This is a part of a much bigger thing I am writing at the moment, so be aware that there is a long backstory/buildup. I left it in because, to me, it makes the story more 3D -I hope you will find the end worth the wait? I am certain there will be many more things to read, so enjoy! Crow x In the very beginning, no one could have predicted the colossal impact of the global pandemic. When Radon-25, as they named the virus, was first discovered in China, only a handful of people had died of the flu-like infection. Yet, within weeks, the virus had spread to Europe, even USA and the global death toll was suddenly rising exponentially. The heads of state were too slow to respond and despite drastic measures such as halting all international air traffic and stay-at-home policies for citizens, the measures came too late and the virus carried on taking lives until the very foundations of our society collapsed under the weight of it. People were forced to resort to looking after themselves because, suddenly, they found ourselves playing roles in one of those all-so-familiar post-apocalyptic films where the protagonist always saves the day… Except this time, there were no heroes, no American flags waving in the wind as the saviours arrived. After the collapse of the utilities required to carry on living our Western, First World lives, only a few weeks had passed when the remaining people found themselves searching for shelter in the countryside. Looking at the cloudless, blue skies under the summer sun and the big leafy trees, one could almost, at least momentarily, forget that we had lost everything. We had no houses, no possession as such and most people had lost loved ones, family. There seemed very little hope for any of us. My sister and I, with my little 10-year-old niece Izzy, had found a small community based not that far from our city homes, where we had been kindly taken in by an elderly lady called Marjorie. Her house and outbuildings covered a large area by a field where crops grew -enough to fill many bellies for many months. My sister, Zara, is 10 years older than I am. She has always been the boys’ favourite with her small waist and long dark hair. I, on the other hand, rarely attracted younger boys (but older were often interested) with my more voluptuous figure: large, heavy breasts and wide hips, both which I often cursed. By those people who insisted on comparing us, Zara was often described as the more beautiful one; but most would admit that my contrasting looks of dark hair, blue eyes and red lips, were more striking. However, our looks hardly mattered in our day-to-day lives as all our energies were fully focused on providing for our daily lives. There was no time nor space for relationships, thus the thoughts for more intimate lives, evaporated. However, there were quiet times, the times when my body remembered. My body ached… it remembered the heat, the textures, the smells, the tastes. It remembered the wetness, the moans, the filling and pounding. The yanking, the scratching, the sucking, the… These thoughts assaulted my mind usually during the evenings that still clung onto the heat of the day, when the sweet scent of summer would waft into my nostrils and beckon me to go to the river. With the dusky skies, I would wash myself and calm my thoughts and my burning body in the cool, caressing lap of the river. The thoughts would quieten… but not always. The sweet, languid silk of the dark, slow water would sneak into my secret recesses. Washing away the day’s dust, enticing hands to caress the body. Along the arms, neck, up and down the legs…slowly moving towards the core of my body. It was amazing how different my body was, and smelled, now that all the artificial was removed from it. I could not say the last time I would have smelled my natural body before the end of all things. Now, it possessed a real scent, a sweet earthiness of ripe plums that no chemically made substance could ever replicate. I even found my body hair sexy…my well of love was now hidden by a secret garden. I smiled at the thought and decided to get out before someone would see me. I threw on a light summer dress borrowed from Marjorie, a much more flowery and frumpy than I would ever choose to wear, however, given the circumstances, I was delighted to have the use of it while my clothes were still drying. Rather than return directly to the barn where the communal sleeping quarters would be mostly filled by now, I thought the ancient woodland up the road would be a nice distraction for my wandering mind. Under the massive, leafy oaks, the scent of the earth and green was strong and calming. The dusky pinks in the sky had turned to tones of purple and lilac, yet my body refused to accept that it was time to calm down and rest. There was no point in going back until I had managed to return to equilibrium, as sleep would most certainly elude me in my current state. The ache between my legs had turned into throbbing. I could feel the tightness around my swelling breasts, their tips tightening into tense raspberries, poking through the thin, flowery fabric. I glanced around, full well knowing that the likelihood of someone being here at this moment in time, was minute. It would be embarrassing to be caught like a teenager, touching myself in the woods. With a tightening breath, my hand moved, as if by itself, along my side, up and up, until a breast filled, over-filled it, with the nipple poking through between my fingers. I had not worn a bra for many weeks and it was glorious to just be able to fondle the flesh without restrictions. A firm squeeze and a knead rushed the other hand to do the same. Leaning against a tree, my body was now fully on fire. Would there ever be a time that my breasts would allow my hands to stop? Sighing, I felt my head tip back, eyes closing. Kneading breasts really was like making bread. Warm, soft and malleable, my breasts delighted in being squished together, rolled up and round, in circles…oh but the nipples…I so wished there were someone here who could give me a rough and hard, deep suck of my nipples. Fingers lack that heat, wetness and depth that mouths have. Just the thought was enough, though, to make me mew and the throbbing wetness between my legs spread outside my thicket, along my thighs. I could not wait anymore; the need was too intense. Leaving one hand baking at the top, I dragged the other to my white thigh, now only barely visible under the comforting shadows of the trees, with only a faint glow of the setting sun visible through the branches. Quickly, I reached the hem of the dress and rising between my legs, I swept along my thigh, rushing to my garden of delights. The hairs were damp to the touch and I could feel the heat even before I touched my crevice, I was so desperate for gluttony, not mine but my imaginary lover’s. The idea of someone kneeling in front of me, lifting my skirt up to shove their nose into my hairy pussy was ridiculously arousing and I felt my knees soften and nearly buckle. The fingers spreading my folds apart weren’t mine anymore. They were rough, strong and thick, a working man’s fingers. The hands spread my juices around, up and down my slit, until stopping at my entrance, they rubbed in a circle, as if slowly excavating a circular entrance to a precious tomb. I was already so sensitive, I wondered if I would even get to the end of my fantasy, when his tongue did the gentlest touchdown right, precisely on my magic button. The intense pleasure filled me and overflowed as intense moaning, I no longer worried about someone hearing my panting in the dusk. I knew I was only a few rubs away from a mind-blowing orgasm, so I wanted to make the final moments count. I turned to face against the tree and its rough bark scraped against my tender bosom, inflaming it further. Desperately and without any worry over being exposed, I offered my wetness to my imaginary partner like I would a main course at a celebratory banquet. I yanked my dress over my white derrière, scrunching it at my waist and while bending over, I spread my legs to entirely expose my dark crevice to his full view. I imagined his hot gaze and wet, eager lips and this thought released a writhing moan. My legs shook at the thought of his finger entering my crevice, how it would fill the tight hole. My imagination had already forgotten that it was my smaller, smoother fingers that were currently tantalising and teasing my hole and the slippery, hot flesh around it. Unable to stop myself, I pushed in a finger, two, finally three and furiously fucked my hole until a fountain of sweet-smelling liquid squirted out in sync with the waves of pleasure. “Wow, it’s been a while since that happened. Must have been a good one.” I smiled and ran my fingers up and down my legs to dry up the fluid running down my legs. My fingers were gooey and wet, the scent around me what sweet and musky. “I think I’d better go and have another wash.” I walked back to the river and stripped naked and sunk into the cool caress of the river, feeling relaxed and, for the moment, sated.