Sex-crazed Zombies vs the Human Race
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, BiSexual, Fiction, Science Fiction, Post Apocalypse, Zombies, Anal Sex, Necrophilia, Cannibalism, Violent,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Just when the whole zombie thing was seemingly solved with their total elimination, a new mutant version appeared with different agendas.
The second summer, after the defeat of the zombie hordes that rose like deadly hungry shadows in the midnight hours, a strange mutation of the terrible creatures took hold in the major population centers of the civilized world.
That first wave of brain-altered humans thirsting after tasty samples of grey matter had proven no match for the genocidal wrath of humankind. They were cut down like wheat in an open field, tethered to their places by frustrating slowness of movement and absolutely no weapons to further their cause of ending all human life to make way for their rotting life after death promise of immortality. Those zombie victims had originally come into existence by the accidental release of an unidentified Biological agent weaponized by well-meaning scientists for use against nasty dictators and countries with nefarious plans to dismantle the legally constituted governments of democratic societies.
My name is Grace Moneypenny and I am attached to the consortium of American governments from Brazil to Canada that led the way in supposed complete elimination of the zombie threat on the American Continent.
Now, less than a decade after the first signs of zombie infestation, our Continent leads the way in the zombie eradication program and only traces of the original infestation remain in the darkest jungles of Africa. It is more of a threat to the Ape population than the human race in those areas. Despite that fact, several large teams of zombie killers were dispatched to the remote areas to make certain zombies are eliminated forever from the surface of our planet.
In fact, our program was so successful, that I was seriously considering leaving the anti-zombie service and resuming my duties as a professor of diverse cultures in the lofty towers of Academia with a hope to finding a suitable mate with the ability to converse intelligently in various areas of interest and with the necessary equipment to change me into the mother I knew lurked deep under my surface of brittle hard unfeeling exterior ready to invoke a “final solution” on any dangers to the human race.
I knew that my reputation for terminating even the youngest zombie victims with vigor and a spirit of intense religious righteousness probably made me an outcast in our military-style program, but I followed my grandfather’s code of conduct that inspired me to rigid loyalty and obedience.
At first, the appearance of the mutated zombies seemed more like a tragic prank or joke gone bad rather than part of the overall zombie holocaust.
Since, I was a creature of habit, I made every attempt to derive the origin and the scope of the new threat and each time, I came up with the randomness of the facts and the conclusion that even the mutated zombies had no idea why they had fallen into the trap of the “Living Dead”.
I did my best to ignore the rumors about my bloodthirsty attitude in defending our precious rights and liberties because there was a great deal of truth in the descriptions of my holy wrath. It was shocking to me however to hear the rumors about my total lack of feminine charm and my preference for female room-mates. I had always thought it just common sense to seek female companionship in matters of intimate exposure rather than risk the loss of dignity associated with allowing some male “bad boy” to brag about how he had made me “do this or do that” with macho delight. I didn’t trust the male executioners in my division because they were primarily an “all muscle and no common sense” detachment of hedonistic pussy-chasers with their brains below their belts. A few times, I had gotten so desperate for some action that I had donned a disguise that included a long flowing blonde wig and six-inch heels that made my ass cheeks wiggle so vehemently that I swear I could hear them clap together when I came to a sudden stop. I found that once I had assumed the standard “bent-over” position, most males just did what came naturally and didn’t question their good fortune at landing a tantalizingly tight and thoroughly wet channel of sweet surrender. I seldom looked over my shoulder as they pounded me with resolute determination, not wanting to carry a vision of such paramours with me for any length of time.
Our first encounter with the “Sex-crazed” zombies was strangely on the weekend of the fourteenth of February, better known as “Valentine’s Day” to love-starved gals and guys the world over. I had never liked the holiday ever since little Billy Bigelow had sent a card to every girl in the class except me. His later explanation of
“I didn’t think of you as an actual girl, Grace” was more hurtful than the omission of the card.
The initial outbreak took place on that weekend in several places at the same time. It is difficult to say if that was in some sort of planning tactic or just coincidence because implanted pods had all burst at the same time in their zombie-addled brains. Anyway, the similarity of the reports were somewhat ludicrous to some degree because instead of murdered humans with their brains splattered all over God’s creation, this new edition of hybrid zombie only had one thing on their mind that that was to sodomize any human unfortunate enough to fall into their path.
Right away, it came to my line of thinking that the mutated zombies were only full grown males and that they all seemed to have functional equipment for the difficult task of defeating reluctant sphincters. I thought about the lack of gender selection for human victims and speculated that availability was the key element of the attacks and not the appearance of the victims.
About two weeks after the initial assault, I sorted the data and discovered that there was a fifty/fifty chance that the sex-crazed zombies would wind up in the female human’s vagina as well as the tight rear portal. In a way, I theorized that it was a way of hiding the purpose of the attacks. Of course, it was only after the birth of hundreds of new humans with implanted sex-crazed zombie genes that the full importance of the mutation struck home in my suspicious mind.
The shame associated with being either sodomized or raped by crazy zombies was such that the average female hid the incident and went on with her life to avoid the stares and pointed fingers of a suddenly fearful public. The geometric progression of such incidents would take a couple of generations to be a major impact, but eventually the overt “brain-eating” zombies would be extinct but a new form of zombie that relied on covert sodomy and rape to achieve their objective would be in a position to become not only a majority but eventually to be the rule rather than the exception in normal society. It was almost impossible to detect if the triggering males were uninfected or actual “sex-crazed zombies” because their personalities and attitudes were so closely related, there was no way to be certain unless a blood test was performed to check their genetic picture.
At the very beginning, the sex-crazed mutants would work in pairs allowing one to hold the victim face down for the insertion and frenzied coupling that would occur. The fact that males were victims as well as females was later admitted to be merely a way to cover their true intent of using their sperm as a “Trojan Horse” to subjugate the entire human race. It was estimated that only about ten percent of the incidents were actually reported and the closure rate was only about ten percent of that figure. Therefore, only one percent of the incidents were brought to the public’s attention effectively sweeping the shameful attacks out of the public eye.
Then, everything changed, at least from my point of view.
I was wearing my disguise of blonde wig, high heels and had a sensuous pair of French undies hidden beneath my pencil tight skirt looking for some male with time on his hands to make me “take it” without much say in the matter. It was not overly concerning to me to have not only one but two young males grab me in a most undignified manner right under the statue of Cornelius Peppercorn, the revered leader of the farm movement that made all farms “protected” havens of food production with complete lack of regulation or taxes to reduce their success.
It was easy to predict where this was going when one of the young men tugged down my French undies and pushed his greedy fingers into my front and rear entryways like he was trying to decide which one was the primary target. With a hand over my mouth, I was unable to vote on the decision but I hoped it was my needy vagina because I was in a desperate state of un-fucked frustration that had me eyeing every male’s groin with impatient little whimpers of deprived sensuality.
The other guy had me with my pencil skirt hiked all the way up to my hips and he was starting to explore my heated regions with that sort of impulsiveness that I had always enjoyed more than the usual “gentle persuasion” so popular these days of metrosexual male confusion. The hand on my mouth guy was starting to maul my upper body goodies with serious intent and my poor nipples were getting an unexpected workout not altogether unwelcome but still more like icing on the cake than the meat and potatoes of being stretched by a huge member from behind with little consideration for comfort or compliance. I wanted to yell out,
“Go slowly; I’m still a bit dry down there.”
To all intents and purposes, I had little to say about the timing or the frantic nature of my taking but in all honesty I have to admit that is what made the whole affair a bid sordid and exciting to me because I knew the result would have me on my elbows and knees panting to catch my breath and feeling the sticky stuff running down the insides of my pristine legs like a jar of jam opened in haste. I couldn’t see the fellow behind me but he made a point of spanking me on both cheeks with his heavy hands and all I could do was grunt and groan with the absolute humiliation of complete degradation.
It seemed like the rear entry went on a long time but I was not complaining about the effort being expended to bring me to my much-needed orgasm. I felt it overwhelm me with sudden shame and I shuddered all over hoping that he would flood me at almost the same time. Instead of that, he just plodded on deep inside and before I knew it, I was letting go for a second time. It was something I had never experienced before and I hoped it would never end. The other guy on my boobs was biting and sucking them now and I fed them to his greedy mouth like a mom giving milk to her infant asking nothing in return except an occasional burp of satisfaction or a gentle tongue to sooth the bites.
Then the flood hit me between my quaking legs and I knew it was far too much to retain inside. I was leaking all over the place and both guys were laughing at my silly attempts to retain some degree of dignity. I knew I should be crying and pleading for mercy but I was so sated with completion that all I could muster was to slowly replace my French undies over my violated twat and push my bra back into place over my fully groped breasts.
At no point did I suspect either of the guys was not true humans and that they were a pair of sex-crazed zombies carrying out their devious program of destroying human existence from the inside and not from a frontal assault with little chance of success.