you better get outta those shorts and panties now, because I don't want to wait!"

Erin gave him a defeated whine to let him know that he was 'still in charge', but nevertheless still sucked on his cock. He was hard within moments which, to her, indicated that it'd been quite some time since he'd been laid. Then he suddenly pulled back and threw her face down onto the ground. Erin made a token effort to get away, crawling out of her panties and shorts that she'd since taken down to her ankles while she was blowing him. He was on her in an instant, pinning her face down on the floor and kicking her legs out wide before spearing his cock up into her pussy. She wasn't totally wet yet, so it hurt her a bit as he entered her, making her cry out in pain. Any reservations she had about killing him evaporated in that instant.

As the young Militiaman started humping her while she was flat on the ground in nothing more than her cowboy boots, the initial pain of penetration gave way to immense pleasure. Erin buried her face in her arms and fake cried some more for his benefit. In reality, she was enjoying it, even when he laid on her back, pounded away, and roughly slid his hands underneath of her to grope her bare tits. God, I am such a slut... she thought ruefully as the pleasure built in her loins. Unfortunately, the Militiaman turned out to be a Minuteman as he blew his load after pumping his cock into her only a few times. Erin moaned in frustration. Fucker...she thought bitterly, twisting her head and looking over at him when he rolled off of her to lay on the floor to catch his breath.

"Damn... you're a good lay, slave," he breathed. "I think I'll keep you here to fuck."

Erin rolled her eyes while subtly reaching down into her right boot to draw her bowie knife from it. "There's a problem with that," she said evenly. "You're not worthy of keeping me." He gave her a curious frown a half second before she rose to her knees and drove the knife down into his neck. She slid to her right, moving above his head, to avoid the spray of blood as his carotid artery was severed when she twisted it up and around his neck. His hands shot to his neck in a vain attempt to keep the blood inside of his body, but the damage had already been done. Erin stood up and backed away from him, watching dispassionately while he bled out. As the life started to drain from his eyes, he looked up at her questioningly. She half shrugged. "I almost felt sorry for you and probably would've let you live had you actually been a nice guy," she told him as the lights went out and he finally died.

She didn't bother moving the body. She didn't even bother recovering any of her clothes. Instead she cleaned her knife off on her now useless t-shirt before she walked naked to the bedroom and found the guy's wardrobe in his closet. He only had a few sets of clothes, but that was enough for her to get started. Erin grabbed a leather backpack that had seen better days and started stuffing clothes into it; pants, shirts, socks, man's boxer-briefs, and even an old duster. Perfect. She pulled her boots off long enough to put a pair of socks on and to put on a clean pair of underwear. Then she dressed in her newly inherited digs and then found a mirror in the bathroom to check herself out. Erin nodded. She now looked like she belonged in this world and wasn't a relic of an old world that no longer existed. With her hair pulled back and tucked up under her hat, she could even pass as a Militiaman for a while.

With her newfound clothes and backpack, she went back to the front room, not paying any mind to the body and the growing pool of blood. She did grab her hat and donned it before the blood could reach it. Then she went to the kitchen to see what she could find to eat. Erin was rewarded with canned food that was stamped from the Denver and Cheyenne Habs and dated fairly recently; a good sign that some of civilization was returning in her mind. She found a can opener nearby, popped one open, and nearly squealed with glee; canned ravioli. Using the stove, she quickly heated the can up and ate straight from it. It might not have been Chef Boyardee, but it was a hot meal and it was good nevertheless. She savored every bite and then heated up a second can. Then Erin stuffed every can she could find along with the can opener in with her clothes, shouldered the backpack, retrieved her pistol from the Militiaman's pockets, and then headed out the door, locking it behind her.

Erin took a moment to get her eyes accustomed to the dim moonlight outside. There were other Militamen about, coming and going from their reclaimed homes. Some were just huddled around fire barrels sharing smokes and jabbering away. Not wanting to look too out of place, Erin walked out to the street and turned back the way she'd come when she was first led here. "Hey Mikey!" one of the Militiamen called out. "We saw you take a girl into your house. Good on ya, man! You finally got laid!" he cajoled to the other's delight.

"Yeah!" Erin laughed right along with them, trying to match 'Mikey's' tone and inflection as much as possible. "But I gotta run to the store to get a real gag. She talks too much and I don't want to waste a sock in her mouth!" she shot right back. That prompted more laughter, but the Militiamen waved goodbye as Erin turned again and walked off. They'd bought her impromptu identity. Maybe, just maybe, she could pull this off. Maybe, doing things this way she could work her way back to the inner core of Billings.

And maybe, just maybe, she might be able to save her mom.

***

CHAPTER 133: Melanie - Adjusting

After she'd washed up and joined the others on the balcony yesterday, Melanie quickly found out from the other girls that there were two basic rules that the men followed regarding their treatment. The first was no permanent harming; including killing, cutting, maiming, burning, breaking of limbs, bruising, etc... Fucking them until they were raw and sore, biting, slapping, choking, and spanking were all perfectly acceptable so long as no visible marks appeared. The second was no more than two guys at a time so that they didn't get carried away and might 'forget' the first rule. But that didn't stop them from lining up outside of their rooms on declared 'treat days', as one girl put it, so that they were effectively gangbanged nonstop. Melanie also found out that there was a third floor to this place as her first night in the brothel Charles had taken her up a back stairway to his personal room up in the converted attic where he had her chained up spread eagled to his bed where he proceeded to fuck her most of the night before going to sleep using her breasts as a pillow. It was an uncomfortable bed and an awkward way of sleeping with a man, so she only managed a token amount of sleep.

She barely made it through breakfast on the first floor, which consisted of a cornbread type muffin and some kind of gruel with water to drink, before trudging back up to the second floor to have her chain reattached to her collar and to sit down on a chair overlooking the main floor below. The doors were opened soon after and the Militiamen who were on the night shift of patrols and guard duty came in for food, drinks, and entertainment when they were off of their shift. Melanie looked down at them, resting her head on her arms on the banister like some of the other bored looking girls to her left, and stayed quiet. The men talking below didn't interest her until she heard one table talking.