Creatures of Lust Ch. 02

Same as before, I will give content warnings so you can ensure that this is your cup of tea before reading. This story contains references to corpses, zombies, stitched together abominations and a single implication of attempted sexual assault. There is also sexual content including a female zombie, several male zombies and a human-like woman.

Again, feedback is more than appreciated. Still unsure of the tone and the balancing between sensuality and comedy.

***

Solitude. There were certainly worse things out there. To Pummel, being unaccompanied in the presence of Orgos qualified as a situation far worse than confinement with his own thoughts. The horse kept slamming its hind legs against the ground, as if prodding for a chance at giving Pummel's jaw another kick.

The undead giant, in turn, was gripping the whip with the silent ferocity only a creature who has survived multiple horse kicks to the face can muster. Every time a hoof clopped against the dirt, Pummel would flick the lash with as much menace as possible. For all its nastiness, the steed understood quite clearly the implications of a kick. It was hard to imagine a world in which being whipped by a man as large as Pummel would not hurt like hell.

On the back of the wagon, neither Demetria nor their newest zombie captive had yet recovered from the previous orgasm. Their bodies remained perfectly still, almost entwined in an unintentional embrace. This stillness became a lot less impressive once you remembered neither of the two women needed to breathe. The runes on Demetria had stopped their flickering for a few minutes now, so it was safe to assume the tide of pleasure from her previous orgasm had finally passed.

When he felt a stir behind him, the giant was barely able to dodge a kick to his face. Orgos would have been lectured with a whip on why Pummel had been given that name, had it not been for Demetria's deceptively quick awakening.

"Ah, Pummel. You've brought us back to the wagon."

"Yeah," he lowered the whip with narrowed eyes.

The ethereal woman took his hand as she stepped onto the seat next to the undead giant's. Her presence was as good a reason as any for Pummel and Orgos to temporarily stop trying to destroy one another. The remaining five zombies on the loose had clearly proven insufficient this far. And that, he remembered, was one great grievance to air now that Demetria was back.

"We wasted too much time," Pummel remarked sourly.

"Wasted?" Demetria raised a mischievous brow. "I thought it was pretty enjoyable myself."

"Enjoyable doesn't mean it wasn't wasted time," he insisted.

"Alright, alright..." Demetria rolled her silver eyes. The smirk on her lips was enough for him to tell she wasn't too upset. "Orgos, dear. Take us to our next stop?"

The horse, annoyingly enough, obeyed again. No need for the whip, no kicking, nothing. Pummel had to wonder if Orgos himself wasn't another creation of Demetria's, one that preceded him. Pummel wasn't sure if he liked the idea of the horse being artificial more or less than the thought of it being organic.

"Where are we going next?" he grumbled.

"How should I know?" Demetria shot him a carefree smile. "It's in Orgos's hands now."

"We're doomed," Pummel was quick to remark. He couldn't help but notice, just barely, that the horse's pace started hastening shortly after he spoke.

"Have a little faith, Pummel," the raven-haired woman allowed herself to look carefree. "I don't have unreliable creatures under my employ."

"Except the five zombies we're chasing."

She rolled her silver eyes with a concealed smirk. In the rare occasions when Pummel was in a good mood, he would have to admit having such a cheerful boss was quite a boon. To say nothing of the fact Demetria was so easy on the eyes, Pummel could occasionally admit he was very lucky indeed.

Unfortunately, Pummel had been out in the rain that day. Worse, he had been spending time with Orgos before, during and after his work had been done. There were few deities in the universe that would be capable of conjuring any sort of optimism in Pummel after all that. And if there were any, they could probably make a lot more people happier with miracles that would take less effort. Like curing cancer, for example.

The bumpy road was forcing him to grab whatever bits of the carriage he could. Normally, he would have been very happy to pin the blame on the foul horse for all the adversities he ran into while traveling. But even Pummel had to concede this path was a true display of inferior craftsmanship. This was a road not even Orgos deserved to trot on.

Demetria, on her side of the coach, needed no such rough things as grabbing and holding on. Apart from a hand resting on her henchman's wrist, the ethereal woman leaned on nothing and remained annoyingly unfazed by the appalling conditions of the path they trundled through.

Gradually, the forest gave way to more civilized land, even if the road did not match it. Wild pine trees were soon replaced by seemingly endless plowed fields of wheat and cereal. It would make for a pretty sight if not for the wagon's damn shaking. Pummel felt sick, which was a remarkably difficult sensation to impose on an undead abomination.

Not everything was bad, though. Demetria had at least opened her jacket and loosened her bodice. Her jiggling breasts were quite literally the only thing making the rocky voyage tolerable, but they were large and bouncy enough to almost offset the negatives of the trip altogether. For a while, that is. Fun as ogling his boss was, even that could only buy his patience for so long.

"Are we there yet?" he finally had to ask.

Demetria shot him another one of her signature smirks.

"Do you tire of my body this quickly, Pummel?"

"Only when you have clothes on."

The pale woman squeezed her breasts together with a teasing grin. They seemed to get just a little bigger as she did it. Pummel was about 85% certain this didn't happen with other women.

"Maybe 'tire' isn't the right word," he admitted grudgingly.

Demetria giggled, before pointing at a figure in the middle of the wheat field.

"Well, you can rejoice," she bit her lip. "I spy with my little eye another runaway zombie that needs to be disciplined."

From this distance, Pummel's secondhand eyes had a hard time making out whether the figure in the distance was even a person. All he could see was a trail of damaged wheat that would lead towards it.

"How do you know?" he tried to squint.

"Aw, Pummel. Don't you smell it?" she knelt on her seat to reach his ear with her lips. The bumpy road didn't even have an effect on her steady whispering. "The scent of arousal?"

The undead giant let his nostrils take in their surroundings. Wet dirt, a few silver wattles, maybe a hint of raw flour. Pummel sincerely hoped this was not what arousal smelled like. It would feel undignified, somehow.

"I don't," he grumbled.

"Maybe once we get a little closer. Orgos, dear, could you find us a nice stop?"

The carriage ground to a halt, but not before another bump almost launched Pummel off his seat. He did not waste any time to leap off the wagon onto the mud. The rough landing felt like justice against the ground, given the horrible journey it had forced upon them thus far.

Demetria took his hand and descended onto the ground much like a feather would. Her boots hardly stirred the mud once they touched it. Her silver eyes locked onto Pummel's for a moment after that. She knew he found her fascinating. And incomprehensible. And annoying. And beautiful. It was probably for the best Pummel had a hard time with long sentences.

A brief glance at the back of the wagon was enough to tell their passenger was yet to recover from the orgasm Pummel and Demetria had given her. That was not unusual, at least. Most creatures needed a long time to regain control after climaxing with Demetria's help. Being a rare exception to this rule made Pummel very happy indeed.

Demetria was already inhaling deeply, probably trying to catch the so-called scent of arousal. The runes on her wrists were regaining the purple hue once more. To Pummel, this didn't prove much. It was so easy to turn that fiend of a woman on that the smell of the earth after raining would probably do the trick.

"And this zombie?" he decided to interrupt her before she got too aroused by all that sniffing. Roughly, as was his custom.

"Does she look escapey to you?" Demetria placed a hand on her hip.

"Looks don't matter when she has already escaped once."

Demetria's silver eyes rolled again. Infuriatingly, she seemed to be making no motions to immobilize the zombie. Pummel had little doubt she could open a small portal to another realm and immediately fetch a rope. Worse, she was probably carrying some vial of glue in her jacket that would easily solve their problem right away. She instead chose banter once more.

"I'm pretty sure we've proven this feeble, unimaginative little thing that we're a tad better at pleasuring her than she is, don't you think?"

"Horniness and logic don't mix," Pummel declared impatiently.

"Hey, I resent that!" the way she was smiling suggested that wasn't the truth. "Give her a chance. I'm sure she'll behave."

Demetria's wrist runes were flickering too much for her to be thinking about the zombie behaving. Pummel didn't doubt she was imagining far wilder scenarios. Probably hoping for them too, sneaky as she was.

"I'm not chasing zombies that we've already captured," he declared.

"I just told you I'm sure she'll behave!" Demetria had a teasing smile on.

"And I just told you I don't believe you when you say that."

It had been a good comeback. Pummel always felt unarmed when sparring against Demetria. This once, it had gone his way, it seemed. Had Demetria found a reply, it would have made his situation a whole lot harder. Luckily, the ethereal woman opted to instead chuckle and face the field once again.

In the distance, the figure hadn't moved. Demetria practically glid between the stalks of wheat. Her body did not leave a footpath behind it, while Pummel's massive frame easily created a trail wide enough for two people in its wake. They were able to find and join the figure's trail quickly enough, which then at least meant there were fewer bits of grain and awns clinging to Pummel's clothes. Pummel found it all too predictable that the plants seldom left bits of themselves on Demetria's clothes.

Once they got closer, it was possible for Pummel to finally see what they were tracking. It wasn't just a zombie in the middle of the field, but two. A male one was lying on his back, while a female one was bouncing happily on his member. The noises the first was making did not match those of the latter. While the undead woman moaned - expected behavior from zombies and sex havers alike - the male undead seemed to be talking. Pleasurably so, yes, but there was something off about anyone talking extensively during sex.

"They can talk?" Pummel whispered.

"Not by design," Demetria rubbed her chin.

Her effortless gliding grew hastier. Pummel had to stride with his long legs to keep up with his superior. The loud movements of a hulking undead giant leaping towards them did not stop the zombies. The undead man's lifeless eyes noticed the two of them first.

"Hnng... This soil and climate... would be better suited for barley agriculture..."

For once, Demetria didn't seem to know what to say. Pummel was confused too, of course. But Pummel was usually confused, anyway. For Demetria to be perplexed, things had to come out of the deepest recesses of the metaphorical left field. There was a moment of silence where only the woman's moans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh could be heard.

Even the way they were having sex was a little off. Pummel had never seen a man in such a casual pose while a woman rode him. The talking zombie had placed both his hands under his head, not even bothering to grip his lover. Meanwhile, the female zombie, this one a brunette, was vigorously shaking her hips, moaning desperately for release. Her movements were so intense her smaller breasts jiggled almost as much as Demetria's had during the trip there. Hints of cum and pussy juice alike glistened around their waists. It seemed they had been at this for a while.

As if aware more was expected of him, the male zombie spoke again:

"Barley... is more adaptable... and it withstands... cooler temperatures!"

"I think this one is broken," Pummel remarked.

"What are you doing?" Demetria ignored her underling.

"Enjoying the pleasures of the flesh," the talking zombie smiled. He had surprisingly good teeth for a dead man. And decent muscles. Demetria had to wonder if these features hadn't been her own doing.

"While talking about barley?" she raised a brow.

"Oh... just talking... talking is... good..."

Demetria knelt behind the bouncing zombie woman. Her hands quickly moved to her darkened nipples and played gently with them. Then, just as the zombie's moans were about to intensify, she started kissing her neck.

"And you didn't even bother to help your lover?" she tried to sound like she was scolding him, but the kisses between the words made that tone quite difficult to achieve.

"I'm letting her use my phallus, am I not? Which, and I don't mean to brag here, is... aaah... about one centimeter above average... At least in this side of the kingdom..."

"What's... what's wrong with him?" Pummel gave Demetria's boot a little kick.

"Mmm..." Demetria had to part her lips from the woman's blueish neck. "I have no idea. What's the matter with you?"

"Matter? I'm doing pretty good," the zombie hadn't moved from his casual pose.

As Demetria's hand slowly crawled to the zombie's clit, she turned her glaring silver eyes back to the male one. Despite the stern facade, she could already feel the runes around her neck flaring up. Before long, she would be burning, literally and figuratively, thanks to the arousal. For now, however, she could still look upset enough.

"Who are you, really? I don't meet talking zombies every day."

"I trust most people don't... mmm... meet them any day... it's... hng... almost unheard of, as far as necromancy goes. The mmmmm... mmmmaster sorcerer Lacrimus did try-"

"Just your name," Demetria rolled her eyes. If not for the soft body in front of her she was playing with, she would have probably yelled at her creation by now.

"Reginald IV. I come from a long," the zombie winced, as if trying to handle the pleasure. "Looong line of almanacists."

"A long line of what, now?" Pummel folded his arms.

The zombie's little smile suggested he had hoped someone would ask that very question. Demetria was quite certain that Pummel had missed it.

"The... aaaah... the almanac is a book... och... it contains important information... collected over the centuries. Someone... hng... has to write them. Someone like... my ancestors... aaah... and me. Until I died."

"Sounds dull," grumbled the towering henchman.

"Not knowing things sounds duller," said the almanacist smugly. "Much, much duller."

"Should I just kill this one?" rumbled Pummel.

"Not yet," Demetria seemed pensive. The undead girl's eyes were pleading for her to focus on the pleasure instead. "So any idea why you can talk?"

"Hng... well... I find the sound of my voice mighty pleasurable... aah... if I may say so myself... mmm... but you're the alchemist..."

"I see," she had to smile. "So that's all it takes? Just find someone who likes talking a lot and they'll derive pleasure from that? And if that's where their pleasure comes from..."

"Neurology... aaah... does put an emphasis on the individual when it comes to pleasure."

"The trivia shtick gets old fast," Pummel narrowed his eyes.

"It's your fault, Pummel," Demetria hummed into the zombie girl's ears. "You were the one who unearthed me a boring zombie."

"I didn't have time to ask the bodies about their hobbies," her underling replied sourly.

"Boring? Would you call an encyclopedic level of knowledge on barley... mmmf... boring?"

"Yes," Pummel didn't hesitate to reply.

The almanacist finally started moving, if only a little. His hips were thrusting into his lover, whose body still bounced up and down to Demetria's touch.

"Sounds like... hng... you just don't know enough, then! We've been cultivating barley for... aaaah... thousands upon thousands of years," his thrusts sped up. "It can be used for human consumption, animal feed... ooooh! Even beer! Haa... and it's a cold crop! Perfect to grow in mmmmild winters!"

By now, his body was clearly approaching climax. The thrusts were quickly losing control, and the undead woman's moans were getting louder as a result. Demetria's fingers, still on the zombie's clit and nipple, hurried their own dance to match this sudden change of pace.

"What's with the fixation on barley, anyway?" Pummel went on, unfazed by the awkwardness of it all.

"Oh, Gods! I used to be sponsored by Varley's Barley Incorporated! Ooooch!"

Pummel was more than eager to keep objecting, but the two undead were already cumming. The almanacist was gritting his perfect teeth, just as the zombie woman lowered herself onto him one last time with an exhausted moan. Their bodies twitched together for a few more seconds as the pleasure washed over them.

"Weirdo..." Pummel muttered without a shred of self-awareness.

"Good girl..." Demetria whispered from behind the zombie.

"And good trivia..." Reginald told the world at large.

"I disagree," grumbled her henchman.

Demetria stood up and walked back to Pummel. The runes around her neck were already burning quite hot. If the prospect of sex in these fields hadn't carried the promise of barley facts throughout the whole ordeal, she would have definitely used the two zombies right there. Instead, she turned to her underling.

"Well? You can hoist them up and bring them back to the wagon."

"The almanacist too?"

"He doesn't seem that heavy to me," she put on a mocking grin.

"That's not what I meant," Pummel retorted defensively.

To prove his strength, he gripped the female zombie before Demetria could even muster a reply. As the undead girl was lifted, Reginald's cock was unsheathed from her pussy. It glistened with the juices of both participants and their orgasms, but it had certainly not gone soft. She was not particularly surprised, of course. Near-permanent arousal had been the desired state of the zombies in this experiment.

The almanacist was next. He was slung over Pummel's second shoulder. He knew better than to complain about any bodily fluids getting on his clothes. Demetria knew as well as he that Pummel had little to no esteem for what rags he wore.

His day was immediately made worse by the fact that both Orgos and the previous zombie were still there. Already awakened again, the blonde undead was again feverishly trying to pleasure herself with her fingers. She perked up momentarily, only to be completely ignored once her two fellow undead were dropped right next to her.

"Alright," Pummel lifted Demetria onto her seat effortlessly. "If we keep going this way, we'll end up in Astra."

"I'm glad you know your geography, Pummel," she smiled down at him.

Pummel clenched his fist and tried to order his own thoughts. He would not let Demetria act coy this once.

"There's too many people down there," he tried.

"That's a bit harsh," she chuckled. "It's only a village."

"It's too much trouble. It's another Gradsk," Pummel noted pointedly.

"Gradsk was a big city," shrugged Demetria. "Completely different place."

"The army showed up last time."