3 comments/ 22820 views/ 12 favorites Zombie Sex By: rikkitampa2014 Can you get STD's from a zombie? That's just about my only remaining question now that I am on the receiving end of sexual intercourse--sometimes unprotected, I must confess--with the two beta zombies, both male, living in my basement. As I'm sure everyone knows, following the outbreak of the socalled Z-H224-A virus just over a year ago, a virus that infected hundreds of thousands and turned them into roaming, homeless, often murderous zombies, the latter have been classified into two groups. Alpha zombies are the murderous, cannibalizing ones that have struck fear into an entire nation (and Canada), zombies that must be destroyed on sight and their bodies burned. A second category, beta zombies, though infected with the same virus as alphas, have somehow managed to stave off, perhaps via stronger immune systems (the reason remains a medical mystery), the worst ravages of the disease and are relatively harmless, and sociable. A beta zombie might run after you and bite you, but cannibalization is usually not in the equation. Beta zombies have been rounded up by the tens of thousands and dispatched to various "contamination camps" around the country, where they receive various experimental treatments in the hope their lives can be saved. Of course, some progress to full alpha zombie stage and must be destroyed, and burned. It's a nightmare situation for everyone involved. Especially the zombies. While it is a federal crime to hide, house or protect a beta zombie from the authorities, it is common knowledge that many, like myself, for various reasons, usually humanitarian, have. The Supreme Court has recently agreed to hear a case regarding whether hiding a beta zombie from authorities actually constitutes a "federal crime." The Supremes will consider the case following their Indian summer recess. As for my two horny beta zombies, I discovered them in my livingroom eating snacks and watching shemale porn on my flatscreen one late afternoon, after work. They'd broken in through the back door (they claimed it was open). Upon discovering them I considered my options: run upstairs and get my Sig Sauer...or punch 911 into my smart phone. In a panic, I did the latter. At which point two zombies fell to their knees and began clawing at my pantslegs, begging for mercy. Their words were garbled but from what I could tell they were saying--claiming--no beta zombie who ever enters one of the government "contamination camps" ever leaves it alive. That was the rumor among zombies, I guessed. One of the zombie intruders--I now call him Tom--got up off his knees and ran to the kitchen counter where a hardcopy of the New York Times lay. He shook it in my face as if to say: Are you not a liberal? A humanitarian? Have you no shame? Sir? I sighed. I agreed the two of them could stay in my basement while I thought the situation through. That was six months ago. However, I admit, good liberal that I am, I did tuck my nine millimeter Sig into the waistband of my pantyhose. And yes, I AM a crossdresser. I feed my resident zombies, christened Tom and Jerry (Jerry is the taller one, with the bigger cock), Walmart-brand dog food which I buy in bulk. They love it! Dog food twice a day, laced with heavy-dose antibiotics I bribe my pharmacist, Zaid, to supply, and lots of fresh water. Because they're zombies, or half-zombies, they're perfectly happy sitting in second-hand Lazy-boys watching TV all day. Or hard-core porn. And because they're zombies, stoked by all those antibiotics, they seem to have an endless store of greenish semen to shoot. This I've come to know all too well. They're messy--but no more so than a couple of college kids. I've had to re-toilet train them but they do a pretty good job. Three times a week I descend the basement stairs in my padded bra, matching panties, pantyhose and half-heel slings to clean the place up. I wash their dog bowls out (I used to take in stray dogs, now I take in stray zombies!) tidy up the place then go to the bathroom, get on my stockinged knees and scrub the toilet. They stand over me and watch as I do this, breathing heavily and grunting like cavemen. "Maybe you guys could be a little more careful where you piss and shit. And shoot your green cum. You think?" It's like talking to a couple of rescued dogs. Hopeless. Early on, after my "rescue," I was leaving the basement bathroom, cleaning products in hand, when Jerry put his decaying paws on my hips, from behind, pressed his beer-can-sized cock against my pantied crack, and made a fucking motion. Like a horny dog. "Wait," I said. Then I ran upstairs to my bedroom, traded in the Sig for Magnum condoms and some K-Y in my bedside drawer, and reentered the basement. Dropping to my knees I first sucked Jerry's huge, greyish, zombie cock then rolled a condom down it and lubed it up. He took me from behind, on my hands and knees, yanking my pantyhose and panties down with such aggressive force it made me wonder: Sex first? Then murder? Then a meal? But at least he had enough animal instinct left to know where to find a hole, which he plowed into, painfully at first, before quickly, prematurely filling condom's receptacle end with loads of his greenish cum. Meanwhile "Tom" stood over us watching. Waiting. Wanting. After Jerry finished I condomed him and he took his turn. He was smaller, thinner, but only relatively so. And he had more stamina. He fucked me for twenty minutes before, with a crescendo of animal grunts, he emptied his load into the condom in my ass. I was so thrilled--with my horny gay zombie tops--I went to the store and bought a carton of those frou-frou cans of dog food. The tiny ones with the picture of the Westie on the front. They lapped it up, right out of the can. Tom cut his tongue and blackish blood ran down his chin. He grinned. I went and got a bandaid. I ascended the basement stairs and locked the door. I had a captive pair of horny tops (albeit zombies) in my basement. I was in bottom's heaven! It has continued like this ever since. Typically Tom fucks me first (because he is smaller) while I suck Jerry's enormous dick. Then they switch off. Occasionally things get confused and a bare cock enters by ass. It's hard to keep track. Or to keep them in line. Even zombies hate condoms. And then once one zombie cums in me the other wants to. (They're incredibly jealous of each other!) So I'll look around and say, "Christ! Did you cum in me?" And all the zombies do is grin their largely toothless grins. Like a couple of cast members from the movie 'Deliverance.' More on zombie cum. Or at least MY zombies' cum. It's unbelievably copious. Instead of a spoonful or two we're talking more like a syringeful! It's as if their big, gray, swollen testicles are working overtime to produce jism. As I said, I tend to attribute this to all the antibiotics. Although maybe it's the dogfood. In addition to being green, or green-ISH, their cum is also exceptionally thick. And somewhat lumpy. It's almost like cottage cheese that has been injected with a green dye. And there's so much of it being pumped into my dilated hole that, after the one zombie finishes and the other takes his place, he's not only pumping his big cock IN me, he's pumping the other zombie's semen OUT of me. Call it Sloppy Seconds I guess. As I'm being fucked I can feel the exiting cum running from my hole down my balls and dripping to the floor. After they're both done with me the size of the wet spot on the second-hand mattresses I've thrown down for them is enormous. The rough diameter, say, of a large birdbath. Which incidentally I use for their water bowl. On many occasions, recently, I've ascended the basement stairs holding a cleaning cloth between my butt-cheeks, to catch the seemingly endless outflow. Then it's off to bathroom for a hot cleansing shower, or a self-satisfied, sore-assed jacuzzi. I had bloodwork done recently and everything was normal. So it looks like my fears of zombie infection are so far unfounded. They say it takes a skin-puncturing bite. But then again "they" claimed the first victims of the zombie virus had the swine flu. Speaking of bites. I had a dream a few weeks ago that I was sleeping on some kind of table and woke up (in the dream) to discover a zombie (not one of MY zombies I don't think) cannibalizing my testicles. He'd already ripped them from my scrotum with his sharp teeth. There was no pain but bright red blood was everywhere. And green cum. The zombie devouring my "manhood" lifted his head and looked at me with a kind of a grin--one that revealed my two little sac-less gray-blue testicles (they looked like oval eyeballs) between his teeth. He chomped down. I woke up in a sweat. I was so shaken I called in sick to work the next day. And it was a while before I descended the basement stairs without the nine millimeter Sig tucked into the waist of my pantyhose. Then I reminded myself it was a dream, not an omen. (I hope.) And I've since lightened up. Besides, when we play "zombie rape" and one of them yanks my pantyhose down, the gun falls out. That could be dangerous. My beta zombies aren't so far gone that they haven't retained some of the vocabulary from their former lives. Monosyllables. "Gun," instance. "Dick," is popular, as is the aforementioned "hole." "Maid," they call me when I'm down on my stockinged knees scrubbing their filthy toilet and the surrounding floor. "Girl," when they're fucking me. "Fag," ditto. And "siss," which I assume is short for sissy. As opposed to sister. "Slut" is another popular one. "Bit"--short for bitch? "Dog," when I put their food down. And when I get in receiving position on my hands and knees. "Pig," directed at me, while still in position, is another. This will give you a flavor of the kind of "conversations" my zombies and I have. Tell me if this is a good idea. With Halloween right around the corner, I intend to let my zombies upstairs to hand out candy to the kids. I figure it's low risk--people, including any neighborhood snitches, will just assume they're friends of mine in costumes. I, of course, per usual for Halloween, will be in full drag. Blonde, shoulder-length wig I think, for this occasion. Or maybe the dyed-pink one. In addition to "manning" the blender, whipping up my famous papaya margaritas, I'll be keeping an especially close eye on the "boys." You know, in case they get to be just a little bit TOO scary. Or decide to wolf down the Halloween candy themselves, bags and all. Wrappers and all. I can hear myself now: "Hey, you two! That's for the kids!" Or, God forbid, if they decide to chase after one of the female children, dressed in her older sister's (or mother's) shopping-at-the-mall slut outfits. Or dressed as Tinkerbell. Since sex with a slut--or a fairy, or "fair" as they like to say--is pretty much all they've known these past six months. "Hey, get back here! Leave that kid alone! And no biting!" For you see, while living with zombies has its rewards, it also has its many challenges. I'm hoping that after the doorbell has rung for the last time, and all the leftover candy has been devoured, and the blender drained of its last drop of tequila-laced papaya, we can retire to the basement (or perhaps, even, to my bedroom) for some post-Halloween zombie sex. I'd like to do something different for the special occasion. Instead of cuming in my over-burdened hole, I'd like them, perhaps both at the same time, to jack their big gray zombie cocks on my face. I'd like to watch their thick, clotty loads shooting out. Like to feel it hitting my face. My eyelids. My cheeks. My open mouth. I'd like to taste it, to swallow it. I'd like to feel it running slowly down my face and dripping from my chin onto my chest, my falsy-filled bra. I'd like to watch thick green puddles of it form. I'd like to be drenched in it. The trick...the trick will be successfully communicating to the zombies what I have in mind. I'll be like a porn director attempting to communicate to actors who speak a different language. Since they're used to gaining entry to my cumhole by yanking my panties down should I--maybe? you think?--trick them by pulling a pair of panties ass-first over my head? Trick AND treat! Zombie Soldiers April 12, 201X Dr. Megan Davis ran her fingers through her long red hair. Usually, it was kept in a tight bun at the back of head, but it was after midnight now as she poured over the latest reports coming out of Afghanistan. She adjusted her reading glasses on the end of her nose as exhaustion made it even more difficult to focus on the words. She realized that at forty-two she looked exactly like every man's fantasy of an old maid librarian. It was not too far from the truth actually, except for the librarian bit, of course. Megan was a psychiatrist. Her specialty was PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and she had spent the last decade working as a civilian contractor for the military, helping returning service men and women to process the ravages of war that they had seen. It was a job close to her own heart. Her father, what little she could remember of him, had been a victim of what they still called Shell Shock back then. His time in Vietnam had eventually cost him not only his wife and children, but his life at the end of his service revolver. Megan was determined to do her best to keep other children from the same fate. But what she had never counted on was this latest, a new plight that was baffling the best scientists. They had not even been able to agree on a name for it. Instead it was simply called Codename Zombie. The Center for Disease Control was working along experts from all branches of the military to identify the pathogen, but with no luck. Bacteria, virus or chemical agent, no one could decide. It was called The Zombie sickness because of its unique physical symptoms. From what little, the doctors could find out it began almost like the common flu with a high fever, body aches, chills and a killer headache. But unlike a flu from which most people recovered this illness progressed rapidly. The soldiers quickly showed signs of memory loss and lowered inhibitions, psychological symptoms which necessitated her skills. But worse was to come. Boils brook out across their bodies that burst and seeped pus. Their core temperature dropped to something that would usually be incompatible with life, the low to mid fifties in Fahrenheit and their skin took on a greyish appearance. Over the course of a couple of days, the subject's mental faculties deteriorated to the point that they were more like our primate cousins than the honorable men they had once been. And that was the other thing, the disease seemed to only effect males. At first everyone had assumed that it was because the strict military combat restrictions prevented females from coming into contact with whatever anti-gen was causing the illness. But this new report noted that two women had been in the same platoon as the latest victims of the disease, but they showed no sign of developing the sickness. Megan stretched and rubbed her hand across her face. She should go to bed, but she could not. While she might play a minor role with this team, her job merely to find some way of communicating with the victims once the disease progressed so that the other scientist could collect as much data as possible, it was a task that weighed gravely upon her. What she could not forget was the ultimate outcome of the disease, autopsies showed that the frontal lobe, the portion of the brain that made us uniquely human, capable of higher level thoughts and moral reasoning, was virtually liquefied in the final stages of the illness. Megan stared at the report forty-seven deaths to date, another two dozen in various stages of the illness, and five missing and presumed dead. The numbers might seem small, the whole thing top secret and hidden as of yet from the American public. Even the families were not told how their loved one had died. The military simply explained their deaths had been so horrific it felt it best to cremate the bodies. She shook her head, a couple of families had protested that it was unprecedented, but they had been silenced somehow. Her vision blurred for a moment, whether from tiredness or the tears that landed on the dark green folders spread across the table she did not know. She knew she was past the point of logical thinking, she would do no one any good in this state. She opened the top three buttons on her plain white silk blouse, her ample breasts straining against the soft material of her bra. They ached. It had been days since she had even partook in her ritual of nightly masturbation. She knew she should do so now, but she was too tired even for that. Promising herself she get her fix of endorphins when she woke, she stretched out on the couch in her office. A quick nap, a fast orgasm and her head would be able to focus better upon this problem, she promised herself. July 5, 201X The whole facility was abuzz. The medical teams had managed at last to transport one of the victims to their Level Four Biohazard facility. All previous attempts to transport a subject for testing had been considered too dangerous or had resulted in death during the process, except for one any way. That subject had escaped during ground transport from Andrews Air Force base to Fort Detrick, but that had been months ago. Major Martin Littlefoot, an Army doctor woh had first disovered the sickness, had been one of its earliest victims and was presumed dead. This subject was a young corporal, who was still relatively early in the disease progression. He had not as yet even completely lost his ability to use language, although according to the report his speech had reverted to something closer to a two or three year old, simple three to five word sentences without proper grammar. But it was hoped that by bringing Megan into the research process this early she might find a way to communicate with him even once expressive language faculties were gone completely. Because most of the subjects exhibited super human strength and speed as the illness progressed, it had proven extremely dangerous for the doctors and researchers to collect samples. Two men had already been killed while trying to collect blood and urine samples, their necks broken like twigs. Of course, the scientist had tried to sedate the victims but Diazepam, Ketamine, Thiopental and even Rohypnol had all proven ineffective. Now it was up to her. Megan needed to find some way of calming and soothing the subject in order to collect the samples that the scientist hoped would offer some clues to the cause and possible cure for this disease before it was too late. Its spread was accelerating. Two-hundred and fifty-two deaths and another one-hundred and four diagnosed in the past two weeks. If something was not done soon, the fear was that news of this new sickness would leak out to the media. Megan sighed as she walked into the specially prepared room. It reminded her too much of something out of a bad Hollywood movie. The first room was full of computers and monitors, half a dozen of her colleagues milled about looking at the screens and talking quietly amongst themselves. Against the far wall was a tiny eight foot by ten foot room. It had only the basics, a bed built into the wall like those used in prison and a shiny metal toilet. In fact, the area looked very much like what she had seen in the Super Max prison where she had once visited a patient before his execution for murdering several civilians in a dissociative state brought on by extreme PTSD. She nodded to her colleagues as she walked across the room. She watched the young man pacing nervously like a wild animal within its cage. As she approached the creature, man no longer seemed to accurately describe what she saw, it raised its head and furrowed its brows as if sniffing the air. She smiled at him, it, as she approached the thick Plexiglas that she knew served as a biological as well as physical barrier for the positive pressure facility in which the subject was enclosed. "What's his name?" she asked her colleagues without even turning around. The young man seemed focused on her as he walked slowly across the few feet separating him from the thick barrier. "Jason, Corporal Jason Winters, ma'am," replied the Lieutenant in charge of investigating possible viral causes. "Jason," she purred as she lifted her hand slowly to the thick plastic. She pressed it against the cold surface just as she had seen done in televisions shows where loved ones visited inmates in prison. She shivered. This whole thing seemed too cruel suddenly. This creature was not a criminal. He had done nothing wrong. He was merely sick. A young man that had given his all for his country, almost certainly dying, and this was how he would spend his final days. She closed her eyes and fought back the bile that rose in her throat. As a scientist, she logically knew that the positive pressure facility offered the best possible protection for those trying to find the cause and cure for this mysterious disease. She knew too that the sparse facilities limited the man's abilities to harm himself or others. But as a human being, she found it all too barbaric and disgusting. It was not her job though to make those calls, 'above her pay grade' as her military comrades would say. All she could do was her best to find someone of making this young man's final days as comfortable as possible and keeping those she worked with safe from any harm he might unknowingly do. "Jason," she whispered once more as he came closer. As he extended his hand to place it against the other side of the glass, she noticed the redness and swollen pustules on the back of his hand. His skin was the translucent grey-blue that she had seen only on cadavers. Her stomach did another flip as she realized that in a few days that would be what this young solider was, another cadaver to be dissected and studied before his body was cremated and returned to whatever family he had. She wanted to turn and run at the thought, but she would not. She had a job to do, just as this creature had once stood honorably to fight for his country. It might be too late for him, but perhaps through his sacrifice they could find a way to help others like him. Save their lives. She looked up into his eyes. They had probably once been blue or grey, but were now thickened and covered with what appeared to be cataracts. He tilted his head at an odd angle as if studying her just as she was supposed to be studying him. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The creature grunted, then growled. The hand against the plastic barrier knotted into a fist that began to pound at it until it shook. The sound echoed around the room as the creature raised its other hand, both fists pounding at the barrier. One of her colleagues pulled her back as the creature screamed, "Smell good." Megan could see the barrier bulge forward under the raw power of the young man's assault. She automatically stepped back. One of her colleagues pressed the red emergency button and his voice boomed through the room, "Code Blue, code blue in Level Four observation facility. All security personnel report immediately." She felt the Lieutenant's hands on her shoulders as he pushed her behind him. His body another layer of protection should the Plexiglas one be breeched. It shook even more and sound of pounding vibrated throughout the room as the creature began to pound its head against the glass as well. "Do something," she screamed as she looked around the room. "Someone do something. He's going to hurt himself," she pleaded as she tried to push past her protector, but the Lieutenant merely wrapped his arms about her, restraining her when she would have rushed to the subjects side. The doors slid open and several fully armed Marines and SEALs rushed into the room. The lead researcher's voice commanded, "Get her out of here. Now!" Before she could protest, she felt herself being passed to another set of strong arms. The last thing she saw as she was dragged from the observation room was the young man collapse on the floor, his body contorting and shaking with a tonic-clonic seizure. October 13th, 201X Megan was exhausted. She knew that she should go home. Get what little sleep she could. But she fought that at every turn. The nasty truth was that Dr. Megan Davis, MD, PhD and MPH, who had dedicated over fifteen years of her life to the study of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, had fallen victim to its effects. Since that night three months before, she had not been able to close her eyes even once without seeing the tortured face of the young corporal. Corporal Jason winters had died that night. The autopsy had shown that he suffered a major stroke. And it was all her fault. There had been some discussion of transferring her to another facility, perhaps to Bethesda or another veterans' hospital. She would have almost welcomed the return to her original passion, PTSD, especially given her new perspective as a victim. But the truth was that no one left this facility. It was too dangerous. Each staff member, military or civilian, that was entrusted with this top secret material was monitored. Their phone calls, emails and every movement carefully watched. Even then the government was unlikely to be able to keep the situation under wraps for much longer. Over five thousand soldiers had died of the mystery illness with only a single survivor. A young woman, a Marine, the only female to date to be infected with whatever agents caused it. Hers had been a relatively minor case, but still she was left incapacitated, most likely for life. She had gone from a bright young officer to something closer to autistic, barely able to speak and seemingly locked inside her own head. And like Corporal Winters, she was often ravished by tonic-clonic seizures, several times a day. None of the traditional anti-epileptics seemed to have any effect and it was feared that one of these events would prove as fatal as the disease itself had to her male peers. She was the only one of the half dozen specimens, as they were now inhumanely called, with which Megan was allowed any contact. Of course, she was given access to most of the files. She had become driven in her search for some answer. She knew she was grasping at straws, but she had noticed something in Lieutenant Jane Doe's, as she was called for security, medical reports. The woman had unusually high testosterone levels. Was this perhaps the key to why the disease affected only males? Megan could not be certain and she was not ready to take her hypothesis to her superiors. It would be yet another excuse for them to inhumanely poke and prod these brave men, who did not deserve this horrible fate that was proving worse than war. But she had a plan to find out. She checked the clock on the wall. It was after three o'clock in the morning. All of the civilian personnel would be gone and most of their military counterparts as well. Only a handful of the specially trained and armed security team would be on duty at this hour. She scanned their files on her laptop, finding the newest member of the team, a SEAL on his first watch at the facility. Picking up her security pass and hiding the syringe in the pocket of her white lab coat, she drew in a deep breath. She built her courage. She knew this was dangerous, but she could no longer be pushed to the side-lines of this war with an invisible enemy that was taking a higher toll on our brave soldiers than the war in Iraq had. As she suspected the halls were empty as she made her way back to the observation room. Her stomach clinched and she fought back nausea. Why did it have to be this one? A dozen new positive pressure prison cells had been created over the past three months as they transported more and more of the sick and dying to this facility. The clock was ticking, most likely they were already on borrowed time, the snooze alarm winding down on disclosure. More and more families were demanding answers. The military's excuse of a new wave of insurgent attacks no longer satisfied some of them. But the best minds in the country, now the world as British scientist joined the team, the disease spreading to their forces as well, they were all baffled. No closer to an answer than they had been almost a year ago when the first Marine had come down with the disease. Megan's hand trembled as she pressed the plastic card against the metal box. She was uncertain if it would even work. Had they changed her clearance? But she saw the green light flash and the thick metal door begin to open slowly. The man in black fatigues and t-shirt paced back and forth just inside the door. He held a gun that Megan knew was no longer loaded with tranquilizers, but with hollow point bullets meant to cause the most damage and bring down even the largest prey instantly. "Ma'am," he nodded as she entered. "What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked. Megan smiled and hoped her story made sense. She had practiced it a hundred times in her mind. "At ease, Petty Officer," she added noting his rank. "I am just here to collect a couple of samples. The brass thought it might be easier when the subject was quieter," one thing their research has showed was that the victims required next to no sleep, usually less than an hour, somewhere in the early hours of the morning. But when they did go down, they slept more deeply, an almost comatose state it seemed, which was why Megan had chosen this time for her expedition. The man nodded towards the enclosed area. "He just went down, ma'am." He reached for the walkie-talkie on his belt, "But my orders did not say anything about any samples, ma'am. I'll need to check things out with command." Megan shifted uncomfortably. It was not like she had not anticipated this. She merely hoped her ploy would work. "Go ahead, Chief, but I'm not sure if the orders will even be in the system yet. They come from the top, the Secretary of Defense herself called Dr. Edwards at home. He knew I was the only one still here and so he called me directly," she lied. The man frowned as if weighing the situation. Megan held still, lifting her chin and meeting the man's assessing gaze. When she did not back down, he nodded and moved to the control panel. "I'm sure you know the procedure, doctor. Change into the hazmat suit in the ante-room, then wait in the pressurized chamber for the green light before entering the cell. Get what you need quickly, then do the reverse on the way out. Don't forget to shower carefully though. Discard your suit in the incinerator," he rattled off procedures that Megan was familiar with from her visits to Jane. "Yes, Petty Officer," she smiled as she pulled open the heavy metal door that would lock her in with the creature, seal her fate should something go wrong with her plan. For a moment, she hesitated, reconsidering her choice, but the image of Corporal Winters convulsing on that same floor drove her on. She changed as quickly as she could into the thick white suit with rubber gloves and hood. Her heart pounded as she waited to the door to the positive pressure room to open. The seconds and minutes ticked by, she was loosing precious time. If he awoke, it would be virtually impossible for her to get the blood sample she needed, at least not without risk to her own life. The death toll to personnel at this facility now numbered almost two dozen, including the Lieutenant, who had held her back that night. He had been killed a couple of weeks ago, while preforming almost this same task. She heard the click and saw the green light above the door. It took a great deal of strength for her to push it open. She stepped through and turned towards her guard, giving the man a thumbs up and a smile she was almost certain he could not see. She moved as quickly as she could in the suit. The man was still sleeping, she noted with a sigh of relief. She picked up his thick arm that she noted was covered in the pus filled sores. She felt for a pulse, frowning when she did not find one at first, but she noted the slight rise and fall of his expansive bare chest. She counted his respirations, just two in a minute. Zombie Soldiers She paused, moving her fingers from his wrist to his neck. She pressed against the carotid artery. She knew that she was wasting precious time, but the scientist in her could not help but marvel at this seemingly suspended state of animation. She counted again, three breaths and just eight heart beats per minute. She stored the data in her mind for later examination. She drew the large bore syringe from the pocket on the side of the suit. She swapped the fold of his arm. She did not even know his name. Since Corporal Winters, she taken special measures to avoid that field on the files she studied. It was her own way of trying to keep them impersonalized. She did not want to know their names, their rank. Did they have families? Wives and children who would be lied to by the government, pushed to the side, never to know the truth of what happened to their loved ones? Her hands trembled as she pushed the needle into the dark blue vein. She held her breath as she pulled back the plunger and watched the deep red liquid spurt into the syringe. She swallowed as she pulled back on the needle. A single drop of red pooled at the spot where it had been. She reached down for a cotton swap and Band-Aid, replacing the syringe in the pocket of her suit. Then she felt it the strong, almost brutal, grasp of his hand on her arm. Her squealed as she looked up into the dense, dark eyes of her subject. They were open wide. His nostrils flared and an almost painful expression on his face that once must have been very handsome. Everything happened so quickly then that she never was to figure it all out. The shrill sound of the alarm echoed in her mind as the creature pulled her against his chest. His gaze held hers as he drew in a deep breath. "Ripe," was his only words as he ripped the thick material of the hazmat suit as if it were nothing more than tissue paper on a Christmas present. She was naked beneath the suit and the cool air of the positive pressure environment caressed her skin. Her nipples hardened instantly. It had been months since she had masturbated. Not since before that night. Her bodily need seemed indecent, inconsequential somehow in light of all that was happening. The PTSD too had played havoc with her normally high sex drive, which suddenly seemed to be in over drive. She felt blood rush to her womb, her clitoris throbbed against the rough material, begging to be freed as her breasts now were. She heard something click and for a moment feared it might be her sanity fleeing her addled brain. Then she heard the clang of metal as the door flew open. The guard burst into the room, his gun raised towards the man's head, ready for the kill shot. Her heart stopped. She cried out at the injustice. The young Petty Officer forced to kill not an enemy insurgent but a comrade. Her stomach churned. But it was too late. The creature with its super human speed was upon the man in the flash of an eye. She bent over, emptying the contents of her stomach on the floor as she heard the sick thud of human flesh against solid concrete. She forced herself to look over. The doctor in her determined to go to him, to help the man, who had risked his life to save her from her own stupidity. But the odd angle of his neck as it fell towards his chest, the blank stare in those eyes that had interrogated her, told her that it was futile. The man was gone. Just as quickly the creature was upon her, ripping the rest of the suit form her body. The hood still obscured her face, blocking her view of her assailant as everything took on some odd ethereal feel. Her whole body went limp as the man/creature kneaded and squeezed her large breasts. She cried out, but even she was uncertain if it was from pain or pleasure. Her body that had been denied any release in so long was on fire. Her nipples burned as she thrusts her chest out, seeking more of his touch. Her clit throbbed between her legs as she felt a rush of liquid flow down her inner thighs. The creature lifted her above its head until her breasts were level with his mouth. He jerked her against him as his mouth covered her hard nipple. He made no preliminaries, no soft licks or kisses as he bit down hard on the puckered pink flesh. She cried out again as her hips bucked against the hard plains of his abdomen. As if sensing what she needed the creature used its other hand to spread her legs. His thick fingers found her wet channel and thrust deep inside them. Megan screamed as she felt her body convulse around his fingers. She threw back her head and gave into the most powerful orgasm of her life. She felt liquid shot from between her legs. Not run gently down the man's fingers but actually spurt from her body. Her cheeks glowed red and she felt the heat of the blush spread down her neck and across her chest as she feared that she had wetted herself. She listened as the creature snarled. It was a sound more animal than man. Cold fear and hot desire warred in her mind and heart as her eyes flew open at the sound. She stared once more into those hazy eyes that might have once been a soft chocolate brown. The air froze in her lungs as she swallowed hard, watching the creature bring his fingers to his mouth. He sucked her fluids off of them and moaned almost in pain. "Mine." Megan felt herself thrown onto the thin mattress. One of his large hands pressed her head into the rough cotton sheets as his other arm wrapped about her waist, lifting her lower body until her ass was high in the air. Her heart stopped as she realized how vulnerable she was in this position. But the creature gave her no time to ponder that thought further as she heard the ripping once more of material. Then he was upon her. Inside of her. She cried out as she felt her tight hole stretched as it never had been. She struggled beneath the creature, trying to evade the thick cock that was plunged deeper and deeper inside of her. She stilled though when she felt the powerful sting of his hand on her ass, a half dozen or more solid blows landing on them in quick succession. "No," he growled as he yanked the hood from her head. Her hair had fallen out of its normally tight bun sometime during the struggle. The creature winded its fingers through its long red tresses and jerked her head back. He bent over, until his nose almost touched hers. Again, he growled a single word, "Mine," as his body increased the tempo. He held her there, staring into those eyes that were half animal, half man in the throes of desire. His hard cock rammed and battered her tender folds until she feared that he would rip her to pieces. While it was painful, it was the other sensation that startled Megan most...desire. Need. Although she had just had the most powerful orgasm of her life on his fingers, she felt the tension coiling and building in the pit of her stomach once more. Then it burst upon her. If the other had felt like a tsunami, breaking against the shore, sweeping everything in its path away, this was the mega earthquake that caused it. She screamed as she threw back her head. Her whole body shook and trembled beneath the creature as she felt the muscles between her legs squeeze around his invading tool, milking him, drawing forth his own release. She felt his pull on her hair once more as he drew her back towards him. His mouth captured her cries of pleasure as his thick tongue plunged down her throat sucking the very air from her lungs. Just as the darkness threatened to overcome her, her lungs burning for oxygen, he breathed into her. His breath, his life, as she felt his body tense, the rush of heat and wetness filling her womb. Her body answered his call, her orgasm reaching a new plateau as her tender pussy clenched around him, drawing him deeper and pleading for more. She felt him stiffen behind her and turned. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the full security detail rush into the room. Six men, guns raised and aimed at her lover. Then he collapsed on the floor behind her. She cried out as she fell next to him. Her hands caressed his face, unaware of her nakedness, uncaring that the guards stood staring at them. At first, she thought that he had been shoot. Her fingers trembled as she sought any sign of a bullet wound, her eyes too clouded with tears for the job. Then she felt the soft caress of a calloused finger against the corner of her eyes. She looked down, her vision cleared for a moment. Clear soft chocolate eyes greeted hers. She smiled at him, her own fingers mimicking his, brushing a single tears from the crinkled corner of those breath-taking eyes. She bent forward, straining closer to him as he whispered a single word. "Mine." Then those beautiful eyes rolled back into his head, his whole body stiffened, then he began to jerk violently in her arms. Two of the security detail rushed forward, grabbing her beneath the arms and pulling her back. They passed her off to another man, who wrapped his arm about her waist and held her back. Her body thrashed and fought him as frantically as her lover's on the cold, concrete floor. She screamed and pleaded with them to release her. She begged to go to him. She cried out for them to lower their guns. There was no cracking bang. No gun fire. No smell of powder. But suddenly his body stiffened once more then went completely limp. She cried out and with a super human burst of energy that she would never know from where it came she broke free of her guard. She rushed to him and lifted his still body in her arms. The doctor in her felt for a pulse at the coratid artery once more as her cheek against his nose felt for a breath, watched for the rise and fall of his chest. But none of it came. No soft beat of his heart, no hot breath of life. "Fucking, do something," she screamed at the men, who stood back watching them. "Call somebody you fucking assholes," she cursed as she pounded on his broad chest, trying to restart his heart, even as her own broke. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulders as she fought desperately to save his life. She looked up into a darker face, dark brown eyes pleaded with her. "Ma'am, he's gone. There's nothing anyone can do. Let him go. Please let him find whatever peace there is." Her hand flew to her mouth as the man's words registered in her shattered mind. "Oh my god, what have I done," she cried as she realized the enormity of her sins. Two men were dead. Six others would likely be in a matter of weeks. For what? The name of science? A crazy hypothesis? To assuage her guilty conscious? None of it was fair. Nothing in this fucked up world made sense anymore. She felt strong arms gently wrap about her. A warm blanket appeared out of no where as she collapsed against a warm body. But warm for how long? How long until this horrible disease claimed his warmth, his mind, his life. For the first time, she felt the true human toll of this war. And it was a war. The enemy might be some invisible microbe or airborne chemical, but that did not matter. It was taking lives, robbing futures and claiming the brave men that served and protected their country. It was not fair. It was not right. Anymore than any other enemy that they faced with valor and dedication. She watched as one of them walked over to the bunk. He pulled off the white sheets that was still damp with the fluids of their lovemaking. He strode over to their fallen comrade, so still and quiet on the hard floor. He placed the sheet over the fallen warrior. He and the others lifted their hands to their brows and saluted. Megan clutched her hands over her heart and cried at what she had done to all of them. October 31, 201X, Halloween Halloween. Megan trembled as she held the thin white stick in her numb fingers. Looking at the two blue lines, her heart pounded so loud that it drowned out all other sounds. "More like fucking April Fools," she whispered as she dropped it into the waste basket with the other five. She had been out of quarantine just three days. She had a renewed appreciation for all that these men, subjects, specimens, whatever demeaning and degrading term was currently in vogue with command. Her every movement had been watched on the surveillance cameras in her own positive pressure eight by ten room. She had had lots of time to think. There was not much else she could do. Well, other than answer their intrusive questions. She had been debriefed at least a dozen times. Repeating her story each time until she was too numb to feel any thing. Then crying herself to sleep each night. But she never managed to stay asleep for long. Corporal Jason Winters, US Army. Petty Officer Damian Gomez, US Navy SEAL. Sergeant First Class Dwayne Jackson, USMC. Chief Petty Officer Kyle Campbell, US Navy SEAL. Corporal James Wright, US Army Delta Force. Lieutenant David Stephens, US Army Paratroopers. Master Petty Officer of the Navy John Majors, US Navy SEAL. Staff Sergeant Patrick O'Malley, USMC. And Major Steve Rogers, US Army Paratrooper, her lover and her baby's father. Over the past two weeks, she had dug her head out of the sand. She had learned their names, all their names. Including Lieutenant Stacy McGraw, USMC, whom she had always known simply as Jane Doe. They all held special place in her mind and heart. The men whom she had murdered. Her hand went protectively to her flat stomach. She had never considered herself the maternal type. She had long ago decided that her career would be her baby. Her life's work with PTSD her legacy consumed so much of her time and energy that it did not seem fair to bring a child into it all. But the world was spiraling out of control. Everything was changing. Including this tiny flicker of cells that was no more than a blob at the moment. But that blob was all that was left in this world of Steve Rogers. She laughed at the irony of his name and shook her head. She was not sure she was up to this job. Motherhood had always seemed a scary thing, but single parenthood seemed even more daunting. Especially when the mind of a scientist took over, questioning what her child would be like. It was not like she could just waltz into Fort Detrick and ask...so how does this disease effect spermatozoa? She frowned. After two weeks of being poked and prodded, it was not a life she would wish on anyone, especially a baby. Her baby. But over those two weeks, her every bodily function had been monitored. Blood drawn. Urine taken. Even fecal samples. Fuck. They had her blood and her urine. If they did not know already, it was certain that they would soon. She trembled as her other hand came up to cover her mouth. It proved futile to stifle the small gasp that escaped at the thought. Her baby. They would take her baby. Experiment on it. She shook her head and pressed her hand more tightly over her stomach. "No, not as long as I have life left in me. I won't let them get this baby. It's the least I owe them...for all they did for this country." Zombie Strippers Initial Impressions: I should start by warning you that my opinion on this subject is rather biased. I enjoy cheap B movies that are only worthy to be shown on the Sci-Fi (I refuse to call it SyFy) channel. I love Godzilla flicks and cheap monster mashes and really who doesn't love zombies. I'm posting on Literotica which should be a good indication of my feelings about naked women. So I might be a little kinder than this film actually deserves. Since the cast is actually an important factor I'm going to take a moment out to point out the top two players in this film. The first is the main man of horror himself, debatably the most recognized face in all of horror. With eight films as the man who kills teens in their dreams we've got Robert Englund undoubtedly better known as Freddy Krueger. While he might be a household name in the horror industry we've got another household name here. Jenna Jameson. For me she is the x-factor. I'm not asking her for an Oscar worthy appearance, I'm asking her to not screw up a zombie flick and this is from a guy who thinks one of the worst parts of the American Godzilla movie was that their lips matched the words coming out. So can she hold it together? Movie Review: Zombie Strippers doesn't waste any time laying on that thick level of schlock that makes these movies work. George Bush is in the middle of his fourth term in office and zombies weren't some kind of mistake when looking for a cure for cancer. Someone was trying to create super soldiers that would get up after being shot. That's right the zombies here were on purpose. Sadly they escape containment and our crack team of special forces goes in and cleans house. Considering the movie is entertaining this was a bit of a high point. It turns out that slow moving zombies don't last very long against well trained military. Even if the well trained military forgot to issue body armor to its attractive females, instead keeping up the sci-fi tradition of women don't need armor, they need cleavage. Only one of the men is injured in the attack and he manages to escape into of all things a local strip club. (Did I mention that George Bush outlawed strip clubs and now they are underground the like the speakeasies of the twenties?) Jenna Jameson is the first of the strippers to become infected and becomes our first zombie stripper. Calling her a zombie is a bit of a misnomer though, because this virus was based off of the X chromosome it works better on women, basically they keep their full intelligence, they still eat flesh to live but unlike guys they don't turn into zombies. (Though to be fair with that much T&A prancing around it's hard to tell if the guys are zombies because they have been infected or simply because they are men.) It doesn't take long for Jenna to start converting other strippers into zombies and the bodies just start piling up. The owner (played by Robert Englund) isn't really that concerned with the body count, he's just happy that he's making more money than he can count. It should be obvious to anybody what the eventual result is when he starts locking the male zombies up in cages and closets throughout the club instead of finding other ways to get rid of the bodies. Just as we've been lead to believe by years of television women just can't stand to see each other succeed. This eventually leads one of Jenna's rival strippers to intentionally get herself infected with the virus so she can have a brawl with Jenna Jameson. Trust me when I tell you that you've never seen a fight quite like this before. While they might have been working on a budget and couldn't quite get the guys from the Matrix to come down and help there is something special about projectile billiard balls fired from a woman's pussy that just sticks with you. The movie ends with the special forces finally catching up with the infection and once again cleaning house and basically making it look easy. Final Thoughts: Zombie Strippers actually exceeded my expectations. It had a fun cast with decent dialogue. The special effects (especially the make up) were outstanding for a budget straight to DVD film and it never made the mistake of taking itself even remotely seriously. If you have no qualms about a shameless blood, guts and tits film you should like this. Just don't go expecting Dawn of the Dead, expect Shaun of the Dead, without the great cast but with tits to make up for it. Let's be honest. Tits make everything better.