The Meeting Point (17 page)

Deborah gasped and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her.

“Never give up, Marcus. Never!” she demanded, then let his head rest gently into the mossy ground. “We've done this before, we can do it again. Don't leave me when we're so close to utopia.”

“I won't. I promise.” His eyes started to flicker shut, and Deborah decided to let him sleep. She pulled some moss and leaves up against his sides to act as some sort of barrier against drafts until she made something better.

When she'd finished, she kissed him lightly on the eyelids and rolled back on her heels to get ready to stand. Just as her weight tipped, Marcus reached out and grabbed her hard by the wrist. So hard that her breath caught and she gasped as he pulled her close to his mouth.

“Just what were you doing to reach me on such a clear signal, hmm?” A deep chuckle resonated in his chest and he coughed a little, a huge smile spreading across his face.

Deborah's heart was thundering at the shock and surprise of his sudden strength and humor. “Get better and I'll show you,” she whispered wickedly into his ear as he sank back into the moss.

When she was sure Marcus was settled again and sleeping, she went over to her other companions.

“I think he's going to be fine. I really do.”

 

 

Cheryl stood on the brow of the hill where she and her Mistress had parted ways. The toxins, disease, or whatever it was, was really taking hold. Not only could she feel how sick she was, but it was evident in the papery, yellowing skin which covered her skeletal bones. Her breath was labored and shallow as she put her hands to her knees to rest a little. It had been a huge journey for her to get here and every night, sleeping in the rough outdoors had been torture. She hoped that her Mistress was still down there at the farm, waiting for a chance to escape. Knowing in her heart that the woman would be gone already, she kindled the selfish hope that something had gone wrong, keeping her there.

If only Cheryl, weak though she was, managed to be the one to break them free, validating herself, her time on this planet. Cheryl felt she had made no contribution or difference to the world, good or bad. She had just been an indifferent mass, taking what she needed and leaving nothing. If she'd had more energy, the thought would have depressed her; but as it happened, it was purely mechanical, a matter-of-fact statement in her own brain. There was no emotion attached.

She inhaled and straightened her back, taking in her surroundings. This was definitely the place. It was as she remembered in position and content, yet it was radically different. In only the few days—or could it be weeks—since she had last been there, the change was huge. Everything was brittle, dying, turning to dust before her very eyes. The shrubbery that had once scratched at her ankles now just crumbled under the disturbance of her touch. How could it be so rapid? If there was anything, and by anything, she meant a god perhaps, it sure was acting fast. A real appetite for the destruction she witnessed.

Cheryl took a few more moments to gather her strength then started to walk down toward the farm. Clouds rolled in from the east, bringing a gusting, squally wind with them. Crouching low, panic rose until she was sure it wasn't a toxin storm coming her way. The wind picked up and whipped the broken fields, breaking up and fragmenting all the dead plants, grasses, and leaves. Small eddies and spirals of dust were sucked up in columns then dispersed randomly, flying debris in all directions. Cheryl, still crouching, wrapped her head in her arms and pulled her top up over her face to keep out the dust. It was sudden and harsh and blew across the land, stripping it bare of the brittle greenery. It moved on and all was calm again.

As she trembled, her blood pumped hard to cope with the fright. The horror. She pulled her face free from the fabric and stood up on shaky legs, breathing hard and feeling perverse joy that the winds had elicited an emotional response from her. She had been a walking robot and was glad to feel something, anything, at last. Looking over the destruction the winds had left in their wake, Cheryl became desolate once more. The exposed earth was exactly that—exposed, bare, and barren. The whole country would soon become a dustbowl, if not the whole world. She kept walking. Perhaps the farm had been shut down. Who knew what she would find?

As she approached the back wall of the farm, she could see and hear that it was still thriving with life and business as if nothing bad was going on outside. Carriages pulled up and drew away with women dressed in their finery. Dirty, rumpled clothing hung from her skinny frame. A sudden memory flashed into her mind of making love with Lena in one of the cupboards in The Wasp's lair back at the prison. She remembered the touch and feel of the other woman's body pressed against hers. Fitting together as if each a reflection of the other. A fast and heated exchange of pleasure as physical equals. It wouldn't be like that now. She was wasting away and she knew it.

There was no way she would be able to lie her way in the front door amongst these well heeled, well fed ladies. She would have to find another way to seek out her Mistress. Funny, she'd have done anything to escape The Wasp's rule during her time in the prison, but now she could think of the woman only as her Mistress, and Cheryl longed for her dominance and the protection that came with it.

Pressing herself flat to the perimeter wall, she made her way into the inner gardens where the stone building loomed. It must have been a glorious sight with all the blossoms and trees in bloom, but now it looked as if winter had struck. Her brain felt muddled, like synapses were breaking down, as she tried to think what month it was, what season even.

She shuffled quickly over to a shadowy area with high windows. It looked like a place where servants would be housed. None of the grand bay windows she knew would be to the front. If The Wasp's man was indeed a sex slave, he would more than likely be kept somewhere to the back. Somewhere like this. Cheryl congratulated herself for making connections with her weary mind and looked around her for clues.

There, directly below a high, small, slightly open window, something glinted in the brown grass. Stooping to take a look, her heart seemed to stop. The clockwork butterfly. The very thing that The Wasp had sent out to find her lover.

How did it work again? Picking up the fragile, corroded creature, she saw here was a tiny key protruding from the underside and turned it carefully. The wings twitched, and hope filled Cheryl and she turned the key. Slowly and stutteringly, the wings closed then opened and she laughed out loud. The sound of her own voice almost knocked her off balance as she realized what a silent world she'd been living in.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered to the tiny butterfly as it seemed to try its best to do as she bid. Looking around for something to lubricate the minute intricate joints, everything around her seemed dry. Saliva? She put her finger to her lips and was about to spit when she remembered something about DNA being the thing that lead the butterfly home. She didn't want to contaminate the thing and have it fly back to her here in an endless purgatory.

Tension filled every pore as she waited for the joints and hinges to loosen up. The huge farm building loomed above her and she realized it would be better to release the thing in a more exposed location. She looked up to the hills and saw a dyke with a bush which would provide some cover if she had to wait it out. It looked like quite a distance though, and Cheryl had to muster all her desire to get out to make herself get to that place.

Despite the dying leaves and branches, it was obvious that someone had been there. More than just someone—quite a few people in fact. Her heart buzzed with the fantasy that perhaps it was her Mistress and her party who had found a way out indeed.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered again to the stuttering tangle of carved metal.

It was getting late in the afternoon and she couldn't decide whether traveling by night was a good or bad thing. Her decision was taken from her when suddenly the butterfly flapped energetically and spilled out of her palm and into the sky. Forgetting her frailty, Cheryl got up and followed it, her heart pumping with renewed hope. She ran further along the side of the hill, trying to keep up. The butterfly danced and fluttered chaotically into the dimming sky until it fell sharply and landed only a few meters away.

“No, no!” Picking it up, she studied it for faults and injury. It looked the same. She turned the key, coiling the fragile internal springs to almost breaking point, and the butterfly sprang to life once more.

Again, it flew for a few hundred meters before falling to the ground.
This is going to take a very long time
, Cheryl thought, then tried to see the positive. At least the little thing looked like it was headed in a straight line. It did indeed seem to have a destination programmed into it somehow. Lifting it again, she held it to her heart, trying to infuse it with as much life power as she could before setting it free.

It landed.

Yes, this was going to take a long time.

* * * *

Marcus was gaining strength, and the redness and swelling at his wires had almost completely disappeared.

The camp was looking good, and Deborah rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, relishing the feeling of having worked hard. On that first night as they'd all sat shivering in the darkness, leaves and bracken giving them no warmth against the cold, it was agreed that they would dig up some of the clothing and give them a good wash in the stream. It had been liberating and beautiful to be naked in the camp, but it was completely impractical for the climate, especially so close to autumn and winter. Angelo, Mae, and Lena had brought back just one item for each member and they had steamed in the hazy sunlight by the fire.

Angelo had taken Deborah to the side and pressed something into her palm.

“I know I shouldn't have brought it...” he said quietly, shrugging, then went back to drying the furs and blankets.

Deborah ran her fingers over the notebook and slipped behind a tree to take a peek at the familiar text. She hadn't even realized it had been missing from her possession. She wondered why Angelo would have had it, and the thought of him sneaking a read of her lover's private diary flashed up anger. He wouldn't do that, would he? She flicked it open from the back as she usually did, and immediately noticed a new entry on the last page. Her heart paused as she read.

 

My lover, my life, if you are reading this, I have moved on. Trust in your new companions and find me at the meeting point—we are more than the physical.

Forever yours, Marcus

 

He must have told Angelo to give it to her if he didn't make it past the perimeter. She clutched it to her chest and let the tears spill out down her cheeks. She carefully buried it in her little shelter.

They'd built the new camp deeper into the forest where birdsong could be heard and the definite markings and droppings of other animals could be seen. It was only when Deborah had passed a few little mounds of rabbit raisins that it had dawned on her just how empty of wildlife recent days, weeks, years had been. Funny how things can disappear without even noticing. It had sent a chill down her spine, and she stared around her group, protectively counting each member with a maternal ache for them all. She couldn't deny the growing feeling that they were potentially the last group of humans to be surviving in this land for much longer. Should they have gone back and brought more people with them, saved more lives? Her satisfaction at finishing the little round of bivouacs was ebbing away, leaving guilt in its wake.

“What are you thinking about, my gorgeous, wild woman?” Marcus lifted her hair away from her nape, nuzzling there while picking bits of bracken out of her matted locks.

Deborah let the glorious sensation wash over her. What was the use in her thoughts now? It had all happened so quickly, and when she remembered clearly, they had been fugitives. They were on the run. It was really quite an astonishing twist of fate that had brought them to this place. The fine hairs on her shoulders rose where Marcus's soft butterfly kisses trailed. He was nearing that spot, that delicious haven in the crook of her elbow which sent her over the edge of bliss. She let her head fall back and held her breath as he nibbled and tongued the sensitive flesh.

“Hey, get a room you two!” Mae's jolly voice snapped Deborah back into reality, and she blushed to see her traveling companions all watching their tenderness. Mae bowed and cast her arm to the side in a gesture to usher the couple toward one of the shelters. “And here is one we made just for you.” She drew back the bracken curtain and Marcus, with Deborah still blushing, took her hand and stooped through the doorway.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as the saucy Mae licked her lips and winked mouthing
have fun
.

The insolence of the woman made Deborah's cheeks flush and brought a little spark of fury with it.
That one might be in need of a lesson from The Wasp
, she thought as an image of Mae bent over with red handprints on her buttocks and a thick black dildo stretching and puckering her tight little cunt flashed into her imagination before she could even think to stop it.
Where did that come from?

Marcus was kneeling, and he pulled Deborah onto his lap, taking that special spot on her arm between his teeth again. She squirmed, still blushing at the uninvited image that was now seared to her mind.

“Oh yes, you're so wet, so wet,” Marcus whispered between nibbles as he slid his fingers into her straddled pussy from behind.

Guilt flashed through Deborah at the scene that was causing such desire. She never thought she'd have urges for anyone else now that she had her Marcus back. It was making her feel conflicted and unfaithful.

“My God, woman, you really need it, don't you?”

Deborah wriggled about on Marcus's lap as he cupped her ass with both hands now, eating her neck and diving fingers from both hands into her sopping, accommodating heat. Deborah was trying to cling on to the present, the physical, but she was so horny and desperate to be fucked, that she let go of herself and writhed and bucked wantonly onto his hands.

“Oh yeah, baby, you're going to come like this?”

The only thing that stopped Deborah spiraling off fully was the squelching noises coming from her cunt. “Marcus, fuck me. Fuck me now.”

She reached down and lifted his robe to bring out his straining cock. She wanted to ride him. She wanted to be stretched to the brink on his beautiful dick. Her cunt was pouring juices onto his lap and she was bucking around, trying to hold off orgasm. At last he was in position, the tip just at her entrance, his fingers holding her open. She sat down hard, impaling herself on the hungry dick while he lifted her by the ass cheeks and began pumping and grinding his pelvis into her.

She could take more. She needed more. “Fuck me in the ass with your fingers.”

The way his breath hitched as if he was shocked, made her want it even more. She wanted every hole filled by him. She grabbed his tongue with hers and ate him up ferociously while he did as he was bid and smeared juices up the crack of her ass and into her tight pucker.
That's it, that's it, fuck me with everything.
Her muscles clenched and released, allowing him to stretch her open and slide his fingers in and out in time with his cock.