Lust before survival

The interior of the shoe store was dim, smelling of tanned leather, polish, and the sour scent of Carl’s sweat. Shelves of boots and sandals lined the walls, casting long, distorted shadows. Sally collapsed against a rack of loafers, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration.

"Are... are they gone?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Pete sighed, leaning against the door.

"Gone? Child, the world is gone to shit outside. I saw them coming from the eastern gate. They're eating everyone. The guards, the people.."

Sally’s eyes filled with tears.

"My Paa! And my grandpa! I have to go back for them!"

She made a move toward the door, but Carl stepped in her way. He was a wall of flesh, blocking the exit. He looked down at her, his tongue sliding over his upper lip. He could see the way her breasts strained against the denim, the deep valley of her cleavage glistening with sweat.

"Hey chill!" Carl grunted, his voice a low, wet rumble.

"You go out there and you'll end up just like em. You're too pretty to be eaten by those things."

"But I can't leave them!"

Pete stepped forward, his expression softening into a mask of faux-concern.

"Listen to me girly. Your father is a strong man. He’s got a forge full of iron and hammers. He can defend himself. But you? You're just a slip of a girl. Staying here with us is a safe bet. We've got food, we've got locks, and we've got a cellar. Ain't that right boy?"

His son turned and nodded. Sally looked from the terrified sounds outside to the "kind" faces of the men. She sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

"You... you really think Daddy is okay?"

"I'd bet my best pair of boots on it," Pete lied smoothly.

Carl let out a low chuckle, his eyes roaming over the curve of her hips.

"Yeah. You're safe here, Sally. Real safe."

For the next few hours, the world outside descended into a symphony of screams and crashing timber. Inside the shoe store, the air grew thick and stagnant. Sally sat on a pile of shoe boxes, hugging her knees to her chest. The position pushed her breasts upward, the denim bib of her overalls riding up to expose the pale, soft undersides of her mounds.

Pete and Carl watched her. They didn't speak much, but their glances were constant, predatory. They saw the innocence in her eyes, the way she trusted them simply because they had closed a door between her and the monsters. At least Carl's father would hide it, so well that his son wouldnt even know he was lusting over a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. To them, she was a prize, a lush, ripening fruit dropped right into their laps while the rest of the world burned.

"You're shivering, Sally," Pete said, his voice dropping an octave.

"The humidity is dropping. You'll catch a chill."

"I'm just scared," she whispered.

"Well, we can't have you scared," Carl said, stepping closer. The floorboards groaned under his weight.

"We need to make you feel... relaxed. Comfortable."

He reached out, his thick, calloused fingers brushing against her shoulder, sliding beneath the strap of her overalls. Sally flinched slightly, but she didn't pull away. She ed how her grandfather touched her and assumed this was just how adults showed comfort.

"That feels... ticklish," she giggled softly.

Carl let out a guttural laugh, his hand sliding down from her shoulder to the swell of her breast. He squeezed, his large palm engulfing the rounded flesh, crushing it against the denim.

"How bout this, you thinkin this feels a bit more.. ticklish?"

Sally gasped, her eyes widening.

"That's... that's a funny way to hug!"

"It's not a hug, Sally," Pete responded while giving his son a cold stare, this causes him to flinch and step back.

"Carl there will be no funny business here, how bout you check in the cellar and recount the supplies we have. Make sure we have enough to survive while the darn town goes to hell"

"H-Huh..?! But pops—"

But all it took was another silent stare for the fat grease stained son to stiffen up. With a groan he hesitantly leaves the room, his footsteps disappearing with the distance as he's heard opening the cellar door and stepping down.

That was close, can't have him making a mess out of things. Last thing we need is this lil tart running off outside cause we makin em' uncomfortable.

The old man turns and offers a warm, reassuring smile towards Sally.