In a world gone to shit, where the remnants of humanity clung to survival amid ruin and decay, James waited.

He lingered until twilight draped its bruised veil across the sky, stretching jagged shadows over the scarred earth. The air carried the sour reek of rust and rot, a testament to the violence that had gutted civilization and left it bleeding. Ahead lay the raiders’ camp—a sprawling, brutal sprawl of mismatched walls and predatory intent. He knew it wouldn’t fall without a fight, but the dimming light of dusk offered a cloak, a fleeting chance to blur the edges of hunter and hunted.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, he moved. His boots pressed into the cracked ground, each step deliberate, his senses sharpened by the primal urge to endure. The camp emerged in full view, a chaotic fortress stitched together from the wreckage of a dead world. Mismatched walls of corrugated metal, splintered wood, and scavenged concrete slabs leaned unevenly, patched with whatever the raiders could claw from the waste. Burned-out hulks of cars—rusted shells stripped of purpose—formed a jagged perimeter, their charred frames half-buried in the dirt. Junk littered the ground: twisted rebar, shattered glass, and scraps of plastic fluttering in the stale breeze, a graveyard of forgotten lives.

Guard towers loomed at uneven intervals, cobbled together from lashed timber and salvaged steel, swaying slightly under their own weight. Men stood atop them, rifles slung lazily over shoulders, their postures slack with boredom or exhaustion. They watched for enemies, but their eyes drifted, dulled by the monotony of a lawless existence. Beyond the walls, the odd vulture circled overhead, black wings cutting through the gray sky, while others perched on the husks of vehicles, beady eyes glinting with patient hunger, waiting for the next corpse to pick clean.

Inside, the camp pulsed with a grim vitality. Tents of frayed canvas sagged under layers of filth, their edges frayed and flapping. Smoky tendrils curled from scattered firepits, the embers casting a faint glow on the men who prowled the grounds—hardened figures clad in patched leather and scavenged gear, their faces etched with scars and suspicion. The stench hit hard: unwashed sweat, spilled blood, and the acrid bite of burning rubber, all mingling into a haze that clung to the air.

James crouched low, fingers brushing the worn grip of his bow. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, its fletching grazing his rough skin as he notched it. His gaze locked on a sentry in the nearest tower, a lanky figure leaning against the railing, oblivious to the shadow creeping closer. James steadied his breath, inhaling the fetid air, then exhaling to still his hands. The arrow launched, slicing through the twilight with a hiss, and struck the man’s heart. He crumpled without a sound, tumbling from the tower to the junk-strewn earth below. James’s mouth twitched into a dark grin.

He scaled the tower swiftly, muscles coiling as he climbed the splintered frame. At the top, he spotted another guard, this one yawning into the dusk. A second arrow flew, burying itself in flesh, and the man dropped, lifeless. The camp stirred faintly, but no alarm rose—its denizens too numbed to notice the quiet deaths.

James descended, a phantom among the debris, and hunted. Each raider fell to his bow or the cold edge of his blade, throats slashed with ruthless precision. Blood soaked the dirt as he dragged the bodies to the center, piling them amid the junk and car husks. Petrol splashed from a battered can, its fumes sharp against the stench, and a match flared in his hand. He tossed it, and fire roared to life, consuming flesh and metal alike. The camp blazed, a pyre of chaos and vengeance, as vultures wheeled above, drawn to the feast. James watched, unyielding, as the flames devoured it all.

He slipped closer, bow in hand, the fletching of an arrow brushing his fingers as he notched it. The first guard fell silently, an arrow piercing his chest, body slumping from the tower to the debris below. James scaled the structure, muscles taut against the rough wood, and loosed another shot. The second sentry dropped without a sound, the camp still oblivious to its thinning ranks. He moved like a wraith through the maze of tents and barricades, each step measured, each kill swift—arrows or a blade to the throat, blood pooling in the dust. The raiders, dulled by fatigue or overconfidence, never saw him coming. He dragged their bodies to the center, a growing heap amid the junk, and doused them with petrol from a dented can. A match flared, and fire roared to life, consuming flesh and filth in a blazing pyre that lit the night.

“Help!”

James paused and turned, his brow furrowing as he spotted an out-of-the-way corner he’d overlooked. He strode toward it, the crackle of the fire fading behind him, its heat still prickling his skin. The camp sprawled chaotically around him—mismatched walls of rusted metal and splintered planks tilting unevenly, burned-out car husks stacked like the carcasses of some ancient machine, and heaps of junk littering the ground: twisted wire, shattered glass, and scraps of faded fabric dancing in the stale breeze. The air thickened with the acrid stench of burning flesh, blending with the pervasive rot and rust that defined this desolate place. Empty guard towers groaned in the wind, while a vulture swooped low, its wings casting a fleeting shadow over the debris, hungry for the feast below.

The cry had echoed from a shadowed nook near the camp’s edge, concealed behind a crumbling barricade of concrete and coiled barbed wire. James approached warily, his boots grinding against gravel and broken glass, bow still clutched in one hand. Rounding the barrier, he stopped short. There, shrouded in the dimness, stood a large cage—its bars forged from pitted steel, sturdy despite the rust creeping along their edges. Inside, five women stared out at him, their bodies pressed close in the cramped space, their presence a stark contrast to the camp’s brutality. Dirt smudged their skin, but beneath the grime, their beauty was undeniable—curves and contours that stirred something primal in him, their eyes glinting with a mix of fear and fierce resolve.

He gawped.

“Hello.”

“You killed all of the men,” one of them said.

“Yes.”

She was tall with blond hair, “Hi.” Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and her golden locks fell in tangled waves over her shoulders, framing a face that was both delicate and defiant. Her body was lithe yet voluptuous, her breasts straining against the tattered fabric of her shirt, the outline of her nipples faintly visible in the firelight.

“Hello.”

“What’s your name?”

“James.”

She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips, “I’m Angharad.”

“Nice to meet you Angharad.”

“Thank you, are you going to let us out?”

Was he, he hadn’t thought on it apart from the fact that they were all gorgeous, she smiled at him, her full lips parting slightly to reveal a flash of white teeth, her gaze lingering on him with a heat that made his pulse quicken.

“He wants to see our tits,” another said. She was shorter than the blond, with dark skin that gleamed like polished ebony in the flickering light, her black hair cropped close to her scalp, accentuating the sharp angles of her face. Her body was compact but lush, hips flaring wide beneath a ragged skirt, her breasts small and firm, pushing boldly against her top as she studied him with a taunting smirk. He blushed. “Fine.”

“What’s your name?”

“Like you care,” she growled, her voice low and husky, dripping with challenge.

“I don’t,” he shrugged.

“Toast.”

He smiled, and she yanked her top up with a defiant flourish, her tits bouncing free. He gawped. God, they were perfection—firm and smallish, crowned with dark nipples that hardened in the cool air, begging to be touched, their pert shape igniting a flush of heat through him.

She smirked at him, a wicked glint in her eyes.

“See told you he wanted to see our tits,” she nudged Angharad, who sighed and tugged her top up as well, hers pointed heavenly—full and round, pale skin glowing in the dimness, her rosy nipples peaked and inviting, a vision that made his mouth dry. “Let us out of here and I’ll suck your cock.”

The redhead was called Capable, he studied her. Her hair blazed like wildfire, cascading in loose curls down her back, framing a freckled face with wide, expressive eyes. Her body was softer, curvier, with heavy breasts that swayed slightly as she shifted, her hips generous and promising beneath torn pants, her skin flushed with a warmth that drew his gaze like a moth to flame.

“Oh he likes her,” Toast grinned.

James smiled shyly.

The last two was a brunette called Cheedo and a platinum blond called Dag. Cheedo’s dark hair hung in a messy braid, strands clinging to her sweat-damp neck, her petite frame trembling slightly but her eyes fierce, her slender legs peeking from a ripped dress that barely concealed the swell of her pert breasts. Dag, the platinum blond, stood tall and statuesque, her hair a shimmering veil that brushed her narrow waist, her body lean and taut, breasts high and small, their outlines sharp against her thin shirt, her long legs shifting with restless energy. He sighed and looked at them, frowned, pulled out his crowbar and with a solid thwack, knocked the lock off the door.

They all stepped around him and he stepped back slightly, the dark-skinned one—Toast—smirked as she stepped up to him and looked him up and down, her body close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her, her scent a mix of sweat and something faintly sweet. “Not afraid are you?”

“Slightly,” he muttered, his voice catching as her curves pressed nearer.

“Oh so you do talk then.”

“When I need to.”

Toast nodded, her lips curling, “I suppose you want all of their gear?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me, I know where they kept the good stuff.”

He inclined his head and she led the way, her hips swaying with each step, a deliberate tease that made his blood simmer. They reached a cramped lean-to at the camp’s core, its walls a patchwork of dented metal and weathered boards, the air inside heavy with the musk of leather and oil. Crates of weapons—bows, blades, rusted pistols—lined the space, beside bundles of arrows and coils of rope. Tarps draped over piles of gear: dented armor, patched jackets, a gleaming machete catching the firelight. He grinned, turning to Toast as she leaned against the wall, her body angled to highlight every curve, watching him with that same taunting smirk. He picked up a crossbow, loaded it, and fired at the wall, the bolt thudding deep, making some of the women squeak.

The stash was a treasure trove amidst the ruin, a hoard of deadly promise. Outside, the fire still blazed, its light bathing the night in red and gold, glinting off the women’s skin as they hovered near the entrance—Angharad’s golden curves, Toast’s dark allure, Capable’s fiery softness, Cheedo’s fragile heat, Dag’s sleek grace. The vultures feasted beyond, their cries sharp against the flames, while the camp’s wreckage smoldered. James felt their eyes on him, their bodies a tantalizing presence, as he weighed the crossbow and the weight of what lay ahead in the endless dark.

“So what?” He handed it to her. “Why?”

“I don’t need it, I’ve got one.”

“Oh,” she grinned. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to need help with that,” the redhead said to James.

He nodded, “No one will find this place for some time. I’ll just come back and get the rest.”

“Or we could help you.”

“Why?”

Capable shrugged, “We’ve got nowhere else to go, and we showed you our tits, you owe us.”

James mused, “I owe you nothin’, I let you out.”

She sighed. “We’d be fine company.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. “Just keep up.”

“Will do,” Capable nodded.

James rooted through all of it, the useful stuff he packed into bags, the women weren’t very strong so he gave them light stuff to carry, Capable and Toast seemed to stand around him a lot, so he got them to work. They packed up what they could carry and followed him.

His small dwelling wasn’t much, he had found it pure by chance—a pre-war bunker hidden out in the great wasteland, buried in the cliff face like a vault from yesterday. The entrance was camouflaged by jagged rock and windblown sand, a steel door rusted but solid, its hinges groaning as he pried it open. Inside, the air was cool and musty, a stark contrast to the scorching desolation outside.

“How did you find this place?”

“Luck,” he said as he opened it up.

“It’s well hidden,” Toast complimented it.

“Yes, I was very lucky to have found it,” he said and they followed him inside. He got some matches and started lighting candles, their flickering glow casting soft shadows across the concrete walls, illuminating the place enough for them to see.

It was large enough, with a cramped shower stall in one corner, a rudimentary bathroom with a cracked sink, and a single bedroom carved into the back. James placed the boxes down in the main room—a sparse space with a battered table and a few metal chairs—and looked around. He found a can opener among his scavenged tools and started opening the cans of food, their tinny scent filling the air. He handed one to Dag first, the platinum blonde’s slender fingers brushing his as she took it, her nails chipped but her touch electric. Next was the dour-faced Toast, her dark eyes glinting as she snatched the can and plunged a fork into it, eating with ravenous hunger. The others—Angharad, Capable, and Cheedo—took the offered cans and followed suit, stuffing their faces, their lips glistening with grease in the candlelight.

“Where you sleep?”

James pointed into the bedroom, he mused, “tonight I’ll sleep in here, and you ladies can sleep there.”

Toast snorted, “ain’t no way we’re allowing that.”

There were nods, Capable blushed but nodded.

James looked at Toast and she folded her arms, she was definitely a defiant one this one, he imagined she got a lot of beatings from the gang, he sighed and waved his hand.

“Fine lead the way.”

She smirked.

Sleep at first was awkward, the narrow bed creaking under their combined weight, the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat and femininity. Toast turned to James, shifted onto her side and nodded, her body a dark silhouette against the faint candlelight seeping from the main room.

“Come on,” she said quietly, suggesting he move against her, she turned and he pushed up against her body, the heat of her dark skin radiating through his clothes. His aching cock pressed into the tight, rounded swell of her ass, and she groaned, a low, sultry sound that vibrated through him, pushing back with a slow, deliberate grind.

His hands slid up her sides, fingers tracing the flare of her hips before cupping her firm, smallish breasts, kneading them possessively, her dark nipples hardening under his rough palms.

“Oh God,” he shouted, jolting awake as his cock spasming in his trousers, hot, thick spurts soaking the fabric, the sticky warmth spreading against his thigh. Toast jerked awake beside him, her body tensing as she felt the dampness through the sheets, her dark eyes snapping open to stare at James. He blushed, his face burning with embarrassment, breath ragged in his chest.

“What happened?”

He got out of bed, mortified, the wet patch clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he stumbled into the main area. The other women were stirring now—Angharad stretching, her shirt riding up to bare her creamy midriff; Capable yawning, her lush breasts swaying; Cheedo blinking, her slender legs slipping from the sheets; Dag rising, her platinum hair a wild cascade. James fled to the shower, the cold water crashing over his clothed body, washing away the evidence of his nocturnal release as the bunker echoed with their waking movements, his mind still reeling from the vivid, unbidden fantasy.

“You alright?”

He sighed, “yes.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

She sensed there was more but kept the thought to herself and sighed.

The day was more or less boring as James sat out watching the wasteland, their wasn’t really anything to do out there, no cities to explore or people to meet, other than his group of strange women. The Dag walked over to him, her platinum hair shimmering in the harsh sunlight, her lean body swaying with a quiet assurance that tugged at his senses despite the day’s dullness.

“James.”

“Sup,” he looked up.

“Toast and I have discussed what happened this morning.”

He flushed, “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

She nodded and smiled, “I do, it happens to all men, you’re in bed with some chrome ass bitches, of course it’s going to happen you stupid smeg.”

James nodded.

“And your point is?”

“We can help,” she smiled fully, her lips parting with a glint of teeth, her eyes sparking with mischief.

James sighed, “How?”

She rolled her eyes, “Stand up, are you that naïve?”

He flushed angrily, “Ain’t had no formal education, so I don’t know what you are getting at.”

She pulled her top off and he stared at her perfect breasts, small and high, their pale skin glowing in the dim light filtering through the bunker’s entrance, her nipples pink and tightening in the cool air. She dropped the shirt and then her bottoms, revealing the smooth stretch of her thighs and the trimmed patch of hair framing Dag’s plump pussy lips, full and inviting, already glistening with a hint of wetness. His gaze locked there as she rubbed her hand over her slit, fingers tracing the swollen folds, the sight sending a surge of heat straight to his groin.

“You wanna do something fun?”

“Sure.”

She took his hand and still nackgrounded, guided him into the bedroom, her bare skin brushing his arm, the warmth of her body a sharp contrast to the cold concrete walls. The other women stood around watching and he blushed under their collective stare, a mix of curiosity and hunger in their eyes. Dag got onto the bed and on all fours, presenting her ass to him, the firm cheeks parted slightly to reveal Dag’s plump pussy lips, slick and rosy, glistening with arousal, a tantalizing sight that made his breath hitch.

“Take me.”

“Where?”

“God,” Toast rolled her eyes.

The women descended upon him and for the first time since he’d met them, he actually felt fear, his body locking up as they swarmed, a flurry of hands and heat. Using his frozen state, they stripped him bare, yanking off his shirt to expose his lean chest, tugging down his trousers and boxers until he stood naked before them, his cock twitching under their scrutiny. Their hands roamed over him, exploring every inch—Toast’s fingers curling around his shaft, stroking it with a firm, teasing grip; Capable’s soft palms cupping his balls, rolling them gently as they drew tight; Cheedo’s slender finger slipping between his cheeks, penetrating his ass with a slow, probing thrust that made him gasp, his cock surging to full hardness, thick and pulsing in Toast’s grasp.

Toast guided him onto the bed, her dark fingers parting Dag’s plump pussy lips, spreading them wide to expose the dripping, rosy core, the sharp scent of her arousal thick in the air. Capable pressed against his back, her hands on his hips as she guided him forward, aligning his throbbing cock with Dag’s slick entrance. She pushed him in, and he sank into her wet hole, the tight, velvety heat of her pussy swallowing him inch by inch, her plump lips stretching around his girth, pulling a deep moan from his throat as Dag’s breathy cry joined his own.

The two moaned together, their voices echoing in the cramped room as he thrust deeper, his hips slamming against her ass, the wet smack of skin on skin bouncing off the walls. Dag’s plump pussy lips gripped him, hot and slick, her walls pulsing with each plunge, drawing him in as she rocked back to meet his rhythm, her juices coating his shaft, dripping down his thighs. Toast knelt beside them, her hand sliding between Dag’s thighs to rub her clit, fingers circling the swollen bud nestled between those full lips, making Dag’s moans rise into sharp, desperate cries, her body trembling under the onslaught. Capable’s nails bit into his hips, urging him faster, her breasts bouncing against his back, nipples scraping his skin with every thrust, sending jolts of heat through him.

Angharad moved in, kneeling near Dag’s side, her hands reaching to cup Dag’s smaller breasts, fingers pinching the stiff nipples until Dag whimpered, her pussy clenching tighter around James’s cock, the added pressure driving him wild. Cheedo stayed close, her finger plunging deeper into his ass, the intrusion a delicious shock that made his balls tighten, his shaft swelling inside Dag’s dripping heat, her plump lips sucking him in with every thrust. Toast’s dark eyes met his, her smirk wicked as she worked Dag’s clit faster, her other hand slipping to stroke his balls, the dual sensations pushing him toward the edge. Dag’s ass jiggled with each thrust, her cries growing frantic, her pussy spasming as she teetered on the brink, those plump lips quivering around him.

James’s breath came in ragged bursts, his cock pulsing, the tight, wet heat overwhelming him, every thrust a plunge into raw, primal pleasure.

They all rested, all of them quite naked, he kept staring at Cheedo’s dark bush, a thick tangle of curls nestled between her slender thighs, glistening faintly with sweat in the dim light. Toast grinned moving her hand over his chest, her dark fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, sending a shiver through him as he moaned, their sighs blending in the still air.