Filter

(Content Warnings: Non-con, watersports, general icky-grimy-nasty post-apocalyptic content. The result of watching too many Mad Max films in the last few weeks and wanting to run with it...)

***

Blake swallowed, and grimaced at the gritty, dusty texture of his throat as he did so. It had been hours since his last sip of poorly-filtered water, but he had no choice but to ration his supplies; there was no telling when he'd come by any more. He tossed aside another sheet of scrap metal attached to the abandoned truck he had found, and stood up to give his aching muscles a rest. It was late afternoon, or at least he thought so, and the sun was slowly setting over the vast and empty plains he had come to know over the last few years.

Barely a decade had passed since the Foulness seeped into almost all freshwater sources, kicking off an era of turmoil and desolation as moisture seeped out of the air and turned the world into a desert, dragging humanity down with it. Survival went from a guarantee to an open question, and anyone unwilling to fight for theirs simply didn't make it. Blake sat down, back against the frame of the truck, looking out and seeing nothing but dust. Instinctively, his eyes flicked over his own vehicle -- it pays to be overcautious in times like these -- and made sure that his prized possession was still intact. Strapped to the rear of the rickety buggy was a water tank, barely an eighth full, and attached to that was a urinal, the feed running through a filter to remove most of the toxins from whatever he put into it. Not pretty, but it kept his meagre supplies of hydration going just that little bit longer.

He reached to his belt, taking a swig from a canteen and grimacing at the taste -- the filter was wearing out, and the original "flavour" was steadily coming back into the output. Without a replacement he'd be running on piss-stained fumes before long. Better get back to work.

Heaving himself to his feet, he began digging back into the truck, tossing rusted scrap metal aside and digging through frayed fabric. This must have been some sort of transport back in the day, and it had clearly been picked over at least once already, but scavengers always miss things on their first inspection; there was a little hope. Sure enough, after ripping out a dilapidated seat in the driver's compartment, Blake found a small storage space that didn't seem to have been opened. Popping it open revealed an even greater prize. He couldn't help but let out a yell of celebration as he pulled out a genuine, unused filter -- another six months of fresh water, secured!

As the sound of his yell faded away, though, something else took its place that made his blood run cold. Engines in the distance. Getting closer.

Heart pounding, Blake rushed back to his buggy, scrambling out of the ruined truck and tossing the filter into the back. Firing up the engine, his wheels kicked up a trail of dust as the buggy screamed into motion away from the approaching pursuers -- years of survival had taught him to never, ever trust groups of vehicles, and from the clouds he could see approaching on the horizon in his rearview mirror there were at least 3 of them.

Flooring the accelerator, he urged the buggy to go faster, but he could tell that the pursuers were catching up, inching closer with every second. Thinking fast, he pulled into a sharp right turn, headed towards a nearby spot he knew -- a rocky valley where he could put his car's manoeuvrability to use and lose them. He'd just have to make it there first.

The approaching dust clouds began to reveal their contents, and Blake felt the situation rapidly going from bad to worse. Through the cracked glass of his rearview, he could clearly make out his pursuers: two bikes and a low-riding racer, the rumble of its engine steadily becoming clearer. Worse than that, though, was the symbol emblazoned on the front of the car's hood, a graphic depiction of a spread pair of labia, marking this as a band of the Cunt Crazies. He cursed his luck -- they were renowned for their depravity, and everyone had heard lurid stories of the perversions taking place back at their citadel. He couldn't have been found by a worse crowd.

Now frantic and looking for ways out, Blake started taking the emergency options. His eyes flicked between the approaching valley, the oncoming riders, and the inside of his buggy, evaluating anything that could be tossed out as an improvised projectile to free up weight and inch out a little more speed. An old pair of boots went out first, followed by a set of tools and fasteners which disappeared under the wheel of the pursuing car and sent it into a spin. There was no time for celebration, though, as the two bikes drew in close, one to either side of his own buggy.

This near, he could clearly make out the two riders, and gave a shiver of dread as he realised what was taking place. On his left, he could see his pursuer clearly taking great pleasure in the bouncing and jostling of the chase, an oversized dildo strapped to the bike's seat ramming in and out of their cunt with every movement. Meanwhile, to his right, he caught flashes of a cock pulsing back and forth in a perfectly placed fleshlight. On both sides, rising over the screeching engines, decadent moans filled the air, before the two began to hurl comments in his direction.

"Fresh meat! I can't wait to break you~!"

"Oh honey, don't run, it'll be fuuuun~!"

"It'll feel better if you stop~!"

"Although, keep going a little more, I'm on the edge! Ahhh~!"

Blake steeled himself; the valley was getting closer and closer, just a little longer and he would be--

The rattling of a thrown chain wrapping itself around a wheel axle was the only warning he got before everything went blank.

***

The first thing he noticed as he swam back towards consciousness was the wind whipping across his bared flesh, and the second was the straps holding his body outstretched. His eyes snapped open as the sound of raucous hooting and hollering reached his ears, letting him see half a dozen people in a circle around him, chattering and laughing at their fresh catch. Blake writhed around to try and tear free, but the leather straps around his wrists and ankles held fast. He quickly realised he had been splayed out on the hood of the car, placed right over the emblem of the Cunt Crazies, some sort of sick prize.

"Look, boss, meat's come around! Didn't I do a good job, boss? Gonna let me cum yet?!" One of the figures let out a lecherous moan, brazenly groping themselves and rubbing their cunt in a clear attempt to catch Blake's eyes. "C'mooon, it's been days!"

"Shut it, Bitchtits, I'm tryin' ta think!" the apparent leader of the group snapped, idly stroking his cock with one hand while the other stroked his chin. "Spankballs, go check the wreck, see if there's anythin' we need!"

One of the assembled wretches broke away, scrambling towards the distant carcass of the buggy, while another crept in closer, a hungry grin on his face, eyeing up Blake's exposed cock. His mouth opened wide, tongue hanging out, but a sudden snap from the leader sent him scurrying away. "Down, Dreg! The Cuntess gets first dibs back home!"

The wretch scurried back, reminded of his place, but the leader loomed in closer in his absence, leering down at the splayed out captive. "But... no harm in preparing her meals..."

With a gesture, Blake found himself roughly pulled away from the hood of the car, flipped around and placed back on it face-down. He was sharply aware that his ass was exposed and vulnerable, especially as the hot breath of the leader started to hit it. "Mmm, not bad..." The first touch of his tongue made Blake flinch, and he tried in vain to writhe away from the touch, but a pair of firm hands at his hips and a teeth-bared growl from one of the lackeys on his right stilled him.

The leader's mouth was hot and wet as it pressed against Blake's hole, his tongue hungry and eager as it licked and slurped around the rim. The decadent abandon was obvious as faint moans and growls began to emerge behind Blake's back, out of sight, but all he could focus on was the twisted fact that it all felt good. The soft surface of the tongue as it roamed across his hole, an insistent push inside to unexplored territory, he couldn't help but let out a grunt of his own before it withdrew. He tried to ignore the faint throbbing in his cock, hoping the torment was over, but another sound from behind drew his attention. Twisting his head around, he was able to catch a glimpse of the leader pulling a thick plug from his own rear before his head was pushed back down to the bonnet of the car. "Try to get used to this, meat. It'll be easier."

Sudden, slick cold replaced the hot afterglow of the leader's tongue as a thin squirt of lubricant dripped down onto Blake's hole, roughly smeared in by a calloused pair of fingers. He grimaced as he felt the tip of the plug pushing in, stretching out wider and wider, until all at once it was inside, accompanied by a surprise burst of pleasure. His cock surged to life, a drop of precum oozing out the tip -- caught by the leader, swiping it off and bringing it to his lips. Conserving moisture.

A flurry of noise erupts behind Blake, the wretch picking over his bike suddenly returning in a commotion. "Boss! Look! Fucker had a water-cleaner and broke it!" Blake twisted around, trying to see, but another firm push kept him facing away from the rapid conversation. A sharp whistle from the leader cut it off, before Blake felt a hot breath on the back of his neck and a body pressed against his rear.

"Breaking that is gonna have consequences, meat..." The breath drew back, "Mount up, Crazies! The Cuntess needs her prize!"

Blake was rapidly flipped back around, face-up on the car's bonnet, grunting from the sensation of the plug moving inside him. The new position let him watch as the riders all settled back into position on their rides, a cacophony of moans and groans erupting around him as cocks settled into toys, dildos settled into cunts, and plugs found their places in asses. Despite himself, he was rock hard, and it only got worse as the engine beneath him rumbled to life, sending vibrations directly into his prostate. He was squirming with unwanted pleasure the entire way as the Crazies brought him back to their lair...

***

The fortress of the Cunt Crazies was visible for miles around, an ominous rocky tower jutting up from the wasteland, casting an imposing shadow on its surroundings in the evening light -- one of the earliest modifications the gang of perverts had made was to shape their home into a distinctly phallic shape, broadcasting their depravity to the world for anyone in viewing distance.

The returning warband was greeted with whoops and cheers as they detached their captive from the hood of the car and cuffed his wrists behind his back, dragging him through the enormous gates of the fortress into its dark, humid interior. Blake's eyes were slow to adjust, but he was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of pure, uncut sex, followed by the sound, a wall of wet, sloppy noise, moans, grunts, groans, screams of pleasure and blissful pain, it was all too much. Finally, the darkness began to swim into view, and Blake realised what he was being dragged towards -- what he first mistook for some sort of unstable floor revealed itself as an enormous orgy, hundreds of bodies immersed in slow, languid sex, in every possible combination.

He was given no time to take in the perverse sight, though, as a rough shove from the leader sent him stumbling forward into the mass. "Keep going, meat, they won't care if ya' step on 'em... Probably'd like it." Sure enough, as his bare foot came down on an exposed breast, he was shocked by the intense moan that came in response. Progress through the orgy was unsteady, but he was just about managing to avoid most of the writhing bodies underfoot, until he stepped into a puddle of unknown fluid. Slipping forwards, he fell face-first between the legs of a pair of rutting bodies, instantly smothered by the taste, smell, sound, and sight of a thick, throbbing cock driving into a loose and pliable asshole. His mouth hung open, tongue twitching as conflicting thoughts pulsed in his mind -- these bastards were slowly wearing him down with their unhinged behaviour. Shamefully, a thought passed through his mind, reminding him of his parched throat, urging him to take whatever hydration he could find. Slowly, he pulled his mouth closed, struggling back to his knees and hauling himself to his feet, face now smeared with sweat and worse, but dignity mostly intact. Mostly.

He was given no time to recover from the ordeal of passing through the eternal orgy, though, as another push kept him moving towards an imposing set of doors at the rear of the enormous hall -- the outside of them shaped into the symbol of the Crazies, an iron-wrought pair of cuntlips inviting any who dared pass to enter the Cuntess' chambers.

Inside, Blake was unceremoniously shoved to his knees before an imposing throne of scrap, his head forced low to prevent him laying eyes on the figure lounging in it. Blake's captor bowed low in an almost-civilised display of fealty, "Picked this one out in the dusts, Cuntess."

A sharp click of a finger signalled many of the attendants crowding the chamber to scurry away, the enormous cunt-doors closing in their wake, leaving Blake isolated in the centre of the room, even the leader of the band that captured him slinking to the shadows. A sharp, clipped, and imposing voice broke the silence of the room; "You may look, meat."

Blake's eyes lifted slowly, tracing up over a pair of firm, muscled, and crossed legs, to an almost bare chest, finally reaching the cruel, mocking smirk brandished across the sharply-cut face of the Cuntess. Her outfit was clearly crafted to do nothing but titillate, scraps of latex outlining breasts, leather trailing down her crossed arms, thighs encased in tight material with nothing to obstruct her sex -- and, it was working. The plug in his rear, the deranged perversion of the orgy, and the sheer, overwhelming debauchery pushed Blake to his limit, and he simply couldn't bring himself to feel anything but lust as his cock pulsed to hardness. The smirk on the Cuntess' face widened into an almost-pleasant grin, seeing the reaction in her new toy. "So eager! I have been looking for new... equipment. Perhaps you'll be useful."

Slowly, every movement considered and deliberate, the Cuntess rose to her feet -- revealing the slick and distinctly organic cock rising up through the seat of her throne, which had until then been fully inside her. A faint moan from within the scrap-metal hulk revealed its occupant's presence, making themselves known by the throbbing and twitching of their shaft. The Cuntess paced towards Blake, taking her time to evaluate him, inspecting his body with a piercing gaze, eyes drifting down to look at his own cock, judging, comparing. "What to do with you, I wonder..." Hands clasped behind her back, maintaining a firm and severe stance, she reached out with a foot, tracing a toe along Blake's chest, testing the firmness of his wiry muscles, trimmed from years of survival in the wasteland. "Not bad, not bad..." The touch slowly dragged down his chest, then stopped as an observer cleared their throat.

The Cuntess stayed poised, one foot lightly brushing against Blake's flesh, even that enough to send him into a spiral of depraved fantasies, while she looked towards the interruption, waiting for them to explain themselves. The lackey who had caught the wanderer stepped back into the light, holding out the ruined water filter recovered from Blake's wrecked buggy. "Cuntess; he had this on him when we caught 'im, broke it in the crash. 's a proper filter, would have lasted a year or so's, by my reckonin'."

A faint "Hmm" escaped her lips, attention turning back to the prey kneeling on the floor of her throne room, his mouth hanging open, eyes looking up at her. "Interesting." With no further outward reaction, her foot continued on its path dowards, crossing over Blake's hips and landing firmly on his throbbing, aching, hot shaft. A whimper escaped him as his body jerked forwards, trying to eke out a little more stimulation, but the touch quickly pulled back. "Ah-ah-ah, meat! Stay nice and still for me..." The soft sole of the Cuntess returned, stroking along his neglected cock, the first touch other than his own hand in far too long. His eyes dragged along her firm, taut leg, past the strips of material angling up her thigh, and found her glistening cunt, an oasis after years in the desert. His mouth watered, wasting yet more moisture, but swallowing only made his dry throat more apparent. Easier to just let it slowly build up and drain out down his chest, onto the softly stroking foot bringing him so much bliss. "Nice and virile, but, I already have a good enough cock..." The sole left his shaft, drifting back up to his mouth, inviting his worship -- given without reservation, as Blake hungrily took the toes between his lips, tongue desperately licking, sucking, slurping. "And, really, if I wanted worship I could just walk outside..."

The foot retreated completely, bringing a whine from Blake's dry lips. "Not to worry, though, I have a use for you..." The Cuntess stepped forward, legs on either side of the kneeling man, cunt directly in front of his face. He could feel the heat radiating from it, the scent filling his reality, tongue extended, his eyes closed in hopes of reaching heaven -- then a gush of fluid hit the back of his throat. He spluttered, eyes opening for a moment then immediately closing as the flow continued, the hot, acrid piss not stopping. A cruel laugh mixed with the sound of the spray, but Blake didn't hear it. On instinct, his body moving on its own, desperate to quench the thirst built up over days of deprivation, he swallowed. And kept swallowing. The taste didn't even reach his mind, only the relief of the not-water in his throat, filling his mouth, on his lips, coating his face. He lapped it all up, guzzling, whimpering, thirsty for more, and as the flow slowly, slowly came to an end, he could only let out a pathetic whimpering as he blearily looked up at the Cuntess, her own cruelly kind gaze meeting him. "From today, you'll be Pissfilter."

And despite everything, the only thought that came to Pissfilters mind was to thank the queen of his new home.

He was dragged away, willingly, with a smile on his face, and pulled down to the deepest layers of the citadel. The smile never left, even as the twisted figure of the Cunt Crazies' Fleshdoctor injected him with a mutagenic substance to overcharge his kidneys and liver, painful contortions wracking his body as he was warped into a more useful tool. It never left as he was put into place beneath the writhing, never-ending orgy in the main hall, fluids from the grinding bodies dripping down through gratings and openings as a thick, clear pipe was pushed into his mouth, strapped into place and sealed with a sticky, thick substance, ensuring it was airtight. He kept smiling even as his cock was fed into a tight pipe of its own, another injection totally removing any remaining control over his bladder. Even when the first load of piss from the citadel flooded into his mouth, and his body went to work turning it into just-barely-more-drinkable water, he didn't stop smiling, and the shiver of pleasure as the cleaned fluid was expelled through his cock, flowing back to the rest of his brethren, made it all worthwhile.

Pissfilter remained entombed beneath the citadel for years, blissfully fading into nothingness. Occasionally, particularly perverse members of the Crazies would descend to his domain, enjoying acting out their own depravities on the docile creature, spraying his body with their piss directly, drinking from the source, or using his hole while another load of filth pumped through his body. Slowly, though, he lost any trace of self, becoming nothing more than a cog in the machine, forgotten, and yet, satisfied.