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"Okay, then. The only reason you need is because I said to, right Sweetheart?" Pete pressed."I, uh ... Right." Blushing furiously, Joy turned to me. "Where do you want me?" You don't have to, Honey," I told her."Yes, she does!" Pete insisted, his voice emphatic."Yes I do!" Joy agreed."Okay, then," I murmured, getting up and taking a last hit of my coffee. "Let's see what furniture Ed and Company left in the living room."Joy stood in the doorway waiting for me, peeking in at the activity in the living room - but before I reached her, Michael got up from the table, "Okay, Big Mouth, head for the living room." I spun to see what the fuck was going on and discovered that Michael was addressing Gina."What? Why?" Gina sputtered."What makes you think you can just hand off your sister to get fucked and not have to pay for it?" Michael rasped."What do YOU care?" Gina snapped. "Besides, you've got Amy..." This last was a snarl. Amy looked up, opened her mouth, and settled back, poker-faced. I. Victoria's breaking point was not having sex with woman as it had been for Denise. She had handled that act with reluctance, but not revulsion. Denise had been surprised by that, but she didn't comment. It was true that Victoria's performance had been lackluster and had not led Denise to an orgasm.The act that got to Victoria was immediately obvious the moment when Dale asked to stick her tongue up his asshole. She had paled and stared at him in absolute horror. Denise was surprised by that. She didn't particularly like doing it, but after the trauma of anal sex and eating come out of Susan it hadn't seemed like that big of a deal.Victoria, on the other hand, had totally freaked at the suggestion. She fought and threatened to leave rather than do it. For three days, the battle of wills had been fought with Dale insisting and Victoria resisting. Each time Victoria had resisted, Denise had been called upon to do it and she was getting tired of it.Denise watched Dale as he finally got.
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They didn't arrive for two more days. It was Day 14 since what Bridgett had begun to call "The Virus." I adopted the same term for it, although neither of us knew what had killed off most of the people in North America, and, perhaps, the world. "The Virus" sounded better, somehow, than "Death Ray" or some other pseudo-scientific term. It was also perhaps more likely, as an explanation.We would, perhaps, never know.Ingmar drove up beside us in an RV not that dissimilar to our own at around 11 a.m., almost two full days after we'd arrived in Minneapolis.He turned out to look not at all similar to the grizzled lumberjack I had imagined. He was a smallish, gray-haired man with a light gray beard. He was in good physical shape, and looked a lot younger to me than his 56 years.His son, Roald, emerged from their RV and shook my hand. Roald, Ingmar had told us, was 31. He, too, looked a bit younger than that, and he was taller and stronger-appearing than his father. But both men, to my.

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