Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #95 End of first day on the farm SHTF & TEOTWAWKI

Shack effortlessly lifts me off of the ground wrapping my legs around his hips. My ankles cross and lock behind his trim waist. Grinding his groin against mine, his hips slam against me. He is so much taller than me that he easily covers my body with his.

Our tongues intertwined; Shack slowly slides one hand underneath my jacket and shirt. After a languid fingertip search across my ribs and stomach, his hand finds my left breast, gently cupping it. My large brown nipple hardens immediately at his touch sending sparks of tingly pleasure coursing through my body.

Crushed between us, my AR-15 and his M-4 get rudely shoved out-of-the-way with an irritated huff. Fully cupping my left breast in his large, warm hand he occasionally pinches my nipple lightly between thumb and forefinger. The unexpected change from rubbing to pinching sends sparks of pleasure shooting through me.

Rubbing my distended nipple across the calloused palm of his hand, while gently squeezing my breast, his hard mouth presses against my lips, bruising them. My breasts may be small, but they are very sensitive. Lightheaded from Shack’s furious make out session I ride his strong thighs, my legs clenching.

Supported by him completely off of the ground, I float in a heady pre-orgasmic state. I wrap my arms tightly around Shack while furiously kissing him, trying to suck his tongue fully into my mouth. Grinding my pelvis against the hard length of his penis, I delight with the heady friction.

“I am going to come,” I pant in Shack’s ear, licking his earlobe with the tip of my tongue. I do not usually talk during sex. There is something about Shack that brings it out of me.

It has been a very long time since I have had an orgasm. I suppose that I could masturbate. I was raised, however, that masturbation was a sin. It is hard for me to break that religious upbringing. The few times that I have masturbated, I have always felt horribly guilty afterwards.

After being with someone who I loved, masturbating just did not complete me in the way that I needed. I am not sure that I can accurately describe in words why I so hate masturbating. Amy loved masturbating. She tried several times for permission to allow her to watch me masturbate.

Despite my ability to love a person regardless of their sex, I have never been very sexually adventurous. I know that people with my proclivity to love either sex equally are often lumped in with the freaks and perverts, but I was never terribly sexually audacious. When we started dating, Amy was significantly more experienced than I.

I always enjoyed watching Amy masturbate. I never dared to let her watch me. Amy was always so beautiful when she came; perhaps that is why I get a distinctly guilty pleasure out of watching Carol. It seems silly now, maybe I should have allowed Amy to watch me if only for her pleasure.

I try to remember the last time that Amy and I made love. It is with great sadness that I suddenly realize that I cannot remember the last time that I made love with Amy. Amy was someone who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, not being able to remember our last lovemaking suddenly hurts.

Shack breaks my sadness and sudden stillness by unbuckling my weapons belt. He catches my belt against his thighs ensuring my weapons remains close. His fingers inside the waist of my BDU pants are cool from the late afternoon air. Loosening my pants Shack slides his right hand delicately between my legs lightly skimming his fingertips over my smooth mons Venus.

Cupping me in his hand, I feel one of his large fingers as it slips maddeningly slowly between the damp smooth folds of my sex. Shack’s slightly rough fingertip unerringly finds my hard little button of pleasure. With expert short delicate strokes, Shack brings me to a shuddering orgasm.

Thrashing against Shack’s buried hand, I come harder than I have in a very long time. My orgasm is nearly painful in its intensity. Drenching Shack’s fingers buried deep in my sex; I scream my pleasure muffled by his mouth.

I relax in the gloriously warm shelter of Shack’s arms enjoying the little aftershock shudders of pleasure still coursing through my body. I am dimly aware of his fingers still buried deep inside my wet sex. After a few moments, his warm fingers begin to trace lazily the edges of my swollen, and tender nether lips.

After torturing me for what seems like forever, he begins to strum my hard clit again. I grasp his belt ripping it open. Lowering his fly with one tug, I pull his underwear aside. Shoving my hand inside his shorts, I grasp his firm yet pliant erection. Gently squeezing his penis I lightly stroke the tip feeling the wetness of his pre-come. Shack is circumcised, so it is easy for me to lightly stroke his  frenulum.

I begin to softly stroke him, while Shack’s fingers are still busy between my legs. Too quickly I rocket towards orgasm again, when we are suddenly bathed in a piercing bright light.

“Hey, you two! Go get a room!”

Shack suddenly whips his hand out of my sex as if he was a naughty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar – literally. He firmly presses me close against the cold hard siding of the house covering my nakedness with his bulk. I slowly pull my hand out of his pants.

“Dude! Go the fuck away!” Shack is justifiably angry.

“Awlright, man, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Sheltered by Shack I can only hear the laughing soldier walk away into the deepening darkness. After the cock blocking soldier leaves, Shack leans back giving me some room. Looking deeply into my eyes, he brings up his right hand; the fingertips wet with my come. He puts his Ruth flavored fingers deep into his mouth.

Smiling at me while sucking on his fingers, he groans at the taste. He makes a lewd face while exaggerating sucking my come from his fingers. I know the flavor of my come very well. Amy often described it as tasting light and buttery. I wonder if Shack would agree with Amy’s assessment.

“You taste good Ruth. I always knew you would.”

Shack kisses me lightly on the lips. I can taste myself on his lips. I smell myself faintly on his breath. Suddenly bashful, Shack eases my feet to the ground, catching my belt so that my weapons do not hit the ground.

In the silence, Shack allows me to dress quickly while he buttons his fly. Suddenly timid in each other’s company we walk holding hands to the medical tent. At the medical tent, Shack’s hands are tended quickly by Terrance. While Terrance tends to Shack, I check on Amy and the twins.

The little boys are fast asleep as is their mother, so I watch them quietly for a few minutes. I do not wish to wake any of them as sleep is precious to a new mother. While watching the twins, Gennady returns carrying supper for his family. For such a young man to step up and accept responsibility for children that are not biologically his says much for his character.

The caring father is still watching over his sleeping family, cleaning his Stechkin APB pistol as Shack, and I leave the medical tent. Terrance glopped Neosporin ointment to avoid infection and then bandaged Shack’s hands with sterile wrap.

I hold on to Shack’s hand now resembling a prize fighter’s as we walk into the house, and its festering maelstrom. Shack beats me to the punch.

“What the fuck is going on here?”