The End of it All

By Morgan Synatra

This erotic dystopian romance story opens with Kelly fleeing from a post-apocalyptic factory where women are milked for profit. She is chased by the overseers of the factory until she runs into a mysterious man who helps her. Together, they ride south, headed for Mexico, but encounter problems when they settle in a cabin deep in the mountains. Love, redemption, romance,and bisexual encounters ensue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Morgan Synatra
• Release date: Dec 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223663218

Morgan Synatra

Morgan Synatra writes erotic short stories in the genres of dystopian sci fi, Master/slave, hucow (human cow), and sissy transformation. These stories are intended for adults over the age of 18. Morgan also loves a steamy erotic romance story with powerful, handsome heroes, evil barons, and women who like their men hard and deep. You can contact Morgan at [e-mail] Or visit Morgan's web site at https://morgansynatra.wixsite.com/morgansynatra-com

Book preview

The End of it All

Chapter 1

I’d been running for nearly two days straight, fleeing from the factory overseers. I was naked, running wildly through brambles and stumbling over stones and fallen branches, my face and skin streaked with scratches and my feet bleeding. I spotted a cabin at nightfall and stole a man’s tattered flannel shirt from the porch as a group of men ate and talked inside. Men mean danger. I quickly snatched the shirt off the railing and fled back into the dark forest. It didn’t cover my legs, but at least provided my body with some small amount of warmth and protection from thorns. After another hour of running, I tore off the sleeves and wrapped them around my bloody, shredded feet, then continued running, stumbling and limping in the dark.

I had no direction in mind other than away, away from the brutal overseers who chained us in cages, bred and milked us like cows, and sold our milk to local clan lords.

I stopped occasionally to drink from streams and eat berries, and slept in one-hour snatches at night, but never stopped moving. At an abandoned cabin, I found a jar full of beef jerky that someone had missed. I stuffed as much as I could into the shirt pockets and kept running. My mind was on one thing only- to get away from those evil bastards and their prison factory.

I was taken in a raid a year after the collapse. I’d been shacked up with a group of refugees from Salt Lake and Ogden in a small cabin north of here. We had a few guns, but when the overseers suddenly came up on horseback in an ambush, they tossed torches through the window and set the house ablaze before we had time to arm ourselves. Two of our men fired at them through the windows, but were killed by snipers hiding in the wood line. Before the rest of us could grab the guns and defend ourselves, smoke had filled the cabin and we ran outside. The women were roped with lassos across our chests and arms and dragged off into the woods, and the men killed as they ran out of the cabin, coughing and rubbing their eyes. As they rode off with us shuffling behind the horses, I looked back to see the timbers of the roof crashing into the burning cabin, sending sparks thirty feet into the air. Four men lay dead or dying on the ground, bleeding out and screaming in pain, while the rest burned in agony inside the cabin.

There were five of us. They tied our hands behind our backs and strung us together in a line with rope tied around our necks. Three days later, I was in the factory, stripped of my clothing, living in filth, hooked up to cow milkers, and caged in a dog kennel. They bred us like heifers. We were no more than livestock.

I splashed across a stream and up the other side of a hill as the sun came up on the second morning of my flight. Following an old game trail, I saw light ahead, kept running, and then the forest opened into a big, sunny meadow filled with a rainbow palette of wildflowers. At the far end of the meadow stood a cabin, white smoke softly drifting out of the chimney in lazy curls. I made a dash across the field for the cabin. As I got halfway across, I heard a cry behind me.

There she is! Let’s get her, boys!

I ran as hard as I could, straining for breath, my lungs burning, my heart pounding in my chest, but they were on horseback and catching up fast. As I ran for my life, the door flung open and a man holding a shotgun emerged. I screamed for help as I reached the cabin, running as fast as I could, stumbling and nearly falling into his arms. He pulled me inside, then ran toward the horsemen, zig-zagging as he ran. The leader took a shot at him, but missed. The man raised his shotgun and fired, blowing a hole in his chest and knocking him off the horse. As the next rider approached, the man rolled on the ground, narrowly missed by another shot. He fired from his back, knocking that one off his horse also, clutching his chest and screaming. The third rider turned his horse and fled, but the man shot him in the back, wounding him. The horse reared as pellets struck its rump and whinnied, throwing the rider to the ground with a sick thud. The man calmly walked up to the fallen rider, pointing the shotgun at him. The rider, on his back, holding his bleeding shoulder, begged for mercy.

I’m sorry, mister. We’re just doing what we’re told. Please don’t kill me!

The man put the shotgun to other’s head as he blubbered and begged, then pulled the trigger, exploding his head into molecules of blood, brain, and bone. He looked back at the other two motionless riders, lying on the ground in