by Jack Stewart
And he did.
I’m glad I was so wet because he might have broken me in two otherwise. He slid all the way in and I nearly tore his spine out with my nails. I remembered what my mom had told me about me and sex and made a small little painful noise as he literally banged my back wall. I was, after all, a technical virgin (balance beam and oral sex not withstanding). He paused and looked down at me, “OK?” He asked.
“Oh, yes. Now fuck me hard.” And he did.
He started hammering me pulling all the way out, then forcing himself all the way back in. I had never. Ever. Felt. Anything! Like that before. I came so hard I screamed and nearly broke his dick off fucking him back so furiously. Then he grunted like a mad animal and came in me. I felt his cock get harder than I thought imaginable followed by a shot of hot liquid that, I swear flooded every cavity I had down there.
Oh my god. So that was what all the fuss was about.
He collapsed on top of me then rolled to the side. I lay there, stunned, violated, and no longer even a technical virgin. He rolled up on his elbow and looked me in the eyes, “Good?”
“Oh, yeah,” I breathed, “Can you do that to me again?”
He laughed a little and laid back on the cool sheets of the bed, “I can but it will take a bit for me to recover.”
Turns out “a bit” was just over twenty minutes and then Patrick did things to me that I’m sure were illegal in the forty eight contiguous states, plus Alaska, plus Hawaii, and probably damn near everywhere else too. I am also sure his parents had no idea their sweet Patrick was a raging Lothario with more tricks than a fucking circus magician. And it would be way too unladylike to tell you exactly those things he did but what the fuck, I certainly am no lady.
When he had recovered, he flipped my over on my stomach and mounted me from behind. The sensation was similar to having a great big, hot cock rammed in your vagina from behind. He pounded me so hard, I literally had to grab a pillow for the next screaming orgasm. I might not have woke the dead (because first, the dead were already technically awake now and second, because they didn’t even sleep. Geez.) but it definitely would have woke his parents. Which would have been worse. He then proceeded to pull me up on all fours giving me a graphic demonstration of doggy style and tried his damned best to hit every wall of my vagina with the massive head of his dick. He succeeded. I came again and think I might have passed out because when I came to, he had me on the floor bent over the edge of the bed banging away on me until if felt him blow his wad.
We crawled back into the now quite sullied bed and tossed the sweat and other not to be mentioned fluid cover sheets to the side and wrapped ourselves around each other in a big heaping sweaty and oily mess.
But lord have mercy on my abused vagina, he wasn’t done.
A few minutes later, he was back up and running again, this time pulling me on top of him. I decided it was my turn to fuck him and rode him down like the animal beast he was, letting only his head slip in and out until he was screaming for me to fuck him. Then I did. I plunged down on him and tried again to break off his dick until he came in me arching his back so far he nearly threw me off but I kept going until I felt my own orgasm coming then arched my back pressing down against his hips and gushed all down his shaft.
I waited until the shock waves had passed then slowly slipped off his cock and onto the bed, “I’m going to guess that wasn’t your first time,” I said draping my arm over his heaving chest.
“No, I…uh…you might say I’m a semi-pro.”
I giggled, “Stripper? You’re mom doesn’t know does she?”
Patrick laughed too, “Chip N Dales. Getting laid is a side benefit and no, Mom doesn’t know. Dad suspected something but it was paying my way through college so he never asked about it.”
“You’re a…clean, right?” I said thinking a venereal disease on top of the Apocalypse might be a little too much to handle.
“Completely. I get quarterly examines and haven’t been laid since my last. First time for you?”
“You have to ask? Of course. I am only sixteen.”
“Oh my god I’m going to hell,” he said, “Sex with a minor.”
“I don’t think the police will be here anytime soon,” I said as I let my hand drift over his chest and down to his waist.
“What about pregnancy? We didn’t exactly use protection,” he asked watching my hand drift down below his waist line.
I had to think about that for a few seconds. My last period was a week ago that meant no ovulation for another three weeks, “We’re good. I just finished my period a week ago.”
“Thank god for that. If you were pregnant, you’d have to come with me to Montana. It would be the only to do, me being a gentleman and all.”
“Patrick you were anything but gentle,” I said stroking at his already hardening battleship. Redwood tree. Whatever. His giant hard penis.
“When a girl requests to be fucked hard, I oblige. And that is the very definition of a gentleman.”
“Indeed sir,” I said then went down on him. I really didn’t know what the fuck I was doing so I just open wide and swallowed as much as I could of him, then started sucking away as I moved my head up and down. He seemed to enjoy it and soon I felt his hands in my hair and his hips bucking back and forth then he shuddered and arched his hips. I felt my mouth fill with whatever semen and cum he had left in his drained body. I swallowed thinking it was the right thing to do according to all the crappy romance novels I had read, then made a quick departure for the bathroom to brush my teeth.
When I came back Patrick had pulled a sheet over his hips and was laying there with his arms behind his head looking at me, “Are you sure that was your first time?” he said with a wicked smile.
I lay on the bed flat on my stomach next to him and replied, “Are you implying that I was not a virgin?”
“Nooo, just that you are a …um…very quick learner.”
“Well, sir, you are a very good teacher and have officially violated every orifice in my body except one,” I said lifting myself up on my elbows and looking back over my shoulder to my rear. I figured I wasn’t going to get laid for the foreseeable future after Patrick left, so might as well try everything I could tonight.
Patrick’s mouth dropped open just a little before he asked, “Are you sure you want to?”
“What does it feel like?” I said wondering what kind of hellfire damage his… massive pipe? Iron rod? Colossal snake? Whatever. His big old dick. Would do to my ass.
“It’s painful if you go too fast. If done right, it can be great.”
“Let’s try,” I said sliding down and putting my feet on the floor while spreading my legs and bending over the edge of the bed. Why not I say?
Let me tell you what: I am a slutty, slutty, little bitch whore. Patrick first lubed up his cock by fucking my raw and way overused pussy until I had a sharp little orgasm and greased up his stick. Then he had me pull my cheeks apart (and by now I was way past being shy), place the tip of his cock right on my anus, then put his hands on my hips.
Did I tell you that I was a slutty, slutty, little bitch whore? I didn’t even wait for him to slide in. I bent my knees and forced my hips back and just like that his cock was in me. That ignited something in both of us and all pretensions of taking it easy, going slow, or even being human flew right the fuck out the door. He fucked my ass ragged. I fucked his cock ragged. He pounded me for what seemed like hours until waves of fucking sensation like nothing I’d ever, ever felt blew my mind as I came down my legs. A second later he let loose a load that I swear must have drained him of every last drop of fluid in his ball sack. It was explosive. It was earth shattering. It was the fucking height of carnal sensation.
Yeah it was that good.
When he was done with me, Patrick crawled on the bed cupping his junk and I walked buck legged and raw into the bathroom. I spent the next twenty minutes washing off the accumulated sweat, cum, oils, semen, and sperm from my ragged
body. I don’t mind being rode hard, but put away wet, I will not be. When I was done washing off and counting the new bruises, tears, scrapes, and raw patches, I wrapped a towel around myself and gingerly walked back out into the bedroom. Patrick was still awake and watched me as I walked across the room.
“Now, ma’am I have violated every conventional orifice of your body,” he said, “Except your ears, nose, and other holes which don’t really qualify as orifices. And I’m not really into that.
“Well put sir,” I replied. I sat down on the edge of the bed and he wrapped an arm around me.
“You’re not coming with us, are you?”
I smiled a little sadly and said, “No. I’ll be gone before you get up in the morning. This is my home and I plan on living or dying right here.”
He nodded and we laid together for a good, long while before he got out of the bed and pulled on his shorts. Then he leaned over and kissed me good and long before whispering, “Goodbye, Cerra,” and walked out of the room.
I watched the door close then went back to my own room after cleaning all the soap and shampoo I could out of Patrick’s and my Room of Carnal Delight.
In my own room I saw that the Hollisters had left me a small pile of canned goods. They must have all known I wasn’t going with them. I packed it all up with my gear and axe, pulled on my now dry clothes, and waited for the first hint of light.
A few hours later, I watched them pack their station wagon and head south from the top of the Days Inn. Once I was sure they were well on their way, I hit the streets and headed north towards the police station while coming up with Rule Number Six: No sex with strangers. At least no unprotected sex. No need to get herpes or pregnant in the City of the Dead.
I don’t know what I expected to find at the police station. Adults? Police? Probably but they wouldn’t be among the living. Weapons? Yes, definitely weapons. Pistols, shotguns, maybe hand grenades. I didn’t know what I would do with hand grenades, but if they had some, I was going to get me a few.
I was definitely sore and raw in places I had never, ever been sore or raw in. I was bruised and punctured from the fall out of my parent’s apartment, scrapped from my tumble along the asphalt, and generally rubbed vigorously raw (and again punctured, ha, ha) from my carnal adventures the night before. Luckily for me I would likely pass a convenience store on my way to the police station and could pick up some aspirin to help with all my bumps and bangs.
And not a few blocks away from the hotel, I was right. On the corner was a Walgreens that had a small SUV parked conveniently inside the front doors knocking an opening just for me. Well Jimmy crack corn (and I don’t care)! I crouched under the broken glass and twisted metal of the front doors and crawled into the store. The lights were out but the early morning sunshine was coming in through the high windows near the ceiling. Whoever had crashed into the Walgreens had done an effective job of sealing the dead out. I stood there in the half-light waiting for anything to move at me out of the quiet store. But there was nothing. After a few more minutes of nothing I decided that the store was empty. You might say I assumed the store was empty. Not a good way to start the day.
I walked down the aisles grabbing candy bars, aspirin, Neosporin, tampax, and anything else I thought I might need for being out in the bad old world. I stopped at the refrigerated section and drank like three cans of coke, then put a few in my pack. With most of the world dead there probably wasn’t going to be a shortage of soda lying around but, hey, you never know. It wasn’t like the guys down in Atlanta were going to be churning out fresh cans of the stuff anytime soon.
As I finished my third can of pop off I realized I was not alone. We all know what assuming does, right? Yep. An ass of you and me and the dead cannibal standing just a few feet away. The driver of the SUV maybe? Maybe. He didn’t look too fresh and had he been a sprinter I would have heard him way before I saw him.
Mother. Fucker.
He looked at me as though he might object to my petty theft and said, “Unnnnn huh unnnn buuugghhaar!” which might have been his way of expressing his displeasure. I was almost too shocked to get my ass into survival mode (i.e. zombie chopping mode) and was way to shit ass scared to remember that these fuckers have bionic hearing.
The dead guy however, had remembered he was both dead and hungry and began his charge. I scrambled to my feet as I dropped my pack to the floor while simultaneously slipping the axe out. A smooth move, I know. As I freed the axe from its strap I crouched and swept the axe around just below his knee, severing it neatly and dropping him over to my left. Timber!
He landed with a wet thud as I stood up and swung the axe high over my head and into the top of his skull. Thwop! I pulled the head of the axe out of the head of the dead guy (see what I did there?) with a meaty swick! then went looking for something to clean it off with when I noticed something even more disturbing than one dead guy attempting to sink his teeth into my tender, nubile flesh. The back door was wide open.
Worse, a conga line of dead were bustling in. Shit! I grabbed my pack and began to maneuver my way to the front door carefully checking around me to make sure another one of these Jim Dandies didn’t sneak up on me. The shufflers were now pouring in through the back but hadn’t figured out where I was.
I made it to the front without incident and scrambled through the opening. I slowly and carefully, mind you, backed out of the store watching for any of the shufflers that might follow me and slowly and carefully, mind you, backed right into a trio of the fuckers. Fuck.
FUCK!
The first one must have been someone important while she was alive since she was dressed in a sharp business skirt and white, buttoned down shirt looking very, well, sharp. What I assumed would have been a very expensive matching jacket had long since parted ways with her but she still looked pretty hot in her tight, white blouse, slightly chewed upon arm, and hot “fuck me” skirt. Her face was intact as well as the rest of her “exploding out of my clothing” body so she must have been bit but then got away only to die later of the infection. Either way, she was on me like a dog on a squirrel. Worse, another one had grabbed me by the pack and was busily trying to sink his teeth into something vital. These fucker were strong!
The third one actually seemed to be helping me by getting all up in the grill of little Miss Dead Hotty Totty each trying their damned best to get a little bite of me. So let me recap: three zombies in front of me, more trying to get through the hole in the market’s front door, and a SUV blocking the only other escape route. So I did what every teenage girl in every horror move known to man does in this situation: I fell down.
As I dropped, the dead guy on my pack lost his grip and the two others fell over on top of me. I reached out and grabbed the framed of the SUV and pulled with all of my might kicking like a pissed off cheerleader, then grabbed some pipe or knob or whatever the fuck cars are made out of and pulled again, then again until I was all the way under the SUV landing blow after blow on the dead chick behind me. She looked really pissed and all she got for her effort was a mouth full of my boots. I kept pulling until I reached the other side then crawled out from under the SUV as the three on the other side wiggled there way under it. I got to my feet and hauled ass as fast as I could down the street and away from the Walgreen of Death and ran for nearly a half mile until I could see the coast was almost clear.
What a fuck up! Somewhere Darwin was laughing saying to himself “not gonna make it to seventeen.”
Fuck you, Darwin.
By some miracle I was not currently being gnawed on by a bunch of dead people and donating my flesh to the Save the Starving Zombies campaign. To make sure I didn’t blindly bump into another group, I slowed to a stop, looked around in all directions, then leaned over and puked. “Take that asphalt,” I said as I wiped the stringy goo from my mouth.
I finished puking, then stood up and looked around more slowly this time, carefully assessing the situation you might say (Powdered Toast Man fans? Ren and St
impy fans? Anyone?). Lots of smoke all around from different buildings on fire, shots far off in the distance but no more sirens and alarms and what not, and a helicopter here and there. A few blocks away I could see dead shuffling around. How did I know they were dead, you ask? Fuck you, that’s how.
Alright, if they had been alive they would have been moving in one direction or another not just wandering around in circles. Unless they were retarded. Then they may have been wandering around in circles. Whatever. You’re retarded.
I resumed my jog north and soon enough the police station came up on my left. The front doors weren’t just open, they were torn off like someone, or many someones, or more likely many dead someones had pulled the things off of their very sturdy and reinforced hinges. Smoke billowed out from the upper floors and water poured out the front down the steps. So there was unlikely to be anyone alive in there but you could bet your granny’s drawers there would be a few dead hanging out.
I carefully walked up the front steps, dropped my pack near the railing, and pulled out my axe which was still covered in Walgreen Dude’s gore. Yech! Oh, well, I’d take care of that later. I stepped into the station’s lobby and into a mini rainstorm. Water from the fire suppression system was still pouring down creating a small monsoon in the lobby. I looked carefully around and couldn’t see anything moving, but I didn’t assume anything. As a matter of fact, I assumed there would be a whole fucking butt-load of dead in here somewhere. Take that, Rule Number Three!
I made my way back behind the receptionist’s desk and into where the cops parked their asses and ate donuts, looking for any guns that had to be stashed in every nook and cranny of the place. After a half hour of searching, I realized that my TV training had betrayed me. There wasn’t so much as a pop gun to be had lying around. They must all be locked up somewhere.
I moved deeper into the semi-lit darkness of the station. Some of the light from outside was coming in and there were a few emergency lights still on, but overall the entire place was full of shadows and gloominess and hiding places for the dead. I finally reached the back where the entrance to the holding cells were. I was not the fuck going back there. Uh, uh. If someone was still alive and locked in a cell, too fucking bad.