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.
