After the world went to shit, there was nary a shred of good news to be found.

A combination of societal collapse, natural disasters and wide-spread hysteria and panic made for a miserable year. Once-congested cities became ghost towns overnight across the country as their populations fled by whatever means of transportation they could muster, seeking refuge out in the rural pockets of wilderness—far away from the looting, fighting and lawlessness of urban sprawl.

And for a time after, it was every man fending for himself. Distrust and paranoia took root in those that survived, those that managed to eke out a living without modern comforts and luxuries. Without means of communication be it digital or physical, there was no accurately pinpointing when the communes first began cropping up.

They were nothing more than small homes and simple buildings in the beginnings, housing groups of people at a time that were looking to settle back into some form of normalcy, be it in its simplest form.

Safe Haven was one such commune, and it began with only a handful of individuals sharing the burden of chores from day-to-day to keep themselves clothed and fed. Over time the small huddle of buildings and fields grew, and more people came to join the community. The trappings of society were discarded—or willingly forgotten in some cases—in lieu of the philosophy of free love. As long as everyone contributed to the commune, and did their share of work, there was nothing barring the pursuit of any consensual romantic or sexual relationship relationship with any given member of the community.

As noon approached, Jenny saw went down to the commune kitchen. The last of her morning chores was to cook up lunch for everyone, which meant a spread fit for roughly fifteen people. Her dark hair clung to her temples, slick with the sweat of a few hours spent hard at work laundering sheets by the stream.

Greeted by a just-barely warm stove, it was fair to assume that the other people on kitchen duty had yet to arrive. Jenny wasted no time in gathering up ingredients from their larder to start on a few loaves of bread, and a simple potage. She began on their lunch humming under her breath, letting the muscle memory guide her through the process.

Flour dusted her tanned arms white, and with each kneading push Jenny’s breasts swayed underneath her tanktop, the soft peaks of her nipples protruding from beneath the fabric. The commune did not have much of a fashionable streak, and favored instead hardy and durable fabrics. With her tank top, Jenny sported an old pair of denim shorts that left a great expanse of her long, lithe legs bare.

Jenny used the back of her hand hand to sweep back her dark hair. She usually wore it loose, but for the task at hand, she had the foresight to gather it up into a ponytail. She had their family’s Mediterranean look, or so she remembered the vague memory of her grandmother saying. Her skin was a warm brown, perpetually sun-kissed; and if Jenny stayed out under the sun long enough, freckles would begin to crop up around her shoulders and cheeks.

It wasn’t until she straightened up that Jenny realized she wasn’t alone in the kitchen anymore. There was someone behind her, someone familiar, with warm breath against the nape of her neck and warm hands on her hips. She hadn't even heard the door open.

Jenny giggled, and a familiar flicker of heat came to life between her soft thighs.

“Something you need from me, honey? Lunch won't be ready for a while.”

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Feel free to jump right in with the story and continue where I left off when you reply. I'm a descriptive and detailed partner and am looking for the same. Orange envelopes only, please. No chat!

Kinks: Dirty Talk, Age Gaps, Breeding, Size Difference, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Outdoor Sex, CMNF, Light Bondage, Messy Oral, Body Worship, Voyeurism, Cumplay, Group Sex

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