Zombie Cha-Cha

I spent the night teaching myself to walk again, and I marveled at my body’s responses. I hesitated to ask The Madam how long I had been in the ground, but I realized I didn’t really want to know; none of that mattered except my new life. Once I regained the control over my limbs I didn’t sleep, since my need for it was gone, but rested on The Madam’s old plaid couch, watching late-night television and infomercials. I was surprised at how keenly I could still think and feel, but alarmed to feel that old apathy leaking back into me. I had assumed it was a part of being buried in the cold ground, but now I realized it was a part of my newly found zombiehood.

The next morning a car with a driver came for me at nine. Madam Zumir dressed me in an old robe with pink flowers and led me to the backseat of the car, settling herself promptly at my side. The car started and we began the drive to The Madam’s bordello, the both of us were silent for a long time. The driver took winding, dusty roads and we didn’t see a single other car besides our own. I could feel her eyes on me before she spoke.

“You are feeling the despondency, no?” she asked me kindly. I turned away from the view I was gazing at morosely through the car window and nodded, wondering how she knew. “Regretfully, that is a side effect of the zombification process; the loss of the soul removes emotions and feelings from the brain, causing the detachment. You will find, if you have not already, that sex temporarily restores and strengthens your feelings, that is why your occupation shall suit you perfectly.” My life, as a prostitute, I wondered absently what my mother would say.

Ten minutes longer, and we pulled through a large driveway, hidden by foliage. Through the trees a large, white house majestically emerged. It was three stories, with gabled roofs over the windows and scalloped siding, an old house from the turn of the century, but well kept with neatly painted trim. At least, I thought to myself, I’d be working in a pretty house. The Madam opened my car door and drew me out. She placed her hands on my shoulders, as if to get a better view of me. I was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“You are so beautiful, my Germain. You are lovely, I am so proud of you, you will outshine every other girl in the house, I know you will. Because you are mine.” And with that said she kissed both my cheeks and left me on the doorstep, rapping on the large oak door before heading back to her car. My apathy receded enough for me to feel lonely, in front of the big white house, waiting for someone to open the door, and to let me inside.

Part III

It was a few moments before I heard stirring from within as someone came to usher me into the house. The heavy door was thrown open and in it’s wake stood a small man. Perhaps small isn’t the correct word, but he was perfectly formed, and petite, he must have topped off at five foot two, three inches shorter than myself. He was dressed in red silk pajamas, decidedly oriental, and it made his cheeks look pinker. His hair was the color of new hay, a stark blonde, and his eyes matched, being a pale blue. Eyes that reminded me of a husky, or a wolf, though they were not so very cold at the moment, I could imagine them becoming very harsh.

“Good morning, miss, what can I do for you?” He asked politely. I wondered if he knew who I was, or why I was here. The hidden drive would have made uninvited visitors a strange occurrence, but perhaps they wanted to be extra safe.

“I’m Germain. I belong to Madam Zumir,” I offered helpfully. I think I even smiled at the smallish man.

“Oh yes, yes! Figures the woman would just leave you here. Come in, please. She phoned us last week to tell us of your addition to our…little family.” He ushered me into the vestibule, closing the door behind me. The furnishings were lavish, this brothel spoke only of class, and elegance, and I must say I was surprised. The walls were papered with a textured sky blue, and sconces hung on the wall every eight feet or so, spilling warm light, the floors were of stone, perhaps marble, and an arrangement of lilies sat in a crystal vase on a small table near the door. “Have you fed, Germain?” The man asked me, more kindly than I expected. I shook my head; I wasn’t ready enough to chow raw meat this early in the morning.

“Very well, follow me please.” He led me down a long hallway, no less luxurious than the foyer, and took a right up a monumental staircase. I may not have been sure if the floor was marble, but the staircase certainly was. Each step was four feet wide, with cushioned chairs invitingly set every other stair. We traveled down another long hall, I kept back a few feet as to watch the sinuous way the man walked, a graceful glide that made he silken cloth covering his body shimmer in the dim light. I was amazed at how silent and still the big house was, and I wondered where the other whores were, the missing Brides of Death. Abruptly he stopped at a closed door and fished a ring of keys from the front pocket of his pajama pants.

Unlocking the door quietly the man directed me inside. He flicked a switch and low lighting glowed out a ceiling lamp, enough to comfortably see by, but not enough to bother me. The floor was carpeted in a shade of eggplant, and a modern king-sized bed took up the middle of the room, shrouded in a deep red coverlet, and hidden by gauzy white curtains. Heavy red drapes, the same hue as the bedspread covered large windows, blocking out all disdainful light, and original oil paintings, not prints, hung sporadically through the large room. I almost didn’t notice, but in a shadowed corner there was a large, dark marble bathing tub, sunk into the carpeted floor. It seemed incongruous with the rest of the room, nearly ludicrous except for it’s richness in the décor. There was a large wardrobe, and a cabinet made of fine, dark wood, also there was a small, stainless steel refrigerator by the bed, no doubt containing more raw meat so I didn’t end up wandering insanely eating up whatever I thoughtlessly chose.

“Your room, Miss. You shall be staying here, and this is where you will do the majority of your work as well. My name is Gregory; I am Madam Zumir’s overseer here at The White Birch House. I make sure all transactions run smoothly, and that the girls cooperate and are treated well, it’s my job to serve, and be served by you. I generally just take care of things for Madam Zumir.” Gregory gently closed the door behind him, and clasped his hands. “The first order of business, is to get you bathed, and presentable, so you may meet the other girls for lunch. Are you adverse to a bath, Miss Germain?”

“No, I would have showered much sooner, had I the chance. Even zombies don’t like being smudged with grave-dirt,” I said with a smile. I was rewarded by a genuinely warm laugh from Gregory. His laugh was robust and deep, coming from a smaller man, I was shocked, and comforted by his presence. It was either the apathy swallowing me up, or my comfort with the overseer, but I didn’t mind at all when he remove the slightly frayed, flowery robe and threw it on the bed.

He took me by the hand, and twirled me slowly about, making no move to hide his staring at my naked, soil-stained body. I felt my breasts weighed by his scrutiny, and I imagined the hair on my pubis to coil more tightly under his direct gaze. Gregory reached out a beautiful, pale hand, almost feminine and lifted my left breast gently.

“Much beauty, child. You are gifted with a fine splendor.” He said appreciatively, leading me over to the dark basin, releasing me to turn the faucet on with water hot enough to send whirls of steam wafting into the air. Gregory poured two large handfuls of a granulated pink powder, smelling of springtime and candy into the water, and big poufs of bath suds began to rise as the tub filled. While we waited for the bath to fill he gave me a tour of the wardrobe, dozens of dresses hung on padded hangers within the wooden alcove, I presumed they were all my size, and each one specifically designed to flatter my frame. I felt like an undead Cinderella from a macabre fairytale.

I stepped gracefully over to the bath, not really conscious of my nudity around Gregory and sank down into the sweet-smelling suds. The water was very, very hot, but I didn’t mind it. Somehow I knew if I was still human, I’d be in pain from the nearly boiling water, but it didn’t bother me now. I sighed and leaned my head back as the heat warmed the cold in my bones that I had grown so accustomed to in the chilly grave. I felt tender hands in my hair, pulling the long strands out from behind my head, massaging my scalp. I looked back at Gregory and smiled warmly, I felt like a princess with her own attendant, Madam Zumir had never treated me so well, hell, even guys I dated hadn’t been so kind. The shampoo he began to work into my hair smelled herbal and sweet, and soon he began to pour clear water over my head, rinsing my hair to cover my face.

Gregory took to washing me, he would not allow me to lift a finger or do anything other that relax as he rubbed me with a sea sponge larger than both my hands, washing away all my dirt and sins.

When I was washed and clean Gregory lifted me out of the rapidly cooling water and began to dry me off with a fluffy white towel, carefully drying my skin and hair and remaining respectful. “How are you feeling now?” He asked as he finished toweling me.

“Much cleaner, thank you, nearly my old self.” I replied, as grateful as I felt. I pulled the towel around me, relishing its softness against my skin.

“I sense that you might need to be fed soon, before dinner with the girls.” Gregory must have seen me recoil because he soon added: “No no, not meat, though that will come later. Are you feeling detached, unfeeling? Didn’t Madam Zumir speak to you about this?” He looked a bit cross until I nodded. Then he slowly began to unbutton his silk top exposing pale, creamy chest. He was perfectly formed with a small trail of blonde, almost invisible hair tracing from a patch on his chest to where it vanished in the waistband of his silky pants. I had the option of faking a quizzical look or just seizing the moment and accepting the offer of sex with Gregory.

“Are you wearing anything under those pants?” I asked. Being zombified didn’t make me a smoother chica; at best I was only a mediocre flirt. I didn’t wait for him to answer but slipped my hands over his hips, under the fabric of his pants. No, he was not wearing anything under the pajamas. His mouth opened partially, my desired reaction, and I took the opportunity to close my mouth over his. Let me tell you, kissing someone shorter than yourself is a very interesting feeling; I felt protective and gentle, and underneath I felt like I was in control of the situation. I cupped Gregory’s face in both my hand and pulled him further into my kiss, perhaps against his will because he struggled slightly to skirt away, maybe to breathe.

I moved so close to him I could smell his light, citrus aftershave and the scent of his skin; the aroma of skin, of meat. I grabbed him by the hair and kissed him violently enough to draw the copper-sweet taste of his blood into my mouth as I moved down to the bed. His hands were cupping my breasts as I straddled him, his moans were faint and swallowed up by my mouth, hungry and eager. The taste of blood held no revulsion for me; I sucked fervently on his lips, feeding myself from his passion. Blood wasn’t enough, I needed meat. I had to feed the hunger that loomed voraciously in my brain. I bit down a bit harder on Gregory’s lip, he struggled in earnest, but I was stronger by far. His erection was full, and pressed against my thigh, the thin silk a flimsy barrier, and the choice was mine: food, or fuck.

Instinctively I pulled my face away from his, to see the fear in his cool, blue eyes. And yes, there was panic, but also the darkness of the eyes that denotes arousal; he was scared, but lovin’ it. The thought of his fright mixed with physical pleasure filled me with heat, and I could feel moisture grow between my thighs, to my joy of course. I tested my strength on his trousers, taking them in my hands, pulling them taut, and tearing them straight off his skin with a wet rrrrrrrrip. My eyes went huge when I saw his cock. The man was five foot two, but he was huge. I had only seen a penis so large in pornography, he was very well equipped, and as thick as my forearm, my pussy began to tingle in anticipation. I began salivate as well, and not from arousal. One of my hungers had to be sated immediately, or Gregory would not survive.

I gave no warning, but let myself fall, penetrating myself on his cock. Gregory’s whole body convulsed, his back arched, and a low sound rushed forth from somewhere deep in his throat. He was a hair’s breadth away from being too big for me, I felt him pressing, throbbing against my canal… My mouth found his once more and I rode him, mindless enjoying the pleasure that wracked my body, as well as the extra something that filled my mind. It wasn’t as extreme or encompassing as before with Nathaniel, but I could still feel mentally my orgasm starting to build, and it urged me on. I would rise on my knees until only his head of his penis pressed inside me, and drive myself own, impaling myself and making the bed shake. My bloodstained kisses left his mouth, and I licked and sucked his neck and shoulders, his moans grew louder, more frantic. Perhaps he thought I was tasting him, and he was a little frantic. Perhaps I was tasting him. I could taste his fear, his need, and my power.

My licking turned to nibbling, and my nibbles became biting. I loved the feel of a mouthful of his skin and flesh. My one hunger began to feed my other hunger, the sex made me hungry for meat; hungry for Gregory. I was close to my climax, slamming my cunt down on his monster of a cock, filling my pussy, but starving my hunger…I still had some vestige of sanity, I would not eat the overseer. But the closer I came to orgasm, and the more Gregory writhed beneath me the more clear my realization occurred to me; when I came, I would feed. The rapidly shrinking piece of my brain that housed sanity suddenly wished I hadn’t skipped breakfast.

The hot waves of my magma lust were lapping at my consciousness, my teeth scraped Gregory’s collarbone, and he shouted my name blindly, hands clutching my hair and head, but I couldn’t tell whether he was pushing me away, or pulling me closer. He was moaning so much louder now, my teeth grinding deep into his body, and he writhed he lifted us both off the bed, and I came like a shower of sparks. It was actually very unexpected, and ripped through me as I had ripped Gregory’s pants earlier, I felt the explosion in my mind, and the contraction of my vagina, and his orgasm as well and his hands tightened on my head…and it was a few moment before I realized I had bitten through Gregory’s shoulder.

I had taken a small bite of his shoulder, and since there was no evidence, I must have swallowed it. His blood tasted fresh and sugary on my tongue, I held no remorse. Gregory lay panting on the bed, a trickle of blood from his shoulder seeped into the red coverlet. His eyes were glazed and wild. And he was in a lsight daze, grinning.

It was a moment before either of us could speak; he made no move to cover his body, or the wound. I spoke first: “Perhaps you should get a bandage for that.” I would not waste my time with apologies, Gregory was the overseer, and he knew what he had gotten himself into. I smiled, sated completely.

“And you should dress for lunch though you already had your appetizer.” He jested, gesturing to the wardrobe. Gregory slowly got to his feet and pressed my flowered robe against his shoulder to staunch the bleeding. “As much as I enjoyed that…extravagance, your customers may not. You must feed prior to every client. We cannot let any mishaps occur. Keep it in mind, Germain.” He said, a bit gruffly. Left with nothing to do but dress, I chose a simple gown, the shade of sea foam, washed most of the sex-fluids and blood off myself, and ran a brush through my still damp hair.

Gregory vanished for a moment and returned fully dressed and preened, like nothing had happened and offered me an arm. Down the steps we slowly waltzed, almost a ridiculous caricature of a prom couple. In a comfortable silence we strolled, down corridors, all decorated with perfect taste. I was perfectly assured that we were lost when we turned a corner into a huge meeting hall. There was an ornately carved table in the very center, huge, long enough to fit at least twenty people, and at the table were a strange assortment of the undead. I took a deep breath, and made ready to enter the lion’s den.

…To be continued.