“Tamsin! Why did you do it?” I get asked this all the time with regard to my small-but-beautiful zombie erotica collection, Zombie Erotoclypse. “Ugh! Nobody fantasizes about having sex with zombies. Nobody wants to read about zombies fucking!” Yes, I’ll admit it – the squick factor is high. This is really only a collection for the brave-hearted and strong-stomached.
But you know, someone had to do it…
Now, if you are indeed one of the brave-hearted and strong-stomached, you might like to read on. This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is “Peeping Tom” – and when I saw that, how it made my heart sing. You see, one of the stories in Zombie Erotoclypse is called “Peeping Zom” – and guess what it’s about? Ha! So now I get the chance to subject you all to a dose of zombie erotica – here’s the whole story.
Go ahead. Read it if you dare!
Stanley had always been something of a hound. A booze hound when he was human, a blood hound now he was a zombie. But over and above his drinking habits, Stanley was a pussy hound. And that hadn’t changed one little bit since he became a bone fide member of the walking dead.
Stanley didn’t really care if the pussy in question was human or zombie; he wanted it all. But he didn’t often get it, especially human pussy. After all, there aren’t any chicks on this planet who are going to date a lecherous zombie. Flaking flesh and wandering hands are too much to put up with. But Stan got a bit of zombie pussy now and again. Because even zombies that are pretty far gone, near the end of decay, have sexual urges and cravings. Who hasn’t seen a couple of zombies going at it, hammer and tongs, in the middle of the street, not caring who sees or what falls off in the process? Stanley would prowl the busiest parts of the city to find some old zombie broad who would beg him for it and then he’d give it to her good, fuck her to pieces.
But, ultimately, screwing zombies wasn’t that satisfying, wasn’t that much of a turn on, after the first few weeks. He did it to scratch the itch but, more and more, Stanley found himself dreaming of wholesome, young, uninfected human flesh. Ripe, peachy girls with a pink flush of health and no scabby scales or sores or missing body parts. God, what he wouldn’t give for a piece of cheerleader squirming underneath him or a nice beach volleyball player he could lick and suck and eventually bite.
Truly, it was becoming a bit of a problem. Yes, Stanley was an eating machine but even as he searched out rats or cats or little boys to feast on, all he could think about was having sex with luscious human women. Even newly-turned zombies failed to hit the spot. He wanted fresh, unbitten flesh so badly that he practically broke his cock off thinking about it.
And then, one day down on Bay Street, he saw her and in an instant all his longings crystallized into a burning obsession. She was perfect in every way – tall, tanned, blond and beautiful, riding shotgun on the back of a dented jeep with a rifle and a crossbow propped beside her. Stanley didn’t see who was driving the jeep and neither did he care. Santa Monica was one of the last outposts of fresh humans in the city and more of them were leaving every day; but this jeep hadn’t been loaded for an exodus…
Stanley grunted and started to run down the road in pursuit. But his knees were stiff and weak and, when the jeep skidded off round a corner, he knew he’d never be able to keep up. He dropped down into a sitting position on the curb, panting with the exertion. He needed to feed. If he was going to search the area for the jeep and the girl, then he would need energy. Feeding was easier at night when the rats came out to clean up the body parts the zombies had shed during the day. So, as his mind raced to build and rebuild the image of the blonde with her hair streaming out behind her in the wind, Stanley retreated into a tumbled-down house near the beach to play out his fantasies.
It was after midnight when Stanley spotted the jeep, wedged up the side of a small property on Ashland Avenue. There were no lights showing in the two-storey house but it didn’t smell derelict to Stanley’s nose and the windows were all boarded up, rather than hanging loose on their hinges or simply smashed. Green tiles were missing off the roof and the yard was overgrown but that was the case with every property these days, lived in or abandoned.
Stanley snorted, wishing he could get the bitter taste of rat’s blood out of the back of his throat. He lumbered across the lawn, suppressing his customary grunts, and clambered up onto the veranda that ran around the front and sides of the house. He could smell food. Real, human food, the kind he used to eat before raw flesh became the only thing that could satisfy his hunger. Grilled beef, tomato sauce and something sweet for dessert. The mixed aromas made his stomach churn but he felt a flurry of excitement flare through him as he remembered how delectable the woman on the jeep had looked.
His breathing was labored and his left ankle twisted, making him stumble against the stoop’s rickety railing. He didn’t have a plan. He’d lost his ability to think ahead and imagine consequences. He just followed his urges, fuelling him on, powering up his motor for an assault. He felt a surge of hot blood expanding his cock and a cooler sensation as drool evaporated from his chin.
There was no sound coming from the house. He rested his ear against the front door to listen but even when he pressed it up against the keyhole, all he could hear was his own chest rattling with every breath. He was angry, grinding his teeth until the pain of an exposed nerve made him stop. Trying to be as quiet as he could, he went to investigate the windows as a way of forcing entry but they were all firmly boarded up and secured with metal grills. A rotting zombie hand clung to one of the steel struts; he wasn’t the first to investigate this property. He glanced down at his own hands. There were a few fingernails missing but his fingers were still strong and flexible, still had a sense of touch and were still sensitive to pain. There was a suppurating wound on his left thumb where a rat had sunk its teeth into him a couple of days ago. But he’d more than made up for it in return with his own teeth.
The sudden sound of a woman’s laugh, cut off in the middle, drew him to the back of the house. She was in there. He knew it was her. The laugh sounded right. Youthful and melodic, like music to his ears that were now so used to hearing only the grunts and groans of other zombies and the squeal of rats as he tore into them with his teeth.
There was a long, low window adjacent to the door at the back of the house. It was secured just as well as all the others but as he inspected it, Stanley discovered a knot hole the size of a penny in one of the strips of boarding. It was about a foot lower than his natural eye level, but if he rested his elbows on the sill and slumped at the knee, he could bring himself down to the right height to look through it.
At first he could see hardly anything at all. The flame from a single candled glared in a pool of black. But as his eye gradually became accustomed to the dim light, he was able to make out the shapes of furniture. And then bodies. There were two people in what was obviously a bedroom, caught in a standing embrace, arms round each other and mouths locked in a kiss. The woman had her back to the window and by the gold glint of her hair in the candlelight, Stan felt sure she was the Blonde from the jeep. He bit his lip as an appreciative grunt started to form in his throat. He couldn’t afford to be caught now, not before he’d seen what was going on.
The man’s arms were working their way up and down the woman’s back and Stan could see her pushing her ass out as his hands skimmed the top of her butt cheeks. She was horny as hell by his estimation. They stumbled slightly so now Stan could see them both side on. They were fully clothed, the Blonde in the same frayed jeans and scruffy tank she’d been wearing earlier, the guy in cargo pants and a dark t-shirt. Stan had a better view of the kiss now, as well. Open mouth to open mouth, the guy pushing down hard against her face, no doubt pressing his tongue deep inside, as she explored his mouth in turn. The Blonde moaned and anchored her hands in the man’s unruly black hair.
After a minute or so, the guy stepped back from the kiss and dropped into a sitting position on a low bed to the left of the window. He lounged back against the wall with his arms folded behind his head.
“Strip for me, babe,” he said, low and guttural. “Show me what you got.”
The Blonde said nothing but acquiesced with a single nod of her head. Stanley held his breath as he watched her hands skim up the hem of her tank top and started raising it slowly to reveal flat, hard abs. God, he’d always wanted a girl with the body of an athlete and the Blonde looked beyond fit. He felt his cock pushing up against the seam of the ragged cut-offs he was wearing and he ground his hips back and forward to build some friction. Inside, the guy was obviously appreciating the show too; his hands were cupped over his groin and his mouth slumped open with slack lips.
The Blonde pulled the tank up further until Stanley could see the soft under-curve of her heavy breasts. She paused for a moment to cup them in her hands.
“D’you wanna see more, Charlie?” she teased.
“I wanna see it all,” Charlie grunted.
Stanley gripped the steel struts of the window grill to stop himself sinking onto his knees.
The Blonde caressed her breasts, shoving the tank up over them as she did, tweeking the nipples as she revealed them. Her areolae were small and dark, and they looked grainy in the soft light. The nipples stood erect, pushing outwards, and Stan bit his tongue with his desperation to suck one into his mouth. His cock bucked and he rubbed himself slowly against the clapperboards just under the window frame. He tasted blood on his tongue and fervently wished it wasn’t his own.
With a swift sweeping move, the tank was over her head and discarded on the floor. She stood in front of Charlie, circling her hips and still playing with her breasts, her head thrown back as she concentrated on her own pleasure. Charlie was gently working one hand at his groin and Stanley heard him groaning as he pressed down on the growing bulge in his pants.
“Come on, babe,” he murmured. “Don’t stop now.”
Stanley couldn’t have agreed more.
Still moving to unheard music, the Blonde slowly slid her hands down her torso to the fastening of her jeans. In his mind, Stanley could hear the pop of the press stud as she released it and the rasp of the zipper as she tugged it down. Then she gave a little shimmy as she pushed her pants down over hips and let them slip to the floor. She wore nothing underneath and Stan could see that her pussy was shaved clean, just how he liked it. Charlie’s own pants followed suit, and never one to be left out of a party, Stanley shoved his shorts down his legs without bothering to undo them, not caring as the waistband scraped away great tracts of grey skin from the outsides of his thighs.
The Blonde writhed and twisted in front of Charlie, exploring her body with her hands, letting them roam from breast to waist to the shadowy cleft between her long, slim legs. Charlie struggled out of what was left of his clothes, his eyes locked on her moving form, his mouth still open. Stan tore his gaze away from the Blonde to her partner–Charlie had freed his cock from his shorts to reveal a full erection that bobbed against his stomach as he kicked the clothing off his ankles.
“Come here, babe.”
The Blonde spun towards him and sank down astride his lap. They kissed again as Charlie let his hands roam her body freely. Stanley caught hold of his cock. It was rock hard and he tightened his grip as his pleasure heightened. He could almost feel her soft, smooth skin under his touch, almost taste the warm velvet of her mouth, but it wasn’t enough… It couldn’t be enough. He needed to touch her and taste her for real.
Charlie’s hands grasped the Blonde by the hips and raised her up. Stanley could see his cock standing proud between her legs and when he lowered her, her sharp, little gasp told Stan that Charlie’s cock was ramming home. Stan spat on his hand and worked it up and down his shaft, grasping the window grill ever tighter with his other hand for support. This was better than the porn he used to watch on his computer.
Inside, the Blonde couldn’t have ridden Charlie any harder or faster if she’d been Paul Revere. She bobbed up and down with his hands still on her hips but as Stan watched, his fingers slid round to claw at her buttocks. In response the Blonde arched her back, pushing her buttocks out until Stan could see the dark pucker that lay between them. His mouth watered and he jacked off harder than ever. Inside him, every nerved tingled and his balls felt like they were burning as they tightened and hardened.
Charlie pulled hard on the Blonde’s ass cheeks and her moans turned into a breathy cry of pain when one of his index fingers slid into her ass. Then she threw her head back and Stan could see her body go rigid and then judder as an orgasm ripped through her. Charlie’s shout added volume to her moans and he suddenly slid his hands up her back to cradle her shoulders. Then he lowered her to the floor in front of the bed and followed her down, swooping above her as he plunged back into her. The round domes of his ass pumped up and down and the Blonde’s hands raked his back, leaving bloody scratch marks in their wake.
Outside on the stoop, Stan could hardly draw breath. The smell of sex and smell of blood reached him through the chinks in the window. Their joint moans penetrated his skull like a primal duet. The fire in his loins spread up through his body as every nerve pinged and every muscle pulled tight. As his orgasm broke, his knees caved beneath him and he let out a blood-curdling cry. The window grill rattled under his weight as his hot zombie jizz spattered the clapboard side of the house.
Inside, Charlie collapsed onto the Blonde’s chest, panting, sweat slickened and exhausted. Underneath him, the Blonde started to wriggle.
“What was that noise, Charlie?”
Charlie nuzzled her neck and she pulled his head back by handful of hair.
“Outside, Charlie. I heard something.”
“What the fuck?” Charlie snapped out of his post-orgasmic daze in an instant.
He was on his feet before the Blonde could reply.
“I heard a biter, real close,” she said, scrabbling to find her clothes.
Charlie came across to the window but Stanley was no longer aware of what was happening in the room. In his mind he was riding the Blonde the same way Charlie had just ridden her, and nothing would stop him. It was the ride of his life.
Charlie turned back to the Blonde.
“He’s out here, fucking little pervert. He’s been watching us through a hole in the boarding.”
“Jesus, Charlie, fucking go after him,” said the Blonde, standing up and coming closer to look through the knot hole.
“Distract him,” said Charlie.
As Stanley opened his eyes again he couldn’t believe his luck. The Blonde was still in the room, still naked, though Charlie seemed to have disappeared. Now she was standing, facing the window, and as he watched she dipped a finger between her legs and then brought it up to her mouth and sucked on it.
Stanley gurgled with delight, blood surging back into his limp cock, reawakening it.
“You like that, biter boy?” said a voice from behind.
Stan whipped round to see Charlie standing at the far end of the stoop, the silver flash of an axe blade in his hand. Stan forgot he was still holding tight to the grill and with a blaze of pain his wrist snapped, leaving his hand hanging on the metal struts. Charlie flew towards him, pulling his arm back for a blow. It arced above his head and before Stan could duck away the sharp blade sliced into his brain like a knife through butter. The hand on his cock jerked away from his body, yanking it off as he fell.
Now Stanley was dead, properly dead, and he died as he’d always hoped he would, with his cock in his hand. One happy zombie.