Zombies, But Not As We Know Them

[Storyteller8989]

The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules. #

11:45am, 21/05/2019, a Tuesday. Patient Zero.

The late morning sun was warm on my face as I drove down Maple Avenue, the familiar route cutting past Northwood High. My nursing textbooks were spread across the passenger seat, highlighted passages on pharmacology staring back at me. I sighed, running a hand over my tired eyes. Finals were looming, and my brain felt like a saturated sponge. The silver locket around my neck, cool against my skin, was a small comfort. Just a few more weeks, Maya, I told myself. Then you can actually sleep.

That's when I saw him. A man in a suit, looking like he'd wrestled with a hurricane and lost, was stumbling along the sidewalk. His gait was uneven, a drunken lurch that didn't quite match the time of day. My clinical instincts, still sharpening but already razor-sharp, kicked in immediately. Possible neurological event. Intoxication. Stroke. My foot eased off the accelerator before I'd even made a conscious decision.

He took another few staggering steps before his legs simply gave out. He crumpled onto the grassy verge between the sidewalk and the street, not falling with the suddenness of a faint but collapsing like a building with a failing foundation. My heart hammered against my ribs. There was no one else on the street. No choice. I pulled my beat-up sedan to the curb, the tires crunching on the asphalt grit. "Okay, Maya, stay calm," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the engine's hum. I killed the ignition, grabbed my phone from the dash, and was out the door before I'd even thought to lock it.

The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and car exhaust. I jogged over, my sneakers silent on the cool pavement. "Sir? Are you okay?" I called out, my voice practiced and calm, the one I used for anxious patients in the clinic. He was face down, his dark suit rumpled, one arm bent at an unnatural angle. I knelt beside him, the dampness of the grass seeping through the knees of my jeans. "Sir? Can you hear me? I'm a nursing student. I'm here to help."

As I reached out to gently shake his shoulder, the air shifted. A strange, sweet scent, like honeyed figs and warm spice, washed over me. It was intoxicating, disorienting. For a split second, I felt a dizzying wave of heat bloom low in my belly, my nipples tightening into hard points against the thin fabric of my t-shirt. I shook my head, attributing it to a sudden head rush from kneeling too quickly. Focus, Maya. Check his vitals.

My fingers were just an inch from the rough wool of his suit jacket when he moved.

It wasn't the groggy stir of someone regaining consciousness. It was a violent, fluid roll, faster than his staggering gait had suggested was possible. He was on his back, and my brain struggled to process what I was seeing. His skin was a sickly grey, like old ash, and beneath it, a network of black veins pulsed with a sluggish, dark rhythm. His eyes... they were the worst part. They were solid, milky white, no iris, no pupil, just two blank orbs that fixed on me with an unnerving, feral, hungry intensity. A long string of thick, clear drool escaped his lips and dripped onto his chin.

Denial. Pure, absolute denial slammed into me. This isn't real. It's a prank. A psychotic break. He's having a seizure, this is a hallucination. My medical training screamed explanations at me, but none of them fit. None of them explained the eyes.

He lunged.

His hand, impossibly strong, shot out and clamped around my wrist. The grip was like iron, crushing the small bones. I cried out, a sharp yelp of pain and shock. He pulled me down, my balance lost, and I fell half on top of him. His face was right next to mine, and that cloying, delicious scent was overwhelming now, pouring from him with every ragged breath. It was doing things to my body, treacherous things that had nothing to do with fear. A liquid heat pooled in my core, my panties growing suddenly, shamefully damp.

"Please, let go!" I gasped, trying to wrench my arm away. It was useless.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head to the side. I saw his mouth open, saw the tongue that was far too long, far too thick, extending at least six inches. It was glistening with the same clear, thick fluid that dripped from his lips. Then his lips were on mine, crushing, bruising. It wasn't a kiss; it was an invasion. His tongue forced its way past my teeth, filling my mouth, and the taste exploded on my tongue. It was everything I had ever craved—warm sugar, ripe berries, rich cream. The fluid coated my tongue, my throat, forcing me to swallow just so I could breath. A wave of profound lethargy washed over me. My struggles weakened, my limbs feeling heavy and distant. No. Fight. This is wrong.

He broke the kiss, a string of his saliva connecting us for a moment before snapping. I gasped for air, but it was thick with his scent, his presence. His hands moved to my denim jacket, ripping it open like paper. The buttons flew. He grabbed the collar of my white t-shirt and tore it straight down the front. The fabric gave way with a sickening sound, exposing the plain white bra I wore. His white eyes fixed on my chest.

His long tongue snaked out, and he licked the swell of my breast above the cup of my bra. The contact was electric. A jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shot through me, so intense it was painful. My back arched involuntarily. The fluid on my skin felt like it was sinking in, melting my resistance, replacing my terror with a gnawing, desperate need. No. No, I don't want this. But my body was a traitor. My hips rocked against him.

He hooked a finger into the center clasp of my bra and pulled. The fabric snapped. My 34B breasts spilled out, nipples already hard and aching from the chemical assault. He lowered his head and latched onto my left nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while he sucked hard. The pleasure was blinding. It obliterated thought. It was a drug, and he was mainlining it directly into my nervous system. I could feel his saliva, feel it seeping into my skin, eroding my will. The locket pressed into my chest, a cold, sharp reminder of who I was, of the grandmother who raised me to be kind. Grandma, help me.

His mouth moved to my other breast, giving it the same lavish, tongue-heavy attention. The dual sensation was too much. The heat in my pelvis became a raging fire. My mind was a fog of fear and reluctant, shuddering pleasure. He shifted, his powerful hands tearing at the button and fly of my jeans. The denim shredded, and he ripped them down my legs along with my panties. I was naked from the waist down, exposed on the grass next to the road.

He was tearing at his own clothes with his free hand, the sound of fabric ripping loud in the quiet morning. He tore at his own pants. The sound of a zipper popping, then more tearing. He kicked the shredded fabric away.

Anger, hot and sharp, cut through the pheromonal haze. This was violation. This was assault. I renewed my struggle, bucking my hips, trying to bite down on the invading tongue. It was like trying to bite steel. He simply pressed me down, his weight pinning me.

And then I saw it.

His erection was freed, and my mind stuttered to a halt. It was huge, impossibly so, at least ten inches long and as thick as my wrist, standing rigid and angry from his grey groin. A steady stream of clear precum leaked from the tip, dripping onto the grass between us. Oh god. Oh god, no. He's going to rape me. Right here. In broad daylight. The thought was so absurd, so unbelievable, it almost broke through the fear. A zombie. A rapist zombie. It was a nightmare. A fever dream.

Please, God, let this be a dream, I bargained with a universe I wasn't sure was listening. Let me wake up. I'll do anything. I'll study harder, I'll be a better person, just please, not this.

He positioned himself between my legs, the massive head of his cock nudging against my entrance. I braced myself for pain, for tearing. But as the tip, coated in his slick precum, touched me, a strange relaxation spread through my inner muscles. There was no resistance. He pushed forward, and he slid into me, deep and shockingly painless. He filled me completely, stretching me in a way that should have been agony but was only a strange, overwhelming fullness.

Depression settled in then, a cold, heavy blanket. It was over. I was lost. This thing was inside me, and my body was welcoming it. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of that drugging pleasure through me. His hips began a steady, punishing rhythm, his grey skin slapping against mine. He leaned down, his tongue tracing a wet, hot path up my neck to my ear. I could hear his ragged breathing, smell that addictive scent. I was just a body now, a vessel for his lust. My dreams of a clinic, of helping people, of my grandmother's legacy—it all seemed distant, pointless. This was my reality now. The grass was prickling my back, the sun was on my face, and a monster was fucking me into oblivion.

My body tensed, my breath catching in my throat. The coil of pleasure inside me tightened to an impossible degree. No. Don't you dare. Don't you dare enjoy this. But it was too late. The orgasm crashed through me, a tidal wave of sensation so powerful it whited out my vision. A strangled cry escaped my lips as my inner muscles clamped down around him, waves of pleasure rippling through my body. It was the first, but I knew, with a horrifying certainty, it wouldn't be the last.

He didn't stop. If anything, his pace increased. The pleasure became a constant, a humming thrum beneath my skin. Another orgasm built, this one faster, more intense. I was lost in it, a passenger in my own body. The fear was a distant echo, the anger a forgotten memory. There was only the relentless thrusting, the skillful tongue, the overwhelming pleasure. I came again, and then again, my mind dissolving into a haze of ecstasy. My last coherent thought was of the scar above my eyebrow, the lesson it was supposed to have taught me about vulnerability. I hadn't learned a thing.

As his thrusts became erratic, more frantic, I felt a final, shattering orgasm rip through me. At the same moment, he drove into me one last time, impossibly deep, and a flood of liquid heat filled me. His semen. It was a torrent, far more than any normal man could produce, and it was scalding hot. The moment it touched my inner walls, the world ended.

It wasn't pain. It was... dissolution. A fire started in my pelvis, a white-hot agony that was somehow also ecstatic. It raced through my veins, burning away everything I was. My memories, my hopes, my name—they all turned to ash. My vision flickered, the blue of the sky and the green of the grass bleeding into a uniform grey. I could feel my body changing, a strange stretching in my breasts, a deep, primal hunger awakening that had nothing to do with food. The last vestige of Maya Chen, the compassionate nursing student, surfaced for one final, fleeting moment before the wave took her under completely.

Grandma... I'm sorry.

[RapeU]

I don't like zombie movies/tv/etc. They're boring. It's the same thing every single time. Characters spend some time running from them, then they stupidly run into a building or somewhere else where they inevitably get trapped because the zombies swarm the area around them.

This is a different take than the usual boring tropes of slow swarms, brains, and getting trapped somewhere. Despite monsters not being my thing, this is a good take. Sex instead of brains and rape turning you into a zombie, this is something I could get behind.

[PaperDummy]

This was a good read.
The promise of a zombie virus, that results in the zombie hunting for sex instead of brains, and spreading through rape, reminds of the Rape Zombie: Lust of the Dead movies.