The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Disclaimer – This story contains mind control and sex. If these things are not to your liking, don’t continue reading. This story is actually more story than sex so if you are just interested in the sex, you may wish to pass on this one. I will continue to write this story, but if I receive feedback from people that enjoy it and want more, the additional chapters are likely to get written more quickly.

Fallen Future

Chapter 12 – Salvage Operations

As the Crash began, many people relied on their religion and prayed to their God for deliverance. Over the first few years of problems these people generally found aid from their church, their neighbors, or their government. As things continued to slowly deteriorate, the lifelines these people clutched at began to be withdrawn one at a time.

One religion that survived the Crash much better than the rest was the LDS (Mormons). Since their religion recommended that each member of the church store a one year supply of food it was thought that they would be just fine. Early on in the crisis there was talk about increasing the recommendation to five years worth but it was never publicly put into effect.

The biggest problem that the Mormon’s had was with the members of their church who did not live in predominantly Mormon communities. These members were robbed, again and again, by people that knew of their religion, in an attempt to steal their food. The neighbors of these folks would help try to defend them as quite frequently those with the stored food were sharing with their neighbors that had little or none. Even with the help of the neighbors, many of these Mormon families perished, their neighbors along with them. Those who lived in Mormon communities were much better off though and as a result their religion survived the Crash, although not unscathed.

The Mormon religion remained extant in the areas that they had large communities in because they would share their personal food stores as well as warehouses of food called “Bishop’s Storehouses” that had been put aside in better times. In many of these areas the overall number of Mormons increased as, much like traditional religious soup kitchens, you got a dose of their religion (intended or not) along with the food they were giving you. The relief from hunger made many that received the food much more eager to emulate those that had provided the sustenance to them.

In the early years of the Crash many of the other established religions beggared themselves trying to expand their charitable works. Their largest problem was that as the number of people that needed their help grew, those people needing help tended to already be a part of that religion. In most cases this meant that for each person added to their charity rolls, that same person was lost off the side of contributing to the charities. People pulled together far better than they had in decades but it ended up being too little, too late.

By the time that the dollar crashed and burned for good in 2015 the established religions with charitable trends had burned themselves out right alongside the dollar. When the charities ran out of food, funds, or any other sort of help they could provide, many of the previous recipients of the charities turned on those who had been aiding them. Riots and violence resulted with the churches that had been being charitable on the receiving end. Many a religious individual lost their life, or their faith, at this point by watching their church burn or their pastor murdered because someone thought they had food hoarded away that should have been given away.

After a couple years of this type of situation, it was rare to find a church doing public charity. Many of them kept their charitable missions going for long time members of the church but sooner or later someone would say something in the wrong place at the wrong time and the mob would come knocking at the church doors demanding food, aid, and succor.

The end result was most churches boarding up their doors and windows, congregations breaking up, people fearing to talk about religion ‘just in case’, and the beginnings of a slow death spiral for most organized religions in the USA.

Thursday:

Thursday was a bad day. Although sales were good at the market, I was having what we had started calling a cultural flashback. Throughout the day on Thursday I kept craving fast food. Not the simulation I could make of it but a real burger, fries, and coke type of lousy for me meal that I used to have at least once a week before the Crash. This started my cultural flashback for the day and put me in a foul mood even before market opened. While carrying my goods to market I found myself bemoaning the fact that even though I had a perfectly good automobile in my driveway (although the battery was probably dead by now, I hadn’t had her running in years) I was pushing this ‘stupid cart full of crap’ down to marketplace that never had anything worth bothering with. My attitude was totally negative and even what I normally saw as a serious upside and bonus most of the time (a close by market that I could sell and buy at) was a recipient of my venom. When I left the market to head home, my attitude got even worse when I saw the shell of the fast food restaurant that rested near the market’s parking lot.

I never could figure out what caused cultural flashbacks, sometimes it seemed it was a craving that couldn’t be satisfied and sometimes there was no apparent reason at all. The one thing that we (we being my family in this case) knew about them was that they were contagious. If you started talking about it, then everyone could end up in the same mood.

The older the individual, the more pronounced the cultural flashback could be. This led to more pronounced episodes like the one that introduced me to Mary or even worse. The younger you were the less likely you were to get them, not having the memories to dwell on about how things used to be. Sandra only got them once or twice a year, Susan had only ever had two that I knew about.

The contagious aspect of the cultural flashbacks had dictated a rule for our family. If you had one, you didn’t talk about the specifics of it. After it was over, you could mention that you had suffered from a cultural flashback but you couldn’t talk about the specifics for fear of introducing a episode of it in someone else. Normally we didn’t even mention that we had had a flashback since just that mention could get someone’s thoughts dwelling on it but in cases where your moodiness had affected someone else negatively you would normally give it as an explanation. Older people were amazingly understanding when you explained since the older folks all suffered it from time to time, the younger folks normally brushed it off with a ‘crotchety old folks’ comment under their breath.

Thursday night I was withdrawn and taciturn. I did go over the gear for the trip one last time, checking for any problems. I got a few comments about being grouchy but I noticed Holly taking people aside and talking to them after they made such comments and after that the commenter would normally stop complaining. Holly knew me well enough that I was pretty sure she knew what was up and was making excuses and explanations for me. I went to bed a bit earlier than normal, alone, figuring that a good night’s sleep might let me shake the flashback and the extra rest was probably a good plan for the upcoming trip.

Friday morning I woke up and felt fairly foolish for my attitude the day before. I, and no-one else I was aware of, knew of any way of shaking the flashbacks except to let them wear off though. If anyone ever did figure it out they could sell the secret and make themselves quite well off. I quickly made my apologies to those who were awake already and they nodded knowingly. Once Holly was awake and I apologized to her and gave the brief explanation her only comment was ‘I figured and let everyone else know also.’ In my opinion, since the Crash, a good woman for your wife is worth her weight in food, previous to the Crash she was worth her weight in gold.

Katrina, Monica, and I stoked our engines with double portions of oatmeal, expecting a rather vigorous day and probably a relatively small lunch and dinner. I pumped the tires on the trailer and we packed and tested our loads. By ten AM we were ready to go.

Our route was going to consist of nine miles on the highway, mostly downhill. This would be good news except for a couple of small things. The first is that a good portion of that downhill was at a 5% grade making it difficult to keep control and keep our speed slow enough to react to road (or other) hazards. The second small thing was that mostly downhill is not all downhill and the repeated dips the highway made meant that we would have quite a few uphill 5% grades to traverse as well.

After we were off the highway there would be another nine miles or so that was on a side road in heavy disrepair to get to Monica’s old place. Katrina’s place was another two miles or so from Monica’s. The side road had washed out in several areas and all nine miles of it were a mild uphill slope. The old maps I had showed that Monica lived right outside an old park called Bear Creek Canyon Park, and that Katrina had lived inside of the park proper. The route wasn’t horrible, it would just be a pain in the ass with all the slopes to deal with.

After a few minutes of snuggling with Holly I pulled away. She chastised me gently:

“Now don’t be getting more holes in your coat since I just fixed it, you hear me?”

I understood the unspoken message of not getting holes in myself either.

“I hear you Holly, I love you. We should be back on Sunday, Monday at the latest.”

We mounted our bicycles. I had my Mossberg in the cup, Katrina had her AK clone in hers, and Monica had my lightweight Ruger 10/22 rifle in hers. The Ruger wouldn’t be much in a firefight but she didn’t have the experience with heavy rifles and the .22LR rounds it fired had minimal recoil (and were in plentiful supply since they had been cheap before the crash).

We headed down to the highway. It took less than five minutes to get there and then we had a long stretch at a minimal downward slope. After about a mile we hit our first rise, it wasn’t one of the 5% grades but it still slowed us quite a bit. None of us had to get off our bikes to walk them but I could tell we would when we hit the steeper grades.

A single lane on the highway had been kept in moderately good repair. Potholes tended to be filled with chunks of concrete from the other lanes, sand, or rocks instead of properly repaired but they were fairly obvious from a distance and could be avoided. We were making pretty good time and unless the side road slowed us down more than I thought it would we should get to our first stop (Monica’s) by two o’clock, even counting a break for lunch. That was plenty early to get a camp set up (assuming her old place was burned down) before sunset which was due just after five.

The highway was relatively easy, although there were three hills that required us getting off the bikes and walking them up the slope. The biggest problem was keeping a reasonable rate of speed on the steeper downhill slopes. Old, used bike brakes just aren’t built to take rapid deceleration from fifty to sixty miles an hour which is how fast we probably could’ve gotten to if we hadn’t used the brakes. We tried to keep the speed to a moderate twenty mph on the downhill sections, although I think we broke that a few times. The other problem was staying warm since it was a chilly day and the wind chill when we were at speed accentuated that. The few times we had to walk the bikes we were plenty warm by the top of the hill. The rest of the time we either suffered the chill or pedaled to help our speed in the areas without steep hills. Admittedly the extra speed made it cooler, but the exertion warmed us up noticeably in our heavy coats.

We got to the turn off by around half past eleven by my trusty wind up pocket watch (I’ll tell you, finding that before the crash was a time consuming and pricey proposition but I had yet to regret it). We decided to begin our trek up the side road before stopping for lunch. Katrina and Monica claimed that there were some wide open areas, open to the sun and with good visibility to prevent any ambush, just a little bit up the road. They were correct and at about fifteen minutes past noon we stopped in one of those areas. Lunch was not a gourmet meal to say the least. We had a cold lunch of dried fruits, an unleavened bread I had made into something similar to crackers, and some beef jerky. We didn’t want to take the time to cook up a hot meal for lunch although we would certainly do so for dinner.

At one point during our lunch break I caught a hint of woodsmoke. When I pointed it out to the ladies they said that there were still people living in this general area although most of them were well out of sight from the road. The houses we had passed along the edge of the road were mostly destroyed or falling apart due to neglect. The road (Parmalee Gulch Road) traveled alongside a stream that dipped in and out of the ground. Here you would have flowing water while in another spot the only evidence of the stream was that the ground was always damp on the surface. The stream had drawn in quite a few refugees when people relocated out of Denver and the surrounding Metro areas and as a result, those living alongside it had had many problems, problems enough to abandon their houses in some cases. In other cases, they previous owners of the houses had been killed or starved to death as refugees moved in on them, their areas, and their food supplies.

The further up Parmalee Gulch Road we made it, the more consistently the stream was above ground. In several areas there were small ponds visible even, their edges icing in the November weather. I noticed that the ponds were full of cattails, or the remains of them.

As a side note: Cattails have a portion that is edible in almost any season. The signs I saw at the edge of the ponds showed that someone had been harvesting cattail roots recently. Their roots are edible in the winter. In the spring, the tips of the plant are edible. In the summer the stems are edible and by mid-summer the pollen can be collected and used in breads or soups. Between the availability of tips and stems you can harvest the green flower heads, cook them and eat them like corn on the cob. In the fall, as in the winter, the roots can be harvested, boiled down and the resultant starch can be used to make a sort of bread or be added to soups.

The evidence showed that someone was around this area but Monica and Katrina weren’t worried. They said there were a fair number of people within a couple of miles that would come and harvest from these ponds on a regular basis. They pointed out that the harvesting I saw signs of was a sustainable type and that bandits or Angels would normally just take it all and to hell with next year. They made a fair bit of sense so we continued on after a brief pause to pump up the trailer tires.

By half past one we had reached the turn off from Parmalee Gulch Road and had only about two miles until we reached Monica’s place. The remaining two miles were a much steeper affair than the last nine had been but we pushed on and didn’t have to get off to push the bikes at all. One benefit to living after the Crash was that those who survived tended to be in better shape and have better endurance than they had prior to the Crash.

As we pulled into the driveway area of Monica’s place, we could see that the house was not salvageable. It was burned most of the way down to the ground. Her goat house/ miniature barn on the other hand was only missing its roof, which had been made of thatch, and the stones, mud, and thick logs that made up the rest of it showed only small signs of scorching.

Monica hopped of her bike and excitedly exclaimed:

“My babies have been here recently! Look, fresh droppings and tracks, less than a day or two old.”

I clambered off my bike and took a look around.

“Well, if they are close in maybe you can call them? Or go out and get them? You know the area better than I, although I’d prefer you not go very far searching for them on your own. We’ll start setting up camp. Any problem with using the remainder of the goat shed for a base, then just using a tarp to replace the burned thatch?”

“No, although if they’ve been coming back here for shelter, it could be pretty mucky in there.”

“I’ve an entrenching tool that can clean that up if that is the case.”

When I looked in the goat shelter, I almost changed my mind. There had definitely been some sort of animals staying in there. Great gobs of droppings covered the floor and I saw movement in the back of the structure.

“Monica, come here please.”

Monica came over and looked where I was pointing. She rushed in with no regard for the condition of the floor and came out holding an emaciated looking kid. She was talking to the baby goat and I could hear her saying things like “We’ll take care of you. We’ll get you feeling better. Where’s your mama?” and the like.

She cleaned the kid off and wrapped it in a blanket. It was moving and didn’t seem deathly ill, just undernourished. Monica went into the back of the goat house and did something to the rear wall. The wall slid open a bit and she rolled out a small wooden barrel.

“I think that the kids’ mother isn’t getting enough to eat and isn’t making enough milk for the kid as a result, assuming the mother is still alive. I’ve got grains here that I planned to feed them through the winter so if she comes back I’ll get her fed up and able to nurse her kid again.”

About that time the kid started bleating in a loud voice. An answering cry echoed from somewhere in the forest and as both continued the answering cry became louder. Within a few minutes another, much larger, goat had arrived in the clearing and came down to nuzzle the kid. The kid stretched to reach the mothers udders and started trying to nurse.

I saw Monica with tears in her eyes as she headed for the two goats.

“What happened to you, Baby?” she asked, striding over to stroke the nanny goat, “You’re wasted away to practically nothing.”

The goat looked plenty good to me but what I knew about goats could be written in the palm of my hand.

Monica walked over to the barrel and grabbed a small bucket out of it. Filling it with grain she set it on the ground in front of the nanny goat. The nanny goat went to eat a mouthful and lost most of it right back down to the ground.

Monica called me over: “Tim, I need you over here. Hold Baby down, I need to look in her mouth.”

I walked over and tentatively tried to figure out how to hold a goat that would shortly be upset if I were to guess. Monica placed my hands: “Just hold her like that. I need to see what’s wrong with her mouth.” I complied since this was her ball of wax.

Monica held the goat’s mouth open and drew something out of its throat. It looked slimy, brown, and sharp. “Oh Baby”, she said, “You know not to eat these pine cones. Were you that hungry?”

The goat leaned back down to the bucket and started tearing into the grain in it.

“Damn”, Monica cursed, “She must’ve eaten up all the available forage in the area, not wanted to get too far away from her kid, and tried to eat some stuff she shouldn’t have. It’s a good thing we came when we did. Some of the pine cones are small enough that she doesn’t chew them well but are large enough to lodge in her throat.” Monica shook her head and re-entered the goat house.

She came out with a large bucket this time and went over to a manual pump in the ground. She tried the handle and when she got nothing she poured some of her canteen into the top to prime it. After a few more pumps she had water gushing out. She filled the bucket and brought it over near the goats.

I couldn’t believe the change in her. I hadn’t seen a Monica that was all action and in control before, it was a bit of a shock. She was certainly in her element here and had already proved that she knew her way around the goats. I looked about to find Katrina stringing a tarp over the top of the goat house and grinning to beat the band. I walked over to her.

“So, what’s so funny.”

“You, you look as though you were hit over the head with a club. You had this stunned look on your face when Monica took charge.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I know, you underestimated her. I could have told you not to but I think you will remember better this way. After all, she slid a knife into a man and gutted him as though he were a pig. It takes more backbone to do that than you thought she had.”

“Okay, you’re right. I was thinking of her as kind of a shrinking violet because she was shy and complacent. I should’ve known better but... I get caught up in stereotyping as much as the next guy sometimes. I’ll try to keep that in mind. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I get to do the shitty job.”

I grabbed up the entrenching tool and started shoveling. After a few minutes I heard footsteps and turned to see Monica approaching.

“If you look in that closet in the back you’ll find a grain shovel I used to use for that. It’ll go much more quickly that way.”

She was right, with the grain shovel I had the floor cleared in less than half an hour. At the rate I had been going with the entrenching tool I would’ve only been half way through by that point. Monica had dropped off a bale of straw while I was shoveling and I proceeded to spread it over the floor, minimizing the remaining smell and making sure to pile it deep in any areas that were wet. I left one area near the door clear to set up a stove for dinner.

I stepped out of the goat house to see Monica feeding something runny and brown to the kid. It was getting as much all over its face as she was getting into it. The nanny goat, I guess Baby was its actual name, was butting Monica’s other arm any time she stopped petting it.

Katrina had her rifle out and was apparently keeping watch. I walked over to her and asked her how things looked.

“It is quiet, but I have caught a whiff or two of woodsmoke. It could just be the ashes from here but I think they have settled enough with the rain and snow that what I smell is a fresh fire. It is not very close but if I can smell it I worry about it.”

“I’m going to set up to make some hot food then.”

“You are not starting a fire, are you?”, she asked with an incredulous tone to her voice.

“Yes and no, I thought I’d shown you these.”

I walked over to my pack and pulled out a small metal canister that had once held breath mints. I walked back to Katrina and showed it to her. I opened it to reveal that it was full of wax with shredded cloth throughout the wax.

“This is what I’ll use. Virtually no smoke and the smell won’t travel out of the clearing here. If we had an enclosed space I could use it to heat the area as well as cook our meal. I make them for uses like this and for trade. It’s a pretty easy thing to make if you know how. You need a container, melted wax, and shredded cloth or lint or all cotton cotton balls or anything wick-like. You fill the container with your wick material then pour liquid wax into the container until the wick isn’t absorbing it any more, put in more wick like stuff, pour in more wax until it isn’t absorbed, then more wick stuff, repeat as necessary until close to full, then put a layer of wax on top. I use containers with closeable lids to be able to easily snuff the fire. Essentially it’s like a giant cooking/heating candle.”

I pricked up a bit of the cloth so it poked above the wax and then lit it to show her. Shortly the whole thing was burning, fortunately before it got that far I had taken it back to the goat house and set it down in the clear area I had left. I grabbed a small cooking rack that fit about an inch over the flames and set it up, then I added a pan of water on top of that and covered it. While the water boiled I found a flat rock and brought it back. I set it as near to the small stove as I could and pulled out a loaf of bread from my pack. The bread was wrapped in some aluminum foil, shiny side in, and I was very careful not to damage the foil as I place the wrapped package as close to the flames as I could to warm it. Aluminum foil was one of those incredibly handy things that you just couldn’t get any more of so we were very careful with it and would clean and reuse it later.

By this time the water was boiling and I tossed in one of my soup mixes. Since we had had a strenuous day and an unsatisfying lunch the pack was one designed for five people. I figured between that much soup and some warmed bread we would be okay for dinner.

We sat at the entry to the goat house and ate dinner, Katrina kept scanning the area conscientiously. I did likewise. Once again we got a few whiffs of smoke but didn’t see or hear anything. When I lamented that I wished the goat house were totally enclosed so I could warm it up, Monica went back into her closet at the back of the goat house and pulled out a tarp and bungee cords which she used to cover the front, enclosing it. I wished I had mentioned that desire earlier to save part of the candle stove but the size I had built was sufficient for all the meals for three days in the field so I figured I could spare an extra bit of burn time to warm the interior some, it wasn’t all that large so it wouldn’t take a lot. In addition I had a second candle stove (just in case) so if we ran over time wise, or needed heat at some other point we were covered.

Katrina volunteered to take first watch. Monica, being the youngest of us, volunteered for second as the broken sleep would bother her less. I ended up with third. With sundown at around five PM and sunrise at around seven AM we needed to cover fourteen hours. We took five hour shifts with some overlap to allow the new person on watch to be totally awake by the time they were on alone. Not that waking up quickly was very difficult when the temperatures were in the twenties and thirties. We hot bunked it, zipping two sleeping bags together to stay warmer. The two that weren’t on watch would be sleeping together in the bags. I kind of regretted that fact that on my watch I’d know there were two attractive women sleeping together in the bags and my conscience wouldn’t allow me to be peeking in on, or joining, them since I’d be on watch.

I had packed light and only had a single change of clothing (to keep weight down) so when the time came to crawl into the bag I stripped nude and hung my clothes over the wall in a stall that wasn’t in use so they could air out overnight. Monica noted my actions and raised a single eyebrow. The similarity to the classic action used by Spock from Star Trek made me wonder if she was a closet fan. She had been old enough to have seen the show before the Crash. I made a mental note to ask her when we got home since our DVD player still worked and we had some of the Star Trek DVDs. Admittedly I had watched them all enough myself that I knew them by heart but it might be enjoyable to watch with another fan.

Following the raised eyebrow, Monica stripped down in a similar fashion, hanging her clothes over the wall beside mine. When she slipped into the sleeping bag, right after I did, she made her intentions and desires well known by spooning up against me and grinding her buttocks against my (now rigid) cock, despite the chill of the slowly warming bag.

Monica was happy almost to the point of being bubbly. I assumed it was from seeing her goats again and knowing that she’d still have some of them. As she pressed herself against me, I allowed my upper arm to slide over her ribs, moving my hand to cup and fondle her topmost breast. Her small nipples were rigid already, I assume from what I had always jokingly referred to with Holly as the ‘nipple-ometer’ (meaning the colder the nipple, the more rigid it would be. It was always fun to see Holly in a thin bra or no bra when she went out into the cold, the size of her nipples would visibly stretch just about any shirt she wore). Monica sighed contentedly as I reached her nipple and began to play with it. Light pinching and stroking about the areola continued to elicit sighs from her as I repositioned myself to a point where I could penetrate her from behind.

When I finally got my cock positioned to enter her I found that she was soaking wet and accepted my full length easily. Taking a woman from behind with both of us on our sides was always a favorite of mine. The pressures were noticeably different than from taking a woman in doggy style, missionary position, or just about any other position I had tried. I had always stipulated that variety was the spice of life and I liked my sex spicy when possible so I had a large number of positions to compare it with.

I began to easily thrust in and out of her, moving my hand to cover the entire front of her breast as opposed to focusing on the nipple. I took her breast in my hand, with her nipple centered in the middle of my palm, and began to squeeze. I slowly increased the pressure on her breast as I continued to pump in and out of her. When I was sure I must be hurting her from the force I was using to squeeze her breast I stopped and backed off some. She hadn’t said a word in complaint but she had tensed up some. Even with the reduced pressure I could feel her stiff nipple pushing into my palm like a small pebble, much to my delight it was nearly as hard as a pebble also and maintaining that level of solidity.

As I wondered to myself just how I might want to make this encounter more exciting (don’t get me wrong, just plain vanilla sex is great sometimes but, at heart, I’m a kinky guy) she spoke softly:

“Tim, I want you to get me pregnant. I’m in my fertile time so I want you to drive into me deep and hard until you come. Fuck me pregnant! Fill me with your come!”

I know there are some guys out there who would freak out at that statement but I’m not one of them. The concept of getting a woman pregnant had always been an aphrodisiac to me. Back when I was trying to get Holly pregnant, she could just say “try to get me pregnant” and without her even showing any flesh I’d have a hard-on big enough to leave me light headed.

I was pretty sure that this wasn’t Monica’s decision and was probably a suggestion Holly had implanted. I’m not one to turn down a lady’s request but I wanted to verify her statement. My erection was already increasing in size (if my light headedness was any indication) but I tried to hold it back for a moment.

“Are you sure you want me to get you pregnant?”

“Hell Yes! I want to feel you fill me with your come and then leave it in me overnight so it has a chance to start a baby. I know that, as a group, we have sufficient resources to support it. I also know that as a family there are certainly enough people to help with a child. I want to have a child, I want to have YOUR child. Please give me what I want.”

Midway through her statement my dick took over. I found myself pounding her, light headed or not. I was going as deep as I could and occasionally feeling her wince as I banged against her cervix. It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes for me to orgasm and while I was pretty sure that she had come some while I was doing her, she certainly came with me. As I was coming, her pussy clenched down on my cock holding it hard enough to ensure that I came deeply inside of her whether I wanted to or not.

It was several minutes before her cunt loosened enough for me to remove my cock. I was slowly getting soft and I think that is what eventually let me pull out of her. She quickly reached for something outside of the sleeping bag when she felt me slide out. I’m pretty sure that she had something there that was going to keep my come inside of her since she reached down to her crotch with it and withdrew an empty hand.

Monica rolled over and gave me a deep kiss.

“Thank you, I know you like things a little kinkier than that so I’ll make a deal with you. If you get me pregnant you can do whatever kind of sex you want to with me while I am, right up until my water breaks.”

Once again, I was pretty sure that Holly had been doing some suggestions but who was I to complain.

“We have a deal Monica. Go to sleep now, you have watch in a little bit.”

We feel asleep spooned together, one of my hands still holding her breast.

Some time later I woke up, just a bit, to a cold breeze. Since I was no longer pressed to a warm body nor holding a breast I assumed that Monica was going on watch and started to drift back to sleep.

In the timeless state that takes hold when you are mostly, but not quite entirely, asleep it was both an eternity and about two seconds later that cold hands on my cock, followed promptly by a warm mouth, woke me the rest of the way up.

Katrina had stripped nude and inched her way into the sleeping bag. I could feel her legs bent over down against my knees but still had no idea how she had gotten her head into my crotch until I felt the cold breeze and realized that she had zipped the side of the sleeping bags down. Her ass must be freezing outside of it. In consideration for that I reached down and pulled her head up towards my own. Not to mention that she really couldn’t get very much decent movement for her head to be bobbing on my cock. She had already given me enough attention to start my erection hardening again and I figured we could work the rest of it up easily.

I reached behind her with a hand on either side of her body and zipped the sleeping bag shut again. My hands then moved to her taut buttocks, massaging (and warming) them. All the while my lips were searching hers out and firmly connecting with them, my tongue entering her mouth. She reached behind her and drew my upper hand over her body to her breast, leaving my (trapped) lower hand on her ass. As she placed my hand on her breast I could feel her engorged puffy areola and lengthy nipple against my palm. She positioned my hand so it covered her entire breast and then drew her lips back from mine.

“Would you like to help me make my breasts larger?”

“Only if it would make you happy. I’m fine with how they are now though.”

“Well, I want them larger and I know a way to do it, if you vill help.”

I could tell Katrina was getting excited about this as her accent began to show again.

“What would you like me to do?”

I really was quite happy with how they were but having sex with a woman who really dislikes her body or a part of it could get to be a drag after a while. They’d stop having as much fun because they would be sure that you secretly hated whatever it was they disliked and just weren’t telling them so as to be nice to them. At least that’s how it had always seemed in my past.

“I need you to get me pregnant, Monica also. If you get me pregnant and I breast feed the child until my milk is at full flow, then suddenly stop and let Monica take over feeding the child, then my breasts should stay larger.”

I detected the work of Holly here once again. I knew that she had wanted these two pregnant but I hadn’t realized just how quickly she wanted it done.

“If you say it will work I’ll believe you. I’m pretty sure Holly’s breasts stayed a little larger but they sagged a lot more afterward.”

“I do not care if there is some sag, I just want my breasts larger so I do not look like such a freak.”

“You don’t look like a freak, Katrina. If it is what you want, I’ll do my part though.”

“It is vhat I vant. Now lie back and let me make you come.”

I laid back and she slithered atop me. She positioned herself above my cock and slid down my body to achieve penetration. Her stiff nipples were a delicious pressure against my chest and her slightly less rigid puffies began to bump against me repeatedly when she began to move. Due to the confines of the sleeping bag her chest came down each time her hips went up. My hands rose to caress the sides of her breasts and puffy areolae as they moved up and down. An ongoing gentle touch from my fingertips and the occasional hint of fingernail had Katrina’s breath coming heavier within a minute or so.

“Let me know before you come, I vant to roll over to be beneath you so your sperm do not run out of me.”

I let her continue working on me until her breath was short and it seemed like she was about to come.

“Let’s roll over and get me on top.”

“You are going to come? Gut!”

Katrina held me inside her as we rolled over, moving the sleeping bag about a foot to one side. It looked like one of the zippers was partially under her body but she didn’t seem to care.

I pumped as hard as I could with my hips as the only thing moving. I was pretty sure I was crushing her a bit under the weight of my chest but with her puffies and nipples noticeably pressing against my chest, I really didn’t want to break the contact there. Within a minute, she was coming. The additional pressure of her cunt coming around my cock was enough to set me off within the following minute.

“Thank you, ve shall do this again each of the next several days, if you do not mind, as it is my fertile time of month.”

I had heard that women who live together tend to have their menstrual cycles match. I didn’t know how long that took to happen so I wasn’t sure if Katrina’s and Monica’s schedules matching was a result of that or if it was random coincidence. Either way, I could tell I’d be getting a sexual workout again for the next few days. I also paused to think about how the household would be if all of my ladies began to have their periods at the same time. I hid the brief shudder that ran through me at the thought from Katrina, not wanting her to think it was a reaction to her statement.

“I certainly do not mind Katrina, I will be happy to do you whenever the occasion arises and I am able.”

I spooned with Katrina much as I had done with Monica, only this time I was toying with a nipple as I drifted off to sleep.

Monica woke me for third watch. I had gotten a fair bit of sleep despite the distractions that had occurred. She kept me company for a few minutes until I felt awake enough to actually be alert. When I headed outside, the air was crisp and cold and my breath fogged every time I exhaled. It was just a short while after two AM and there were nearly three hours of moonlight left. The moon itself was just shy of full and a light shimmer of frost coated everything in sight. The light dazzle made for a beautiful, frosty, crystalline display of the surrounding area but it also made standing watch difficult as it was hard to see anything beyond the tree line at the edge of the clearing.

Standing watch was uneventful, hardly anything was out and about. I could understand that since it felt to me like the temperature was in the high teens or low twenties. With some added humidity (that I knew was in the air due to the visible frost) it felt much chillier. Twice during my watch I ducked inside and burned the heating/cooking candle for about fifteen minutes. Both to warm myself and to keep the interior of the goat house warmer than it would certainly have been otherwise. The only other way I had to stay warm was vigorously moving about while walking the clearing and that seemed like a bad idea as it would be fairly noisy on an otherwise quiet night.

Three times during my watch I caught a whiff of that elusive wood smoke we had smelled the evening before. Each time there was only enough to notice and it dissipated within a few seconds. There was obviously someone relatively close by but I didn’t even have enough information to guess in which direction they were located.

The last two hours of my watch passed in darkness as the moon had set somewhere around five AM. I took that chance to try to see where the flames producing the woodsmoke were located but they were nowhere in my range of sight.

When the sun rose it was near to seven and I went in and fired up the cooking stove again, tossing some water on to boil. I woke my ladies first and by the time I had the water heating Katrina was outside keeping an eye out again. I wondered if she was always this cautious or if she had a bad feeling.

Our plans were to have breakfast and let the sun warm things up a little before heading for Katrina’s. We figured we would head out sometime between nine and ten, the time before that would be spent eating breakfast, cleaning up, and packing up.

Although the kid was back on its feet this morning and trying to nurse again, Monica made up a mash to feed it once more. It looked like the kid would be having a ride in the bike trailer while the nanny goat would be tied behind the trailer or a bike. Monica was a little reluctant to leave, evidently there was another nanny goat and a billy goat that she had hoped to track down also. She had had four adult goats before the raid. She had watched as the Angels slaughtered and ate one of the nanny goats, but she had gotten the other three adults, and the kid, to run into the woods as soon as she knew they were being attacked.

Monica asked if we were trying to keep things quiet this morning as she thought she might be able to call the other two goats back to the area. After a hurried conference with Katrina I told Monica to go ahead. Katrina and I kept a close watch in case the calls brought in something, or someone, other than the goats.

It was probably half past eight by that point and once Monica started calling we could hear a reply, the bleats from the goat coming in with echoes that made it impossible to pinpoint an origin. Within about fifteen minutes another goat came wandering into the clearing. Even I, with limited experience of goats, could tell that this was a male. It had horns that were much larger than the nanny goat’s short ones and its overall size was larger as well.

“Billy!”, Monica cried.

I couldn’t help but think that Monica hadn’t shown any imagination in naming her goats, ‘Baby’, and ‘Billy’? I thought to myself that she surely was just calling the young one ‘Kid’ and that it would probably stick.

Monica hugged the billy goat around the neck while it nuzzled at her pockets and hands, evidently looking for food. Monica laughed and got a scoop of the grains out for the new goat, dumping it in a pile in front of him.

“Well, at least I have a breeding pair again. It means we can get more goats, even if I’ve lost the other nanny that was still alive.”

“Monica, there are a couple of people that raise goats up in our area, I’m sure we can work out breeding with them if we need to.”

“We might, I’d rather not breed the kid to Billy, since Billy is her father. I’d like to take some of their feed grain with us if we can, is there room on the trailer? I can fit some in the saddlebags on my bike but not as much as I’d like.”

“Well, feel free to put some on now but if it is too heavy or we have something better to retrieve from Katrina’s it might get left by the wayside.”

Monica immediately went to load some grain on the trailer. Since the trailer was already packed with our gear in preparation for leaving she knew just how much space there was. Watching her lift the sacks to put on there I stopped her after just two since it looked like they were fifty pounds, or better, each and I knew I wasn’t up to riding with any more of a load than she had already put on there. The kid would be riding on the trailer also since it was still unsteady on its feet. I wasn’t sure that the trailer would take much more weight than we were going to have on it at this point.

We finished loading up and moved out. Since the goats could only move at five to ten miles per hour at a walk we planned on taking about a half hour to get to Katrina’s. The goats co-operated quite nicely. We had attached them both, on leads, to Monica’s bike. It seemed her brief absence had the goats worried that she would leave them again as they both stayed close enough that the leads occasionally dragged on the ground.

We were moving slowly due to both the goats and the fact that the remainder of the route to Katrina’s was all uphill but we were making some decent progress. As Katrina led us towards her old place I caught scent of the woodsmoke again several times, both more frequently and stronger as we progressed. I could tell Katrina noticed it as well since she checked to make sure her rifle swiveled smoothly in its cup at about the same time I noticed one of those whiffs.

After going off the road and onto a well traveled dirt path, Katrina halted a few feet away from the crest of a hill. She motioned me forward and also motioned for Monica to hold still. As I approached Katrina she pointed up over the crest of the hill and when I looked where she was pointing I could see a tiny wisp of smoke that disappeared before it got very far into the sky. We dropped into a crawl position and crawled the rest of the way to the crest, not wanting to silhouette ourselves at its top.

When we could see over the crest we halted. I found myself looking into a pocket valley, surrounded on all sides by a hill or mountain. The northernmost hill had been terraced at some point and the dried remains of some plants were visible on the terracing, they had the appearance of having done well on the south facing hillside until they were neglected. At the base of that hill there was the burned out shell of some sort of structure. The smoke we were seeing came from a stand of trees on the far side of the valley. Even from here I could see that someone had been cutting in that stand for quite some time. The initial thirty yards or so was littered with stumps. The smoke rose from deep enough in the stand of trees that we couldn’t see its origin but from the way the smoke petered out shortly above the treeline it was obviously a controlled fire that someone was being very careful with.

We edged back down from the crest, stood up, and spoke softly. The tension had Katrina’s accent quite noticeable again.

“That is my place, or what is left of it.”, said Katrina

“Well shit, you didn’t have neighbors that close, did you?”

“No, and whoever is there is pissing me off. Being this close to my caches and not being able to get to them is irritating. I have a thought though.”

A minute passed, then two...

“And it is?”

“Well, it requires you to act as bait so I am trying to think of alternative.”

“What, you want me to walk up there and see if they show themselves?”

“Well, yes. In a way anyhow. I know this area like the back of my hand and if you give me thirty minutes I can be in a spot that vill give me a clear shot into that stand of trees. I thought I could get there and then you could walk over the crest. If it looks like they are going to shoot, I can shoot first. But, I’m wavering on the idea because it might be hard to determine if they are going to fire and I vould rather not shoot them if they aren’t hostile.”

“Well, that stand of trees looks like a long shot for iron sights and if they have scopes, it’ll much easier to see if they are going to shoot, won’t it?”

“Yes, probably... I could shoot that with iron sights unless there was a strong wind but most people vouldn’t be able to.”

“Well, unless you have a better idea, we’ll try your first one. I’ll let you get in position and then just walk up onto the crest and shout so as not to give them a closer shot. It also lets me drop down to cover behind the crest if they do open fire.”

“That is why I was being quiet. Trying to think of something else. But without leaving the bikes unattended here ve can’t all get over there and I’m don’t want to leave the bicycles. I am also loathe to leave Monica alone since I know she isn’t that gut with firearms. Ve could do it if we had hours to spare, there are some other trails that lead over there but the only one nearby is this one that runs right through the valley.”

“Well, let’s do it if we’re going to. It looks like the other option is to not check your caches and when we are this close... Let’s just say that having to leave without checking would get me a bit irritated also.”

“Okay, give me a few minutes to gear up.”

Katrina started to rearrange her gear, storing some things in her saddlebags and tossing others in pockets or onto attachment points on her clothing. I pulled out my watch, wound it so it would continue to run and waited. Within a few minutes Katrina nodded.

“Give me forty minutes instead of thirty, just in case. Better I am there and must wait then not be in position when needed.”, she finished her sentence, turned and strode off into the sparse undergrowth alongside the trail.

I quickly let Monica know what we were doing. Just in case things went horribly wrong I gave her my Mossberg and a quick tutorial on what to do with it. It was loaded with 00 buck, and with the short barrel even an inexperienced person might get lucky with close in opponents. Since she was staying on this side of the crest if she had to fire it would certainly be close in.

Thirty nine and half minutes later I checked to make sure I had a round in my Arsenal Bulgarian and started up the crest. I had checked, nervously, the rounds in my clips repeatedly over the last half hour and just wanted to get this over with. As I crested the hill I stopped and called out as loudly as I could:

“Hail the camp!”

and waited...

I had my rifle on its sling and positioned to get it into play quickly but I had left one hand free. When I saw movement at the edge of the treeline I waved my free hand at whoever it might be.

Two figures moved out of the stand of trees. They also had weapons which were, like mine, ready to go into play quickly but not currently leveled. As they left the tree line one of them turned back for a moment and made a gesture. I was pretty sure this meant that there were more of them back in the trees and gave a bit of a disappointed sigh since it meant we were either evenly matched or outnumbered if it came to a firefight.

The two figures moved out into the field and I softly called back to Monica that I was going down the hill and if anything happened, she was to get out of here as quickly as she could. I slowly walked down the hill and out into the field, trying to gauge where the halfway mark between the crest of the hill and the stand of trees might be. I moved out to that point as the two figures from the other side appeared to be doing likewise.

“What can we do for you?”, said a voice that was naggingly familiar for some reason.

I peered at the person who had spoken, both the voice and the figure told me it was a woman but it wasn’t until she returned my gaze that it clicked.

“Angel? Is that you?”

“Tim? And I don’t use Angel anymore, bad name to have nowadays, let’s go with Angela.”

The second figure was glaring at Angela.

“You know this guy?”

The voice was a deep, husky alto. Definitely female and decidedly butch.

“Yeah, I knew Tim back before the Crash, not real well or anything but well enough to greet each other by name. He used to shop where I worked. We chatted a few times.”

The unidentified individual turned back to me.

“So Tim, is it? What are you doing here and what do you want?”

“I’m escorting the former resident of this burned out homestead back to see what’s left.”

The figure spat, “So you’ve got Paul with you?”

“Who the hell is Paul?”

“Paul is the guy that used to live here. Who’s claiming that they lived here if it isn’t him?”

“She’s my ace in the hole. I’ll introduce you if we decide it’s safe for her to come down and talk.”

“She?”, the individual took a deep breath and yelled, “Katrina! Get your ass down here you bitch! I thought you were dead!”

I heard peals of laughter echoing off the slope where Katrina had positioned herself. Followed by a return holler from Katrina.

“Erica? Is that you, you butch dyke?

“Allow me to make a guess here”, I interjected, “Are you Hell’s Fury?”

The individual I was tentatively identifying as Erica looked at me coldly.

“And if we are?”

“Just thinking, Katrina said that you folks were running a patrol through here every now and again.”

About this time Katrina became visible, trotting across the valley towards us.

Erica’s face cracked a smile and she began moving towards Katrina. I looked over at Angela, who was also smiling.

“So Angela, you folks thought Katrina was dead?”

“Yeah, we’ve been here two or three days and found a single body, burnt beyond recognition and picked over by wildlife. Erica was guessing it was Katrina and that Paul would’ve gotten away. She doesn’t trust anyone with a cock and figured he would’ve betrayed Katrina in order to escape.”

“Paul is the uncle I’ve heard Katrina mention?”

“Yup”

At this point Erica and Katrina walked over to us. I’d noticed out of the corner of my eye that Erica had given Katrina a very friendly hug but Katrina had been much stiffer returning it.

“So Katrina, are you going to introduce me to your friends here?”, I asked.

Katrina looked at Erica, “This is Erica, she was part of my unit in Hell’s Fury.” Nodding towards Angela, “This is Angela, also part of my former unit.”

“What’s this former part?”, asked Erica, “you’ll be coming back to us now, won’t you?”

“No, I do not think so”, replied Katrina, “allow me to finish introductions. Erica, Angela, this is Tim. Tim is providing me a home since this one has been burnt out.”

“At what price?”, spat Erica.

“That I do my share of the work. Aside from that nothing else is required.”, Katrina emphasized the ‘required’ and glared back at Erica. “Tim has taken me and another person from this area back down here to recover some of our goods. He did not have to do that and he knows that it is dangerous. So I would appreciate it if you did not heap your normal virulence on him like you do with most men.”

Erica appeared somewhat surprised by Katrina’s statement and glared at me once more, her gaze even colder than it had been previously.

To be continued...