The End of the World

"What do you bench?" I ask, a bit awed.

He looks a little embarrassed. "When I was really in shape, I managed 340. Nowadays, I'm lucky to clear 315."

Wow. In my high school weightlifting class, I beat all of the other girls with a maximum lift of exactly one-third of that. My man is a beast.

"Weenie," I giggle.

"Careful, or I might have to check and see if you're ticklish," he warns.

Yikes! I'm terribly ticklish and I don't want anything to interrupt my exploration of his body. "Shutting up, sir," I say, grinning and sticking my tongue out at him.

All the while, I have his straining cock nestled in my butt crack. I can feel it pulse against me whenever I move. I consider it a fringe benefit.

I work my way down to his abs and have him flex for me. He's not as ripped as those steroid-popping bodybuilders, but he's got nice definition and his six-pack is as hard as a rock. Kind of like his cock, which is now nestled in front of me, between my delicate folds. Giving my sister a massage had never been this much fun.

I massage my way around said cock, disappointing Greg by leaving it alone, but partially make up for it by doing a deep tissue massage on his muscled quads. I'm not going to ask him what he squats, not knowing what a good number would be in any case, but I'd bet it's a bunch.

The scar from his gruesome injury is obvious on his inner thigh. There's a ridge of tissue and a slight depression. I massage him there, lightly at first, then harder when I see that it's not hurting him.

Eventually, I work my way down to his knees and find the scars from his reconstructive surgery. Thank goodness for modern medicine. In previous generations, the knee injury alone would have crippled him for life.

I got his calves and feet when he was on his stomach, so now I end the suspense about whether he's going to get a happy ending. Straddling his thighs, I reach down and wrap my slick, oily hands around his straining manhood.

"Oh fuck, that's good," he moans.

"Damn straight it is," I agree. I'm more thorough about exploring him this time, feeling for the chambers that keep the thing so marvelously stiff, and exploring the edges of his glans. I gently squeeze the head, watching how the little slit at the tip pops open. I gently massage the opening with the soft pad of my middle finger while he moans. You might almost think he likes this.

I experiment with different ways of massaging him, but then I can somehow feel that he's getting close to the point of no return. I'm not exactly sure how I know, but Greg's groan when I take my hands off of him makes me think I'm right.

"You evil, evil woman," he groans. "I was almost there."

Hah! I was right. "I've read that bringing a guy close a few times makes it much better in the end," I inform him cruelly.

"Well, yeah. If he doesn't die in the process."

"Oh, I think you'll live. Hell, you may end up thanking me."

In the meantime, I'm very gently exploring Greg's scrotum. He's got a pair of big ones in there, and they feel delicious. I'd love to suck the whole thing into my mouth, but I'm not sure about the curly hairs. I wonder if he'd let me shave him?

Greg's body is starting to relax now, so I go back to work on his erection, which has softened just a little. In seconds, it's rock hard again.

I do this to him three more times. By the fourth, I'm certain he must think I'm the cruelest bitch on the planet, but I know I've found my favorite toy ever. He's been such a good boy that I think it's time for his reward. I get him right to the edge, then stop, hearing his now expected groan, but then I give him just a little more. It's just enough, and I can tell he's gone over the edge. I implement the plan I've dreamed up.

I scoot up from his thighs and lift myself a bit, then take him in my hand and aim him into my center. He's oily slick and I'm well lubricated from all of the excitement, so I take him inside me in one quick drop. Greg gasps and nearly bucks me off, his involuntary muscles all firing at once from the shock.

I'm still quite sore from my deflowering, but I welcome the quick, searing pain, knowing that it must be putting Greg up near heaven. He slams up into me once, twice, then a third time as his climax arrives, then pulls me down to him and crushes me in his arms as his semen pounds rhythmically against my cervix.

I hadn't realized I was so aroused, but Greg's sudden domination of me in his moment of passion is enough to get me there in a hurry. I find myself experiencing a surprise orgasm. My tongue plunges deep into his mouth as my body shakes in his arms. Okay, he hasn't managed to top the last one he gave me, but this one is intense in a wholly different way. I'm nearly blown away with the novelty of it. Who knew that sex could be like this?

Random explosions of nerves are going off all up and down my body, and the pain in my sore maidenhood is only adding to the passion that has flooded over me. Oh God I love this man and what he can do to me. I continue to ride the waves of my orgasm toward the shore.

When we're done at last, it's not a matter of whether or not I feel he'd welcome all of my weight on him -- I don't know that I could move a muscle if I tried. We're just in a sweaty heap together on the bed. After a while, Greg regains the ability to speak.

"I should never have doubted you, Lana. I didn't know it was possible for a man to have such an intense orgasm. Are you sure you've never done this before?"

With a supreme effort, I will the power of speech. "First time, baby. But just wait until next time. I'll do better."

"Lana, if it gets any more intense than what you just did to me, you will kill me."

"Don't be silly. I think I can safely promise you a long, happy, and sexually fulfilling life."

"Mmm, sounds good. I think I can promise you the same."

"Good."

Later, I'm clean, dressed, and still a little tingly from the second orgasm I've had during a shower today, this one most definitely not self-administered. My new boyfriend has proven to me once again that he's very good with his hands. I can't ever remember feeling this alive.

Greg has been unconsciously moving his shoulders around, feeling for the usual stiffness and strains that have now been removed under my patient hands. He can't quit smiling.

"Okay, are you ready?" I ask. Greg was even quicker getting dressed after our shower than I was and has just finished fixing the other two radios. I notice that he's unhooked the antennas. Good idea.

"Yeah, but I can't escape the feeling that we're still missing something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, but I think I should."

"Well I'm just happy that Crystal and Braylin will never know how much fun we had today."

"Hey, that's it," Greg exclaims.

"What is?"

"Lana, if you were going to go to such lengths to pull a prank on someone, wouldn't you want to watch and see how they react? I mean, how much fun would those hidden camera shows on TV be if you couldn't watch what the victims did while they were being duped?"

"You don't think they're spying on us, do you?"

"I would in their place, and Braylin's obviously got enough technical sophistication to do it. Let's look around."

It only takes Greg a few minutes to find "nanny cams" in the ventilator grates in the Comm room, rec room, kitchen, and master bedroom. "These use motion sensors to record audio and HD video whenever someone is in the room," he explains after looking them over closely. "They don't transmit, just record, so Crystal and Braylin would have had to recover them later to see anything."

"They'd have gotten an eyeful," I say ruefully. "You know, playing this practical joke on us was horrible, but the fact that they were spying on us -- and probably aren't planning to admit it -- bugs me just as bad."

"I don't like it either," he says. He hands me the cameras. "I'll let you decide what you want to do with these. I'm sure you'll do the right thing."

With video of us losing our virginity together? I'm going to have to think long and hard on just what the "right thing" is.

"Count on it."

"So, are you ready to pull the trigger on your plan of revenge?"

"Let the evil commence," I say, giving him a suitably wicked grin. I sit down in front of the terminal and start typing.

"WE HAVE EXPERIENCED A FIRE WHILE REPAIRING THE INVERTER. IT HAS BEEN EXTINGUISHED WITH ONLY MINOR INJURIES, BUT OUR GENERATOR IS BEYOND REPAIR. WE WILL NOT BE ABLE TO KEEP OUR VENTILATION RUNNING AFTER THE BATTERIES ARE EXHAUSTED. WE DO NOT WANT TO DIE FROM ASPHYXIATION OR RADIATION POISONING. WE HAVE FOUND CYANIDE CAPSULES AND WILL BE ENDING THINGS ON OUR OWN TERMS. WE WILL SEAL THE VENTS AND UNLOCK THE MAIN DOOR. PERHAPS OUR SUPPLIES WILL HELP YOU SOMEDAY WHEN IT IS SAFE FOR YOU TO COME OUT. GOODBYE AND THANKS."

Greg laughs out loud from over my shoulder. "That's inspired. I'd normally say it's going too far for a practical joke, but she really has it coming."

"You're damn straight she does."

I hit send, then we wait.

With a loud beep, another message pops up on the screen just a few seconds later.

"WAIT. THIS IS CRYSTAL." Beep. "THIS WAS JUST A PRACTICAL JOKE. THERE IS NO WAR. YOU CAN COME OUT. PLEASE DON'T HURT YOURSELVES."

I giggle. "I'm not going to answer. Let's see how long it takes them to get here."

It's less than a minute later when we hear Crystal screaming at the top of her lungs as she sprints down the tunnel. "Stop! Don't do it, Lana! It was just an April Fool's Day joke!" She sounds suitably panicked.

We've removed the pins from the door and now it swings open. Very slowly. Greg's a little impatient, so he surreptitiously lends them a hand. Soon it's open far enough.

"Lana!" Crystal screams as she comes around the thick edge of the door, Braylin in tow. She stops dead when she sees us standing there in the hall with shit-eating grins on our faces and cold Budweiser's in our hands. The bottles in the fridge were Crystal's lone contribution to stocking the bunker.

"Why you little bitch!" she exclaims, realizing quickly that vengeance is mine. She takes one step toward me, murder in her eyes, but then Greg holds up a hand and she hesitates.

"I reckon the two of you are just about even now," Greg says in a friendly but firm voice. Crystal glares at him momentarily, but then she takes a deep breath. I know her better than anyone, and just as I would have expected, the wind goes out of her sails quickly. She has our mother's mercurial temper, but it usually dissipates as quickly as it builds.

"Yeah, I suppose I deserved that," she admits.

"Glad to hear you say that," Greg says, offering her a bottle.

She takes it, then turns to me. "Lana, I really am sorry. We were joking about pulling the best April Fool's Day prank ever, and I guess it kind of got out of hand."

"And I'm sorry I made you think I was going to kill myself," I say, though truthfully, I don't regret it in the least. She started this. In any case, Crystal looks relieved that we've patched things up for now and gives me a big hug. We're eventually going to have a heart-to-heart about this whole business, but we're sisters. We can't stay mad at each other for long. Besides, if she hadn't pulled this crazy stunt, I might never have allowed Greg back into my life.

Greg gives Crystal's boyfriend a cool look. "Hey Braylin," he says.

"Hey Greg." The smaller man looks like he's thinking about making a break for the tunnel.

"You know, Braylin," Greg says evenly, "I seem to remember that you were involved in the senior prank back when I was a sophomore. What was it, taking all the desks and chairs out of the school and putting them out on the lawn with For Sale signs?"

Braylin nods and gulps.

"You know," Greg continues, "that one was actually pretty funny. And no one was ever under the impression that everyone they loved was about to die."

"Dude, I'm sorry. Look, uh, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you guys, just name it."

Greg's face takes on a contemplative look for a moment before he nods. "Hold that thought." Then he hands Braylin a beer.

I quickly turn valves and flip switches, putting the bunker back into its ready state. The soiled sheets (and the memory cards from the cameras, which I've hidden in my purse) I'll deal with later. Greg carefully pushes the big door closed, then the four of us troop down the tunnel, through the root cellar and out into the sun. I check my phone. It's been four hours since I got the Hackensack call.

"I think we've got a few things we need to talk about," Greg says. I'm glad he's taking the lead on this. I'm not very good at confrontation, but we need to have things out.

"Yeah, I suppose we do," Crystal admits.

"And I've got an idea for what we can do while we talk," Greg continues. He turns to Braylin. "You were saying something about doing whatever you could to make up for this?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did." It would be like Braylin to attempt to weasel out of it, but he's not about to try that with Greg.

"Well, I figured out one way you could help."

"Sure, okay," Braylin says.

"I'll help too," Crystal chimes in. Helping isn't usually her speed. My guess is that she doesn't want Braylin to be with Greg without her, in case her boyfriend says or does something stupid and she has to intervene to save his life.

Greg leads the way up the hill to where the five posts are sticking up out of the ground. With their mounting frames on top, they look like bare, metallic trees. I pull my toolbox out of the truck's bed, then show them how the solar panels are supposed to attach. A couple of minutes later we're all at work.

The radio is in the middle of another report about the dire state of geopolitical events when it gets cut off mid-sentence. "Again?" I say, exasperated. I don't mind not being reminded about the crappy stuff going on out there in the world, but this intermittent power is going to drive me nuts. Then I remember. This is the last time I'm ever going to lose power. Whee!

Greg and Braylin unload the first panel and lift it onto its frame, which I've got set to horizontal for mounting. I duck underneath with my trusty cordless torque driver, which betrays my faith by being dead. I snag a ratcheting wrench instead. My sister hands me nuts, bolts and lock washers in the exact order shown in the installation manual, and I begin to secure the panel in place.

"So where were you guys during all of this?" Greg asks Crystal as the second panel is lifted into place. His tone of voice indicates that he's not angry, just curious. I also can't help noticing that he's trying very hard not to look at Crystal's Silicon Valley, impressively displayed by her low-cut tank top.

"In the barn," my sister says, a little hesitantly despite Greg's casual tone. She and Braylin look that way, as if to point it out.

While they're turned away, Greg looks pointedly at Crystal's chest, then at me. His expression displays incredulous horror. I stifle a laugh. My sister used to have breasts very similar to mine, but then went way overboard with the upgrade, ending up with boobs that look frankly ridiculous, even on her five-foot-seven frame.

"How long would you have let us stew in there?" I ask.

"Uh, we weren't planning on letting it go more than an hour or so," Crystal says. "We were gonna tell you it was a prank a lot earlier, but then you had that trouble with the inverter and we couldn't talk to you for a couple of hours. We were about to come knocking when we got the message about the fire."

"We didn't actually have a fire, of course," Greg says, "but the problem with the inverter took us a while to diagnose."

I nearly give him away by smirking, but manage to keep myself under control. That was actually masterful on his part. It's none of Crystal and Braylin's business what we were doing during those hours.

"So how did you figure out it was a prank?" Crystal asks.

"Greg saw Braylin at the 7-Eleven this morning," I answer. "Before we went into the bunker, I told him that you were on a cruise with your boyfriend. Unfortunately, I didn't mention his name until right at the end. If I had, we'd have figured it out right away."

"What I want to know is how you hacked the terminal," Greg says to Braylin as they lift yet another panel. Braylin's been grunting as he lifts for all he's worth, but Greg is doing his end one-handed as he watches underneath to make sure they're setting it in exactly the right spot to line up the mounting holes. Okay, I'm impressed.

"I, uh, unhooked the antenna down behind the counter and tied it into a wire that I ran out through the ventilator shaft," Braylin says, looking nervously under the panel at Greg. "Then I laid wire over to the barn. I had emulation software from the Internet that allowed me to communicate with the terminal via my laptop."

Greg nods. "Nicely done -- from a technical standpoint anyway."

I start to secure the panel in place. To keep up with the guys, I'm only putting in half the hardware for now. I can do the rest at my leisure later.

It hasn't escaped me that Crystal and Braylin haven't asked a single question about what we did while we were in the bunker. But then again, why would they? They figure they're going to watch everything as soon as they retrieve the cameras. They're obviously not planning on telling us about those, so it will be interesting to see what Crystal does when she finds them missing.

"It didn't sound like Braylin on the phone during the Hackensack call," I say.

"I worried that you would recognize his voice," Crystal says, "so I had a friend from work make the call. I promised him a six-pack if he did a good job."

"Then you owe him some beer. He did fine."

"He called my cell as soon as he got off the phone with you," Crystal volunteers, "then Braylin cut the power where it comes off the pole behind the barn. We didn't want you getting on the phone and involving anyone else. He turned it on again as soon as we got your first message on the terminal."

"And here I thought losing power at that moment was just the world's worst timing."

"Yeah," Braylin says. "I had to hustle to get it cut in time. We weren't planning on starting for another hour or so."

Crystal looks daggers at Braylin, and he suddenly looks shamefaced, like he's revealed something he shouldn't have. Then I have a sudden insight. I turn my own daggers on Crystal. It's like she can feel them boring into her, and she turns to face me with a guilty look.

"You pulled your prank early so you could trap Greg in there with me, didn't you." Greg is watching all of this with an unreadable expression.

At first, I think she's about to deny it, but then she sighs. "Yeah, it about blew me away to see him drive up. It was the chance of a lifetime, though, getting the two of you back together. I had this feeling that you still had feelings for him, so I figured 'what the hell' and pulled the trigger on it. I got Sam to call you just in time."

I'm not sure whether to slap her or kiss her. It was downright monstrous for the two of them to have pulled an innocent bystander into their over-the-top prank, but her "feeling" had obviously been right -- and it had most certainly worked out well for Greg and me. I settle for giving her a disapproving look. It's one more thing that we're going to be talking about later.

"Braylin," Greg suddenly says, turning toward the smaller man. "I believe you need to make another apology, don't you?" His face is displaying outward calm, but you'd have to be blind not to see the sudden controlled fury underneath. I've never seen Greg like this before.