Wasteland

If Jack came to look in on her she did not know it. The fact that he had without laying hand on her attributed to the better side of his character. She woke some hours latter, still satisfied, but no longer in pain for the contentment. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so refreshed. She had bathed, eaten, drank her fill of water and slept without worry of attack or theft. She took out her pip boy and clicked it on over her wrist, activating the Geiger Counter to check her radiation. She was still well under the threat of poisoning. Putting the pip boy back in the dewar, she removed her denims and dressed to go down stairs. Her boots clunked softly across the grayed wooden floor as she made her way toward the window. Leaning out over the sill, she took a look down at the town.

The pumping station was easily recognizable. The largest building on the highest ground. That put it on the rise a few buildings right of the pub. The name 'Jack' was spray painted across the face with dark red paint, clearly claiming his rights to ownership over the town's water supply. Surrounding the common court yard center of town were a few shacks made of scrap metal, wood and parts of radom objects such as train cars or plane wings. One building near the gate, marked by more red spray paint, had the words 'Sapliez'. She assumed that meant supplies. These people were painfully lacking in their ability to spell which was likely effected by their accent. Across from the shop was a clinic, noted by the red intersecting lines painted on the wall near the door. There seemed to be nothing else of any interest. Her eyes roamed over the roofs of the huts to the walls, and finally the the dry, dusty land beyond. The hamlet wasn't much, but the wastes were less. A small band of villagers were leaving with sacks in hand., going off the scavenge what they could from the unyielding world. Beyond them she could see a one brahmin caravan. A trader coming to do business with the citizens. Below her the doors to the bar opened and Jack walked away from the building, pulling a tee over his head as he went. She noticed a tattoo on the breadth of his shoulders before the cotton fabric obscured it from her vision. She'd only seen such things on raiders or slavers. It set her heart pounding in her chest with fearful panic, sure that he was trying to coax her into willing slavery. Bolting from the window she gathered her remaining belongings from the wardrobe. She slapped the pip boy on her arm and pulled her jacket on over it. Goggles in place she headed for the door, unlocking it with the key still in her possession. In the hall she hesitated by the closed doors. She could help them escape, tell them they didn't have to stay here as slaves.

Tentatively she opened the door nearest Jack's knocking on the warped wood as she did. The woman inside didn't bother to close her robe as she sat smoking a cigarette by a small window in the corner of the room. She didn't even look at the intruder as she continued to puff on the tobacco rolled into paper. Her bleach blonde hair was a nest around her head, her pale skin was marred with bruises where her patrons had grabbed too hard. Her legs fell open as she uncrossed them, revealing the prize of purchase to be just as battered as the rest of her. When Leona didn't speak, shocked to silence, the harlot looked toward the door. Her eyes didn't grow wide with surprise. Instead they narrowed as if angry.

"Whadda you want? If ye're not a payin' customer, get out!" She spat.

"I'm runnin'." Leona said abruptly. "Ye can come with me. Ya don't have t' be a slave here!"

"A slave? I ain't no slave." The woman scoffed. She left herself exposed, unmindful of her nudity.

"Honey, it's betta in her' than 'tis out thar. 'Sides, whatchya runnin' fer? He ain't gonna pimp ye, girl. Naw." The hooker sneered at her, looking her over with dark hateful eyes. "He wants yer perdiness all t' himself, he does."

The tall, slender woman got up out of her splintering wicker chair, her bare feet scuffing the frayed fibers of the small rug allowed the room. Abused breasts jiggled as she walked, stopping inches from where the frightened and confused girl stood in the doorway. The stench of cigarette smoke coupled with the scent of sex and alcohol nearly made her sick. It surprised her to stillness when the harlot grabbed her by the neck and drug her into the room. The door was shut behind her and she was pinned to the wall, the whore's naked body pressed against her.

"I ain't goin' no wher'. I'd recommend ye do the same." Her voice was low and venomous. " If he's told the guards not t' let ya leave, ye won't be gettin' away easy. If ya manage it, ya better pray he sends some'ne af'er ya. If he goes 'emself, ya won't like what hap'ns when 'e catches ya. Face it, yer betta off here. Go do whateva please ya, but leave me 'n' the others alone."

"But yer bruises..." Leona started.

The woman cut her off by squeezing a little harder on her neck, then took the girls trembling lips with her own red stained ones. Her mouth tasted of ash and bile. Leona felt she might loose her breakfast. The kiss only lasted a second, but it was more than enough. The girl spat in the face of the whore, who only laughed at her.

"When they wan' it gentle they go t' Anne." The evening lady nodded to the adjoining wall to her neighbor. "When they wan' it rough they come t' Lucy. That's me if her t' dumb t' know. An' if they wan' both, it's twice the caps an' they get the twins."

"She's yer sister?" Leona asked in disgust.

"Yar, an' I love the way she licks m' cunt and sucks on dick. Half price this week only, spread the word. Gotta make rent. Now, get the fuck out 'fer I charge ya the pleasure of m' company!"

With that, Lucy roughly pulled open the door and shoved Leona through the gap to crumple onto the floor. She spun in surprise toward the door of the establishment when the deep sound of a man's voice called to her.

"I see ye've met Lucy. She's a doll, ain't she?" Jack said sarcastically. "I hope she didn't damage ya. It's what she does."

Picking herself up from the dusty floor, the girl brushed herself off and continued down the stairs. Jack greeted her by taking her face in one hand and examining the red marks on her neck where Lucy had choked her. His lips curled down in a disapproving frown. Narrowing his eyes at the marks, then letting go of her face, he studied her appearance further.

"Bit warm for the jacket. Why don't ya leave it in the wardrobe." He commented. "Is your belly feelin' better?"

"Yea. Thank ye." She answered.

"Umhum." He nodded. "What did ye and Lucy chat about?"

"She was gonna run, Jack!" Lucy shouted from her room.

Lucy had opened her door and produced herself in all her glory to rat the girl out. Leona's eyes grew wide again at the indecency of the woman's behavior, quickly averting her gaze so as not to have to see more of the woman. Jack simply deepened his frown at the tramp, exposing herself for free.

"Lucy, get back in that room 'fer I have t' sent Egor up 'ere!" He shouted.

The door slammed shut promptly after the quick scurry of feet and the flap of the robe fluttering out behind her. Leona looked back up to Jack's face. A softer glare than the one he'd given the harlot peered down at her.

"Do ya wanna leave?" He asked. "Ye can go anytime ya like. Ye'll always be welcome back by me."

Gently taking her chin with his thumb and forefinger, Jack lifted her face and pecked a kiss on her softer lips. She didn't move away. Her bright eyes searched his, looking for answers to questions she was afraid to ask. She'd made a mistake and now she was stuck. Even if the whore was wrong, he still had a tattoo. It was possible that the mark was not related to raiders or slavers, however unlikely. Though he may not currently be involved with such factions, the probability that he had been at one time or another was high. Years on his face told a story of time to have had such a history, and it might explain something of his current status. Deciding not to pursue the curiosities of her mind at that moment, she let him kiss her again. This time his lips parted, and to her bewilderment, so did hers. It was her tongue that sought his. More butterflies fluttered around a bigger, heavier knot. In a blur of motion she was in his arms as he carried her up the stairs. She knew where they were headed. She knew what would happen there. Though her mind rebelled as strongly as it could, her body acted on it's own volition, yearning for the passion that would ravage her and send waves of ecstacy crashing over like she'd never known with another man. If someone had told her days ago that one could become addicted to orgasm she would have laughed at them. Having experienced her own of a power that was as terrifying as it was erotic, she would have agreed, if she could admit her addiction.

The orange glow of hot afternoon sun cast dark shadows across the town. The heat beat down on the west wall of the pub, warming the room to an uncomfortable degree. Naked, and slick with sweat, their bodies pleasured the other. Her wild hair matted and stuck to her skin. His rough hands and hard physique held her and crushed her beneath his fierce want. Delicate, weathered fingers pawed at him frantically, moaning and crying her pleasure at his violation. Her hips were lifted from the mattress by his thrusts, taking back the water he'd given her by means far more gratifying than the drink had been. Groans escaped his own chest, breathing the intensity he felt against the sensitive skin of her neck. Fevered kisses worried her lips and danced with her tongue. A few frenzied moments of animal instinct suspended minutes to seem as hours. The explosive finish frizzled out rational and paranoid thought alike in a white hot flash. For a time, she lay happy, void of vexes or fear, panting next to a man that she only thought of as amazing.