by J. Morgan
“Ohhhhh God…” he said breathily, and she just kept on breathing heavily. “Hoooo…” the man breathed out, heart beating rapidly in his chest that was against hers. Bare breasts pressed against the t-shirt under a loose sweater that had dried sweat. Eventually the member, steadily softening, began to calm its throbs and spurts. Breathing SLOWLY began to normalize. Left leg began moving up, as of yet still clad in denim, moving over her right leg. She could have tried to kick him in the balls then, but she didn’t. Whether because she was too exhausted from the experience, or thought rightly that she couldn’t get enough momentum in the kick to cause real harm in him, or maybe just the fact they were STUCK together for the night so had to make the most of this, he didn’t know, but she made no attempt to harm him.
Right leg came out from between hers next, with ease, and he could feel coolness on his member. Reaching down, his eyes widened, but then in the darkness reflected relief as he realized what happened. His hand felt bare cock, slimy, as though he fucked her without protection. Then, hand going between her legs, making her tense up, he felt it; the opening of his condom. So tight was she that she’d pulled the rubber off his cock. It had happened once before in his personal experience, and so grasping the ring of stiff latex or whatever material it was, and it was pulled out. She gave a strange sound; he didn’t know what it meant.
In the darkness, the condom was tied up, knowing his undoubtedly thick and sticky load was trapped within. Not caring about it, he tossed it roughly towards the southwest corner where he figured her feet could not reach due to being so much shorter than he. Beginning to catch his breath, his hands went to her in the darkness.
“Plea… a-huh… pleaaaa…” she could not form the word, weeping, begging for mercy.
“Relax… I’m trying to help…” The hands were beneath her stubbly thighs, straightening her panties, miraculously her legs were not being squeezed shut on his hands. The skirt was lowered, making it presentable even though neither of them could see presently. The hands came away from the skirt and started at the base of her blouse and started doing up the buttons. One after another, feeling her soft belly rise and fall rapidly.
After three buttons, he realized her bra still had to be done, and he cursed, began reaching around her. “No… just… it’s ok… just stop… please?...” She moved about, eventually laying on her stomach by how it felt, and his hands withdrew.
“Alright…” He didn’t know what to say… his cock, slickened by the cum that was trapped within his condom, was now within his jeans, no underwear to keep it off the denim. It was content, as was he, and his hands stayed away; wishing to give her peace. “Guh-…” after what happened, he felt terribly awkward… even a little bad. “Good night…” he finally managed to say. Rich wanted to tell her how good it felt, or how he’d so enjoyed it; how good she was. Tell her he wanted to hold her tonight, how he wished to feel closeness, but she would probably be too angry at him, or at least too confused, to want to hear anything of the sort. She might just outright hate him.
Before falling to sleep, having grasped his rifle, he brought it towards the opposite side of the box, resting it on his right bicep while he laid on his right side. He thought about this female friend she supposedly lived with. How long their rations had supposedly lasted. Thinking that this friend of hers was probably dead, but wondering in regards to how long she has been so. It didn’t take long after that bout of release to find sleep, even with the quiet sobbing next to him. In fact while drifting off, he thought it was comforting somehow. Perhaps he truly was a pig… a misogynist… a terrible person… and with that thought he hugged his rifle to his body, back on to the woman around a decade older than him, and drifted off to sleep. Lying on her stomach, eventually, she would do the same, mind twisting and turning into so many directions she didn’t know what to believe.
Chapter 3
He awoke with a start, feeling around for his rifle. It was along the passenger side wall of the box, his side of the box, and the feeling of its smooth wooden stock put him at ease. Outside, no moans or shuffles could be heard. Mouth stretched into a yawn, but the yawn did not escape; silence was best right now. The Sun was likely up, he thought. The stuffiness of their small prison was palpable. Little to no air circulation left them in their own scents, and it was less than ideal. She would never admit to it, but he felt that he wasn’t the only culprit.
Click went the carabiner, unlatched from his belt loop, and it illuminated their small windowless motel room. He felt stiff, no not THAT way… well… er… not ENTIRELY that way. Being a healthy young man, or well, a healthy man in general, he had awoken with an erection, but his body felt stiff from the hard surface on which he slept. Still, it was better than laying on the ground under a tree with a blanket of broken off branches for concealment and warmth… more for the former and less for the latter. He felt hungry, but knew he would not eat for many hours yet. She must be STARVING, but in spite of their intimate… ish… night together, he was in no rush to give her his valuable food.
With the right hand keeping the little LED light on he tried to get a look of her. Facing to her left, still sleeping on her belly, she was looking away from him. HAD to keep her from making much noise… how? Light transitioned to his left hand, left elbow lifted himself up, light reflecting off the panels to FAINTLY illuminate her face. Right hand cupped her mouth, covering it. She awoke startled with a close-mouthed squeal. His body was against hers, ignoring his natural arousal but it was doubted that she would do the same.
“Shhhhh-shh-shh-shh… I’m going to check outside…” A moment passed, she realized what was going on, and the woman nodded. One after another, the tabs of the closest panel to the tail gate were undone, but before he lifted it his head came close to hers in the darkness once more. “Do… not… scream. Be calm, ok?” A quiet grumble came from her, but sensed that she nodded. “I’m serious.” No response. He grabbed his rifle, the sound of him moving about likely keen to her senses. The bayonet scraped out of its scabbard, the hollow noise of it being placed at the end of the barrel, and then while pushing it down, it clicked into place with a turn. Inhale of breath, and then a sharp exhale. Slowly the panel was lifted; brown eyes looking about through the slit that allowed the light of a morning Sun to come in.
The air cut like a knife. Compared to the warm and moist air trapped around them, this was cold and dry. No standing walkers were in view. The panel continued to be lifted up, gently laid on top of the next panel, and he felt cold. She, in her skirt, would no doubt be quite chilly when it came time for her to rise which would of course be very soon. It was hard to believe that just last night they had fucked. Well, in a way, he had raped her… but she also didn’t seem to be OVERLY against it… there was no point thinking about semantics. It’s not like it mattered anyways.
Standing up in the air, the moisture from their cramped little room in which they slept made the cold particularly biting. North, east, south; nothing in view. West; a couple silhouettes in dull light stood blandly. No worries as long as the bitch didn’t scream. Looking down around the box, he recognized piss-head. It was sitting with its back against the rear passenger tire; it had ‘slept’ a mere couple feet from where Richard had. Fuck, why did he have to stay there… muscles feeling weak from sleep yet also stiff; he didn’t want to deal with it right at this moment. Still there was a debate in his mind. Deal with it and get an early start, or… fuck… no not literally fuck, but more like fuck ‘it’.
Fuck it. Down he went; bayoneted rifle placed on the bed of the truck next to his pack off to the side of the box, and the last panel was put into place, but unable to lock it down due to the tail gate still being up. As far as he knew, the walker did not notice him. In mostly darkness, slim light seeping in from the gap of the unsecured panel; he whispered to her.
“There’s one outside… but… I’m still tired as Hell.” He was opening his pack, trusting that she would know to be as quiet as humanly possible. Bottle of wate
r was pulled out, a 1.14L container once full of dark rum but now used just for purified water. Sweet hydration; he glugged a few swallows down. Grasping her right shoulder, he pulled her, rotating her until her back was against his front, she remaining on her side. It still seemed awkward; he pulled her more, sliding back until she was on her back next to him. He held his bottle of water up, her eyes flashed for a moment, lips smacking; it was obvious she was thirsty, but imagined she was also busting for a piss.
Left hand cupped the back of her head, holding it up. Right hand carefully poured some water into her mouth, just a bit. When the bottle came away, she swallowed it greedily and then held her mouth open again. More water, she swallowed, mouth opened again. Only a little bit of water at a time, not wanting to choke her with it; cause her to cough and sputter, attracting the bugger outside. She swallowed, and holding her mouth open, found herself denied. A swig for himself and the bottle was stopped before being put back into his backpack; zipping it up.
Her breast was exposed in the faint light, and he began to button it up, not bothering with the bra underneath that was still undone. His face was reddened by it; Tiffany didn’t look at him, nor thank him for the clean water. He did not ask for thanks. Once she was made decent… ish… he took the soft pillow out from under him; the small but puffy coat. It was draped over their upper bodies along with the sweater he wore. The man moved her body, encouraging her to lie on her side, then snuggled up against her back. The morning wood was gone by now thankfully so made this less awkward. Their warmth was gathered, glad that the panels kept the harsh cold outside for the most part, and so relaxed as he embraced her, her hands tied behind her back against his belly.
They slept for a short while until she moved, rousing him to awakening, the morning wood having returned. “Mmm-“
“Shh.” The woman hushed him.
“Mmh.” He replied, this time more quietly, pulling her so she lay on her back, on her arms. It must have been an uncomfortable night for her but he was still alive. She hadn’t gotten his rifle and shot him, hadn’t managed to somehow bash him to try and render him unconscious as he had with her. She didn’t get something to stab him with. As far as he was concerned, it was a good idea, no matter what she thought. Once again, the panel was lifted slightly, looking about discretely first. Nothing.
It was gently laid down on top of the next panel, again there was nothing around them, the Sun was higher, but it was only SLIGHTLY less cold. Rifle in hand, he crouched, looked over the north side of the truck, piss-head still sat there.
“Bugger…”
“Tss…” another hush to prevent from attracting attention.
“Yeah yeah yeah…” he breathed, annoyed that she would try to tell him how to handle this situation. It was looking off to the north, occasionally looking left and right to the west and east. It was like a drunken person waiting for a ride, or for the non-existent driver to go ahead and start the vehicle… could this zombie have been the person who owned this truck? There was no way to know. Well, he COULD look for paperwork in the truck, and check the zombie’s pockets for a wallet to find an ID, but it wasn’t worth the time.
Looking back to Tiff, a finger was held to the man’s lips, requesting her to remain quiet. Her eyes rolled; ‘as if’ she didn’t already KNOW to be quiet with the dead around. Rifle held upside down, the bayonet and muzzle pointed downward before him. This was sketchy, probably wouldn’t work. Left hand held it at the grip before the trigger guard, right hand held it on the bulk of the butt stock. Up and down he moved it, aiming it, wishing to pierce the spike directly down on the top of its skull like an 18th or 19th century Indian Jetti; forcing a railroad spike down into the top of a prisoner’s head with one swift open-palmed slap down with one of their massive hands.
Up… wait… up a little bit more… move a bit to the side… and… DOWN! A wet crunching noise came, the twisting of his rifle caused far more crunching, then a pull upwards. It was stuck. Another harsh pull along with a simultaneous twist and it came free. The corpse slumped. Another look around… they were in the clear. He pulled the latch of the tail gate; it didn’t budge, he fumbled with it in his morning daze for a short while more until he remembered he had locked it. Keys came from his left pocket, the main key being pushed in. Turn, a click, the keys were left in as he pulled the latch again and tried to GENTLY let the tail gate down. It was difficult, but went down RELATIVELY quietly.
Joints cracked slightly after his boots slapped the pavement, having leapt down, stretching caused yet more crackles; the rifle left against the passenger side of the tail gate itself. Facing where his ‘companion’ was still lying down, he suddenly stumbled back. “Hoah!” It exclaimed from him loudly in surprise as Richie soon found himself on his back side.
“Ggghhhrrraaaahhh…” A gurgly moan from the creature that now held onto his ankles, both of them. Right leg shot back, ripped itself from its grasp, and shot forward to the face that was coming nearer; a wet CLUNK against the skull. Leg pulled back again, CLUNK as it struck the skull once more, pushing the body connected to it a bit farther away. Richard tried to crawl backwards but it was holding steadfast. Tiffany was sitting herself up now, taking a good bit of effort to do so, but the shuffling on the tarmac was getting her attention; she gasped at the sight of pale and unsightly arms holding onto the sitting man’s ankle. Shoulders moved about left and right as she was trying to wriggle from the straps that bound her from behind. No use.
Kick… kick… it wouldn’t let go. The steel pistol was unholstered, heart beating rapidly, adrenaline kicking in, hands shaking slightly from the suddenness of it all. There was no logical reason for the fear that came next but suddenly he was terrified of a walker or crawler showing up behind him, taking him from where he was presently helpless and vulnerable while sitting there on the cold pavement. Kick… KICK! No use came from the assault, but instead of clicking the safety off and shooting, the firearm was grasped by the slide and front of the frame in his right hand. Bash… clank… BASH-crackle! The mag well of the pistol hit the wrist, then hit pavement as he missed, but then another savage swing made the base of the frame of the loaded M1911A1 break its feeble right wrist that was previously still holding onto his left ankle, right ankle having freed itself.
The man scrambled to his feet, side arm going back to his holster, seeing Tiff turning about to try and face him, shaking from the cold… maybe a little bit from the fight?... no, probably mostly the cold. Heading round to the north side of the box of the truck, his rifle was picked up off the tail gate as he went. Held at the ready, feeling his muscles shudder from the crisp morning air even in spite of the warmth generated from the fighting, he readied himself to finish this threat. Focus was held on the undead that was trying to crawl out from under the truck, though acutely aware of the woman watching him now.
The roughly 9.5lb or so loaded rifle, perhaps 10lb with the bayonet attached, was held rotated 90 degrees counter clockwise, base of the magazine looking to his right to the north, top of the iron sights pointing to his left to the south, since he had repositioned himself at the back of the truck rather than on the passenger side where the rifle had been picked up. The corpse moaned, reaching out, the smell permeating the air as it struggled to crawl closer. Now away from the truck enough to get up, it had not yet bothered to try, and the bayonet was thrust forth.
The left side of its skull, on Richard’s right, the spike pierced bone, but not enough damage to the brain to incapacitate it, it would seem. Twist, crunching bone, pull, prepare, THRUST! A more central hit; piercing the skull closer to the middle, he pulled; resistance from suction. The corpse lay still. Twist, the head turned but the bayonet did not loosen itself. Twist clockwise opposite the direction he had previously, then twist counter-clockwise, the head rotated, a tug given, the body was dragged along the ground about an inch from the effort but the bayonet was finally released. The sudden lack of friction caused the firearm to jump back in his hands, making him take a step back
wards lest he risk falling.
A breath in, then visible steam came as the breath was released. This was indeed a chilly morning, far colder than most late-August or early-September nights. Abnormal, but it must be dealt with; he wanted his sweater back. First things first, the bayonet was removed and wiped off on the back of the sweater that this corpse had worn. It was then scraped back into its scabbard. Leaning his rifle against the corner between the tail gate and the right side of the bumper, it was time to tend to the ‘fair maiden’ that had tried to kill him yesterday, and whom he had pleasured himself on last night. The thought, in spite of the implications of this thought, pleased him.
True to his word, the strap holding her wrists bound were undone, and as soon as they were freed she brought them before her, rubbing her wrists, glad to see her hands had not changed colour overnight. Without his help she started loosening the strap on her ankles, her stomach growled, she seemed to ignore it respectably enough. He grabbed the sweater that lay next to her, pulling it on, glad it was warm. It was zipped up completely before his backpack was then grabbed; tossing it over his left shoulder hanging by its left strap after first dawning his bandolier. Rifle was slung over his right shoulder. Just like that, he was good to go.
Still, he couldn’t help but wait as her ankles were freed, legs looking like they’d be TERRIBLY cold before long if they weren’t already chilled. She got down without his help, a bit unsteady at first, but stabilizing herself before long. He felt like he should say something… had he TRULY taken her virginity last night? This woman born in, what did her ID say? 1981? Fuck, he himself was born in 1990. Truly nearly a decade after her, it seemed prudent not to bring up such a fact.
