Kiss My Apocalips Ch. 02

"It's going to be a really big one, Jacob. I can't stop it. I don't have any control at all. No control. No control. No ... Aaaiieee!" And her whole body jerked and spasmed and convulsed. Her right hand wrapped around my cock and squeezed so hard it made me wince. It seemed to go on and on and on; until finally, she just seemed to collapse. I wasn't sure she was even conscious.

Her grip had loosened on my shaft, but she left her hand there. Then her free hand came up and stroked the side of my face. "Take me now. Please. Cum inside me. Please."

I kissed her softly. "Not yet."

She looked at me curiously. "What is it?" she asked softly.

"You told me earlier today that you'd never had a boyfriend. Am I your boyfriend now?"

She gave me a weak smile. "Yes?"

I nodded. "Good. That's the way I feel, too. So now ... no secrets. Somebody hurt you. Who was it?"

A tear sprang to her left eye. "Please, Jacob. I don't want ...."

"No secrets. Tell me what happened to you. Who was he?"

The tear slid down her left cheek toward her ear. "My brother."

"Your brother abused you? How long?"

"About a year. A little less. He came into my room. Then he used me. Then he left. It hurt. At least, it did at first."

"And you never told anyone?"

Her tears were silent. "I told my mother. She caught me crying one afternoon when she was home from work. She told me to tell her what was wrong. So, I did."

"What did she say about it?" I asked.

"The worst possible thing. She said: 'The bastard! He told me that he wouldn't touch you! He promised that, if he left you alone, I'd be the only one!'

I was horrified. I hoped it didn't show in my eyes. "What did she do?"

"She took me to the doctor. Got me a birth control implant. Then she gave me a small bottle of lubricant. Told me that the reason it hurt was because I was dry."

"Oh, Jesus, Wanda!"

She looked up at me and nodded. "You hate me now."

"I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

"You hate me because I'm weak. Because I didn't stop him. Because I stayed in that house for almost a year and didn't leave. Now that you know, you can never 'unknow.' You'll always hate me because ...."

"I don't hate you! I love you, Wanda. I'll always love you."

She smiled through her tears. "You big oaf! You can't love a weak girl like me. Especially now that THIS has happened! In the new world, you need ... you DESERVE ... a girl who ...."

I kissed her. Hard. And I kept it going for a long, long time. She seemed to tense, and then she finally melted in my arms. When it ended at last, I left my lips brushing hers. "I love you," I whispered.

"You big oaf!" she panted.

I sat up and looked down at her. "What kind of hold did he have over you? And ... how did you break it?"

She shrugged. "I've always done whatever I was told; in school, at home. Everywhere. All the time. That's just the way I've always been. He told me that first night; I remember it was just a day or so after my eighteenth birthday; he told me that if anyone ever found out, I'd never get a job, never be respected, no man would ever want me. And that I'd break Mama's heart. So, I became a co-conspirator in my own assault. His price for silence was for me to leave my bedroom door unlocked." She heaved a sigh. "Then, six months ago, I got the scholarship. Mom ordered me not to tell him. She helped me fill out the forms for the school that was the farthest away. She helped me apply for school-supported jobs. She got me an airline ticket and arranged for a place to stay off-campus. While he was gone, she helped me pack and took me to the airport." She took a big breath. "And ... here I am."

"And here I am, right beside you," I told her gently.

That seemed to take her breath away. "You big oaf!" she whispered.

During the whole interaction, she just lay there, her legs still spread, just as she'd been when I was touching her. I rolled atop her. "I want you. Please, can I have you now?" I asked.

In response, she reached between us and guided me into her. The whole "brother" thing hadn't done much for my libido, but her nearness had caused sufficient swelling of my member to pose no impediment at all to entering her slippery, fleshy tunnel. Once I was fully inside her, she brought her hands up and let them roam my shoulders and chest. As I set up a rhythm, she looked up into my eyes with a gaze that bordered on adoration.

"We should ... find a doctor ... and ask ... about... removing the ... implant," she said softly between strokes. I paused, questioningly. "We need to think about repopulating the new world," she told me. She seemed to be blushing. I suddenly felt hard as a rock.

I picked up the pace, more than a little surprised that I was able to hold out this long. She felt wonderful. Thrusting harder still, she began issuing little "Oh!" exclamations after each driving shove of my hips. I began to be concerned about my weight crushing her body, but her legs had by now scissored around my waist, and she appeared to be pulling me more into herself. Suddenly, her arms flew around my neck, and she arched up into me. How had she known that my time had come? Her lips were next to my ear. "Yes, Jacob! Now! Now!"

I think I yelled something, but I can't remember what it was. The liquid was rocketing out of me, and I felt like I was at the giving-end of a firehose. Her inner muscles clenched and relaxed a few times. I felt suddenly drained, not just of my reproductive juices, but of all of my strength, as well.

"Ssshhh," she hushed me, whispering in my ear. "Oh, my darling Jacob. Let go. Let me hold you."

And I didn't resist the pull of sleep. I simply gave in to the most comforting feeling I'd ever experienced in my whole life.

I was suddenly awash in bright, bright light. The overhead light in the bedroom had been off when I carried her in here, but it was on now. I was halfway between lying on my right side and on my stomach. In one smooth motion, I spun my body to the left, rolling and sliding, and I stood beside the bed, facing the door. My eyes adjusted quickly, and I found myself looking at a man holding a shotgun.

"Holy goddamn fuck!" the guy said. "You are one big dude!"

I quickly tried to assess. Wanda was sitting up in the center of the bed, clutching a sheet between her breasts. She didn't seem to realize that she was simply accentuating them rather than hiding anything. The bathroom door was on the opposite side of the bed. It was obvious neither of us could escape that way. I took in the items on the dresser, to my left. A hairbrush, a jewelry box, a stack of envelopes that might have been old mail. Nothing of use. I looked back at the man. His eyes hadn't left my face. There was a young woman standing beside him and another man behind him, out in the hall. All of them appeared to be armed.

"Dori," the man said calmly, "please point your shotgun at that pretty girl's head."

I saw the barrel of the weapon move upward. "Okay, Frank."

"Now," the guy continued. "I want you to look at the very large naked man. Are you doing that?"

"Yes, Frank."

"If he makes any sudden movement at all, I want you to pull the trigger and blow the pretty girl's head off. Okay, Dori?" When she didn't respond immediately, he spoke a little more loudly. "Okay, Dori?"

"Okay, Frank."

Slowly, slowly, slowly I moved my hands out away from my body and raised them to about shoulder height. I kept my attention centered on good old Frank.

The man nodded. "What's your name, doll?" he asked. His gaze never wavered from me.

"Wanda."

Frank nodded. "Very nice to meet you, Wanda. It just so happens that I represent a wonderful new employment opportunity; and it's one that you simply mustn't pass up."

"Let him go and I'll do whatever you want," Wanda told him flatly.

He chuckled. "That might be an interesting deal. Unfortunately for you ... and especially for him ... we aren't making any deals this evening. You will do exactly what I say, simply because it's what I want from you. And he will die, simply because that's what I want from him."

I saw the sheet drop from her body. "Please?" she begged. "I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you all. Just please don't hurt him."

His smile broadened. "Oh, yes you will," he said smoothly. "But sorry, there are no openings in the corporate structure for big dumb jocks." He stepped in the opposite direction from the woman, opening up the way for the man behind him to enter. "Stan, take our human refrigerator here outside."

I shook my head. "No way, man. I'm not going anywhere."

Frank seemed impressed. "Ah. It speaks. Do what we tell you, dude, or we pop your girlfriend."

I shook my head. "She is exactly what you've been looking for. You're not about to kill her, now that you've found her."

The smile slid from his face. "Okay, I'll kill YOU, right here and now, you ugly fuck!"

I shrugged. "I'm dead one way or the other. Clean up the mess yourself, you son of a bitch."

He growled, lifted the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed it at my head.

"Like tears in the rain," I said.

That seemed to really confuse him. "What?"

"Dumb shit," I muttered; and, beyond the maw of that shotgun, I saw his finger tighten on the trigger.

"HE KNOWS!" Wanda screamed at the top of her lungs.

For a full five seconds, there wasn't a sound. Anywhere. Nobody was breathing.

Keeping the gun leveled, Frank slowly turned his head and looked at her. "What?"

"He knows."

"Knows what?"

"He knows what happened," Wanda told him calmly. "He knows what happened at 7:47 this morning. He knows where it happened, and where it didn't. He knows what made it happen, and he knows why it happened. He knows where all the people went, and he knows how to bring them back. He knows what happened to the animals. And ... he knows when and where it's going to happen again."

He lowered the shotgun. "Bullshit."

"He knows!" she implored. "He was on the phone all afternoon with some professor in Reedsport. That's a town down south on ...."

"I KNOW where fuckin' Reedsport is!" He thought for a moment. "There's no college in Reedsport!"

"His name was Gonzales," Wanda said. "Professor Gonzales. I heard them on the speaker when he called, but I didn't understand anything they said. It was all sciency stuff."

Frank turned toward the young woman with the gun. "New plan, Dori. I want you to take out that knife I gave you." He waited patiently for her to pull a switchblade out of her back pocket. She pressed a button and the blade sprang out and clicked into place. "Now," he continued. "Lummox here is going to lie face down on the bed and put his hands behind his back so that Stan can put a pair of flex-cuffs on him. If he doesn't, you're going to start carving slices out of Wanda's pretty face."

"I don't want to do that, Frank."

"And yet, it's exactly what you WILL do, isn't it, Dori?"

She sighed. "Yes, Frank."

He turned to me. "How about it, sport? I promise not to kill you until we can have a chat about ..." he looked at Wanda "... sciency stuff. But I can't very well leave you unrestrained; now, can I?"

I considered that. Wanda looked scared, which was certainly a natural thing to do. The Dori woman had the tip of the knife against her right cheek. After indulging in a deep breath, I lowered myself onto the surface of the bed and put my arms behind my back. I felt the bed sag as Stan knelt beside me, then I felt the hard plastic of the cuffs push against my fingers.

"His hands are too big," the man grumbled. "They won't fit."

"Our friend is going to figure out how to make them fit," Franks voice said, "or Wanda isn't going to be quite so cute anymore. Won't make much difference to us, considering what we're going to use her for, anyway."

I sighed again and scrunched the tips of my fingers together. The plastic loops slid downward, got hung up on the fleshy part of my hands for a moment, and I finally felt them make it all the way to my wrists. Then they cinched. Tight.

Stan tried to pull me upright, but I shot him a sour look and pulled myself into the vertical without any of his help. "Can I put on some clothes?" I asked. They ignored me. I was prodded back down the hallway and finally into the dining room. Yet another man was sitting at the table.

"Phone, watch and tablet are all encrypted," he told Frank. "Cube is full of porn, mostly." He caught sight of me. "Whoa! You found yourself a naked sumo wrestler!" He glared at Frank. "Why is this dude still breathing? Take him out and end him!"

Frank took a step forward, and I realized that he was trying to exert authority that he wasn't actually sure he had. "I've got questions for him. He has information we need."

"Information?" But then, finally, he spotted Wanda. "Well, HELLO there!"

"She's not for general consumption," Frank told him pointedly.

Surprisingly, the guy rounded on him. "Bullshit, Frank! You've gotten your wicket all sticky with Dori once today! Stan and I got nothin' but blue balls, and I ain't plannin' on sleeping alone tonight! You talked us into joining this club, but a little something for the membership is in order! I mean it!"

"Cool your jets, Weslie! You can have the cunt when she's prepared. We gotta' get her ready first! You know that. If we don't do it right, you could wake up with your throat slit! I'm just tryin' to look out for you, man! No shit!"

The guy regarded Frank suspiciously. "So ... Stan and I get the girls tonight. Right?"

"Sure. Right. I'm going to be talkin' to Bozo here, anyway. Stan, put the dude in that chair." He pointed. "Dori, get things ready for our new female member."

"Okay, Frank." That seemed to be her primary piece of repartee.

Stan attempted to pull me back a step and applied some pressure to the top of my shoulder to goad me into the chair. I didn't allow myself to be moved a single millimeter, and I shot him a glance that let him know I'd sit wherever I wanted. He looked nervous. I walked over to another chair, instead, and sat down. I let my arms extend over the back of it and hang straight down behind me. It gave the impression that I was actually more helpless than I was. I pushed back with both feet, and the chair slid until it hit a buffet. I crossed my legs, left over right, then I leaned back and relaxed. Oddly, they didn't seem to have a problem with that.

It was obvious that none of the men were comfortable looking at another guy who was sans-clothes. My junk was on full display, and they were all making a concerted effort not to show any curiosity. I wasn't sure how I could use this palpable atmosphere of homophobia to my advantage, but I decided I'd nurture it for a while to see if it might present an opportunity.

Dori, on the other hand, kept casting glances my way. She had pulled out some sort of leather satchel, like a medical bag, and she was busy with it at the other side of the dining table. Those looks she threw me all seemed to slide across my groin, alerting me to a different atmosphere ... a different set of possibilities.

I leaned back a little, and as I did, the plastic of one side of the flex-cuffs rubbed an inch along the edge of the buffet. No one seemed to notice. That course of action probably presented my greatest opportunity, but it was going to take a long, long time. I shifted slightly, causing another one-inch grind against the edge of the sizeable piece of furniture. It was irritating my wrist, as well, but I ignored it. What were my other advantages? I might be able to cause friction between the teammates. I studied them intently.

Frank looked to be about thirty, and represented the epitome of the "low-level mobster" persona. Smart but uneducated. Tough but insecure. His clothing appeared to be clean but sort of threadbare. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why he was in charge of the group. His hold on power seemed tenuous, at best.

Dori was subtly gorgeous, in the "girl next door" sort of way. She was like the spouse that was secretly coveted by all the men in the neighborhood. Innocent. Sweet. Obedient. She was short, about Wanda's height, but fuller. Where Wanda had muscles, Dori had nothing but curves. She was blonde, and she seemed to be playing the part of moll to a tee. I couldn't figure out what kind of hold Frank had over her; but that question was answered almost immediately.

"What's that?" Wanda asked, wide-eyed and terrified as Dori drew a hypodermic syringe from the bag and plugged it into a small glass bottle. Wanda was seated beside her, and Stan was standing behind my new girlfriend with his hands on both of her shoulders.

Stan was the weak link in the group, no doubt about it. The typical gofer. The bottom of the pecking order. He was always trying to succeed, and he seemed to accept the fact that he rarely did. If my chance came, I would either take him first, quickly, or simply ignore him and settle with him after-the-fact.

"Tell our new female partner what's in the hypo, Dori," Frank ordered.

As always, she didn't hesitate. "It's Sub-J," she said, pulling the plunger back and filling the syringe.

"Oh, no," Wanda moaned, trying to get up and failing to overpower the goon above her. "No. Please."

It all made sense now.

"Don't worry," Frank said calmly. "Dori's experienced with this. Aren't you, Dori?"

"Yes, Frank."

"Dori's already injected a girl with that stuff today. Tell her who else you did this to today, Dori."

"I injected myself, Frank."

Yep. It all made sense.

For the past twenty years, psychotropics had been the new face of illicit drugs in the U.S. and around the world. Chemists had started out by mixing synthetic opioids with LSD derivatives. But then, compounds that affected individual emotional states were fine-tuned and added to the mix. In very, very small amounts, they became the new "party drugs," setting pre-arranged emotional themes, like intimate sexual gatherings among friends ... or all-out, no-holds-barred, wild orgies.

But, of course, abuse of these compounds was unavoidable. Spiked drinks would give you just about any result you wanted in a date: groggy and turned-on, aggressive and sexually demanding, needy and wanton. The options appeared endless. Horrifyingly, a few of the psychological changes they brought about were found to be permanent. Whole political parties campaigned on the sole platform of eliminating these things. Strict mandatory sentencing guidelines were implemented all over the country.

And then came Sub-J. I suppose it was inevitable. The perfect psy-trope. The ultimate in illegal substances. Every drug dealer's wet dream. The resulting induced psychological reactions were immediate and, if the media were to be believed, often lasted forever. The recipient was left feeling insecure, emotionally needy and physically wanton. On the street, it had originally been dubbed "Submission-Juice," since every girl with a dose of the stuff in her system, no matter her original orientation or desires, would become immediately sexually submissive to all those around her. She constantly yearned for the physical closeness of another, and she would subjugate herself to any demand, to any humiliation, in order to achieve that. A lot of women, and some men, became very contented sex slaves.

It was rumored from the very beginning that the rich and powerful had used it to acquire perfect spouses. On the other end of the spectrum, if dealers were crafty enough, their subjects would never make accusations. The victims were often very satisfied with their new lot in life. Some states had implemented the death penalty for its use, but convictions were spotty.

"Which girl do I get?" Weslie, asked gruffly.

"Whichever one you want," Frank told him flatly. "Doesn't matter to me."

Weslie was the wildcard in this group. Small, wiry and muscular, he had a mean streak a mile wide. His beady eyes seemed to transmit the idea that he wanted the girl that would most irritate his boss. "I want Dori. I've been hankering to plow her furrow all day."