Living amongst the Dead

by J. Morgan

  He didn’t want to speak now; didn’t think he had to, they were both panting so hard from the pleasure, and though he felt bad that already her tightness was bringing on his orgasm, he had to gasp out the warning. “Gonna cum… Tiff baby… agh… I’ll pull… pull out… oh fuck I’m gonna cum…”

  “Noooooo, baby, please… please stay in… do it inside… I want it…” It had taken so many years for her to find herself in a situation to bed a man. Always thinking the men she met were too this or too that. Too fat, too thin, too ‘masculine’ which was a word she hated, too feminine, too meek, too commanding, too obsessed with sex, not sexually appealing enough, blah blah blah blah blah. She FINALLY got with someone who… she hadn’t really chose… but chose her… and she loved it… and was loving this. He was back! She thought he was gone, history, poof, maybe the last man she’d ever have, or at best the last man who won’t beat her then ravage her broken, bleeding body then leave her to die in this unforgiving world.

  She wanted just that; though in her moaned request she called him baby, that was what she wants. Born March 28th, 1981… 36 years, and a little over 5 months old… it took that long for her to finally get with a man… and something in her made her want to… well… not really give that man a child, but to have a child of her own, even if it happened to be his. She wanted a baby. It was a horrible time to get pregnant, she knew, but God damn it… she wanted to be a mother! A MOTHER! ‘MAKE ME A MOTHER!’ She could almost cry it out if not for how ridiculous it would have sounded, but in her mind she was screaming it. This opportunity might never come again if she lost him. Death could come before another man could be found, or upon FINDING another man, he might just have his fun with her, possibly even choosing to fuck her in the ass just for kicks, and then leave her bruised and beaten.

  He could not deny her. To hear a woman ASK to be creampied, there was just no way. He knew just as much as, if not better than, her that this time and in this new world, it was NOT a good to consider having a child. It could LITERALLY mean her death, if not in the vulnerable state of pregnancy, then while giving birth without medical care. Many women before modern technology died during child birth back in the day, and in terms of modern medicine they practically WERE back in the Medieval or Renaissance times.

  “Oh God… It’s coming… are you-?”

  “YES! PLEASE RICHARD! CUM IN ME! Shoot your hot SPUNK deep in m-“

  “AUUGH!... Ohhhhhhh fuck… MMMM!” That final moan was close-mouthed, and almost savage, right hand leaving her breast, grasping her head, and forcing his lips to hers in a taken kiss as she felt that cock throbbing, spurting, twitching, moving so lively inside her, swollen larger than it had been while fucking due to the onset of orgasm, almost reaching deeper and filling her up more. His lips came away from her before long, needing to catch his breath, and the head fell down beside her forehead, breathing roughly on her ear, she started lifting up his shirt.

  It confused him a little, but he exhaustedly, clumsily, let her do so. “I want to feel you against me… please… just hold me… and don’t take it out…” Steadily breathing that rum-scented breath, she didn’t care whether she liked it or not; she kept her legs tight around his waist forcing him to keep his manhood in her which was slowly becoming less energetic in its throbs. The pace of his spurts was slowing; more time between each flexing of his member as the climax slowly began to subside. He lay on top of her, jeans still on, her juices having made the crotch of those jeans wet.

  “Ahh… ahh… tonight… you’re sleeping… with me…” Catching his breath, he spoke in her ear as they hugged. She laughed in reply, moving to hug him with both arms but gasping, hissing, looking left to her hand, his head being on her right. The head came up, looking for and wondering what it was, having forgotten the wound in his drunken adventure of pleasure… some things were best left unsaid, he thought. Right now, in this moment, in each other’s arms, his member beginning to soften inside her tight recently-virgin pussy, he thought of seeing her through the window. In the dark, relieved of a full bladder, through the living room window, he had seen her adjusting herself consciously, moving her clothing; her pants, shifting herself lower, and so knew what he had to do if he found her still pretending to be asleep upon his return. Or well, not what he HAD to do, but damn sure what he WANTED to do.

  “I’ll have a look… at that fer ye… ju-“

  Her legs and right arm tightened on him, “Just a little longer?” It was a hurried response; not wanting him to take it out of her… nor indeed... wanting him to let go of their hug yet. It was his turn to gently laugh.

  “Babe…” it was such a gentle whisper, and she felt his grip on her strengthen, “I was about to say, ‘just give me a little bit’… I didn’t want to let go just yet.” Her eyes softened, threatened to leak. A sniffle. He smiled at her tenderness, at how such a rough, hard woman could still be swayed by romantic gestured which he himself enjoyed. He was soft now; it had gotten close to its normal, modest, flaccid size, though still somewhat swollen from the recent erection. She’d felt it get smaller inside her, enjoyed it, it was as though she could feel him becoming satisfied; a sign of how much he had enjoyed her, and indeed she had relished in having him again. Then it slid out in spite of their hips still being together, and he began to get up.

  Her right hand shot down, going flat against her womanhood, wishing to keep the semen from slipping out onto the couch, not for the couch’s sake, but because she wanted to keep it in her. “Could you… get me a handful of that toilet paper?... and my panties?...” No questions were coming in regards to him fondling her in her sleep, but luckily he already knew why, though she didn’t know that. He did as she asked, handing it to her, she snatched it and brought it down to her crotch, legs bent at the knees so he can sit down on the couch as well. He had already pulled his cock into his pants, noted the moisture on the denim there, knowing its source, but didn’t care.

  Grasping her feet, he understood, thought it odd, but went along with it and slid the panties on for her. She smiled in appreciation, having meant no rudeness upon snatching the toilet paper from him, but just not wanting to let his seed slip out. She helped him pull the undies tight to her with the TP trapped up against her womanhood; keeping the semen inside, or at least slowing the pace at which it can leave her feminine entrance.

  “I guess that’s kinda weird, huh?...”

  He was pouring himself another drink, the bottle nearly empty, maybe an ounce left. “Nah, I mean I’ve never seen it done b’fore, but seen it in porno once r’ twice, n’ oi t’ink it’s pretty ‘ot…”

  “Weirdo…”

  “Call me daddy instead, I- hahaha- like that one moare!” He had to laugh; she had playfully kicked his left shoulder with her socked right foot. Her right hand was still between her legs, almost as though it were hiding her pussy from him even though it had a layer of toilet paper and panty fabric between them. “Ahm kiddin’, ahm kiddin’, I mean no ‘arm! I ‘cum’ in peace! Badum-tch!” Simulating drums, he made that stereotypical sound of a joke being told, a pun no less, and she gave a pained but honest laugh.

  “Ohh-ho-ho-ho, really? Cum? You’re into puns?! I ‘cunt’ believe I got stuck wi-hi-hith you-hoo-hoo!” More laughter in her voice as he nudged her right knee with his left elbow, her feet being down on the couch rather than on his crotch or lap for the time being.

  “Alright, ‘nuff ah dat now, did you want me to ‘ave a look at that, er nah?” There was still joy in his tone, a smile on his face in the flickering candlelight, though less like the dopey smile of drunkenness and more like a true smile of contentment. She got up to sitting next to him, a grunt in doing so, feeling so weak and limp from those orgasms, and perhaps also aided by the blood she had lost.

  “Ugh, yeah, it kinda hurts…” she held out the left hand across to him, finding the sensation weird of feeling the paper towel, wet from her juices and his seed, squishing beneath her… but somehow liking the feeling as well considering
what was making it wet.

  “Well o’course it’s gonna hurt, what, ye t’ink, it’s gonna tickle? What did you do anyways?” She explained to him the can, the frustration she felt, was even honest to him that it was because she thought he left, which he admitted to having considered it. That saddened her, but said that she understood. She WAS being quite difficult, and can see that now. Apologized again for the things she said, he apprehensively accepted the apology, asking if she’d just go back to thinking he was a sexist, misogynistic, rapi-… you know… and she shook her head.

  “No way…” she said, “I won’t, I promise…” it was said firmly, right hand holding onto the left sleeve of his shirt as he applied a fresh ‘poor man’s gauze’ to her; the second one that had been soiled by blood was now tossed with the first onto the counter. She twitched and hissed at the discomfort. In the dim light, he could see the cut layer of flesh on top, the red muscle underneath, it was a disgusting sight but one he had seen before when he had suffered a similar injury. Once her bandage was on, explaining it, telling her how it was almost in the exact same spot, he then showed her the scar in the light of the flame on the candles.

  “Couldn’t use me t’umb fer… God… two weeks? T’ree?”

  “T’ree? Haha” she mocked him playfully, which he accepted good naturedly. For two or ‘three’ weeks he couldn’t use his thumb, so she will likely experience a similar situation, if not a bit worse.

  “Yes, ‘t’ree’, well you know, maybe just two; can’t quite remember. It were ‘bout… oh… 6 years ago? 7?”

  “How many stitches?”

  “None. Well, t’mighta been, but I didn’t go to the hospital. Paper towel and duct tape, almost the same as you got dere, and it works like a charm, don’ it?” He wiggled the left thumb, showing that it still functioned no problem, and Tiffany took comfort in the story that he had an injury almost the same as hers but in a slightly different spot… and uh… kind of… significantly smaller. The scar itself was little more than 1cm wide, but assured her that the cut itself had been wider. Then out came his pocket knife, fingers coming to the blade roughly to the point where he figured it went the deepest.

  Actually SEEING the blade, the very one that he had accidentally stabbed himself with, she grimaced, imagining the pain, though then realizing that what she had was apparently worse. He was remarkably easy to talk to now that she was giving him an honest chance, and he was enjoying her company in turn. Maybe they COULD work this out… the sight of her pointing her rifle at him and pulling the trigger was still horrifyingly fresh in his mind, so the thought of seeing her with a firearm again was unsettling, but maybe someday he will be able to trust her with one. Next, came the story of his morning and afternoon. The deer, the car accident in the rock cut which cut off any chance of vehicles traversing the road to the east, the corpses, the loaded shotgun, the Glock in the cadaver’s holster which he left behind, and she nodded in understanding. She had seen valuable stuff on corpses in Strathcom, but it had decayed matter on it. Washing it off was doable, but getting rid of the smell? Blegh.

  “Strathcom! That’s a cool name. I’d asked you the town’s name before but either you didn’t tell me or I forgot.” He snapped his fingers, finally getting the answer to the question he asked back in the truck. He liked it!

  “I can’t remember… it was… kind of intense…” Her smile had faded, thinking of that truck, remembering the vicious questioning, the ‘molestation’ which was an odd thing to call something she had secretly enjoyed so much.

  “I’m sorry… I guess I might have gone a little far…” An honest apology, even though he could remember the anger of her when the feminist had tried to shoot him. In truth, he hadn’t really meant it, but it seemed the right thing to do at this moment. Her response was relieving.

  “Considering… well… before that… I… well…” She was struggling with her words a lot as she looked down at the bandaged hand, pants still left off, though having put on her bra with his help, pulled down the blouse, however left the white jacket or cardigan or whatever open. “Look, I’m not used to this… honesty, alright? Please, don’t use this stuff against me?” he was already shaking his head, telling her he wouldn’t, but she didn’t want there to be any uncertain terms, “It’s hard to trust someone if they joke about things… especially if those things are serious…”

  “I understand, Tiffany… I do…” He was leaning over to her, left arm over her shoulders, right hand on the back of her right hand, which she soon turned over so as to hold onto him.

  “I kind of… in a weird way… sort of… I mean it was the first time a man had ever… well except for a little bit of playing around when I was a teenager but… I mean it was so intense… and though your um… your slaps hurt… definitely didn’t like those… not that hard anyways… but I sort of… In a way-“

  “Liked it?” He wasn’t smiling, to her relief when she looked up at him, but he seemed genuinely curious. Not in a way like ‘what is wrong with this chick’, but in a way like ‘I wonder what she is into… maybe we could try it later.’ Still she was apprehensive as she nodded. “I see…” that was almost spoken too seriously, like he just learned she had cancer or something, “I mean, that’s cool. It’s hot. We could, o’course wit a safe word in place, exper’mint with tha’. Learn what yer into.”

  “A safe word? Experiment? How um… how long have you been… you know…” she was eyeing him with worried curiosity, and the question was posed in a manner that she pretty much demanded an answer because she thought that he was a little too comfortable with the concept of enjoying bondage. Tiffany was afraid that he would think she was a weirdo, a pervert, a sicko, or something like that. She was reaching for the can of beans on the coffee table now, starving after all that, and even he was feeling peckish in spite of having already eaten his but didn’t feel like cooking some deer meat. He got the beans for her; going ahead and helping her eat it since one of her hands were out of commission. She thanked him.

  “Fuckin’?” The question had been answered without much of any grace, the question regarding how long he’s been, basically, sexually active.

  “For lack of a better term.” She said it bluntly, wishing for him to fess up, chewing a mouthful of food.

  “Actually lost me virginity rather late; 17. Most people my age, I find, has lost it when they’re ‘round 14-16, some even earlier.” Her eyes widened at that, an expression of concerned marvel on her face.

  “So young…” she muttered, mostly to herself, and he nodded.

  “Yeah, t’irteen years ol’? I mean sure, I started jerkin’ off at dat age, but it’s WAY too young fer sex. Anyways, though I’ve only been sexually active-“

  “Better term.” She put in as he spoke, which he smirked at. It would seem she appreciated it more than calling it ‘fucking’, and definitely found amusement in the way he pronounced ‘thirteen’ when drunk.

  “-heh, well fer ‘bout a decade I guess. I realize talkin’ ‘bout such t’ings is, I dunno, rude or off-pudding or somet’ing like tha’ with… well y’know… people you’re ‘with’, but to put it in a vague term…” she was looking at him with narrow eyes, head leaned away from his, expecting to hear something she didn’t like. “… It’s been a fairly active decade for the most part… if that’s not an unpleasant thing to say.” Though the booze was still making his accent prominent, she had found herself having less and less difficulty in quickly understanding him.

  She frowned at his smile, which he couldn’t shake, both because of his drunkenness and because he was proud of his track record. Trying to look past it, more apprehension came as she asked if he had done things like that before. The last spoonful of beans were brought to her as he told of how this might not be the best topic of conversation.

  “Are you sure you want to hear about my past love life?...”

  “Well when you put it like that, yeah, I mean no, it’s best I don’t know. I think I’m probably the jealous type…”
he could see that being a thing, but couldn’t help but shake a joke. He stretched exaggeratedly, his arms flexing a bit, intentionally, an open-mouthed grin on his face as he grunted from the evident ‘stretching’.

  “Ugh, nnnnn-HAaaaaa… well… you’re gonna have to watch yerself, honey… because the women are all over me… I swear to God, sometimes I think they’d just like to eat me alive.” He continued flexing, the mock stretching now turning into blatant ‘showing off’ as his biceps bulged. It wasn’t herculean, or like that of a body builder, but he was a man of strength to be sure, so there was bulk to those arms and she could see it in full now.

  “All right, all right, down boy, easy now, you’ll scare me with your biiiig guuuuns.” It was dripping with sarcasm as it left her mouth, rolling her eyes, hand coming up to the bicep to try and pull it down, but he wouldn’t let her budge it for a moment. Grunting, straining, appearing to be trying to puff himself up, right arm now curled down along his stomach like a body builder moved their body to show off various sections of muscle. It wasn’t long until he let out a breath and the left arm that she was pulling down dropped. She rather did like the feeling of his flexed bicep, even gave it a little squeeze while it had been flexed. He noticed, but he’d mockingly built up his ego enough, and she didn’t want to feed it any more than it had already been fed by the squeeze.