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don't remove the author information or make any changes
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The Stranger 
by Ruthless (ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca)

***

I saw standing men with jutting purple cocks thrusting 
from their hairy bellies, bare white asses with concave 
cheeks and a thrusting grunting mound, a gang fuck in 
the centre of the floor. At the sound of the door their 
heads had swung around, but they had not yet had time to 
grab for their weapons or for their erections to flag. I 
didn't see Barbara. She was part of the tangle on the 
floor. (M+/F, nc, rp, v, war, rom, nec)

***

Author Note: This story was written for Barbanne, the 
heroine and victim of the story. It includes scenes of 
non consensual sex and violence, and a final scene with 
necrophilia. If you are underage or if stories of this 
nature offend you, please do not read it. Your comments, 
criticism, questions and requests for missing parts of 
the story are welcomed by the author at 
Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca

***

I didn't come up until after the barrage was over. There 
were a few more houses down, with gaps in the street 
like teeth knocked out of a mouth.  Grey greasy smoke 
hung heavy over the smouldering buildings. A pickup 
truck was upside down and glass glittered like diamonds 
in the road. There were half a dozen dead people down in 
the glass; most of them surrounded by splotches of their 
own bright blood.

Starling crunched cautiously behind me. "Is it safe, 
Fitz?"

"They're just civilians." I said. "I don't see any 
guns."

The first few were guys. Dark trees of blood were 
flowing from their twisted bodies amid the glass. But 
the body nearest to the houses was a young woman. She 
was lying on the front step of a burning building with 
her head down and dark hair trailing. I moved slowly 
from body to body, sliding my hands into their pockets. 
Where I found money I took it. I was looking for 
something far more valuable. I wanted cigarettes and 
most of all; I wanted a lighter or matches.

"Can we go, please, Fitz? The bombing might start again 
any minute. Can we go?"

I went to the woman's body last of all. Her pale cheeks 
were flawless.  There was no mark on her. Grey smoke 
trailed thin tendrils above her through the broken 
doorway. There was no blood. She looked almost asleep as 
she lolled bonelessly on the step. I crouched over her.

"Fitz, please!" Starling gave a sniff.

I slid my hands into her jacket. The coolness of her 
skin was palpable through her shirt. So was the softness 
of her breasts. I stroked searching.  There was 
something in the pocket of her shirt: just papers. I 
went on, my rough fingers sliding deeper. I paused.

Her lips were parted like a woman expecting a kiss. But 
she wasn't expecting anything. They were slack. 
Blinking, I stared at her lips. Dark lashes were 
motionless on her cheeks.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Starling asked sorrowfully.

"Very pretty." I agreed. I pressed my hand hard against 
her side until I could feel the hardness of her ribs 
within the tender skin.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I don't think she's dead."

The boy behind me inhaled sharply. I felt a heartbeat 
faint and slow beneath the woman's ribs. I looked up at 
the door. The yellow flames were crackling in the 
windows of the second story. There was always a chance 
that the woman would survive on the doorstep. It would 
depend on which way the house fell. Most likely the 
burning beams would settle on her. And she was probably 
dying anyway.

But I slid one hand under her thighs and the other under 
her shoulders. I raised her. Her dangling feet swung and 
her throat stretched vulnerably as her head fell back. 
Her long loose hair trailed from my arm, reaching half 
way to the ground.

Starling didn't ask any more questions as I carried her. 
I could not walk swiftly with such a burden. He scurried 
tensely at my side trying to look at my face, and then 
swinging around to look at the shattered street.

She could easily have died as I carried her down the 
street. I could not feel her heartbeat, only the 
coolness of her flesh and the limpness of her body. She 
had a lovely face. There was a powdering of plaster dust 
in her hair.

I had hoped for plunder. Instead I had a woman. When I 
carried her into the deep cellar where Starling and I 
had our shelter, the distant sound of gunfire died away. 
I laid her on the bed. It was dark and warm and silent, 
so far below the ground.

Without being told to, the boy had lit some candles. He 
held them high so that I could look at her. In their 
light her pale cheeks were orange. I laid her out, 
spreading her limbs. Dark hair covered the pillow.

The boy's eyes were large and dark as he watched me 
work. I opened her jacket and her shirt and pressed my 
hand firmly on the soft mound of flesh beneath. Again, I 
felt the slow heartbeat. I worked over her, feeling 
thoughtfully. I found no breaks in the skin.

She had sneakers on. I eased them off of her feet, and 
bared her toes. She wore jeans, snug around her slim 
hips. I had to tug to pull these down. Her body shifted, 
torso easing as if she was awake and responsive, but the 
motion was caused by my pulling. I left her in her 
panties, feeling up her thighs: No swelling, no 
tenderness, no marks on the cold perfect skin.

I rolled her onto her side to get her jacket and shirt 
off. Again I could not find any serious injuries. There 
were a few small blemishes on her side. She had no bra 
on. When she lay, naked except for the panties, I moved 
around and ran my fingertips through her hair, pressing 
carefully on the scalp.

"They were probably in the house," I said, "And then it 
was hit. When they realised that it was burning they 
came running out. Whatever blast flipped that pickup 
truck also hit them. It threw her back on the step. 
Perhaps it broke her neck."

"She's going to die, then?" said Starling.

"I don't know. She could, easily."

"Do you think she's a hooker?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" I said. "Not unless she 
wakes up."

"What are you going to do?"

"Rape her."

The boy drew away. At thirteen, seeing casual cruelty to 
others still impressed him. His thin face was sober. He 
still held the candle high so that I could see what I 
was doing.

I drew her panties down before I climbed onto the bed. 
The lips of her sex were blushed pink, the only part of 
her blanched body to have colour. The little lips were 
closed. Gently, I traced them with my fingertip.

I kept my eyes on the woman's motionless body as I 
stripped. I did not want to take my eyes from her. She 
was perfect and still, like a funeral effigy. I dropped 
my clothing to the floor. Then I lay down, full length 
on top of her.

Cool soft skin caressed me. Her head was lolled slightly 
sideways. I ran my palms over her, on her shoulders 
first and to her throat, straightening her head so that 
I could kiss the soft cyanotic lips.

Her lips didn't resist me. I felt the hardness of her 
teeth through them as they yielded. I felt the bones in 
her face as I held her steady. My own breath came back 
to me as I breathed on her face; her breath was 
imperceptible.

For a little while I caressed her breasts. I was already 
ready to fuck her, but her stillness demanded a slower 
pacing. I held one breast cupped in my hand and teased 
at the nipple with my tongue. The erectile tissue was 
stiff from the cold. I plucked at it with my lips before 
turning to the other breast and repeating my caresses.

There was no quiver from the eyelashes that lay on her 
still cheeks. The thought came to me that she could 
easily die as I was abusing her, but I was too 
fascinated to stop. I ran my hands slowly over her, not 
feeling for injuries but savouring the delicacy of the 
fair skin.

I drew back to open the lips of her cunny. They parted 
moistly. I traced my finger up and down into the groove 
wonderingly. I smelt the scent of her, salty and 
womanly. There was no resistance as I brought the head 
of my prick in to meet the pink lips. The rounded head 
butted against her vulnerable opening. I had pulled her 
thighs wide and her head had lolled sideways again, when 
I had released it.

I had not expected the warmth. Her body was so chill 
that I never thought that she would be warm inside, but 
when I pressed into her, it was tight slippery heat that 
enveloped me. A deep guttural sigh escaped me. Covering 
her with the heat of my own body, I started to drive.

I kissed her mouth as I fucked the unconscious woman. My 
hands roamed hungrily over her, cupping and squeezing 
her breasts. Her cunny resisted me. It was small enough 
that, although I could thrust into her without 
difficulty, my prick was encased firmly. Her body moved 
on the bed with every thrust. Her limp arms stirred, 
rocking with the pushes. There was no resistance, no 
muscular tension, as there would have been ordinarily.

Starling had gone. At some point he had put the candle 
down and torn himself away. Perhaps it frightened him. 
The beautiful doll-like woman had me intensely aroused. 
She was almost floating, like a woman in free fall below 
me. I thrust harder and harder. I battered into the 
unresisting helpless woman.

And then I felt it. It was a flutter, around my prick 
first. I didn't think I could have felt it, a tensing of 
the muscles that I was driving my prick into. Some of my 
warmth had gone into her cool skin. It was no longer so 
chill where my hot body was pressing against her. I felt 
it again, another flutter clutching around me.

Startled, I stared into that slack, still visage. The 
long eyelashes quivered. I was panting hard. Blood was 
singing through my body. I kept thrusting urgently, 
fixing my eyes incredulously on that lovely sad face.

Again. Her eyelashes quivered, the muscle around my 
prick throbbed. I felt a minute swelling of the ribs 
underneath me. She inhaled. Her eyelids raised, a dull 
dark gleam of sight staring uncomprehendingly from 
beneath them for an instant before they sagged again.

I clutched her tightly. Her hips jerked as she met me. I 
thrust urgently, slamming into her. I did not stop. I 
did not pause although the eyes flung open now, staring 
huge and amazed into my face. 

I was clinging to her shoulders, her breast crushed 
under me. She moaned.  Her legs widened. There was 
resistance now. Her pelvis was meeting my stroke, 
pushing back into me. I grabbed her lips with mine, 
twisting my face sideways. A long trembling moan burst 
out of her as I claimed her mouth. She breathed into my 
mouth. Her dark eyes were gleaming directly below mine. 
I battered hard.

And then I felt myself cumming. Tiny groans were coming 
from the woman as her cunny clutched tightly around me. 
I felt the sperm surge up. The warm sweat of my body was 
fusing us together. I pressed deep with all my strength. 
Cum throbbed out of me, spurting inside her.

She barely moved as I withdrew. She could not move yet. 
There was fear and wonder in her eyes. They blinked 
confused, staying on my face. She must have realised 
that she did not know me, that I was a stranger. My 
moist cock came out of her and I pulled the blankets 
over her. Her eyelids sank and raised again.

My motions were rough as I pushed the covers close 
around her shoulders. I was perturbed at being caught 
taking use of her. She lay quite still. I kept tucking 
the blankets firmly around her, for something to do as I 
collected myself.

Awake, she looked different. The funereal sadness was 
gone from her face.  It was puzzled, alive, distressed, 
puckering. I saw her swallow and her tongue flicked out, 
licking the lips that I had just been kissing.

"You were knocked unconscious by blast." My voice came 
out harsh. "Is it hurting?"

I got a slight nod. Either she was not strong enough to 
talk yet, or she was guarding her words until she 
understood who we were and where she was.

Starling came up behind me. "She's awake! You made her 
wake up."

"Where does it hurt, Girl?" I asked. "Your head? 
Anywhere else? Does anywhere else hurt?"

She mouthed the word, inaudibly faint.

"Just your head? Sorry. The only painkiller we got is 
booze. And I can't give you any of that with a head 
injury." I told her.

"Is that why you did it? To wake her up? How did you 
know it would wake her up?" Starling asked.

I looked down on him. "I didn't know it would."

"Is she going to get better, then?"

"I don't know." I dragged my shirt on. I looked at the 
woman. She was really pretty; even with the covers 
pulled up about her throat, you could see how pretty she 
was.

"What's your name?" I said.

"Barbara." I heard her voice, a little whisper, faint 
with her weakness.

I smiled slowly. Barbara. Stranger. The name Barbara 
means stranger. Well, that was fitting.

Barbara lay in that bed for days. Mostly I left Starling 
behind when I went out. He didn't want to go out on the 
cold windy streets anyway and risk being shot at. I left 
him not because I figured he knew how to do good nursing 
her, but because I told him it was his job to get her 
out of there if our cellar was hit.

"Take her by the armpits." I told him. "And get her out. 
You understand?  Don't worry about salvaging anything 
else. Get her out and don't you dare leave her to burn."

"Because you need her for a hooker?"

"Yeah." I said.

It was mostly me that nursed her. I fed her out of a cup 
at first. I held her head up in the crook of my arm and 
I made her swallow whatever kind of soup I could cook 
up. 

The first day it was only a couple of swallows. She 
didn't ask for anything for awhile. I had to make sure 
she got fluid into her. The blast had knocked her pretty 
silly. For a couple of days she didn't try to talk and 
then when she did, it was Starling that she talked to. I 
figured that she was scared of me or hating my guts for 
what I'd done.

"Fitz isn't so bad." Starling told her. "You know you'd 
have died if he hadn't picked you up. All that street, 
it burned. You were beside a truck, and the gas tank 
went on the truck. You'd have burned up if he hadn't 
brought you away."

Feeding her, that wasn't too much of a problem. She 
drank boiled water from the cup and soup, and then I fed 
her by spoonfuls. But she couldn't go crawling up to the 
street like we did when we had to piss. I had to drag 
her out of the bed and hold her there in a midair 
sitting position over a bucket.

"Go ahead and take a piss, Barbara-Girl. And then I can 
get you back under those warm covers again."

I looked at her slender waist and full breasts when I 
had her out from under the blankets. They were worth 
looking at. But I didn't try fucking her again, not 
while she was so weak from the concussion.

At night we slept three to the bed. There was only the 
one bed. Barbara got shoved over against the wall and 
Starling slept between us. It was right crowded but it 
was warm enough. Starling slept one time with his head 
on her shoulder, almost pillowed on her breasts. I got 
to think maybe he had something like a crush on her, but 
I didn't see him do anything, and I kept my hands to 
myself for a time, though when I saw her breasts, I just 
wanted to reach out and feel them.

Daytimes I went out. I kept scouting over the causeway, 
slinking cautiously through the ruins. Sometimes I heard 
the noise of the truck engines of the militia, but more 
often I just saw where they'd been, by the smashed 
windows and the scars in the brick when they let off 
their assault rifles for fun.

I was looking for clothes for Barbara. She had the 
clothes I'd found her in, of course, and I washed them 
out for her to take the plaster dust out.  But jeans and 
a jacket weren't what I had in mind. It took quite a bit 
of rifling through broken buildings and then a trade, 
five packs of cigarettes just for stockings and one 
other garment to get what I had in mind, but I got it in 
the end.

It was maybe five days after I found Barbara that I 
found the two little boys. They were dead. They had been 
dead since the day before. They were civilian kids, 
maybe six and eight. I didn't know. I stood there angry 
and looked at them. But I didn't get the bodies and bury 
them or anything. 

Poor little shits. It wasn't right. There couldn't have 
been any reason to kill two kids as young as that. It 
was too bad they couldn't be buried. It was better I 
leave them be. Better if nobody cottoned on to the 
scouting I was doing. Anyway, I had my hands full 
getting food enough to feed the three of us, now I 
couldn't get Starling to do any of the foraging for me, 
so I didn't need any extra work.

**

After a week Barbara was sitting up and wearing her 
clothes and I was horny. It was a cold day out, a thin 
scum of snow blowing around in the ashes. I looked at 
Barbara and I looked at Starling. Barbara was sitting 
curled up in the bed. Starling was trying to clean one 
of my guns. I'd been showing him how, teaching him how 
it came apart. He was kneeling on the floor surrounded 
by the pieces.

"Starling," I said. "Go on up to the street." I jerked 
my head towards the door.

He stood up at once. "What do you need?"

"Just go on up there."

He looked blank. "How long?"

I gave a shrug. "Give me awhile."

His expression cleared. He shot a quick look at Barbara 
and went. I got up and sat on the bed by the woman. She 
met me with a level gaze.

"Usually," I said, "Starling takes care of me when I got 
a physical need."

"He told me that."

I frowned a bit. "He doesn't mind doing it. He wants to 
hang around with me. It's how he pays me back for 
letting him hang around."

"He told me that you look after him."

"He's useful to me other ways too." I told Barbara. 
"Like he stayed here with you when I had to go out."

"He seems to admire you."

I didn't want to talk about Starling. It was her I was 
interested in.

"You're a lot prettier than Starling." I said to her.

Her mouth twisted. "You're telling me that you want me 
to take care of your physical need." She said.

"Yeah." I said.

She didn't move. I waited a couple of seconds and then 
leaned in close. I took her hand and brought it to my 
mouth. She had slim fingers. I bit gently on the inside 
of the palm, kissing upward to her wrist.

When I spoke my voice was hoarse. "You don't have to let 
me do this. If you don't want to put out for me, you 
don't need to. Understand? There's something else you 
got to do for me, but not this."

I rubbed her hand against my cheek, nuzzling against the 
fingers. They were warm now.

"You going to tell me to stop?" I asked.

She shook her head.

I reached out and took a trailing curl of hair from the 
edge of her face, tracing it back. I didn't tell her I 
was sorry I'd raped her. I didn't tell her I'd take care 
of her. Two luminous eyes stared into mine, watchful and 
guarded. She didn't talk so I didn't tell her anything. 
I laid her back. As I opened her shirt I kissed her 
throat.

***

I think it started to bother Starling what I was doing 
with Barbara. He never told me he wouldn't go up on the 
street when I told him to. It could be that he was 
jealous, that with that crush on her he had, it made him 
angry that I had her putting out for me. He used to sit 
and look at her kind of hopeful and if she wanted 
anything, even to having her slop bucket emptied, he was 
ready to jump right up and do it.

He tried to coax her to eat sometimes. I didn't always 
bring food home that was appetizing. I brought home some 
apples once, which had been frozen. They were still okay 
food but they were kind of mushy. Barbara kind of picked 
at hers. Starling asked her, didn't she like them? They 
weren't good like that? And then he got up and he cooked 
them into a kind of applesauce for her because he 
thought she'd like it better.

She smiled at Starling. Starling got more of her smiles 
than I did. The two of them would be sitting there and 
Starling would be staring and then Barbara would catch 
him staring and give him a little smile. He'd start 
beaming. The two of them would share that look. And then 
Starling would look at me suddenly and his smile would 
go. That was why I figured that Starling was jealous or 
mad at the use I was making of her.

I got mad at Starling. When I was inside he went out 
foraging and he took risks. He went over the causeway, I 
found out.

"If the militia catch you they'll shoot you, you know." 
I told the kid.

"I know. But the foraging is better on that side. Look 
what I got." He'd brought back books, for tinder and for 
Barbara to read and a couple of knives.

"See? This is good stuff, Fitz. I kept out of sight."

It was his life so I didn't tell him to stay on this 
side of the causeway any more. I took some risks myself. 
I brought back a pair of black army boots for Barbara. I 
knelt beside the bed as I laced them onto her feet.

"These'll be better than those sneakers." I said. "You'd 
never get through the winter in those sneakers."

"Thank you, Fitz." She looked down at her slender 
ankles, encased in the heavy boots. I don't know if she 
was really grateful or not.

***

After two weeks she was going up to the street herself. 
I figured that she was going to run off on me, so at 
first I went up with her and stayed close every time, so 
I could keep her from taking off. Then I thought that 
was stupid. I was going to make her do what I wanted 
when she was completely recovered, but I'd have to have 
co-operation from her. I couldn't take her over to the 
militia screaming and fighting and then sell her. Well, 
I could. But I wasn't going to try to do it like that.

I decided that if she took off, she took off. I wasn't 
going to make her stay and do what I told her if she 
didn't want to. I didn't tell Barbara that. I still told 
her she had to do it. And I kept on going up with her to 
the ruined street every time she wanted to go outside. 
The thing was, even the days when there was no shelling, 
it wasn't safe anywhere. I went up with my gun and stood 
ready to guard her, but not to keep her from going away.

There was an old woman that did some trading just this 
side of the causeway, and she would let me know what 
news if there was any. Where she lived she could hear 
the shooting and maybe see who was out. It was a couple 
of days before I figured that Barbara had gotten enough 
strength back, that I went over to trade with her. I 
found her house burned to the ground.

It was an old man told me, the militia had come over, 
looking for her, because they'd heard she was trading 
booze, and when they'd got there, this side of the 
causeway they'd found that she hadn't any.

"I don't know. He quavered. "Did they take her with 
them? Or did they leave her in the house? Those boys are 
brutes, Fitz. I don't think I can call the human. I hope 
she died and I hope she died quickly."

"If they took her with them." I said thoughtfully. "They 
are getting real desperate for women."

I told Barbara. I explained about the militia. "They're 
trigger happy. A lot of the time they're drunk. And 
they're meaner than pit bulls. Whatever they tell you to 
do, you're going to have to do it. You don't hesitate or 
tell them no. That's the only way you'll get through 
without scars that'll ruin your looks."

She didn't seem scared. She was so self-possessed. She 
would look at me quietly and listen, with her head 
cocked, and the boy would be sitting with his face 
mobile with anxiety.

"Are they going to kill Barbara?" he asked me.

"No." I said. "They won't want her dead, for certain. 
She's too pretty for them to want her dead."

***

On the day I picked, I dressed Barbara in the clothes 
that I had gathered and traded for so carefully. I had 
gotten a black satin corset. It was low cut and pushed 
her breasts up into enticing mounds, the rim of lace 
barely concealing her round rosy nipples. I didn't leave 
her bare armed. I had a black leather jacket for her to 
wear, but I had the jacket unzipped so that all that 
creamy flesh below her throat was visible. She had black 
three-inch heeled sandals. The skirt was long and 
insubstantial, gauze with slits in it, so that her long 
legs, encased in the stockings were visible right up to 
the thigh.

Starling watched me as I moved around her, working on 
the finishing touches; the jewellery, a low slung 
leather belt that emphasised the sexy tilt to her hips. 
I brushed her silky dark hair and fixed it so that it 
cascaded over one shoulder. I put the cosmetics on her, 
mascara to make her long eyelashes almost unbelievably 
long and lipstick.

"But that lipstick isn't red! It makes her look so 
weird. Like a vampire."

The boy objected.

"They won't mind, trust me." I told him. "Blue lipstick 
is all I could get. She looks good."

And she did look good. In her jeans and her ordinary 
jacket she was one of the prettiest women I had ever 
seen. In the sexy swaggering outfit that I had put on 
her she was stunning. My breath caught.

"You're beautiful, Barbara-Doll." I told her. "You're 
beautiful enough to drive men mad."

I was practical enough that I had her put her boots on 
and carry the high heels as we walked over to the 
causeway. I kept looking at her. She was right 
distracting. I had to remind myself that I didn't need 
to stare at Barbara. I needed to be wary. We made it 
over the causeway without incident.

We crouched in the lea of some rubble while she put her 
shoes on and stashed the boots.

"There's nothing you have to do," I told her. "If they 
shoot me before I tell them where you are, lie low. Wait 
for the night and then try to get back to Starling. 
Otherwise, just do what they tell you to, remember?"

"I remember." Her tone was very low.

"Are you scared?"

She didn't answer me. I waited and when she didn't 
answer I gave an uneasy laugh. "Hell, I'm scared enough 
for both of us!"

The militia didn't have much of a perimeter on their 
camp. They had some barbed wire and a sentry, but the 
wire wasn't much. It was the guys inside the wire with 
the assault rifles that had me feeling as skittish as a 
cat in the middle of the road. I took a risk coming at 
twilight, because they might have been startled seeing 
me suddenly in the half light, but it had to be late in 
the day when I approached them, or they wouldn't have 
been back in their camp where I could try to bargain 
with them.

I just came out onto the road facing their gate. Behind 
me charred mounds of rubble were cover if I moved quick. 
I found myself facing the gate sentry's levelled weapon.

"Hey, who the fuck are you, Man?"

"Name's Fitz." I told him. "No weapons, see?" I raised 
my arms high and half-turned.

The sentry's voice brought some of the other militia 
members. They had weapons too. Half of them were 
teenagers. I knew that, but I felt a sudden curling up 
in my belly when I thought that they were some of them 
no more than five years older than Starling was. They 
weren't all kids. A bulky man with an ex cons tattoos 
came out of the house.

"Okay, Fucker. What you want, coming here in our 
territory?"

"I want to know if you want to trade." I said quickly. 
"That's all. I hear you got this side of the city pretty 
well searched out. I got something you want. Nothing but 
trading. How's that?"

"What you got to sell?" Their eyes travelled up and down 
me. Their faces were hostile.

"I got a cunt," I said. "If you want to rent the cunt 
that I've got, I'd like booze. Or you can buy her 
outright, if you don't rent. Any of you interested in a 
girl?"

"Yeah, she pretty, Man?" One of the boys asked swiftly.

Another exclaimed, "Shee-it. It's not another fuckin' 
pre-teen is it? I don't want to settle for any more 
little girls crying at the end of my cock! Is it a real 
chick or just another little kid?"

The big man spoke up, "We don't rent. You can sell her 
to us outright or you can give her to us, but once we 
get a cunt, we keep it."

"She'll cost more," I said.

"How much you want for her?"

"Twelve bottles." I said. "A whole case, bonded liquor, 
not beer. She's worth it. She's a beauty."

"A whole fuckin' case just for a cunt?"

"Yeah, but she's worth it."

"No fuckin' way, Man. We're not paying twelve bottles 
just for a few days of getting our pricks greased!" One 
of the boys exclaimed.

"She pretty?" The man demanded.

"You never seen a cunt this pretty. I ain't shitting 
you," I said.

"You can have nine bottles if she's as pretty as you say 
she is."

I thought for a moment. "The bottles sealed?"

The big man nodded. 

"Okay," I said. "Nine bottles. You got a good deal here. 
Bring me the bottles."

The big man nodded. One of the teenagers ran back into 
the house. There were seven guys standing there by their 
gate and two more on the front step of the house. How 
many inside I didn't know. Nine guys at least for 
Barbara to keep busy. They brought the booze out in a 
box and put it by the gate.

"So what about the bitch, Man? Go and get us that cunt 
you offered us."

I put two fingers into my mouth and whistled. Barbara 
rose up from the rubble not far away. She was closer 
than I had expected, so close that she startled me. She 
must have been creeping closer to hear what was being 
said. The militia boys drew their breaths.

She looked like a succubus. The wind had tossed her hair 
so that it floated like a flag in the wind. Her eyes 
were gleaming like coals. Her full soft lips were thrust 
out in a sneer, in a little girl pout of fear and 
distaste. The black corset emphasised how slender she 
was. When she started to walk forward her long legs in 
the filmy divided skirt seemed to go on forever. 

As she walked forward, she took off the leather jacket. 
She tossed it to me without looking. The militia boys 
were frozen, their eyes glazed as they stared at the 
creamy pale flesh visible at the top of the corset.

"Oh, Honey..." One of the militia boys moaned.

A big ugly grinned bared the teeth of their leader. "I 
get to fuck this cunt first." He said.

Barbara swaggered through the militia gate. The younger 
men reached for her, groping. Their leader knocked their 
hands away. Then they surrounded her in a circle, 
groaning and crooning with their lust. They took her 
inside the house. I gathered up my bottles hurriedly and 
got out of there before the sole sentry left at the gate 
decided that he wanted to get their booze back.

***

It was twenty minutes later, only twenty minutes before 
I was inching under the wire on my belly. I heard the 
sound of excited delighted screams coming from the 
house. It was the deeper screams of men, the edge of 
their inhibitions knocked off by booze, and the shrill 
hysterical cries of adolescent boys. The rubble gritted 
under my jacket. I was dragging something heavy and 
metal and long with me as I slithered flat to the ground 
in the shadows. It was an automatic rifle. Like 
Barbara's boots, I had stashed it in the rubble close to 
the militia's camp.

I had abandoned the booze although it was worth a 
fortune as trade goods.  You could trade for almost 
anything with bonded liquor like that. You could trade 
and get a whore as frighteningly beautiful as Barbara. 
If I got killed tonight and someone found it where I had 
stashed it, they could live for the winter on what they 
could get for so much good booze.

The barbed wire was low to the ground. I caught in it. 
It pinged lightly as it bounced. I laid flat. The sentry 
would be used to hearing it swaying with so much wind. I 
had wire cutters in my pocket. I dragged them out.  They 
clipped the wire with pressure and a faint snap. All the 
small sounds that I made were lost in the wind and the 
laughter drifting from the house.

Once more I crawled slowly forward. The sentries. Where 
were the sentries?  I could see one. He was right where 
I wanted him to be. He was outside of the house, but he 
was looking into it. He was on the porch, his head and 
shoulders a silhouette as he peered through the glass. I 
was inside their perimeter, but all I could see was the 
one sentry outside. Where was the other? They always had 
two or three.

Where the hell were the other two fucking sentries? 
Barbara, I thought. The men inside the house were 
shouting encouragement. I heard something break, 
probably glass, probably a bottle, dropped or thrown.

I wanted to get the sentries who were farthest out 
first. I wanted to get the men who were alone. But there 
weren't any sentries at the back of the house. There was 
only one man, right beside the front door. His back 
stayed turned to me. He was guarding nothing.

The rifle stayed on my back as I rose into a crouch. I 
took my knife in a steady tight grip. 

I remembered two little boys used for target practice. I 
thought of Barbara in the house, being pillaged. I have 
to move swiftly now for their sakes.  It had been so 
long since I had been in military training, a decade 
since the week on my GMT in basic hand to hand combat 
skills. I have to remember this. I have to do it right.

I did it right. One hand clamped over the sentry's mouth 
from behind. The other thrust the knife. The point 
didn't catch on cloth; I thrust it into his throat, so 
hard that I felt my leading knuckle hit the skin. The 
blade stabbed through tissue and soft bone. His back 
stiffened. I clutched him tightly, feeling the moistness 
of his crushed lips in my palm, feeling him kick. It was 
just reflex. The man was dead on his feet. Red round 
drops of blood pattered softly on the window. I felt the 
heat of it flow down my arm.

I lowered him to the ground softly. There was another 
twitch, the resonance of a feeble kick, boot against the 
porch boards. I jammed the bloody knife back into the 
sheath. My hands were slippery when I swung my rifle 
down and ready. Inside the house a loud shrill laugh, 
almost a whinny, rose louder above the others.

I kicked open the door.

There were three men, back to me, in this room, crowded 
into the opposite doorway. They were shoulder to 
shoulder. One squeeze of my trigger fired one hundred 
and sixty bullets in a burst. I fired high, at shoulder 
height, before they even turned. When they went down I 
saw the next room and the sound of my rifle and of the 
screams rose so loud that it was as if the house was 
filled with a dense block of sound.

I saw images, but the action was too fast to follow. I 
saw standing men with jutting purple cocks thrusting 
from their hairy bellies, bare white asses with concave 
cheeks and a thrusting grunting mound, a gang fuck in 
the centre of the floor. At the sound of the door their 
heads had swung, but they had not yet had time to grab 
for their weapons or for their erections to flag. I 
didn't see Barbara. She was part of the tangle on the 
floor. 

I kept firing high, crossing the room with it, just 
above waist height.  They were tumbling down like they 
were dissolving. Exploding plaster and spurting blood 
fanned out back at me. One rifle muzzle was swinging up. 
It was in front of my living, vibrating rifle before it 
could answer me. The man holding it bounced back as my 
automatic rifle fire ripped into him.

I had no time to watch his body spasm, not even an 
instant. I had to try to see who was left alive in that 
room, which motion was the falling plaster, which motion 
was the ducking men who would be dangerous, which motion 
was the dead men being heaved aside as the gang fuck 
broke apart.

I saw one man crawling, on all fours, bare ass up turned 
trying to get away through the far door. I dropped the 
rifle muzzle low enough to kill him. 

Another man reared up screaming. He uncovered Barbara. 
She was completely naked. Her long legs were spread and 
kicking. Her teeth were bared. Her slim white arm had 
lunged out. As he rose, Barbara's hand clamped on his 
groin. His scream was shrill with pain. His hands pawed 
the air inches from his rifle. I fired above her head. 
The man had reared up on his knees, higher than Barbara. 
When he fell back on her, there was no one moving in the 
room any more.

Plaster rattled slowly falling. I was almost deaf from 
the gunfire in the enclosed room. When I grabbed the 
dead man by the collar and yanked him off of Barbara, I 
shouted at her. "Get up, girl! Quickly!" But I could not 
hear my words for the ringing in my ears.

Barbara's bare chest was covered in rivulets of blood. 
Her breasts were striped with it. She lurched up, the 
cascade of dark hair falling in front of her face. I 
snatched up clothing, a pair of green fatigue trousers 
that had been discarded by one of the eager men, which 
lay in the mess of dust and splashed blood between the 
corpses. A moaning man moved, but the motion was feeble. 
I ignored him and thrust the trousers at her. I dragged 
her by the arm.

Into the dark and the cold, away from the smell of blood 
and plaster, we made it out of the house. I gripped her 
fiercely as I dragged her into the dark. She stumbled on 
the rough ground. I kept my grip on her, aching with the 
fear that she had taken a bullet. There was a few 
seconds delay while I fumbled with the fastening on the 
gate to get it open. We made it away from the perimeter 
and from the charnel house without any return fire 
following us.

We found her boots and her leather jacket where I had 
left them. We got her dressed. When I dragged the jacket 
up her shoulders, my hands were trembling. I felt the 
slipperiness of the blood on her arms.

"Were you hit? Answer me." I panted. "Do you think you 
were hit?"

"No..." Her soft hair moved against my arm as she shook 
her head.

I left the booze where I had stashed it. Only the boots 
and jacket were important, the clothing to help keep her 
from having to run naked in the night and their warmth 
to keep her from going into shock after her ordeal.

Starling was waiting crouched by the fire in our hideout 
when I brought her down and inside.

"Put some water on to heat," I ordered him. 

"You're covered in blood. Your arms covered in blood!" 
he cried.

"I know. I killed their sentry."

"Oh Jesus, Fitz!" Starling suddenly screamed. "Barbara's 
covered in blood!"

"It isn't hers. I don't think it's hers. Get that water 
on. I need to clean her off and check."

The boy's face was stiff and sullen. He didn't speak 
again. When he faced me, his eyes glittered with anger. 
I held Barbara near the fire. I undressed her gently and 
explored.

Her face was bruised and between the smeared mascara and 
the dark where they had probably punched her face her 
eyes had become fearsome hollows.  The streams of blood 
wiped away. There were finger marks indented into her 
breasts and thighs where they had clutched her. There 
were no large gashes, no bullet wounds, only bruising, 
shock and pain.

"You shouldn't have made her do it." Starling's voice 
was flat and contemptuous with anger.

"I know," I said.

I took Barbara on my lap in front of the fire. I held 
her where it was warm, where my arms could give her 
warmth and I stroked her hair. "It's okay now, Barbara. 
It's done. You're safe. It's over." I rocked her like a 
little girl. I kissed her forehead. "You did wonderfully 
well, Barbara. You kept them busy. It's done."

She sat shuddering. Her shoulder leaned up against me as 
she huddled on my lap, permitting me to try to comfort 
her. But her two hands clutched her cunny, clasping that 
injured part of herself protectively, and there were 
little tears gleaming on the bruised cheeks.

"You did it, Barbara. You got me inside. You're going to 
be okay." I tried to kiss the tears away. I held her 
clasped against me, rocking slowly and soothingly. I 
moved gently and slowly, but all the same my heart was 
still pounding with a quick fluttering beat in my chest, 
as I saw again, the image of Barbara under that grunting 
mound of half naked men.

Starling barely said two words to me the next day. When 
he looked at me, his look was full of hate. When he went 
outside, I thought that he would walk away and not come 
back. It would be safe to cross the causeway now, with 
the militia gone. But Starling stayed. He came back for 
Barbara, not for me. 

At night Starling curled up on the floor by the fire and 
left the bed to Barbara and me. I didn't turn to her and 
try to coax her to open her legs.  How could I, with 
that part of her so brutally abused? But we brought her 
food and little gifts, and I went and retrieved the 
bottles of bonded liquor that I had left stashed in the 
rubble on the other side of the causeway.

"These are yours," I said. 

She looked at me with melancholy eyes and left me with 
the helpless feeling like I should say that I was sorry.

A day later Barbara was outside of our shelter. She was 
strong. She dressed in her jeans again, and in layers of 
sweaters that could not hide how graceful she was as she 
played with Starling. He laughed and they circled.  It 
looked like a game of tag. When I came toward them they 
stopped. Barbara sank down on the broken frame of a 
fallen window to rest and Starling stood still and 
looked at me with his face stiff with resentment.

"Be careful," I said. "Even with the militia gone, it's 
still not safe. There are other people who could be as 
dangerous. Don't laugh so loudly."

She had repaid her debt to me, so of course I could not 
make her stay. I knew I could not have before, but now 
that it was paid, I would not ask her to stay. She went 
out with Starling. I thought that they might go away 
together, the boy with the beautiful woman that he 
worshipped. But although they went out foraging for 
hours in the daytime, they were back at night for us to 
share out supper and Barbara to lie still and warm and 
drowsy in the bed beside me.

"Are you both being careful?" I growled.

"Yes," said Starling impatiently.

"Look after her," I ordered the boy.

"He takes very good care of me." She assured me and she 
laughed softly. Her laugh was so warm and resonant; it 
was like a little strain of music.  Slowly life was 
coming back into her as she put her ordeal behind her.

When we went foraging I went over the causeway. The 
pickings were better there. The militia had only gleaned 
the ruins carelessly. We were making our shelter very 
snug with everything we found. Finding fuel, of course, 
to keep the fire alight was the most time consuming 
foraging task, because we always needed more fuel.

Starling and Barbara had gone out looking for wood to 
burn, for shards of splintered boards and joists from 
the fallen houses. I was working beside the shelter, 
above it at the level of the street. When I heard the 
noise it made me stop. It was the kicking rhythmic slap 
of running feet, the sound of someone running breakneck, 
never stopping for a stumble. The footsteps pattered and 
I stood upright until they burst through the rubble into 
the broken street.

It was Starling, too winded to speak, face raw with 
fear. He staggered into my arms and collapsed.

"Where is Barbara?" I demanded. "Where?"

"He turned his horrified eyes back the way he had come 
and waved his arm.

"Help…!" he worked out a gasp. "Help her."

"What's the problem?" I demanded. I made him stand 
facing me although his exhausted body had buckled. 
"People? Fire? It's people? Men?"

He answered me with nods.

"Where?" One word, taut with urgency.

"Guh..guh..Gulliver street. Store. The old store…"

I dropped him onto the ground and ran.

The men were gone before I found her. It took me long 
minutes to get there, with the streets choked by the 
ruins of the fallen houses.  It had taken Starling long 
minutes to get to me. I ran my hardest. I could not run 
fast enough to get to Barbara in time although I gave it 
everything I had.

She was inside the store, right inside behind the 
cracked glass. She was lying on the bare floor sprawled 
back where the men had left her when they had finished 
with her.

I crouched over her, panting. "No!"

Barbara's naked legs were sprawled wide, a mute 
accusation of what they had done. Her eyes, which had 
gleamed with amusement and fear and thought, were still 
open, but staring with a sightless gaze that was far too 
wide. Her head was flung back; the long expanse of her 
throat exposed, and marked with uneven purple blotches 
where brutal hands had squeezed her. There was no breath 
coming from between her parted lips. They had raped her 
and then strangled her.

"Barbara? Barbara-girl? Baby? Oh, Baby!" I whispered. 
"Oh, Baby, please be alright!"

I didn't have to slide my hand under her clothing this 
time to seek for a heartbeat. Her clothing had been 
ripped open. I slid my hand between her soft still 
breasts. She was so warm. There was no vibration, no 
steady throb below the skin. She was so soft, too soft.

"Baby?" I slapped her cheek to try to get a response. 
"Oh, God! Barbara!"

She's not breathing! Artificial respiration, I thought. 
I put my mouth on hers. Her lips gave mine no 
resistance. I breathed out urgently, then kissed her 
frantically. Her head stirred below me, because I pushed 
against her. There was no resistance in her warm limp 
body.

I kept kissing her, kept trying to breathe air into her. 
My hands roamed over her, shaking her gently, searching 
her, stroking her. I lay down on her clasping her, 
dragging her towards me. The marks of strangulation were 
livid on her throat, an obscenity that made my vision 
blur. I clung to Barbara.

Once before I had held her when she lay like this, held 
her when I was not sure if she was a dead woman or not. 
I had lain on her. I had brought life back into her. I 
placed tender hungry, desperate kisses on her lips and 
on her breasts, trying to coax the life back into her. I 
made love to her. Her dark eyes stared back at me 
without seeing me.

I didn't have to uncover her. They had left her open. I 
tore my own clothes open and slid my prick into the 
slime of other men's leavings. Her skin was warm. Her 
cunny was hot. How could she be so warm when before she 
had been cold but had life in her? I thrust. My rhythm 
rocked her and my panting racked me like sobs.

I thrust again and again, fucking her. She could not 
feel it. I thrust harder. My hands tried everything, 
stroking that lovely tragic face, cupping about her pale 
perfect breasts. There was no response. There could be 
no response.

"Wake up! Oh, Baby. Oh lovely Barbara, please, please 
wake up!" I begged her. There was no heart beat deep 
inside. This time the woman would not wake, could not 
learn what I was doing to her. I kissed her eyes. I 
kissed her forehead. I could not bring her to life.

***

Starling was crouched in the road, very near where I had 
dropped him when I brought Barbara back. He hunched with 
his forehead on his knuckles. He did not look up to see 
me bring her. Once more her weight filled my arms, 
sagging as if my arms were bringing her complete 
comfort, lifeless.

When I was near him I stopped. "Starling? They had guns, 
didn't they?"

He nodded, not looking up.

"There was nothing you could do." I said. "I shouldn't 
have let her go out with just a boy. There was no way 
you could have stopped them."

"They told me to go," he whispered. "If I had stayed…"

I shook my head. "All that we can do now is bury her."

"Fitz!" Abruptly he cried out my name, a howl of 
despair.

"Get up." I said. "And let's get her buried."

Starling stood. His face was puckered with woe. He 
looked like a very little boy. "She's still pretty." He 
whispered.

"Yes," I said. "Barbara liked you. Come here and give 
her a kiss before we bury her."

Starling came to stand beside me. Barbara's head lolled, 
resting in the crook of my arm as I held her. Her hair 
was tangled now. The boy leaned over to place his kiss 
lightly on the woman's smooth still cheek.

Then I kissed her and then we buried her. We dug a grave 
in a small patch of earth that was not covered in 
rubble. I laid her down there, with precious blankets to 
keep her warm. I curled her hands so that they lay on 
her body, but I let her hair cover her face.

"What about a headstone? Something like a headstone?" 
Starling's voice trembled. He could not control his 
tears.

"No," I said. "No head stone. She has to lie in an 
unmarked grave, or someone might dig her up again to see 
if there is anything buried with her worth plundering. 
But we can get flowers to grow on her grave. In the 
spring time, we can bring the seeds or the bulbs here 
and get them to grow." Starling clung to my arm, crying 
and I stared at the smooth mound of fresh dirt that we 
had just made.

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 68