The Storm (Part IV)
Lieutenant Greenstein crouched on the roof of the six-floor tenement building, her rifle aimed at the corner of South 3rd and Kent Avenue. A cold wind blew off the gray East River, sending a chill through her bones, despite the ample weight of her police uniform. She had been like this for the past two hours, waiting for the gangs of Hasid to come to where they based their illegal water-hoarding operation. It had come to this: New York’s finest perched in decrepit windows of abandoned warehouses, esentially snipers. Guilty until proven innocent, and even then no one was ever innocent. Fuck this, she thought. She’d rather be at home, with Scott, protected by the Rockaways, a place of New York that still hadn’t been affected by the storm. She was one of the lucky ones, though, even if she did have to spend eight hours a day in the fucking dregs of the 18th precinct, trying to maintain order in a city that was falling apart at the seams. She stood up to stretch, and turned around, looking back at Brooklyn. It was then that she noticed the door to the stairwell was closed.
“Fuck,” she said, putting her gun down, and walking toward the door. There was no handle on the door, as it locked automatically behind. How could she be so stupid, she thought, a hand against the door. Fuck fuck fuck. There would be no way to communicate, as the communication links had broken down with the first storm. She was stuck. She would have to wait for relief. She walked back to the corner of the roof when she saw it.
A dark cloud moved quickly across the East River, a thick, green mustardy smelling mass of smoke and debris. The Storm. There hadn’t been one in about six weeks, but here it was. She looked frantically around. There was no way out. The cloud moved even closer, directly towards the building. She tried not to panic, took deep breaths, but all she could think about was Scott and their house in the Rockaways, their dog, how she wanted to go home. She looked back at the door. “What the fuck,” she said out loud, “Fuck fuck fuck.” She was trapped.
She crouched in the corner, curled up in a fetal position, cradling the gun. There was nothing she could do. Closing her eyes, the Storm rushed over the top of the building, enveloping her. She could feel the weight of the gas against her uniform, her exposed skin, her dark brown hair pulled tight against her head. She could taste it on her lips. And worse, she could feel it entering her, and she reached a level of such terror that she thought her heart was going to explode and burst, carried off with the evil gas. And that’s what it was: evil. It was in her now. She was finished, would no longer be the same, would be doomed to wandering these fucked up streets for the rest of her life, in whatever guise the Storm infected her: drugs, drink, food, sex?
The storm passed, but she remained in that same position, her eyes tightly shut, her hands clamped around the rifle, balled up like a child on the corner of the roof. Her breathing by now was quick and manic, and she tried to focus all of her mental acuity onto the number of breaths. She had heard that the affects of the Storm were immediate, she had seen it happen in colleagues, saw their former selves be carried off by the mustardy gas of the storm cloud, leaving behind the shell of a human, a sick desperation that cast the world into chaos. She counted quickly, trying not to recognise that she was burning up in the police uniform, that her skin felt as if it was on fire, her body dripping in sweat. She wanted to tear the uniform off. There was intense feeling of absence, a craving for something in her to be filled. She was now shaking uncontrollably. She needed it, although she couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but then her thoughts were brought somewhere else, a focal point: hot, burning, wet and aching, that space between her legs. What she needed was cock. And this is where she passed over.
She had to get off the roof. It was imperative. It was the key to her survival. If she could get off the roof, she could get cock: a thick, hard, throbbing piece of meat that she could suck, and feel in her wet pussy, and shove in her ass. She needed to be filled. What she needed even more, she knew now, was the taste of cum on her mouth, something to take the pain away. She had to bathe in it, have it constantly. This was the key to her survival and it was that door- that fucking door- that was keeping her from it.
She ran to the edge of the roof and looked down. The street was empty. She was clearly in pain and could think of nothing, see nothing in her head, except for hard, throbbing cock. She tried to maintain her balance and, instinctively, reached her right hand down beneath her belt and the waistband of her slacks, touching her engorged clitoris with two fingers, slowly rubbing a circle. Her breathing increased with the rhythm of her rubbing and she was shocked- almost terrified- at the intensity of the feeling. She wanted something inside her, and she slipped both fingers into her hot, soaking wet cunt. In and out she pushed them, all the while applying circular pressure with the palm of her hand on her clit. The severity and quickness of the orgasm that caused her entire body to quake and her knees give out, collapsing her to the roof of the building, a writhing mess of nerve-endings and pussy juice, her carefully pulled up hair now falling out around her, and the screams- these fucking screams of passion, if that’s what it was- bouncing off the buildings around her seemed to be an announcement to the world, that-once again- the Storm had reduced another woman to her basic id: she now, literally, lived to fuck.
And if she could do this to herself, she thought, lying flat on her back, staring at the dark clouds passing above her, her breathing slowing down, wonder what she could do with cock.
I’m getting off this fucking roof, she thought, and she walked to the edge, more determined and confident than she’d been before. The orgasm seemed to give her a power that she was lacking before, a temporary boost in confidence. And, as if she willed it herself, she heard the shuffle of feet from the corner below her. She quickly assumed position, crouched at the corner of the roof, looking through the sites of her sniper rifle. They turned the corner and entered into view.
“No fucking way,” she said, lowering the gun, and looking at the three people- a man and two girls on chains- turning the corner. They were naked, the man carrying and automatic weapon, an M-16, with a round of ammo around his chest. The two girls were attached to small chains, around collars, and had on combat boots. They walked gingerly. She looked at the man- his taut, hairless body, rippling in muscle- and, more importantly, his cock- a semi-hard beautiful piece of meat. She sited it through the rifle to get a better look. It was enormous, maybe eight to nine inches when it got hard and had a breath-taking girth. She wanted it. Without thinking she jumped to her feet, held the rifle aloft and screamed, “FREEZE!”
The man motioned to the girls, who quickly crouched down like dogs on all fours and he held the M-16 aloft, clearly tentative about using it. He found Lt. Greenstein in his sites, but failed to shoot. She cautioned him down.
“If you fire that thing, we’ll all be dead,” she yelled down to the street. “I just need your help. Can you help me?”
He lowered the gun, but said nothing. She took this as a positive sign.
“I’m locked in. You have to let me out.” She was thinking about that cock. The man shaded his eyes and looked up. He stood there silently, motioning for the girls to stand back up, all the while not losing his gaze with the aching lieutenant.
“Please,” she shouted down again, surprised at the desperation in her voice. “I’ll do anything! Anything!”
The three strangers walked to the front door. She could hear it slam behind them. The aspect of getting cock excited her, but she was aware of the fact that she needed to look non-threatening: the uniform with the gun may be too much for a stranger to take in a fucked up world as this. And she didn’t feel like she could wait any longer. She threw the rifle down to the ground, undid her belt and holster, and unbuckled her boots, kicking them off quickly. Throwing them to the side, she shimmied out of the heavy, thick pants until she was in nothing but her thong underwear. The heat from her pussy was unbearable, and even as she lowered the navy blue panties, she found herself rubbing her soaking wet cunt again. She crawled to the edge of the roof, bending over, one hand on the ledge, the other busily preparing her pussy for the cock she needed to survive. She heard the metal door open and she moaned loudly. Without even turning around, her ass in the air as if an offering, her left hand rubbing her pussy to the peak of another orgasm, she screamed: “Please! Fuck me with your cock! Please fuck me with your cock!”
She heard footsteps and the quick fap fap fap of the man jerking his meat, getting ready to fill her up and before she could plead again for the stranger’s dick, she felt the head of the penis against the wet lips of her pussy and she grunted loudly, the echo carrying off the skyscraper condominiums. As he thrust inside her- first an inch, then two, then the full girth of the eight or nine inches filling her up- she supported herself with both hands on the railing, banging her hips against his with each thrust. She seemed to be in a continual state of orgasm, her body quaking and screaming in passion, a feeling she had never, ever came close to before. She concentrated on breathing, of feeling every inch of that beautiful cock, and revelled in the waves of orgasm that seemed to define her new existence. She was ready now, thirsty, aching for cum and she told him, the stranger who filled her up, a man she had not even seen the face of, that she wanted it.
“Cum on my face,” she ordered. “Cum on my fucking face.”
This is what she needed and as he pulled out, she twisted around, falling to her knees and opening her mouth. She still didn’t look at him, only focusing on the throbbing piece of meat inches from her face, the full girth, the glistening head and the hand that worked it professionally and eagerly, and as the cum exploded she thrust herself into it, tasting it on her tongue and lips, her cheeks and nose and face and eyes and hair, wanting to drown in it, to soak up every single sperm cell of strength, to satisfy the craving of the Storm. She would never be the same, this she knew. But in a way, as the energy crackled through her body, and the hot cum dripped from her lips to the tarred roof, she wondered if she even cared.
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