There was a dusting of faint, star-like scars around his eyes.The faint spark of hope she nursed blazed up. There were rumors about the survivors...She remembered--How not!--the spattered lesions around her father's face; they'd had to tie him down to keep him from clawing his eyes out, even with the morphine. He'd died anyway. This man had survived that agony, brought by the plague that had killed off nearly ten percent of men between the ages of 25 and 35, rising to near all of them over age sixty. His voice was likely damaged by screaming for hours, days on end.Experienced male leaders were rare these days. Nobody, anywhere in the world, was trying to fight a war. Male warriors were too precious.The weird thing was, women had tried to fill the leadership gap, and that was turning into a second disaster. Company after company stagnated, shrank or collapsed.As evidenced by the women outside, the implications of that were not yet widely accepted.She, however, had bet her future on. He didn't stand in front of the mirror but stretched out on the floor. He turned his head and watched as he ran his hands over his bra and then down his belly until it reached the garter belt. Each of his nylon covered legs was raised and slowly stroked from ankle to thigh as his cock grew harder with each passing minute.Finally, he couldn't hold out much longer. He laid on his side as his satin-covered fingers tugged the waistband of his panties down just far enough to allow his hard cock to spring into the air. The feeling of his satin-covered hand encircling his erection was more than he could handle and he lost his load after a few strokes.He lost count on how many times he pleasured himself that evening. Now, whenever his parents were at work or going out for the evening he repeated this act numerous times. This indulgence ended right before he graduated high school when he almost got caught by his folks that had come home without his hearing. He had blown off going out to dinner.
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