DarklyEverAfter

by Allistar Parker

  We walked in the pond soaking our ankles in the cool blue. She held my hand tightly as we ambled upon a lamb feeding in the tall grasses. “How cute,” she said as she stroked his wool.

  I kissed her again, deeper and stronger than I thought possible. Her coal-black eyes stared at me as I leaned away. As the lamb walked off, we followed.

  The hillside glistened as the morning dew melted away. The grass under our bodies felt like a carpet of green. So enticing was the velvet slope that we just lay under the rising sun and watched as the birds drifted on the wind. A cloud would pass by and she would say it looked like some animal she adored. The only thing I ever saw in them was her imagination peering through the mist.

  I reached over and kissed her cheek, a soft kiss spawning a lingering blush as I trailed back. The sweet smell of honeysuckle drifted by on the breeze. She turned to kiss my neck, then my shoulders. I smoothed the tangles in her hair as she kissed her way to my nipples, taut with anticipation. I closed my eyes, hoping she never stopped.

  Her long nails flittered over my stomach and under my waistband, greedily digging in my pants before wrestling to straighten out my manhood now tangled in my shorts from the sudden rise. Her gentle touch was all I needed to make me turgid and uncomfortable. I loved the way she stretched it against my belly. My own hands had wandered to her chest, playing in her mountains before fumbling my way into her hairy garden.

  Her hair was so soft it felt like the velvety down on a chick’s back, but much longer. I twirled my finger around several times, swirling her hair in a twisted fashion before moving on to her robustly covered lips. I never felt as much hair around a woman’s gape as she had. She always had hair, nothing like what I always dreamed she would have.

  I found myself slipping my finger into her abode, freshly dampened by my touch. She, of course, had long since begun to stroke my dick with the elegance of a golden touch and smooth pressure. Teasing me with slow strokes to the tip of my penis followed by rapid descents to my balls brought me delightful agony.

  I mimicked her strokes, plunging my two fingers deep into her pussy before slowly drawing them over her clitoris. I dallied, on this occasion, on her hood piercing, drawing sighs from her. With each stroke she pulled in a full lung of air, so quiet and dainty, I thought she might have stopped breathing all together. But the rush of air as she exhaled blew a hot breath across my face.

  As quickly as we started, she stopped. Walking along the hillside, we crossed a fence and stood on the edge of a field, dark and musky, with the smell of freshly plowed dirt drifting through the air. I couldn’t help but notice my love was naked, her hips stained bronze by the sun. The glorious view of her buttocks standing against a swollen sun was breathtaking. I felt alive and vibrant. This beauty was mine, and the world could now see it.

  We sat on a bench just past the well. I poured a cooling dipper of water over her breasts just to watch her nipples harden again. The river of water flowed over her belly and became lost in her forest. It was too inviting to ignore. I bent down to lap the droplets from her locks. My tongue lapped at her crevice trying to dry away the water, but the more I lapped, the wetter she became. She shivered as I flicked my tongue along the edges of her lips, cleansing them to a light glimmer.

  The little graveyard just south of our cottage seemed so dismal in the noontime sun. No shadows. No gentle breeze. Just an oppressive heat. I lay on the spot I had chosen as my own final resting place next to my wife’s grave. I opened my eyes. Staring at the bright light in the sky, my eyes focused on the pendulous breasts as she straddled my chest and allowed her pussy to consume my dick. The slow slide down took what seemed like hours to reach bottom on my groin. She watched my face for some reaction to her motions, I presume. I tried to hide my pleasure, but she took all the struggle out of me and I began to murmur, then moan, feeling the orgasm flow over me. She had me. In that instance, I felt her come, and with her orgasm came a flood of tears, curses and spasms. Exhausted, we collapsed together, under the bright light.

  “I waited for you,” she said.

  “It is much better when we come together.”

  She agreed. With the last bit of earthly energy, we floated into the light, gone from this world and to a place where love lasts forever.

  The Woman’s World

  Chapter Nine Zombie Center

  In my youth, we played games until the sun set behind the trees at the park. As a teen, I loved the summer warmth that allowed us to bask in the sunlight in our bikinis and have boys stare at our bare midriffs. I loved the beach and the frolicking around in the water. There was even a goodly hint of mischief under the pier after sunset.

  I must admit to spending so much time staring at girls that it became obvious to that one special girl, Tina. She was a bronzed beauty with average tits but the most beautiful butt you have ever seen. She caught me staring at it on several occasions before she confronted me in the shade of the pier.

  “That’s not very polite. My butt is getting hot from those piercing stares.” She moved under the shade and sat next to me.

  “I wasn’t staring. I was watching the boys roughhouse in the waves.”

  Looking toward the water, she had me. There were no boys or men, just some kids with plastic shovels and buckets. I had to confess. She took it well, like last summer when I told her that I hated my Mom’s attitude toward our neighbor, Jenny. She smiled and agreed she had a great butt and liked to look. To my surprise, she also said she liked the look of my breasts.

  “They look so soft and inviting. Can I touch one?”

  The thought of her wanting to touch me started my heart beating. I could hardly untie my top from around my neck with my hands trembling as they were. With my nipples hard as stones, I felt every single gust of wind blowing across my chest.

  I lived a lifetime full of doubt in the seconds she took to cross the distance between us. Her gentle caress of my breast sent a shiver down my spine. I almost fainted when she bent over and began to suck on my nipple, not hard, mind you, but soft and inviting. I just wanted to reach out and kiss her, but it was too late. She forced her tongue down my throat as a burst of energy coursed over my body, leaving me weak from the experience.

  There was no end to our passion in sight. For weeks, we hid in barns, buildings, locker rooms and any hiding place we could find to copulate and explore each other’s body. There were days when I thought I had a finger permanently implanted in my vagina and a beautiful mouth attached to my boobs. My fingers were wrinkled from all the time I spent in her wet spots.

  With every good thing, there comes something evil. Ours came in a package too small to see and to devastating to conquer. The first wave killed Tina. She was so fragile and weak from a cold she and I had been passing back and forth that she couldn’t fight off the monster. Left stricken and dying, she was shot by the police. It was a mercy killing, but still the pain of losing her kept me crying for weeks.

  When the first wave ended, I learned to hate the summer. In those three months, I lost our youth to a virus so heinous we didn’t have time to fight. The winter times brought on fewer deaths, with the heavier clothes and shorter days. The monsters just went home early.

  But, there were good days and bad. Some women were immune to it. Some women fought off the disease and became immune. To a young lady of twenty, it seemed like the universal norm was to fight against dying young.

  The old and weak people went first. Then the baby-boomers. Some survived, but the great majority died off before we knew the cure.

  That included my good friend, Tom. He was just twenty-four when the disease attacked him on a street corner near the post office. His ravaged body looked more like green hamburger than a human. At the funeral, I could hardly watch his body as they lowered him into the furnace. I missed him, loved him, but I couldn’t watch him consumed in the fire, no more than I could have watched him be consumed by the infected. Now, there were two close losses to the enemy.

  We fought the monste
r valiantly with antibiotics, masks, and old timey spats, those leather shoe covers that our great grandmother wore to hide her ankles. We looked funny parading around in long pants and hot garbs even in the summer, but there was a modicum of safety in the clothing. They couldn’t bite your ankle. They couldn’t scratch your thighs.

  We learned survival tricks as well. Walking in the park alone was not a good idea. Pairing up in bed became the normal thing to do. Cuddling up next to a he-man became a nightly ritual. With all those muscles and adrenalin going around, a new and larger baby boom was inevitable. With all those couples crowded into small apartments and everyone assigned a bed partner, even I had thoughts of being held by a guy.

  Everyone learned judo and karate. Those infected with the zombie virus didn’t live long, but they sure bit and scratched a bunch of people before they died. They were slow but strong. Know one of the martial arts gave us the advantage.

  With the attacks, the virus spread. What once started in a small town outside of Toronto had now spread to our little village just south of Richmond, Virginia. With the baby boom, there were plenty of targets for the zombies to attack. Even though they were slow, the pregnant women were slower and an easy target.

  Funny how things work out, though. The baby boom caused by the zombies was now the cure. Someone somewhere noticed that babies who were nursing never got sick. A few of the guys didn’t get sick when they were bitten, either. Discovering the link between the two was genius, and I’m proud to say that a group of lesbians realized that it was mother’s milk that would save us. All those uninfected people had one thing in common. They were drinking mother’s milk.

  Even though this wasn’t a cure, it was a way of surviving. A person could drink mother’s milk once a week and be safe from all but the most severe of attacks by the zombies. Some scientists even tried curing zombies by injecting mother’s milk into a few specimens, but had little success except for getting a few lab assistants eaten.

  In a few months, every little town had conscripted a few women for work in a hastily built clinic to distribute mother’s milk to the community. With all the pregnant women floating around, it didn’t take long before the place was a afloat in milk, twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.

  My first time in the clinic felt funny. I had dreamed of suckling a fair, young lady many nights in my dreams, but this was different. Sauntering up to a topless stranger, sliding over her lap and having her stick her nipple in my mouth felt so Stanley Kubrick I procrastinated to the last minute before going. I was so nervous about touching another woman’s breasts that I almost fainted. I hoped she would understand that although I yearned to fondle a woman’s breast, it was a secret that only I knew and I had never even acted upon it. I hoped the woman would be appreciative of how hard I struggled not to over-fondle her breasts and how hard I would have to fight against my natural urges. It had to be just business. Silly me, I never even thought that maybe she didn’t care one way or another.

  Just like every other Friday since the discovery of the treatment, I trod to the Zombie Virus Treatment Center to get my dose of mother’s milk. I enjoyed those trips, not from a sexual view, but I loved the mothering feeling of nestling up to the woman’s breast and sliding my lips around her nipple. The soothing feeling of warm milk squirting in my mouth reminded me of what mothering was supposed to be.

  I didn’t like to think of the women as machines like the others did. They were more than just women who survived a zombie attack and had their milk infused with zombie anti-virus. They were the young women, old women, and mothers with families, friends, and lovers who found for the first time the need to come to their neighbors’ aid. They gave up their days, nights and weekends to allow the rest of us human's life without the fear of a zombie existence.

  Over the course of time, I had become fond of the woman in stall number three. Tall, blond and with perky lips and a pink complexion. I gauged my position in line to help insure I ended up at her stall. If I guessed wrong, most people were cordial enough to trade places, all except that fat boy with the pimply skin and greasy hair. I think Number Three didn’t like him much, anyway. I heard her tell him to stop biting on several occasions.

  Biting was a big no-no. Even wrapping your lips around the girls’ nipples was frowned upon. Some women would let you suckle them once you got to know them, maybe after a few months. It was a gift they gave to you for the appreciation you showed them.

  Number Three and I had this relationship for some time. With her smallish breasts and tiny nipples, it was much easier for me to suckle the milk from her. The milk flowed down my throat without spilling a drop on her skirt or mine. Squirting was so garish, so pedestrian. Suckling her was so refined and natural. I must also admit, it was so sexy. I had to fight not to orgasm. Even Number Three was disturbingly excited by my tongue. Often, when lying in her lap, I could feels her muscles contract as a small, quiet moan escaped her lips.

  On that fateful day, the rain kept coming down just east of us. The sun rising over the trees filtered through the clouds in a beautiful rainbow. The longer I stared at the sight, the more amazed I was at the colors of the arc painted in the sky. I was so infatuated with the sight that I completely missed the signs, the unkept clothes, the monstrous face, and the telltale dragging foot. I spoke as he shuffled by, just a friendly gesture between two people passing under God’s great artwork. Had I not spoken, he might not have even noticed me and passed along the trail to never be seen by me again.

  The bite on my neck was so swift that I didn’t even notice the deep scratch on my other leg. I tossed the old guy to ground before kicking him in his privates. The look of agony on his face brought a rainbow sized smile to mine. When I severed his head from his body with my retractable sword, I thought how lucky I was to be sane in this world of crazy.

  The blood dampened my socks. As I walked I noticed a burning creeping up to my knees. It was spreading. My white pants turned red, then green with the poisons running up my body. Time was short. I needed to reach the center before I was consumed and doomed forever.

  I ran to the car. Firing up my vintage Beetle, I jabbed the car into first gear and peeled out of the parking space. The roar of the engine drowned out the easy listening music I was enjoying just minutes before. Speeding passed the donut shop attracted the attention of a policeman parked there. The sirens screamed loudly when the police caught up with me. I tried to convince the 911 operator this was an emergency. Nothing I said to them stopped the sirens and blue lights. When I turned onto the interstate, however, the policeman passed and cleared the way to the zombie center. By the time the center was in sight, the green tinge had reached my bellybutton. Pulling my shirt up, I saw where the skin had rotted away and my ring had fallen from my bellybutton.

  With all the doctors and medical people swarming around me, I could hardly think. The bleeding had stopped while traveling to the center, but the damage was done. The virus needed only a scratch to enter and this old boy had given me a barn door for the virus to enter. The doctors swarmed over me as the nurses rubbed all kinds of stuff over my body from lotions, creams, and poultices. I was exhausted and strained from the events.

  The calming came when I looked over to the doorway and spied Number Three standing there waiting to get into the room. She looked wonderful. For the first time, I saw her in a bra and blouse. The even flow of fabric from her shoulders to her waist actuated her slim figure, but she looked more curvy in the shirt, a look that took her away from the Twiggy look she sported in that stall.

  “Bring her on in,” the doctor said as he moved away from me. I watched the nurses scramble to move all the fancy equipment away and allow the young woman to come close.

  Number Three shed her blouse tossing it on the table as she came to me. Rolling her arms around to her back, she fumbled with the hooks for a few seconds before the bra slid down on her arms to her elbows. As I watched her walk close to me, a drop of milk dribbled down her chest. Cute, I thoug
ht. Very cute. I tried sitting up, but with all the lines and equipment attached to me, I couldn’t get past horizontal.

  Number Three must have done this before. She didn’t stop coming to me until she was straddling my body with her nipples hovering over my mouth. “Leave us,” she said, still concentrating on my eyes.

  The room cleared in a few minutes. I could smell the powdery sent of her cleavage, a scent I dearly love. With the room empty, she slid under the sheet with me, pulling my face into her bosom. I slid my lips around her pink nubs and began to slowly suckle her milk from her body. She was warm and fresh as the milk she produced.

  “Drink, dear. Drink me dry.”

  I wrapped my hand around her breasts and gently pumped it. Spurts of milk shot to the back of my throat, soothing the strains from all the screaming and praying I had done in the car. I felt it working. The numbness in my knees was receding. The cold chills were warming up under her body’s comfort. I knew I would survive.

  We twisted onto our sides for more comfort. Returning my lips to her breast, I sucked hard and deep. I wanted to draw every drop of her milk into me. Not only did I want healing, I wanted her. I wanted to taste her nectar and consume her fluids.

  As I finished the milk in one breast, she shifted to allow me the other. I also noticed she had slipped her hand beneath her sweat pants. I looked up for just a moment to see her eyes were closed and there were furrows in her brow. I saw the sexual tension pouring out of her facial expression. She liked what I was doing.

  When her milk ran dry, I stopped sucking and began gently licking around her nipples and across the little bumps at the edge of her pink circle.

  “Keep licking,” she said with force.