The White - Cover

The White

Copyright© 2012 by ahorsewithnoname

Chapter 15

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 15 - In a world where 90% of the male population died due to a plague, it is the females that suffer a worse fate. The plague altered their DNA to the point that they could not survive for long without what became known as "the White"... semen. If that wasn't bad enough, the best quality, the most nourishing, came from those closest genetically, i.e. FAMILY. You can read a bunch of reader's comments over at Bookapy.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Fa/ft   Blackmail   Coercion   Consensual   Rape   Reluctant   Romantic   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Workplace   Post Apocalypse   Sharing   Incest   Mother   Father   Daughter   Group Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Voyeurism  

To say that there was an upheaval after the President finished his address would be akin to saying the plague was an inconvenience to family life.

Riots started in nearly every prison across the land, followed by random acts of violence against government buildings and other landmarks. National parks were even set on fire. By and far, it was females initiating and being involved in the revolt.

As the Army and Marines moved in, their initial response was general suppression and an attempt at establishing peace, but it became apparent quickly that there would be no easy settlement.

When four young soldiers were brutally shot and then set on fire by some radicals, some of them still alive, a bystander captured the executions with a cell phone and then passed it along to a network feed, and the country became galvanized against this insurrection. Soldiers exchanged rubber suppression-style bullets for standard ones, and retribution was swift and harsh.

Within 48 hours, much of the anarchy had been put to ground and while there were still pockets of violence, they were rare and dealt with by overwhelming force and finality.


“Tara,” asked the President of his youngest daughter, “would you please pass the corn.”

“Yes, Daddy.” As the eighteen-year-old reached for the bowl in front of her, for the third time today she saw that her hand trembled a bit. Willing it to stop hadn’t worked, so she took the bowl with both hands and handed it to her father.

The First Lady, acutely aware of anything involving her three daughters, watched the exchange taking place with a mixture of dread and relief. Dread that her daughter would soon be among those needing the White to survive, and relief in that she wouldn’t be among the five percent of girls who mutated too much and never reached menstruation, and eventually died at a young age.

Later that evening, the First Lady was sitting in front of her makeup vanity, brushing her hair when her husband walked in, ready to retire for the evening. She could see from his movement that he was tired but restless. She went to him.

“Jack, is everything okay?” she said, putting her hands lightly on his chest which was now sans shirt.

“Yes, just some issues with the Israelis and Syria. You’d think with everything else going on that those assholes would--” he stopped as the First Lady kissed him.

“Honey,” he said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I’m sorry, I’m kinda tired--”

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