Zombie Blow Job

For centuries or more, the dirt of the earth laid silent except where it was molested by the hands of man or by the deep rumbles of the low tectonic plates.

That, however, was all in the past.

Now the dirt positively broiled. It was alive, coming up in waves of death. Opening itself to the air and exposing the rotting corpses beneath. Hands of bone and falling flesh burst through their coffins and scratched through the dirt. They clutched at the night air, grasping for a hold on the well-maintained earth.

“Did you hear that?” Candy said, blowing smoke out of her whorish red lips.

“Nope.” The boy answered, slipping into his pants. “You want a ride home?” He leaned into her, pressing his rough lips against her thick paint.

“No, I think I’ll just walk.”

“Out here? Alone?”

“What, you aren’t afraid of the dead, are you?” Candy grinned. She adjusted the bosom of her pink halter top. Her tits never seemed to stay where they were supposed to.

“Mmm. Let’s do it again.” The boy said.

“It’s late, and you are broke.”

“Yeah, but” he stopped. “OK, now I heard THAT.”

The sound, a low rumbling like a thousand hungry bellies grumbling at once, slipped through the moonlit graveyard.

“Me too,” Candy said, suddenly aware of more than the fifty dollars she stuffed in her leather skirt. “What the fuck is that?” She stood, slipping on her six inch heels at the same time.

“We should get the fuck out of here.” The boy, already poised to run, nearly shouted in her face. Behind her, he saw things---evil things, rotting things---coming to them. The boy did not bother to pull her along. He turned, pumping his shoeless legs as fast as he could.

If the boy would have bothered to look back, he would have seen more than sweet, gentle Candy.

If the boy had stopped for even a second, he would have joined the soon to be dead succulent Candy.

Candy did not take that extra split second to run. The sound had intrigued her; she had always been one for a good, gory tale.

A skeletal hand grasped her neck, yanking her to the wet earth. Her tits, white and pale, bounced out of her pink top. Nipples pointed to the starry night sky as her head hit the ground. Hands, some rotting, others already void of human flesh, ripped into her clothes. They tore her smooth, creamy skin. One pair of hand yanked her honeyed hair so hard that the only sound heard above her screaming was her scalp being rendered free.

Her legs split open, exposing her recently fucked cunt to the monstrous things. The exploitation had been so fierce that quite literally her pussy was wet with bloody lacerations, straight up the center of her clit and through to her tiny, buttery ass.

Fists, bone-sharp and unending, stabbed up the delicious velvet of her cunt. They forced their way inside her, one at first, then another, and another, until her insides were filled with the hands and arms of the dead. The skeleton fists burst out through her chest cavity, reaching up to twist her pink nipples. The wretched claws curled around her frothy teats until the skin split, exposing the white fatty layer beneath.

The things, demonic living dead, sucked the blood from her breasts, biting into her with animalistic force. They devoured her bloody, cum-covered flesh.

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The boy already had his keys out. He unlocked the ’86 Honda, jumping into the front seat. Sweating profusely, he stabbed the keys into the ignition. The car, never being a fan of the cool weather, turned over but refused to start. Pumping the gas pedal harder than he had fucked the hooker, the boy gave a startled look around him. The graveyard was eerily silent. No screams from Candy, no unearthly moans greeted him in the darkness.

He faced himself in the rear view mirror. “Get a fucking grip, Ulrich.” He said.

Ulrich turned the keys again. The car refused to roar to life. “Motherfucker!” He shouted, throwing open the door. “I hate this fucking piece of shit fucking car.”

Ulrich, barely out of high school and about two minutes away from joining his older brother in the Army ranks, should have left his door shut. He most certainly should not have popped open the hood of his rusty Honda, and he should not have bent over to jiggle the battery cables.

But Ulrich had never liked horror movies, and he did not know the basic rule of survival---stay in the fucking car.

“Ulrich.” The gurgled voice came from behind him. “Ulrich.” It said again, unlike anything the young man had ever heard.

He turned.

“Ulrich,” the thing that used to be a hot little piece of ass said, “do you want to fuck me?” Candy smiled through blood painted lips.

She reached for him, far enough away that if Ulrich had his wits about him he could have turned and ran. Her breasts hung in torn rips of flesh. Her stomach, once all smooth and welcoming to kiss, was ripped open from the inside out.

Candy stepped closer, gore and blood dripping from the center of her legs. She limped to him, and Ulrich turned just a moment too late.

His face in her supernaturally strong hands, the petite whore forced his head against her mouth. She kissed him, licked him with her tongue. Candy bit into his lips and tasted him.

Ulrich tried to struggle, his arms flailing against her, his legs kicking her as she pulled him to the ground.

Candy held him there. She straddled him with her torn and bleeding cunt, letting her intestines press wet against his flannel top. The un-dead whore severed his shirt with sharp fingers, cutting into his taunt flesh.

Ulrich was screaming now, begging for her to leave him alone with more force than he had begged for her to fuck him only hours ago.

“Do you like me?” Candy said through mouths of his flesh. “Don’t you want to fuck me?” She bit a ribbon of his muscled chest, ripping it down to the top of his still unbuttoned jeans.

Her teeth wrenched the dick from his pants. She remembered this, remembered how to make a man hard. Her hands, suddenly merciful, moved against the shaft of his pliable cock.

Against Ulrich’s will, and surprisingly regardless of his blood loss, the nineteen year old cock became rigid, solid.

Candy brushed her forked tongue against it, writhing her mouth over his manhood. Ulrich moaned with pain and pleasure as she moved her claret colored lips up and down the shaft of his cock. Candy did not have to breathe, and she crammed his hard dick deep inside the swarthy abyss of her throat. She stopped there, for unknown minutes or hours---just under the time it would have taken Ulrich to bleed to death—moving the muscles of her throat against his cock. Candy’s severed tongue split around his shaft, stroking him with inspired lust.

Ulrich groaned, his hands grabbed the top of her head, grasping honey suckle hair and scalped flesh at the same time. He was too caught up in the bitter sweet mixture of agony and ecstasy to be disgusted. He thrust into her throat, rupturing down the back of her neck with lifeblood and frothy cum.

In that last fatal moment, Ulrich exhaled a hot, wet breath. His eternal rest would have been an utter oblivion, but the Grim Reaper was on vacation.

Hunger forcing them to seek out a new victim, the dead and sex absorbed teenagers stalked into the night.