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The Second Final War

The Final War was over, but the threat of a second Final War loomed large. We turned to the work of Our Founder for comfort. His writing offered guidance and hope, and instruction on how to be the kind of citizen He needed.

Our Founder wrote many books, and all were essential. There were passages required to advance at school. There were passages required to obtain a work permit. There were passages required prior to marriage.

As a child, I’d memorized His work diligently and won prizes reciting His work precisely. This secured my family extra rations, it secured me a scarce seat in university, and it wound up securing my job, too. It wasn’t a great job. It wasn’t even a good job. But unlike so many of my countrymen, at least I had a job.

In preparation for the Second Final War, I was a member of a group tasked with taking Our Founder’s thoughts and writing new books to inspire and enlighten the citizenry. My mission was to write the book for women. Each day, I was given a brief meditation from Our Founder, which I then expanded into a chapter, all in His voice. My goal was 1,500 words a day, all grammatically and philosophically correct.

There were three of us sharing a small office, and we were all sworn to secrecy because no one could know that Our Founder didn’t write every word himself.

Meditation 1: “You are fed, clothed and nurtured by the grace of Your Founder.”

Where I sought to inspire women to have more babies to populate our armies, and to be accepting of their husbands’ needs, Wilson had the opposite task. He was writing the book for men. His work was about strength, perseverance, and submission to the Party. We were joined by our editor, O’Bannon, who reviewed our progress twice daily, and who corrected or adjusted our work as required.

Wilson and I would sneak peeks at one another as we toiled silently at our typewriters, each tapping away to some new meditation from above. We’d sat adjacent for two years, but it had taken a year before one of us had actually spoken to the other. Even then, it was after our day was completed, and we had left the gray stone Headquarters for our dormitories.

I enjoyed looking at him. Wilson had smooth skin and warm brown eyes. His green sweater was tattered, mine was too, but he’d taken care to darn the holes with matching yarn. He was single, we all were. It had been four years since anyone our age had received permission to marry. The Party wanted all of us available for the inevitable Second. We lived in long barracks, stacked on top of one another like cordwood, as we waited for the sirens and the call to arms. We were reminded of our good fortune every day with the two meals we were served, which was one meal more than those outside of Headquarters enjoyed.

Meditation 475: “Love of Party is more nurturing than love of kin.”

I looked at the clock, and it was almost seven. In a minute or two, O’Bannon would look up from the day’s pages and with a wave of his bony fingers, he’d signal that Wilson and I could leave. Other teams on the floor had already been dismissed, but O’Bannon was a stickler. We never got out a minute early. As I was proofreading my afternoon’s work, the siren shrieked.

As we’d been trained, Wilson and I put our work down, grabbed our bags, and retreated to the interior of the building. O’Bannon had to sweep the offices for stragglers, so his attention went elsewhere. We took shelter in a supply closet.

“Another false alarm?” I whispered, not wanting to alert anyone to our hiding place.

“Better than a real alarm, don’t you think?” Wilson raised an eyebrow as he kept his voice low.

“Yeah. Sooner or later, though, it won’t be practice...” I couldn’t help but acknowledge our collective fear.

“Shut up, Julie.” Wilson clutched me to his chest, as he tilted my head to receive his lips. I shivered as he pulled my body closer to his. His tongue darted around my mouth, teasing my lips and tasting me. I relaxed against the door as he opened my cardigan with eager fingers. We’d hid in the closet before, and no one had noticed. It was a rare opportunity for privacy in a place where everyone was watched constantly.

Meditation 239: “Passion is dangerous and distracting.”

I enjoyed the feeling of his hands carefully opening each precious garment. None of us had any clothes to spare, so I was grateful that there was no tearing of shirts or popping of buttons. I’d read that passion prompted such things many years ago, but that was our history, not our present. Each button was precious, and delicately coaxed through its corresponding buttonhole. We were eager, but we weren’t stupid. A single tear or broken fastener could give us away.

My fingers cautiously opened his shirt, revealing his pale chest dotted with a few stray auburn hairs. I’d only seen his chest twice before. Unfortunately, we had to stop both times when the sharp double-blast of the “All Clear” siren went off. Our training required us to return to our desks immediately to be counted, so it was a race to restore our clothes without making some minor error that would label us as unfit for service at Headquarters. The consequences of being sent outside were terrifying.

“Still no ‘All Clear.’ We probably have a few more minutes.” My voice was rushed. I had waited so long for this moment. Pulling Wilson’s thin shirt apart, I found his nipples and gave them a bite. Wilson let out a low whistle as I sucked and pulled at the tiny bumps. With each nuzzle, I felt his body loosen and his cock stiffen beneath the heavy twill of his khaki pants.

My hands found his worn leather belt. Like mine, it had been notched tighter and tighter; our rations had been diverted to the Rangers. His pants were gathered, as if with a drawstring. It dawned on me that without the belt, the trousers would simply drop to the ground.

Wilson released my shoulders and eased his pants over his thin buttocks, and they fell in a pile around his ankles. The flesh over his angular hips was almost translucent. The blue veins meandered over his body, like rivers on a map. Without any fat on his abdomen, his thick cock protruded fully. I touched it.

Meditation 92: “Your body and soul belong to Your Founder.”

“You can hold it.” Wilson took my hand and wrapped my fingers around his penis. It stiffened immediately. With his hand over mine, he stroked himself. My fingers were astounded by the effect.

I looked up. “Is this what you want? Is this okay?”

“Gosh, yes. Don’t stop.” With his left hand, Wilson continued to guide my hand, with his right, he caressed my bare breast. Pinching my nipple and rolling it between his fingers made my body ache. I was desperate for more, and it was unclear when we’d be alone again. “When I’m by myself, this is what I do.”

“Really? I’m never alone.” I sighed. That was the tradeoff we made for being at Headquarters. The privacy we might have enjoyed outside was exchanged for the security of being behind thick stone walls. “When are you alone?”

“Not often, obviously.” Wilson hastened the pace of his hand. I looked at his cock in wonder, as it had grown and hardened further. “But every now and then I get lucky.”

“What else do you do?”

“Not much. I dream... About being with you -- in every way… About a life together.” Wilson’s eyes shone in the dim room.

“Tell me. Please. I’d like to know.” I’d read many things, but I’d never tried any of them. And every night in my bunk, I’d dreamt about a life with Wilson, too.

“Words are our weapons. Every day we write so many...” He shook his head. “Our weapons exhaust me. It’s easier just to show…”

Meditation 23: “Obedience is the highest form of service to Your Founder.”

There was still no siren. This was the longest we’d taken shelter. My nervousness was overwhelmed by curiosity, especially since an opportunity like this might not happen again. “Then show me.”

Wilson stood back, and began to undo my drab brown skirt. He eased the coarse wool down my body, then placed it to the side where the fabric would be safe, and where I could retrieve it in seconds.

His fingers pushed aside my shirt and cardigan, to reveal my breasts. Except for my scuffed, black oxford shoes, I was naked from the waist down. “Gosh, Julie, you’re beautiful.”

Perhaps he saw me tremble in the faint light, and mistook my shyness for a chill. Wilson gazed into my eyes as he wrapped his sweater around my shoulders.  He then knelt in front of me, like a supplicant. He licked the tips of his fingers and then he parted the fine blonde hairs between my legs. Instinctively, I widened my stance. Wilson recognized my offer as he caressed my slick slit with his fingertips.

It was my turn to guide his hand. My body wanted pressure. I pushed his fingers into me, and felt the electric pulse as he penetrated my deepest recess. One finger, followed by a second, offered the shock of being filled. I wriggled on his hand, and drew his mouth to my folds.

His tongue was fearless. It found a tiny bundle of nerves and I jerked backwards at the sensation. It was so new and startling, I covered my mouth with my forearm to keep from squealing. Wilson looked up at me, staggered, his mouth still lustrous from my juices. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Wilson pushed his tongue into me, and I adjusted my hips until he found that magic spot again. He grabbed my thin right leg and draped it over his shoulder, so that he could apply even more pressure. The sensations thrilled my body as I rocked my hips and panted quietly with each stroke of his tongue.

I pushed his head away, and motioned for him to stand. In my softest whisper, I told him the truth. “I’ve never… But I want to.” Embarrassed by my confession, I looked away, clutching Wilson’s narrow body as my cheek pushed into his chest.

Wilson stroked my fuzzy blonde hair, and twirled a few long strands around his fingers as he caressed my shoulders and face. His voice was tender. “I’ve never either… But I want to, with you.” He paused, his voice now low and earnest. “If we’re discovered, just say I forced you. You’ll be okay.”

“No, I’d never do that to you.” But we both knew that bigger lies had been said for lesser things. And until you were tested, you never truly knew what you’d do. I felt gratitude for his permission, even as I prayed it was unnecessary.

The tiny closet seemed filled with the accelerating thumps of my heart. The sound consumed my head. I was sure we’d hear a siren any moment, saving us from doing the thing that we’d been aching to do for two years. To succumb to personal desire could get us fired, or worse. And yet there was nothing I wanted more than to feel and enjoy Wilson. The pressure of sitting next to him, at our battered metal table, had been building daily.

Meditation 612: “Love is a choice, not an emotion. Choose The Party.”

There was no time to dither. I either chose Wilson, or that choice could be yanked from me. In a hurried whisper, I said, “Let’s do it. I want you.”

Wilson held his breath as he directed his penis between my legs. Neither of us was certain what we were doing, but we knew there was a path and a purpose. I shifted the weight on my legs as I moved my hips, and Wilson guided his cock to my entrance. His cockhead found it by instinct. We both stood still, as his pulse radiated through his member and pushed rhythmically against my tender flesh.

“I’ve read this can hurt.” Wilson cupped my face in his hands, his fingers tucked in behind my jaw as he brought my mouth up to his for a deep kiss. His lips were gentle.

“I don’t care.” I kissed Wilson more deeply, letting my tongue enter his mouth in a wordless invitation to his penis.

Wilson released my face and ran his fingers down my skin, past the sweaters keeping my torso warm, to the thin flesh of my hips. He grabbed hold of my buttocks with one hand, and with the other, he guided his cock as it pushed past the thin membrane that was a sign of my virtue and commitment to The Party. The tissue tore abruptly, but the pain was minimal. I’d felt far worse from our training. Once, a rifle recoiled leaving my shoulder battered. Another time, I inhaled ten breaths of gas, as instructed, and I'd retched for hours and my lungs ached for a week. There was no comparison.

I could scarcely believe what we’d done. I felt filled, warm, and desperate for more. Wilson stood there immobile, as he realized the magnitude of the moment. As I balanced, I pulled him into me as deeply as he could go. Wilson tilted his head, exposing his Adam’s apple that poked out against the skin of his throat. His back arched as he slowly thrust inside.

My hands encircled his neck, and he lifted me up, bracing me fully against the door. I feared we’d make noise, but his thrusts were deliberate and designed for silence. I pulled myself close to him, my back compressed against the cold metal and my chest conforming to his.

Wilson’s hips moved back and forth, in restricted motions. It felt like he wanted to do more, but our fear was too great. An exaggerated movement might knock a stapler to the ground and cause a racket that would reveal our presence, so we pressed on, quiet as mice.

His penis filled my opening, spreading me and warming me from within. I wanted more, but that “more” seemed elusive and impossible. We had our work. We had Our Party and we had Our Founder. But I wanted Wilson.

“Take me, please.”

“Are you sure?” Wilson’s voice was strangled, as he paused between thrusts.

“Yes. No one will find out. And I won’t tell.” Wilson sped up. Instead of pulling out of me by an inch, he pulled his cock out in its entirety, and then rammed it back in. I could feel the entire shaft working against my opening, and his smooth head, pushing through each time. I held my breath as his pace accelerated. Instinct took over, and in seconds, I felt a sticky warmth inside me, as Wilson ejaculated.

We paused, awkwardly and silently, still wondering if the siren would blare or if we’d be found. “I wish we could do this again.”

“Me too. Oh, you’re dripping.” Wilson got back down on his knees. “Can’t tip off O’Bannon.” His tongue went to work, lapping up any traces of cum as it seeped out my slit. His warm mouth eliminated the evidence of our apostasy.

Meditation 948: “Embrace being powerless. The Party has the power.”

We stood there, immobile and mostly undressed, for a minute as we held one another. There were no noises in the vicinity, and nothing suggested we were being surveilled or tested. “We should put our clothes on. The siren’s going to sound any second. I can feel it.”

“Yeah, me too.” The closet was too small for two people to get dressed simultaneously. I went first while Wilson helped me button my blouse and cardigan, and then he held my skirt. I returned the favor. We took turns standing in the crack of light, inspecting the other’s uniform, and making sure there was nothing amiss.

Wilson stood back and surveyed my look, even having me do a pirouette within the confined space. “You look… Right.”

I ran my fingers over his shirt, inspecting the buttons for breakage and alignment. Nothing seemed wrong. His collar was correct, as were his pants. “You do, too.”

We waited, fully dressed and ready to emerge from our hiding space. “This is so strange. We’ve never had a drill take so long.”

“I know. Do we have time to do it again?” I wiggled my body even as I prayed he’d say ‘no.’

“We can’t press our luck.” We sat down on the floor. The lights in the building went out, as they always did at midnight. “Gosh, I’m so hungry and we’ve missed supper.”

“I know. But there’s been no signal.”

“Do you think I should open the door? Look around?” Wilson held his breath. We were both on edge.

“We don’t have permission. Let’s just close our eyes. We’ll hear the ‘All Clear.’ We’ve always heard it before.”

“You’re right, of course.”

Meditation 2: “Prepare for war. Pray for peace.”

We curled together, with Wilson tucking his long body around my small form, and we waited. We were asleep when I heard the first long blast. “Wilson. The signal.” My hunger pangs kicked in. Once we were clear, we could go to the commissary. The second long blast sounded. Wilson sat up. I whispered in the darkness, “That’s two.” We paused, eager to leave our hiding spot when we heard it, the third shrill alarm. “Three. Oh shit, it’s happening.” Despite my training, I could barely speak.

Wilson gripped my hand, his voice was muted.“I’m sorry, Julie. But at least we’re together.”






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