Postapocalyptic reality 10
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This is a continuation:
Postapocalyptic reality 1
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Postapocalyptic reality 2
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Postapocalyptic reality 4
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Postapocalyptic reality 5
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Postapocalyptic reality 6
http://xhamster.com/posts/772750
Postapocalyptic reality 7
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Postapocalyptic reality 8
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Postapocalyptic reality 9
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Postapocalyptic reality 10
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Jenny woke up under a pile of do-gs, awaken by a loud feral screech. They had been asleep, not trying to fuck her, and it was obvious by the chill in her breath that they had all huddled together for warmth. It was still dark, but she was pretty sure it was early morning, and she regretted being so self indulgent with Alfred, because the fire had burnt out whilst she slept. She hadn't intended sleeping as such – just half sleeps whilst she tended the fire. There was no follow up to the screech, and in all probability it was most likely half a mile away. Sound travels far on cold nights. She might even have passed it off as a dream, had it not awoken the do-gs too.
Warily, she took stock of her surroundings and decided to rebuild the fire. There was a faint glow from the embers, and she could probably get it blazing again quite easily – there was plenty of kindling around, but first she would need to dress up – too much bare skin exposed to the frosty air was not good. Living outdoors much of the time, Scavvers tend to be used to extremes in temperature, but they are not immune to colds and flu, and many Scavvers have succumbed to pneumonia in the cold Wasteland winters.
Fortunately, Jenny had come prepared, and though she knew it would take up valuable space in her pack, she had brought a thick woollen jersey with her and a pair of loose linen chaps. Most of her leg coverings were chaps of some form, because that meant she could expose her sex whenever she needed without having to struggle out of pants.
She was able to extricate herself from the pile of dozing do-gs without disturbing them too much as they went back to sleep, and was soon dressed in warmer clothing and getting the fire blazing again. The air was cold and damp, with an icy mist outside. She huddled in front of the flickering flames, drawing on their warmth to fight off the growing numbness. She hoped the fog would lift by the time she was ready to make back home, as it was a mixed blessing and curse. On the one hand it would give her ample cover from being spotted by Raiders, but on the other hand she wouldn’t spot any dangers until they were right on top of her. Most a****ls don’t rely on vision alone, and hunt mainly by smell. They would be aware of her long before she is aware of them. Of course, they would also smell the do- gs, which might be a deterrent.
By dawn, she had planned her rout back and figured out how to get the Death-claws head back with her. There was an old pram in the street, and once she had ripped off the canopy should just about hold the huge scaly head. The world as far as she could see it was still bathed in white darkness that was eerily silent. Before leaving the warmth of the shop she doused the fire and picked up the limp penis that she had lopped off the reptilian monster and considered what she would do with it. Maybe pickle it in a jar if she could find one big enough? Or maybe cure it, dry it out, and hang it on her wall as a trophy. It was hard to believe she had taken that thing inside her – even in it's flaccid severed state it was still huge. She tucked it into her belt so it hung down by her left thigh, then set off with the pram.
The icy fog grew thicker, so visibility was no better than it had been at night, but having already encountered a Death-claw she didn’t want to stay in town any longer than necessary, and she was keen to get her trophies home before they started to rot. She was about two miles from the edge of the town (in it's centre), and then it was another thirteen miles to home. Some of it across country, some of it uphill.
She knew she was taking a risk travelling a great distance over largely unfamiliar territory in poor visibility, but she got lucky and arrived back home before nightfall and without incidence. Of course, the journey had been slow, because she had to try to wheel the pram without it toppling, which was easy enough on flat pavements before the war, but not so easy on cracked and broken roads, and even harder over grassy fields. She was also on the lookout for sudden dangers and trying to be quiet.
It wasn't until she got home that she realised why nothing had come close to attacking her. A combination of the dried cum staining her legs, the musky smell from the severed penis hanging from her belt, and the smell of the head itself must have convinced any creatures near enough to smell her that she and her entourage were a horny male Death-claw. She would have to do something about the smell. Apart from the danger of possibly attracting a female Death-claw on heat, she didn’t want it stinking the place out.
Jenny was not very experienced at preparing and treating trophies – it wasn't something she did other than curing and tanning skins. She had heard that some hunters bury carcases in hot sand to mummify them, but there was not much sand nearby, and the weather much too cold. She had once explored the remains of a museum that had a room that once housed various specimens in formaldehyde. Most of the cases and jars had been smashed or knocked over of course, but four or five had survived. Jenny didn’t have any glassware big enough for that, and didn’t know where to get formaldehyde (the museum was many miles away, and might not have anything still intact anyway), but maybe she could find a compromise?
There was a refilling station in town at the bottom of the hill with several large barrels of liquid coolant, so next morning she wheeled the head down the hill and found a bathtub with a plug. She put the head in the tub, then filled it with coolant and covered the top with a couple of sheets of plywood panelling. She figured if it didn’t just dissolve the flesh, the coolant would act as a preservative, so left it to soak for a few days.
To be truthful she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the penis. It was the largest cock she had ever had inside her and was determined to keep it as a reminder of her greatest sexual achievement (who else could boast of having sex with a Death-claw?) but quite what to do with the trophy she hadn’t really thought too much about.
It was nearly s*******n inches long at full stretch, and tapered. The base was as thick as her upper arm, but the upper neck just below the glans was only a couple of inches. The glans was about as big as an egg, but somewhat elongated. She felt sure it was bigger when it fucked her, but of course it was fully engorged with blood then.
She had toyed with the idea of making it into a dildo. She knew all about dildos because she often found one whilst scavving and occasionally used to use one. Before she had her do-gs for company, nights were long and boring, and she sometimes felt horny. Also, she would often use a dildo after sex to help release whatever outland creature's cum was inside her. Also, she would sometimes loosen herself up before going out if she hadn’t had sex in a long time, just so it would be easier should she find herself about to be fucked by something big.
Of course, now she was getting regularly fucked by five well equipped do-gs, she never needed a dildo, except maybe to unclog her pipes. She had to confess to herself that being fucked by a Death-claw was something she fantasized about now and again, and it would be nice to indulge in it again, but safely. There were too many problems with that plan though. Unless properly treated it would soon rot. If she tried to mummify it or smoke dry it, it would shrink and be a thin wizened version of it's former glory. It was limp and floppy, so she would need to stuff it with something to get it to something like it's erect condition. A penis is not just a skin that can be stuffed like an empty sock – it's a complex organ with tiny capillaries, so the glans would still be small and shrivelled. She abandoned that idea.
As a simple trophy she could smoke dry it or mummify it, but it would be unimpressive. Or she could find a large enough carboy or flask to contain it and pickle it in alcohol. It would still be limp of course, and it would waste an awful lot of vodka. A thought popped into her head. Would there be a market for Death-claw penis infused vodka? Maybe she could sell that as an aphrodisiac or cure for impotence. She had seen several strange market stalls that sold peculiar things like that.
Or she could just cure it, tan it, and use it as a belt or something. Actually, it was not nearly long enough to stretch out as a belt (unless she bisected it and sewed the ends to each other). Or she could just sew it to the back of her pants so it hung down like a tail, just as decoration.
After much deliberation she decided to pickle it in alcohol. Of course, the first two obstacles were that she didn’t have a big enough glass jar for it, and only had one bottle of vodka. This was not a big issue as she could probably find enough vodka down in the village, or if needs be buy some from the nearest trader, or even distil her own (though that might take too long). Finding a large enough glass receptacle would be harder, but she could use a large saucepan for now.
She picked out a saucepan that was the right size for a snug fit and emptied all her vodka into it. As she thought, it barely came halfway, so another task ahead was to obtain more vodka or gin, so after she had finished taking care of the head, she scouted out the local bar.
Unsurprisingly, there wasn't a lot of booze to be found – it had been raided long ago, but she did find one or two discarded bottles with a few dregs in. most raiders and scavvers alike are not interested in burdening themselves with a bottle that isn’t at least three quarters full, so she was able to decant enough to almost fill one bottle. Of course, that wouldn’t be enough, so she scouted out a few domestic homes. Even in the pre-war times, most people kept a cabinet of drinks in their home.
Again, they were mostly at least half empty, but by the end of the day she had enough for her needs and headed back up the hill. Now there was enough gin and vodka to completely fill the saucepan and preserve the reptilian cock.
Again, she had not encountered a single critter during her days work, which may have been because she and her do-gs had done a pretty good job of clearing the village over the past few weeks, but may also be because she was still reeking of Death-claw musk. She wondered if that was a good thing or not. It certainly had its advantages, but how strong was the smell? Would humans notice it if she were to walk into a populated settlement?
Mostly, scavvers dont wash or bathe much. Most of the time it isn't possible or at all practical, and as scavvers aren't generally social by nature, personal hygiene is not high on the agenda. But of course, settlers, farmers, and in particular – city dwellers do notice, and look down on scavvers as smelly and dirty. Easy for them – they have access to uncontaminated water. Of course, Jenny now has access to clean water too, though there isn't really room for a bath in her cellar. Mind you – Jenny had been thinking of extending her comfortable but small home. The ruined house above her still had two walls, one with a fireplace and chimney, and half of a third wall was still standing. Maybe it was time to repair or rebuild the house and put a roof on. The fence gave adequate protection from any wild a****ls, and would even be a deterrent to human attackers, so there was no real need to be skulking underground. Of course, there was nothing left of the upstairs floor, but that wasn't a major problem. The hard part would be rebuilding the walls. She would need ladders, scaffolding, and tools. She realised she didn't have things like a saw, a chisel, or a plane. There was a saw in the cellar, but it was too old and rusted to be of any use, so she had thrown it out.
Jenny cursed herself when she recalled that the hardware store where she had tried to hide from the Death-claw had several saws and at least one good ladder. She wasn't sure she wanted to revisit that place – she had been very lucky to escape with her life. Hauling back that Death-claw's head when she should have been collecting things that are actually useful was stupid. Still – if she succeeds in preserving it, it will be useful. Who would be foolish enough to try to raid a place that has a Deathclaw's head in it?
That's an interesting point – where in it will she put it? She could mount it on the gate maybe. If the house had a front wall she could mount it on that, but the front and east wall were the ones that were fallen. Being three quarters way up a hill, the front of the house must have taken full blast from the bomb. Rebuilding it would be a huge undertaking, and not something to take on just now.....
Postapocalyptic reality 1
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Postapocalyptic reality 2
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Postapocalyptic reality 3
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Postapocalyptic reality 4
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Postapocalyptic reality 5
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Postapocalyptic reality 6
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Postapocalyptic reality 7
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Postapocalyptic reality 8
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Postapocalyptic reality 9
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Postapocalyptic reality 10
https://xhamster.com/stories/postapocalyptic-reality-10-964113
Jenny woke up under a pile of do-gs, awaken by a loud feral screech. They had been asleep, not trying to fuck her, and it was obvious by the chill in her breath that they had all huddled together for warmth. It was still dark, but she was pretty sure it was early morning, and she regretted being so self indulgent with Alfred, because the fire had burnt out whilst she slept. She hadn't intended sleeping as such – just half sleeps whilst she tended the fire. There was no follow up to the screech, and in all probability it was most likely half a mile away. Sound travels far on cold nights. She might even have passed it off as a dream, had it not awoken the do-gs too.
Warily, she took stock of her surroundings and decided to rebuild the fire. There was a faint glow from the embers, and she could probably get it blazing again quite easily – there was plenty of kindling around, but first she would need to dress up – too much bare skin exposed to the frosty air was not good. Living outdoors much of the time, Scavvers tend to be used to extremes in temperature, but they are not immune to colds and flu, and many Scavvers have succumbed to pneumonia in the cold Wasteland winters.
Fortunately, Jenny had come prepared, and though she knew it would take up valuable space in her pack, she had brought a thick woollen jersey with her and a pair of loose linen chaps. Most of her leg coverings were chaps of some form, because that meant she could expose her sex whenever she needed without having to struggle out of pants.
She was able to extricate herself from the pile of dozing do-gs without disturbing them too much as they went back to sleep, and was soon dressed in warmer clothing and getting the fire blazing again. The air was cold and damp, with an icy mist outside. She huddled in front of the flickering flames, drawing on their warmth to fight off the growing numbness. She hoped the fog would lift by the time she was ready to make back home, as it was a mixed blessing and curse. On the one hand it would give her ample cover from being spotted by Raiders, but on the other hand she wouldn’t spot any dangers until they were right on top of her. Most a****ls don’t rely on vision alone, and hunt mainly by smell. They would be aware of her long before she is aware of them. Of course, they would also smell the do- gs, which might be a deterrent.
By dawn, she had planned her rout back and figured out how to get the Death-claws head back with her. There was an old pram in the street, and once she had ripped off the canopy should just about hold the huge scaly head. The world as far as she could see it was still bathed in white darkness that was eerily silent. Before leaving the warmth of the shop she doused the fire and picked up the limp penis that she had lopped off the reptilian monster and considered what she would do with it. Maybe pickle it in a jar if she could find one big enough? Or maybe cure it, dry it out, and hang it on her wall as a trophy. It was hard to believe she had taken that thing inside her – even in it's flaccid severed state it was still huge. She tucked it into her belt so it hung down by her left thigh, then set off with the pram.
The icy fog grew thicker, so visibility was no better than it had been at night, but having already encountered a Death-claw she didn’t want to stay in town any longer than necessary, and she was keen to get her trophies home before they started to rot. She was about two miles from the edge of the town (in it's centre), and then it was another thirteen miles to home. Some of it across country, some of it uphill.
She knew she was taking a risk travelling a great distance over largely unfamiliar territory in poor visibility, but she got lucky and arrived back home before nightfall and without incidence. Of course, the journey had been slow, because she had to try to wheel the pram without it toppling, which was easy enough on flat pavements before the war, but not so easy on cracked and broken roads, and even harder over grassy fields. She was also on the lookout for sudden dangers and trying to be quiet.
It wasn't until she got home that she realised why nothing had come close to attacking her. A combination of the dried cum staining her legs, the musky smell from the severed penis hanging from her belt, and the smell of the head itself must have convinced any creatures near enough to smell her that she and her entourage were a horny male Death-claw. She would have to do something about the smell. Apart from the danger of possibly attracting a female Death-claw on heat, she didn’t want it stinking the place out.
Jenny was not very experienced at preparing and treating trophies – it wasn't something she did other than curing and tanning skins. She had heard that some hunters bury carcases in hot sand to mummify them, but there was not much sand nearby, and the weather much too cold. She had once explored the remains of a museum that had a room that once housed various specimens in formaldehyde. Most of the cases and jars had been smashed or knocked over of course, but four or five had survived. Jenny didn’t have any glassware big enough for that, and didn’t know where to get formaldehyde (the museum was many miles away, and might not have anything still intact anyway), but maybe she could find a compromise?
There was a refilling station in town at the bottom of the hill with several large barrels of liquid coolant, so next morning she wheeled the head down the hill and found a bathtub with a plug. She put the head in the tub, then filled it with coolant and covered the top with a couple of sheets of plywood panelling. She figured if it didn’t just dissolve the flesh, the coolant would act as a preservative, so left it to soak for a few days.
To be truthful she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the penis. It was the largest cock she had ever had inside her and was determined to keep it as a reminder of her greatest sexual achievement (who else could boast of having sex with a Death-claw?) but quite what to do with the trophy she hadn’t really thought too much about.
It was nearly s*******n inches long at full stretch, and tapered. The base was as thick as her upper arm, but the upper neck just below the glans was only a couple of inches. The glans was about as big as an egg, but somewhat elongated. She felt sure it was bigger when it fucked her, but of course it was fully engorged with blood then.
She had toyed with the idea of making it into a dildo. She knew all about dildos because she often found one whilst scavving and occasionally used to use one. Before she had her do-gs for company, nights were long and boring, and she sometimes felt horny. Also, she would often use a dildo after sex to help release whatever outland creature's cum was inside her. Also, she would sometimes loosen herself up before going out if she hadn’t had sex in a long time, just so it would be easier should she find herself about to be fucked by something big.
Of course, now she was getting regularly fucked by five well equipped do-gs, she never needed a dildo, except maybe to unclog her pipes. She had to confess to herself that being fucked by a Death-claw was something she fantasized about now and again, and it would be nice to indulge in it again, but safely. There were too many problems with that plan though. Unless properly treated it would soon rot. If she tried to mummify it or smoke dry it, it would shrink and be a thin wizened version of it's former glory. It was limp and floppy, so she would need to stuff it with something to get it to something like it's erect condition. A penis is not just a skin that can be stuffed like an empty sock – it's a complex organ with tiny capillaries, so the glans would still be small and shrivelled. She abandoned that idea.
As a simple trophy she could smoke dry it or mummify it, but it would be unimpressive. Or she could find a large enough carboy or flask to contain it and pickle it in alcohol. It would still be limp of course, and it would waste an awful lot of vodka. A thought popped into her head. Would there be a market for Death-claw penis infused vodka? Maybe she could sell that as an aphrodisiac or cure for impotence. She had seen several strange market stalls that sold peculiar things like that.
Or she could just cure it, tan it, and use it as a belt or something. Actually, it was not nearly long enough to stretch out as a belt (unless she bisected it and sewed the ends to each other). Or she could just sew it to the back of her pants so it hung down like a tail, just as decoration.
After much deliberation she decided to pickle it in alcohol. Of course, the first two obstacles were that she didn’t have a big enough glass jar for it, and only had one bottle of vodka. This was not a big issue as she could probably find enough vodka down in the village, or if needs be buy some from the nearest trader, or even distil her own (though that might take too long). Finding a large enough glass receptacle would be harder, but she could use a large saucepan for now.
She picked out a saucepan that was the right size for a snug fit and emptied all her vodka into it. As she thought, it barely came halfway, so another task ahead was to obtain more vodka or gin, so after she had finished taking care of the head, she scouted out the local bar.
Unsurprisingly, there wasn't a lot of booze to be found – it had been raided long ago, but she did find one or two discarded bottles with a few dregs in. most raiders and scavvers alike are not interested in burdening themselves with a bottle that isn’t at least three quarters full, so she was able to decant enough to almost fill one bottle. Of course, that wouldn’t be enough, so she scouted out a few domestic homes. Even in the pre-war times, most people kept a cabinet of drinks in their home.
Again, they were mostly at least half empty, but by the end of the day she had enough for her needs and headed back up the hill. Now there was enough gin and vodka to completely fill the saucepan and preserve the reptilian cock.
Again, she had not encountered a single critter during her days work, which may have been because she and her do-gs had done a pretty good job of clearing the village over the past few weeks, but may also be because she was still reeking of Death-claw musk. She wondered if that was a good thing or not. It certainly had its advantages, but how strong was the smell? Would humans notice it if she were to walk into a populated settlement?
Mostly, scavvers dont wash or bathe much. Most of the time it isn't possible or at all practical, and as scavvers aren't generally social by nature, personal hygiene is not high on the agenda. But of course, settlers, farmers, and in particular – city dwellers do notice, and look down on scavvers as smelly and dirty. Easy for them – they have access to uncontaminated water. Of course, Jenny now has access to clean water too, though there isn't really room for a bath in her cellar. Mind you – Jenny had been thinking of extending her comfortable but small home. The ruined house above her still had two walls, one with a fireplace and chimney, and half of a third wall was still standing. Maybe it was time to repair or rebuild the house and put a roof on. The fence gave adequate protection from any wild a****ls, and would even be a deterrent to human attackers, so there was no real need to be skulking underground. Of course, there was nothing left of the upstairs floor, but that wasn't a major problem. The hard part would be rebuilding the walls. She would need ladders, scaffolding, and tools. She realised she didn't have things like a saw, a chisel, or a plane. There was a saw in the cellar, but it was too old and rusted to be of any use, so she had thrown it out.
Jenny cursed herself when she recalled that the hardware store where she had tried to hide from the Death-claw had several saws and at least one good ladder. She wasn't sure she wanted to revisit that place – she had been very lucky to escape with her life. Hauling back that Death-claw's head when she should have been collecting things that are actually useful was stupid. Still – if she succeeds in preserving it, it will be useful. Who would be foolish enough to try to raid a place that has a Deathclaw's head in it?
That's an interesting point – where in it will she put it? She could mount it on the gate maybe. If the house had a front wall she could mount it on that, but the front and east wall were the ones that were fallen. Being three quarters way up a hill, the front of the house must have taken full blast from the bomb. Rebuilding it would be a huge undertaking, and not something to take on just now.....
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