The day after: An apocalyptic morning

by Jessy Cruise

  She broke the kiss some time later, giving one last lick at his lips, and then she pulled herself upward, into a sitting position. His cock was pushing gently against the cheeks of her ass, the head nestled slightly between them. She raised herself up and little more and reached beneath her, taking his hardness into her hand.

  "I want you in me," she said, looking down at him, lust in her eyes.

  "Okay," he managed to say with a broken voice.

  She eased back a little and soon he found himself being rubbed through a delicious wetness. She moved the head back and forth a few times and then lowered her body, taking him inside of her. He slipped between her wet lips and into the tightness of her cavern. He felt himself being gripped from everywhere at once as she sank down upon him and buried his cock in her warmth.

  "Ohhh, sooo good," she sighed, twirling her hips around gently, her hands resting on his shoulders. She began to raise herself up and down, pushing and pulling, driving him in and out of her.

  Jack was in complete and total awe as he felt her gripping him and moving up and down upon him. He was actually fucking a woman. Fucking! And not a girl either, but a full-grown woman! And it felt so much better than he had ever thought it would. It was not just the experience of her pussy sliding up and down on his cock, although that was the centerpiece of the tactile sensations. He could feel her entire body moving against his. He could feel her swollen, pregnant stomach pressing into his. He could feel her soft thighs straddling his oily legs. He could smell that rich odor rising into the air around him. And he could touch her anywhere that he wanted! He could reach up and take her tits into his hand, even suck on them, and she didn't mind! He could touch her ass as it bounced atop him and she didn't mind! She was his and he was hers. Finally, at long last, he understood what all of the fuss was about.

  Unfortunately, despite the fact that he had already come once, he did not last very long within her. Less than two minutes after she took him into her body he felt the familiar spasms beginning in his lower regions. He tried to concentrate on something else, tried to think about anything but what he was doing, but it was to no avail. He was going to come and he was going to come hard.

  "It's okay," she told him, picking up the pace of her ministrations as she felt him start to buck uncontrollably beneath her. "Come in me, Jack. I want it. Come in me." She leaned down and began kissing him again, driving her tongue into his mouth.

  That pushed him completely over the edge. With another grunt and another explosion of pleasure, he shot his second load upward, into her clenching pussy. She moaned deeply as she felt his seed splashing her insides.

  Again he felt mortified that he had blasted off so quickly and again, she calmed his concerns, this time with gentle kisses and playful strokes. "It's okay," she whispered to him, licking at his lips between words. "Really, it is. I understand."

  "But you didn't... you know?"

  "I didn't come?" she asked. "Is that what you were trying to say."

  "Yes," he said.

  "No," she agreed. "I didn't. But I will. Would you like to help me?"

  "Help you?"

  "Help me," she said. "There's something you can do for me that will help me come."

  "What?" he asked, somewhat naively.

  She smiled and pulled herself off of him, his wilting dick popping free of her with a rush of juices. She pulled herself into a sitting position, so that her pussy was resting upon his abdomen. She then began to slide forward, towards his face.

  Jack looked at her swollen sex doubtfully. The lips were bulging outward and filled with blood, her clit pushing out of its hood and rigid. A mixture of white and clear juice ran out of her, dripping down her crotch onto his chest.

  "I'll understand if you don't want to do it," she told him breathlessly. "But if you just suck my clit for a few minutes, I'll come all over your face. Oh, Jack, please." She scooted closer, bringing herself to within a few inches. The odor of sex was now overpowering. "I neeeeed it!"

  Though he had not signed on for this kind of thing when he had agreed to walk her home, he rose to the challenge. He grabbed her thighs with his hands and pulled her forward, locking his lips onto the bump of her clitoris. He stabbed at it with his tongue and began to suck on it gently, as if it were a nipple.

  "Ohhh, God yessss!" Stacy cried, her hips grinding her into his face. "Just like that!"

  He knew he was getting some of his own sperm in his mouth but he didn't mind. He concentrated all of his energies upon giving Stacy the same kind of pleasure she had given him. He pulled her tighter against him and sucked harder, feeling her hard clit against his tongue. As she had predicted, it took only a few minutes before she began to slam herself uncontrollably into him. Her hands squeezed painfully upon his legs, which they were holding for support, and the bulge of her belly bounced up and down atop his head. She screamed loudly as her orgasm overtook her.

  Afterward, they cuddled together on the couch, their hands gently stroking each other's body.

  "Jack?" she said, her face nestled in his neck.

  "What?" he asked, trailing his hand over the rise of her stomach. That pregnant tummy fascinated him.

  "Will you move in with me?"

  Part 6

  "Oh come on," Skip chided, his words more than a little slurred, "put more than that in there!"

  Paula giggled, upending the tequila bottle a tad more and letting another half ounce of the liquid run into the orange juice glass. "I don't weigh as much as you do," she said, her words considerably more slurred than his. "Don't you know that therapeutic," it took her three tries to spit this word out, "dosage is based on weight, goddammit?"

  "It sounds to me like you can't handle your booze," he said, picking up the two-liter bottle of warm Pepsi and opening the lid. About a quarter of the bottle was gone now. There was a hiss as the gas escaped.

  "I can handle anything you can throw at me," she declared, staring at him defiantly with her reddened eyes. "Pour the fuckin' soda."

  "Right," he said, pouring an equal amount of the soda into each glass, so that the total amount of liquid in each was about two-thirds. They then each picked up a small dishtowel, towels that were now damp and boozy smelling, and placed them over the tops of their glasses. "Are you ready?" he asked her.

  "Fuckin' aye," she said. "On three."

  They counted to three together and then slammed the glasses sharply onto the wooden crate that sat in front of them. They then removed the towels from the glasses revealing a foamy, fizzing concoction of soda bubbles and tequila. As quickly as they could, before the bubbles had a chance to begin to settle, they put the glasses to their mouths and sucked the contents down their throats.

  They were in what had once been an equipment storage room of the community center. Before the comet it had been where the athletic equipment such as basketballs and badminton sets had been kept. Now, in post-comet life, it had been converted to a different kind of storage. All of the alcohol, marijuana, pills, and other drugs stronger than Tylenol were neatly arranged on shelves. Paul, after having the need for a critical incident stress debriefing explained to him, had opened it up and allowed the two of them unlimited use of its contents for the night. Jessica and Dale had of course balked at this, as they did nearly everything, but Paul's insistence had eventually won out. They were sitting on the carpeted floor, their backs against the wall, their legs stretched out in front of them. The bottle of Jose Cuervo and the bottle of Pepsi rested on the small crate along with a small bag of potent marijuana and a disposable lighter. On the floor, directly between them, was a large ceramic water bong that appeared to have been made by a master craftsman at considerable expense. After every second or third shot of booze they would load its bowl up with the bud and add that chemical to their bloodstream as well.

  "Blaaaah," Paula said, sticking out her tongue and taking a few breaths. "I don't care what you say, it's still gross. There's nothing you can do to tequila to make it taste good."

 
"This is how I used to get drunk when I was kid," Skip told her, secretly agreeing with her. It did taste like shit. "Good old Alabama slammers. The fastest, most tasteless way to get hard alcohol into your system. When you're trying to drink some of your dad's booze without him knowing about it, it's the only way to go."

  She stifled a burp with her hand, fearing for a moment that more than gas was going to come out. "I was more into wine coolers," she said. "Remember those Bartles and James coolers? I drank so much of those once that I passed out in the toilet."

  They shared experiences of past vomitus drinking episodes for a few minutes, during which time they both had one more slammer. Since neither one of them had bothered with dinner on that night the booze went almost immediately to their heads, increasing their euphoria and making them forget about the tension they had experienced earlier along the wall.

  Skip picked at a loose strand of carpet with his fingers. "So what do you think?" he asked her. "Do you feel better about shooting that guy now?"

  Her face sobered a little as she was reminded of it. "I'm not shaking anymore," she said. "That's something, isn't it?"

  "Well, the booze is an artificial and temporary coping mechanism. It's easy to forget after you drink down a bunch of tequila. The trick is maintaining that coping after the booze wears off."

  "We'll just have to wait and see then, won't we?"

  He gave her a smile. "You'll do fine," he said. "You're a natural ass-kicker. I could tell that just from training."

  "So now my cherry's been popped, right?" she asked with a giggle.

  "Correct," he said, with a chuckle of his own. "You're a virgin no more."

  That declaration called for another drink. They poured the tequila, topped it off with soda, and then wrapped the glass in a towel. A count of three and a slam and the alcohol was fizzing away. They drank it and then set their empty glasses back down. The entire process took less than a minute.

  "I'm starting to get dizzy," Paula said, wiping a thin layer of sweat from her forehead. "I haven't drank like this since... well, in a long time."

  "Me either," he said, remembering that the last time he had gotten good and drunk had been in a cop bar after work about a month before the comet. He had worked a patrol car that shift because the department's single helicopter had been down for maintenance. Spending ten hours on the ground as just another grunt, responding to family fights and domestic violence calls and false burglar alarms and making vehicle stops, had reawakened the camaraderie with his fellow cops that he was not usually exactly a part of anymore. And so he had gone to the 11-99 Club with them at end of watch. Loud music had been playing on the jukebox and the talk had been animated and profane, the way cops always talked when they were among their own kind. He had drank boilermakers until nearly closing time and had to be carried into the house when he finally got home. And Julie had been so pissed at him! He remembered the angry expression on her face as she yelled at him about his no-good friends and asked him if he had ever heard of a telephone before.

  He sighed a little now, finding the memory very painful to think about now. Paula's face was a mirror of his own, telling him that she was recalling her last time with the same sort of agonizing nostalgia. Where had she been? With her husband? With her girlfriends? With a magazine editor? He did not ask her, not wanting to travel down the road that such thoughts would open up.

  "Did you notice that he wasn't starving?" Paula asked him, apparently just as anxious to change the subject.

  "Yes," Skip said, not needing to know who the he that she was referring to was. It could only be the man she had shot along the wall. "I did notice that. It bothers me for some reason I can't quite put my finger on. I didn't realize that you had noticed it too though. Pretty good eye."

  "I'm a writer," she said, reaching into the marijuana bag and pulling out a pinch. She began to roll it between her fingers, compacting it into a ball. "Writers are observant by their very nature. We notice the small details of things. It's how we earn our living."

  "Cops too," he said. "So tell me, Ms. Observant, what do you make of it? Why would a man who has been eating fairly well try to sneak in here after he was already driven off once?"

  "Lots of reasons," she said, putting her small ball into the bowl of the bong. "He could be running out of food now and thinks he can get more in here."

  "He could be," Skip agreed. "But perhaps you noticed that he did not have a backpack or any kind of carrying device with him. What was he planning on taking his bounty out in? He wouldn't go through all the trouble of sneaking in just so he could grab a few cans and leave, would he?"

  "You wouldn't think," she said, picking up the lighter. "But then maybe he figured that he would be able to find something to carry it with once he got inside." She struck a light and began to suck on the mouthpiece of the bong. The marijuana turned orange and shriveled up, finally disappearing down the hole below it.

  "That doesn't make a lot of sense to me either," Skip said, grabbing a pinch of his own from the bag and beginning to roll it around. "An empty backpack or carry bag does not slow down your movements enough to justify leaving it behind in the hopes that you will find another one. And I can't buy the argument that he just didn't have one. If he's been eating, he would have had something to carry supplies in."

  She exhaled a plume of acrid smoke into the room. "That all makes sense," she said. "So what do you think he was planning on doing in here?"

  "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. He turned the bong towards him and began to stuff the hole. "It bothers me though. Anything that doesn't seem to make sense on the surface bothers me because usually it does make sense in some way that you can't figure out. Can I have that lighter?"

  She gave it to him and watched as he sucked up his own hit. "Do you think the committee will listen to you now and let you change the guard posts around?" she asked him.

  He exhaled, coughing a few times since his lungs were not used to such treatment. Nevertheless he felt the effects of the latest hit pushing his intoxication to a level approaching obliteration. It was not an unpleasant sensation at all. "No," he replied. "Even though that person did exactly what I warned them we were vulnerable to, namely people hiding along the wall, Jessica and Dale will not let me move the guard posts. They will say it is an isolated incident or a freak occurrence and that it won't likely happen again. Hell, I wouldn't put it past them to say that I bribed the guy to do that. That I found some outsider and gave him a week's rations to play hide and seek outside the wall and that I then had him shot dead to cover it up. After all," he said, mimicking Jessica's voice, "it was Christine that spotted him first, wasn't it? Isn't that just a strange coincidence? Little frail Christine being the one to spot the big, bag straggler?"

  "She does kind of live in a world of her own, doesn't she?"

  "She lives in an entirely different universe," Skip said. "And she's trying to drag all of us in there with her."

  As if speaking of her summoned her spirit, the sound of soft footfalls began to echo along the carpet outside. Both knew it was Jessica before her face even appeared in the open doorway. They stopped what they were doing and looked up as she looked down at them. Her sharp, vulture's eyes took in the companionable way that they were sitting together and her face twisted into an interested gaze. Already she was formulating the gossip she would spread. Did you hear? Paula and Skip! I swear! You should have seen the way they were sitting next to each other. Mmmm hmmm.

  "What's up, boss?" Skip asked, unmistakable sarcasm dripping from that last word. Paula began to giggle as she heard it.

  Jessica's expression darkened, immediately changing to disapproval. She looked at the tequila bottle and the marijuana bag. "You two certainly have helped yourself to quite a bit of our stock now, haven't you?"

  Skip shrugged. "Adequate payment for protecting the sanctity of this settlement, wouldn't you say?"

  "Stragglers are shot several times a week," she told him. "Do we invite every gua
rd who does that in here to raid our trade goods?"

  "No," he said. "But then they usually don't have to go track them down and shoot at them in the open either. Why don't you cut us a little slack, Jess? Here," he held up the bong. "Let me load you up a nice bonghit. It'll mellow you out."

  "I do not take bonghits," she said with extreme distaste. "I don't know why we even kept that stuff. It's illegal. You of all people should know that."

  "I'll tell you what," he said, reaching in and pulling out another pinch. "When the federal government and the California state government gets its shit back together, reinstates civilization, reenacts the penal code and the drug control act, and gives me a new badge, I'll be the first to seize the supply, okay? Until then, I think I'll just burn it a little bit at a time." He stuffed his pinch in and picked up the lighter.

  Paula giggled again, shaking her head at Skip's quick tongue. Jessica glared at both of them, daggers in her eyes. "In any case," she said sternly, "there is something going on tonight that I thought Skip should be aware of. It is potentially very scandalous and shocking."

  "Oooh, let me guess," Paula said, holding up her hand as Skip took his bong hit. "Someone has snuck out to one of the guard posts to have unauthorized sex?"

  Though this was not particularly funny, Skip and Paula both found it to be in their present condition. Paula erupted into hysterical chuckles while Skip coughed out the carefully prepared inhalation he had just completed, and more than a little saliva. Paula, still giggling, began patting him on the back.

  Jessica did not find this the least bit amusing. "No," she said huffily. "Although that subject is not something that should be laughed at."

  Skip got himself under control, his laughter reluctantly tapering off and dying away. "Of course not," he said, wiping a tear from his eye and giving a few more light coughs. "Forgive me. So what kind of scandal is going on that I should be made aware of during this official debrief session?"