Kiss My Apocalips Ch. 05

Oddly, she had always been categorized as mentally deficient and below grade level in every subject. Even her transgressions made no sense. Almost immediately after taking a book, she had gotten rid of it. When books were recovered, they had always been found in trash receptacles or somewhere else she had discarded them. Two dozen books had been found buried in a back yard. When asked why, she had consistently answered that she didn't want to get caught. Her teachers had constantly called her a slow girl, a quiet girl; and she had been held back twice. Whenever called upon in class, she seldom answered. Her thoughts always seemed to be elsewhere. The phrase "In a world of her own" had been used in several required reports.

On a hunch, the principal had called in a certified clinical social worker and demanded the girl be observed for a period of time. That woman had somehow seen the truth of what was going on, and called for immediate help from her superiors. Then state experts in child behavior were summoned. Then college professors. Within a week, word had gotten out, and psychologists from around the world were clamoring to be the one to help (and study) the new savant. Sadie had been stealing books, reading them (in their entirety) in an hour or two, and then hiding them or throwing them away in hopes of escaping punishment. And she had retained every single word she had ever read. She could repeat the sum total of A Tale of Two Cities, verbatim, having read (and discarded) the book only once, two years previously. In class, and in life, she had mentally shut out her surroundings, and she lived in a "bubble" of her own thoughts and conjectures.

While she had been a terrible 5th grade student, she really perked up when they put her in a 12th grade (high school senior) classroom. Given unlimited access to textbooks from all categories at all grade levels, including basic college texts (with the stipulation she not throw them away), she soon passed all her placement exams and began undergraduate classes at MIT at the age of 14. At 17, she graduated cum laude with degrees in math, physics and literature. And then the troubles started.

Looking back, it made sense, psychologically. She had tried to please her father, and when she had disappointed him, she was punished. Since then, she had done anything and everything to please those around her and escape further abuse. When she did transgress in the face of an insatiable thirst for knowledge, she tried to hide stolen books to avoid reprimand. And when her later teachers and doctors had told her they expected excellence, that's exactly what she had given them.

But then, boys began asking her for dates. She WAS a very pretty girl, after all. Resident Advisors and counsellors who were responsible for her during this period, and knowing her psychological shortcomings, had refused to let her socialize with members of the opposite sex; but when she reached age 18, they legally had no standing to prevent it. When boys asked, she would usually tell them no. But boys can learn, too; and some of them learned NOT to ask, but to tell. "I'm taking you out tonight. Pick you up at six," one would say. Given no choice, she had capitulated, just as she had given in to every demand made of her since that horrible night her father had beaten her. And then, of course, on those dates, the boys demanded sex.

She rapidly earned a reputation. She soon learned that the quickest way to get back to her studies (which was always the thing in life she personally desired the most) was just to give in and do what they wanted. She had survived sex with her father, she thought, so she could survive this. And that, as it turned out, became the status quo for almost a year. She never told her counsellors, because she never wanted to disappoint them; and somehow, she suspected that this behavior would. Looking back, she didn't consider it a particularly bad time in her life. It just became the norm. It might have stayed that way forever. But then came the date with the abusive drug dealer.

She had shown up her for Quantum Theory class the following day black and blue and high as a kite from what turned out to be a near-overdose of cocaine. She was still sort of the darling of higher education in academic circles, and this rapidly escalated into something that threatened to be a national incident. In a hospital room, they had questioned her for hours. Not only was the latest boyfriend arrested and charged with more counts than he knew existed, but every boy she had been out with for the past year was picked up and grilled unmercifully. The Mayor of Cambridge wanted to know what protections were being afforded all female students at the school. It had been a huge embarrassment to the university. For her last two semesters, Sadie had a bodyguard assigned to her, and she never left her room without a chaperone. She thought it was wonderful. She had never particularly liked boys, anyway; and sex was simply a chore, as far as she was concerned.

And then came graduation. She was officially an adult (even though she hadn't changed emotionally since puberty). No more bodyguard. No more chaperone. She had gotten the appointment in St. Louis at WashU as a research professor; and it was the perfect job. She only had one class to teach, and that was in Dynamic Particle Manipulation, which she loved. But, just a month later, she had gone to Eugene for the seminar.

Waking up in that van, she had been raped twice before being taken to her new home, a barren cell with a lone high school girl as her only company. Then, within the space of just one more day, they had both been drugged and raped again. For the first time in her life, Sadie found herself trying to understand the feelings of another person. Sofia was acting exactly the way a rape victim SHOULD act: hurt, angry, violated, bitter. But Sadie felt nothing at all. This had happened to her over and over in life. Sex, in her mind, was simply something to be tolerated. It would be nice to forget about it, but Sadie never forgot anything. At least these guys used drugs. That dulled things a little.

She wasn't surprised that Sofia had taken the lead. After all, whenever two or more people got together, somebody always had to be the leader; and Sadie certainly never had been. When Sofia had told her to get into bed with her, she did it, just as she did what everybody told her. But this time, for the very first time, there appeared to be no ulterior motive. Sofia made no demands. There was no pressure; there were no requirements or rules or mandates. She only wanted to be near, to hold and comfort her fellow captive. She only wanted companionship. In her entire life, Sadie had never experienced anything like it.

When the lights went out, Sofia began talking, softly and intimately. She spoke of her family, her friends at school, her greatest joys and her greatest sorrows. The next night (or period of darkness), Sadie had told her story. And, for the very first time in her life, she had shed tears that were not caused by physical pain. She told Sofia that she didn't understand why explaining what had happened to her was making her cry; and Sofia, despite crying tears of her own, had kissed them away. The next time the lights went out, Sofia had kissed her on the lips. And touched her. And then, Sadie had experienced her very first orgasm.

They came and took Sofia away, and for six long hours, Sadie knew the depths of utter despair. But at last, they had brought her back, drugged and woozy and dripping cum. Sadie had cleaned her and fed her when the food arrived, and put her to bed and held her all night. They discussed the "hunting" thing, but saw no way to escape. About twice a week, their jailers came with medicinal-smelling rags and drugged them into sluggish immobility before raping them again. When that happened, they would clean one another afterward, and give comfort and companionship. And when the lights went out, they would hold and touch and ease tensions and give pleasure.

So, on it went.

And Sadie had an epiphany. "Sofia, is this love?" she had asked into the intimate darkness.

And Sofia had replied immediately. "Yes."

When the tale was done, the girls all hugged and cried and soothed each other. I seemed to have something in my throat, and I mumbled an apology and went into the bathroom and washed my face.

A quarter hour later, calm had returned to our household. There were so many things I wanted to discuss with everyone, but I thought we could use a distraction, instead. And so, I ordered each lady to grab a blanket and follow me. That must have sounded intriguing enough that no one objected. I turned on the porch light and marched everybody out to the far side of the front yard, the part that didn't have a huge maple tree, and I had them spread half the blankets on the grass. Then, I went inside, grabbed a bunch of flashlights, turned out every single light and rejoined them. By the time I got there, they'd figured it out. It was a dark, dark moonless night, and there was no light at all; except for about eighty-bojillion stars. The girls were all on their backs, oohing and ahhing and pointing. I identified the six constellations I knew, and I was not too surprised when Doriana pointed out a dozen others. We held hands and gasped at shooting stars, and spotted a satellite tracking overhead. We got chilled and covered up with the remaining blankets and we all cuddled for warmth.

They woke me up at midnight, and I handed out the flashlights, then went to turn off the generator for the night. Somebody had lit a candle on the dresser in the bedroom. I didn't even try to figure out how this was going to work, and I was still groggy from napping outside, anyway; so, I just stripped, crawled under the covers and went back to sleep. I was roused from my dreams by the sound of the vibrator Wanda had scrounged at that rural farm store, and was glad when an impassioned squeal announced the completion of its assigned task. When it roared to life again, I grumbled a bit, but Sofia came to me and whispered in my ear: "Only two more of us, and we'll turn it off. Thanks for being so understanding." I leaned up to give her a "look," but she kissed me gently on the lips and disappeared; so, I put a pillow over my head to deaden the buzzing noise and drifted back into exhausted sleep.

After that, when a body cuddled up to me, I cuddled back. Someone had the wherewithal to snuff out the candle, but whoever it was had opened a window. The nights get cold in Oregon in September. Was that an extra quilt on top of us? And now, there were two naked bodies lending their warmth to mine, though one of them was substantially smaller than the ones I'd slept with the nights before. Again, I found myself paying for a snuggle with a snuggle. But then, I was waking up. A bird was singing somewhere. Nature was coming back to the farm. There were fingers on my cock. More than five. And none of them were mine.

"Wanda, it's huge! And so hard!" Sofia gasped.

"It's like that in the morning," she replied.

"I need to get up and use the bathroom," I told them. "Sorry if I upset you."

"It's amazing!" Sofia exclaimed. "What does going to the bathroom have to do with it?"

"Hmm," Sadie said quietly. "It must be a reaction triggered by the prostate gland. It's the only part of the male anatomy that is shared by the urinary system and the reproductive system."

"Then again," I postulated, "having pretty girls playing with my willie might also lead to that condition."

"What are we going to do about it?" Sofia asked in awe. Those must have been her fingers I felt; or some of them, anyway.

"Well, we could let him get up and use the bathroom," Sadie suggested.

"We are NOT letting this thing go to waste!" Wanda declared, and all the fingers from all the hands disappeared as she rolled smoothly atop me. She tried to position herself above me properly, but she didn't seem able to achieve the right angle. For the third time, the tip of my cock slipped away from her slit.

"Here, I'll help," Sofia told us. I felt her hand wrap around my shaft. "I can't even get all my fingers around it!" she whispered, amazed.

I tried to interject some humor, but failed. "You have very small fing ... Oh, God!"

"Slowy! Go slowly, Jacob! Please!" Wanda moaned loudly. She threw her body into mine, chest to chest, trying to relieve the pressure.

"I'm not moving, babe," I told her. "That's all you. Ease off, if you need to."

But she didn't. "So deeeep, Jacob! You've never been so deep!"

"Ease off, baby."

"No. Gotta have you all. Gotta get it all in. Gotta ... OOOoohhh! Oh, Jacob! So full!" She tried to sit up, but the interior pressure only allowed her to get about halfway, about a forty-five-degree angle. I put my hands on her breasts and rubbed my palms harshly across her nipples. As I suspected from our past trysts, that was all it took. "Big hands!" she almost screamed. "Those big, strong fucking hands! They could snap me like a twig. But instead, they're gonna make me ... gonna make me ... make me ...."

And she made that same weird movement she always did when she was on top; like somebody had just slugged her from behind, making her whoosh out all her breath. And then she began to shake uncontrollably, inside and out.

I tilted my head back on the pillow and stared up at nothing. "Going to cum now," I groaned.

I sensed Sofia right next to my face, watching me. "If he has to pee so bad, how come he isn't peeing inside her?"

"It's that prostate again," Sadie said. She was studying me closely, as well. "It's an organ that only allows one or the other. Pee or cum. Never both. That's what the prostate is for. That's what it does. If it's healthy, that is."

"He looks like he's pretty healthy," Sofia commented.

"That he does," Sadie agreed.

Wanda had apparently passed out. I rolled her off of me in the direction opposite the other two, and slid my body down toward the foot of the bed. "Gotta go!" I told them; and I sprinted for the bathroom.

Whew! Made it! I stood for more than half a minute. Then I walked back to the bedroom. "Well," I told them. "I don't know about you, but I feel MUCH better! Where's Doriana?"

"She's making breakfast," Sofia answered. "She wanted us to stay for a while and get to know you better. I think maybe we accomplished that to some degree."

Wanda half-opened her eyes and worked herself into a leaning position with her elbows behind her. "Oh, my gosh! That was .... That was ...!"

"Family breakfast meeting!" I announced. "We have about a dozen projects that have to done today! Ten minutes!"

Pancakes! I could smell them long before I got to the kitchen. "Make that five minutes!" I bellowed toward the bedroom. "Breakfast's ready!" Holy cow, I felt great! I walked up to Doriana and grabbed her from behind, spinning her around the floor a few times as she squealed and laughed. Her kiss was especially nice. The gals were all suddenly just there, going every whichaway, but oddly not duplicating tasks. I almost wondered if they'd rehearsed it.

"The coffee is great!" I told Doriana, after we sat down in the dining room.

"I think you're the only one who drinks it?" She looked around and the others nodded. "Still, when we see it in a store, we'd better pick it up. It's going to be a LONG time before we resume trading with Columbia and Africa, assuming there are survivors there."

"WHAT dozen projects?" Sadie asked me.

I swallowed a bite. "First," I said, looking at our two newest members. They were sitting together, and they were each wearing one of my tee shirts. Somewhere, they'd gotten hold of some clothes line and tied a belt around the waist to make it look like a short dress. "There was a mother and daughter living here before The Event. Their picture is on the wall of the stairs. The mom wasn't much larger than the girl. Had to be petite size. Check the second-floor closets and dressers for clothes that fit better."

"Oohh! That would be great!" Sofia gushed.

"Next!" I continued. "There's a really rundown outbuilding behind the greenhouses. Looks like it hasn't been used in years. We're going to keep out five assault weapons, five pistols, one rifle and lots of ammo; then we're going to pull the green pickup and the rest of its cargo into that building. We're going to add a bunch of rotten boards to make it look like part of the roof has collapsed on it, throw on a few shovelfuls of dirt, smooth out any tracks we made, and: Wala! A fortune in illicit arms that no one would ever notice."

"It just might work," Doriana agreed.

"Next: target practice. Especially the newbies. I want us all to squeeze off some rounds. Then, I want us all to know how to load, unload, field strip and clean them. If we ever find ourselves in deep shit, I will NOT insist that you kill someone with those things. But I WILL insist that you know how to fire them if you ever change your mind."

"I'll take charge of that project, too," Doriana said in such a way that it was not open for further discussion.

"Next: The Sheriff gave me the coordinates of a place I want to check out tomorrow. I haven't looked it up yet, but I think it's south of here in the middle of the Coastal range. We need to plan this one well, every aspect of it. We need to figure out how to approach this place, where to base our drones, and have contingencies in place if we run into anyone else. I'm guessing that the original owners may have boobytrapped the place the way I did here. They were evidently from places that were hit by The Event, and I get the impression that it was a pretty closely-kept secret. We need to look at this from every angle before tomorrow."

"The girls and I can do that one," Wanda told me confidently.

"Everyone be thinking of things that might be important on this mission," I said, looking around. "Make lists. Make suggestions. If you have an idea, I want to know it."

"Why look at other places at all?" Sofia asked. "Why not stay here?"

"It's not defensible," I answered. "We don't know how humanity is going to react to the End Times. Acton seems to be right on track for a nice, peaceful community. Assuming all the other communities are like-minded, our world will grow and prosper just like the old one did. But if communities in, say, Idaho and the Dakotas band together and start a campaign of aggression against other, weaker groups; well then, who knows what might happen?"

"I've read the sci-fi novels," Sadie said quietly. "I think our situation is dramatically different. We have a real possibility of reestablishing communications, in this country and internationally. We have the means to quash the types of groups you're talking about."

"If what you say is true," I responded, "we would be able to do that from the mountains just as easily as we could from here. However, we are currently surrounded by tens of thousands of acres of farmland that is completely impassable by anything short of a military vehicle, unless you want us to each drive his-or-her own tractor. One driveway in or out to a road that goes only north or south. We. Are. Trapped. Here. And there are open fields in every direction. If somebody has a gun that shoots farther than ours, then we are completely out of luck. I insist that we find a more unassailable home."

Sadie nodded. "You make good points. Alright, I agree."

"Last order of business," I said, scarfing down the final morsel on my plate. "I told Professor G that I'd call again tonight. But I'm not going to force you to help him if you don't want to, Sadie. What do you want to do? It's your call."

"No," she answered. "It's OUR call. I'm part of the group now."

"WRONG!" I said, sounding like some sort of demented gong on a game show. "It's my only rule in this group. No one does anything he or she does not want to do. Period."