The power had been out for eleven days. Radio said it was spreading—grid down, cities emptying, something in the water or the air depending on which panicked broadcast you believed. Out here on the edge of town it just meant heat, canned food, and the four of them stuck in the house: me, my wife Lauren asleep upstairs after another wife-party hangover from the night the neighbors still tried to pretend things were normal, my retired old man who’d locked himself in the garage with a bottle, and Haley.
Haley was twenty-one. College cheerleader. My stepsister since I was twenty-six and she was sixteen, which meant I’d spent five years pretending I didn’t watch her stretch in the backyard. She still wore the uniform around the house like it was pajamas—pleated skirt, cropped top, socks. The apocalypse hadn’t changed that.
I found her in the backyard at dusk, sitting on the edge of the dead pool with a wooden ruler in her hands.
“What are you doing?”
She didn’t jump. “Measuring. Dr. Marsh said if I can name the size I want I can stop being scared of it.”
Dr. Marsh was the shrink she’d been seeing before the phones died. Anxiety. Control issues. The self-bondage thing she’d confessed once when she was drunk—scarves around her wrists, tied to the headboard, just to feel like someone else was in charge.
She held the ruler up. “How big are you actually?”
I should have gone inside. Lauren was sleeping off boxed wine and gossip. Instead I stepped closer, unbuttoned my jeans, and let it out.
Haley stared. The ruler looked like a joke next to it. Thick, heavy, already filling. She whispered a number that wasn’t enough and then she said, “That’s why I never let anyone in my ass. That’s not fitting.”
“It will if you want it to.”
She looked at the house. Lights off. Lauren’s window dark. The old man snoring in the garage.
“Tie my wrists,” she said. “Like I do it. I can’t ask if I’m tied.”
I used the silk scarf she kept in her cheer bag. Behind her back, tight enough she’d feel it. She bent over the pool chair without being told, skirt flipped up, no panties. Pink, tight, untouched back there. I spit on my thumb and rubbed her asshole until it softened. She made a sound like she was still in therapy, naming the fear out loud.
“Enormous. It’s enormous. Don’t stop.”
I pressed the head against her. Slow. She pushed back anyway. The first inch made her shake. The second made her swear. I held her hips and fed it in by degrees while the backyard stayed quiet except for cicadas and her breath. When I bottomed out she went silent, forehead on the vinyl, ass stretched around a cock that had no business being in a virgin hole.
I fucked her like that—long strokes, pulling almost out so she could feel the stretch again. The cheer skirt bounced. Her tied hands flexed. I reached under and found her clit and she came with my dick buried in her ass, clenching so hard I almost lost it.
“Say it.”
“My stepbrother is fucking my virgin ass in the backyard.”
I pulled out, flipped her onto her back on the chair, pushed her knees up, and went back in. Deeper angle. She watched it disappear. I came inside her the first time, thick pulses, and kept moving through it so she felt every spurt.
We didn’t go inside right away. I untied her, then tied her again to the chair arms because she asked. I licked her ass while my cum leaked out. I put the ruler against her hole just to watch her face. I fucked her a second time standing, her legs around my waist, her face in my neck so she wouldn’t wake the house.
Lauren never came downstairs.
Later Haley sat on my lap on the back steps in the dark, still in the skirt, hole sloppy, and said the shrink had told her to pick a ruler and a person and stop waiting for the world to be safe.
The world wasn’t safe.
I carried her inside past the sleeping wife and fucked her once more on the hallway floor because she wouldn’t let me pull out until I filled her again.
In the morning the radio was still dead. Haley made coffee in the cheer top and nothing else. When Lauren asked why she was walking funny, Haley said she’d been stretching.
I looked at my stepsister across the kitchen and she looked back like we already knew the power wasn’t coming on and the backyard wasn’t done with us.
That night she came to the garage door with the scarf in her teeth.
“Retired guy’s asleep. Wife’s out cold. Lady boss energy isn’t going to save her if she walks in.”
I tied her to the workbench. I used her mouth first so she’d be sloppy for the next round. Then I bent her over the bench and took her ass again, slower, meaner, one hand on the back of her neck. She came twice before I did. I left her tied while I drank water and looked at her—college athlete, stepsister, hole puffy and used.
“Key West,” she mumbled, dazed. “We were supposed to go to Key West after graduation. Beach. Normal.”
“This is what you get instead.”
I untied one wrist so she could reach back and spread herself. I pushed in a third time and stayed there, grinding, until she started crying from the overstimulation and nodding anyway.
When I finally carried her to her room, Lauren turned over in our bed and didn’t wake.
Haley whispered against my chest, “Tomorrow. Backyard again. I want the ruler on the table so I can see it next to you.”
I said yes.
The apocalypse kept the lights off and the house quiet and my stepsister’s virgin ass thoroughly, repeatedly, no-longer-virgin fucked.
She still wore the uniform the next day.
She didn’t wear anything under it.
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