Girlfriend in the Zombie Apocalypse

Day One:

I was thriving here in the so-called apocalypse, no rules but my own morality and my survival talents were finally put to proper use. I felt masculine, strong, able, worthy. In charge of my own life, future, destiny. With no one bossing me around, other than those two, but I was only tied to them because of Emily. I didn't mind her bossing me around. As long as she remained safe.

I sat there under a tree watching them fuck. Which was the story of my life. Watching someone else have all the fun, while I stood guard. The outsider, the loner, the unlucky one. Having to watch while someone else fucked the girl I wanted to be with.

The girl being fucked was Emily O'Brian, twenty-six years old. The man doing the fucking was her long term boyfriend Dean McHugh, who was five or six years older than me.

I saw right through Dean from the outset, he was controlling and manipulative. I'd say abusive but I admit it's a fine line and plenty of people would disagree with my assessment.

Emily was much younger than him, probably after a father figure and her immaturity demanded someone who could take over, tell her what was best for her and steer her in the right direction. Unfortunately, there were not very many men out there before or after the outbreak, or whatever people call it, that would have the moral fortitude to not take advantage of being put in such a controlling and powerful position. I prided myself that I was such a person. I would treat Emily the way she should be treated, what was best for her, not just influencing her to do whatever I wanted and making her think it was best for her as well.

Anyway, I was sat in the woods, in the late afternoon, by the position of the sun in the blue sky above the partially concealing canopy of emerald leaves.

Dean was lying on his back on the rolled out sleeping bags I had procured for them, his trousers were halfway down his thighs and his shotgun, as ever, only six inches from his right hip. It was a nicely maintained Remington 870 pump action.

Firearms being such a rarity in Britain, it gave us, well, it gave Dean a distinct advantage.

Survivors in America and other countries with a freer policy on civilians owning firearms, would probably think of guns as the go to weapon of defence but they were so rare in Britain that we tended not to even bother looking for them. Kitchen knives, replica swords, garden implements and the like were the default defensive weapons for us. Even if we were to come across a gun while looting, ammunition would be even more of a problem. A knife or axe could be sharpened and didn't need replacement ammunition, or constant cleaning and oiling. Dean had a total of six 12 gauge shells. And so far we hadn't been able to find any more supplies.

It was my 'job' to keep a look out for the undead, but I'd come to realise that Emily quite liked an audience. Maybe she liked being watched or maybe she just got off on rubbing my nose in it. Showing off the goods while reminding me, without saying anything, that I could never sample those goods myself. No matter how much I wanted to, how much it made my heart flutter and my guts wrench and my head pound and my dick fill out and stretch the front of my trousers.

She knew I wanted her, had known it for years and had always kept me at arms length. Even when I had saved her life and brought her, like a fool, back to her boyfriend and stuck around with the two of them to keep her alive and safe and protected, all the while hoping for a chance while knowing underneath it would never happen.

I don't know what kept me here with them. Denial? Blind hope? Stupidity? Chivalry? It made me feel like a fool even while I patted myself on the back for staying true to Emily, even when I gained nothing from it myself. Was that chivalry? Or stupidity? Probably a bit of both.

As usual, my cock was aching as I watched her sitting in his lap, totally naked and bouncing her perky young ass cheeks up and down ten-to-the-dozen, while making high, light, gasping noises that made me practically drool.

Sometimes I thought about just going over and trying to join in, trying my luck. However, something always told me that I would end up on the wrong side of the muzzle of that Remington.

I had even considered killing Dean, but I was no caveman, Emily would hate me and besides, it was morally wrong. Damned morals. No one else seemed to be bothering with them these days, why the Hell were they sticking to me like super-glue? It simply wasn't fair.

I tried to take my mind off the unfairness by filling my senses with Emily and her body. In the moment.

Now Emily's no super model. She's very much the girl next door. Five foot three in the sensible walking boots I scavenged for her. She has collar length straight dark hair in a bob cut, though it had been a while since she had cut it and it was getting a bit long and unkempt. She had a dainty figure, curvy without being too bodacious. A couple of years ago she was on the verge of being fat. Rounder face, noticeable belly. Huge arse.

But she had started going to the gym before the outbreak and since we had started out on this rove, with relatively little food (I was keeping us healthy and well-fed enough, of course), she had lost a lot of the weight and had really toned up with the ten or fifteen hours of walking we tended to do per day. Other than the not quite salon beautiful hair and the lack of make up, I hadn't seen her looking better.

Of course, being buck naked and in the throes of sexual gratification did a lot to rose-tint the way she looked in my eyes. Emily in a good mood was the loveliest sight you can imagine. Large, expressive eyes alive with intelligence and mirth, her smile was wicked and warming and brought her face to life. However, I rarely saw her in a good mood.

In fact I don't think I have ever managed to bring out the best in her, nor she in me if I'm really honest. I was always flustered and unable to relax when we'd been colleagues in work, embarrassed and constantly making a fool out of myself, no matter how hard I tried to be attractive to her. I think she saw my attraction for her after a few months and was equal parts embarrassed, put out by my liking her when she was already happy with Dean and also maybe a bit annoyed with herself that it had gone on for so long without her even noticing what my friendliness and attentiveness actually meant. And maybe I was coming across as a bit desperate or not taking no for an answer. Not that I ever actually asked the question.

Anyway, I'm getting distracted again. Let me paint the erotic picture as I saw it.

Emily O'Brian, naked and riding cowgirl on her boyfriend's lap. Her taut B-cup breasts shuddering around enticingly, when they weren't clutched in Dean's big and aggressively molesting hands. Her lush, perky and succulent arse cheeks were doing their own little jiggles in time to the off beat of her up and down hip work upon his solid, engorged and ruddy looking cock.

She had a few tattoos, in my opinion soiling her pale creamy flesh. A scattered stars, creeping vines and leaves pattern played across the small of her back, her boyfriend's name was etched down her ribs under her left arm in a swirling italic script and a colourful rose, vine and butterfly design cascaded from halfway down her right calf to halfway down the top of her foot.

All she was wearing was a little pendant collection including a little silver ring and a gold crucifix that bounced and jingled between her rhythmically animated breasts, that I really really wanted to be sucking on and burying my face between.

I also felt a desperate and redundant desire to bury my face between the succulent cheeks of her enticing young arse to suck at the lips of her erotically glistening and practically hairless pussy.

Of course, Dean's cock was in the way and, as usual, it was stuffed like a balthazar champagne cork in the neck of a baby-sham bottle up Emily's sexy backdoor.

Dean had convinced her that taking up the arse was the safest option for sexual intercourse, no matter how painful it was for Emily. He had insisted, even though there was absolutely no evidence to suggest its accuracy, that pregnancy was too great a risk, not only with the lack of hospital facilities but also with the risk of still birth. According to him, no woman could possibly want an undead child inside them, getting hungry and deciding to eat their way out from inside.

Emily, of course, had swallowed it hook-line-and-sinker and now she readily took it up her arse whenever Dean wanted a piece. Which was all the fucking time, so it seemed to me. Up to three or four times a day.

It was like he had replaced the set meals of the day with sexual intercourse. They were at it before we got going in the morning, lunch time after we had eaten, in the evening once we had set camp and then one last time just before bed. Admittedly, it wasn't always sodomy. There was a lot of cock sucking going on, a little pussy sucking when Emily whined that she hadn't had any in an age. And if either or both hadn't been able to bathe in a couple of days, occasional hand jobs had to suffice. Body odour was much more of an issue when daily bathing and the washing of clothes proved difficult to accomplish.

I was simultaneously enraptured by the constant sex, the showing off of the body I had wanted to stick my cock into for the last six or seven years and violently frustrated that it was going on so often and in such close proximity and yet I wasn't allowed or offered any of the fun. It was like torture. I was jealous of Dean and hated him at the same time for his, in my eyes, heartless manipulation and control of the girl I desired.

As far as I was concerned, ninety percent of their sexual activity was geared towards Dean emptying his balls, either in, on or in the general direction of Emily. It was all for him and he did very little to satisfy her at all. But even that didn't play into my hands because she seemed to cum anyway just by riding him, or being fucked by him. She even seemed to enjoy deep-throating him and swallowing his cum. She just didn't see the unfairness or that he was callously using her at every given opportunity.

And by the way, I had long since given up trying to show her the truth about Dean. She wouldn't listen, wouldn't hear of it and took offense at my obvious (to her, I thought I was being subtle) badmouthing of her precious, beloved man.

Something snapped in me this time. I don't really know caused it what or why. Maybe it was the obvious pleasure she was deriving in her own uncomfortable and submissive anal ride, while he spanked her harder and harder to make her ride him faster and quicker, her whimpers and protests encouraging him to spank that delectable ass even harder, calling her a dumb whore and a little slut and a dirty masochist.

And then him looking at me suddenly with that look of superiority, of victory, of abject sadistic pleasure. I'm convinced he got off as much in my redundant frustration and pointless desire as he did at having his dick rammed up his sultry girlfriend's hot, little, bouncy ass.

The domination seemed to set it off in Emily and she started to buck and writhe and make more noise, cries and whimpers and gasping curses and that set off Dean and he started to cum up her arse.

I made my decision then and there and acted on it.

As his spunk started to shoot, as I imagine, in great flooding gouts like a shaken up six pack of coke cans going off inside her delectable and tight little super-hot anus, I got up, grabbed my pack and stormed off into the woods, determined that they had used and humiliated me for the last time and that they were on their own and I would be better off without them.

And they would regret the way they treated me and that Emily would realise how much I had done for them both and that she would be better off with me after all, leave Dean and come looking for me.

I realised, even as the continuing cacophony of their mutual orgasms filling the woods died off and was superceded by the sounds of the wind in the trees and birdsong and the like, that I shouldn't go too far away. Just incase Emily couldn't find me when she did come to her senses and leave that abusive prick for me.

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It wasn't really a snap judgment on my part. It had been on the cards for a while.

She had approached me one time, face to face (no cowardly texts or Facebook messages these days), she'd been nervous and embarrassed and uncomfortable but it had come out as defensive and angry. I remember there had been daffodils flowering in the back garden of the house we had been hiding out in, I could see them behind her, so it must have been early spring. By the ambient heat it must be mid to late summer by now.

As I climbed a sturdy sycamore tree and started to tie up my camouflaged sleeping bag, which I had carefully secured inside a hammock (I had found it to be the safest sleeping arrangement, Zombie's can't climb trees), the whole conversation replayed itself through my anguished mind as it had countless times over the last four or five months.

"...I appreciate what you do for us, I really do, but I can't return what you feel for me, I just don't feel that. And even if I did it wouldn't make any difference 'cause I love Dean. I just want it to be plain, out in the open no misunderstandings."

"I know you love him, I can see that, but to be blunt Em, that hope, that you'll someday see the worth in me and change your mind is basically what's keeping me here."

"I've just said though Jay, I do see your worth and I appreciate it, but it has nothing to do with this, me and Dean love each other. And you aren't my type anyway!"

"But you haven't really got to know me well enough to say that!"

"I know enough and I am saying that! It wouldn't matter if you were my type I'm with Dean and that's all there is to it. End of!"

"Then I don't see the point in staying anymore."

She baulked at that, surprised and taken aback. But it made no difference.

"That's up to you. I don't want you to go but if you feel you have to I'm not going to stop you."

I stayed all the same, I don't know if Emily spoke to Dean about the conversation but I didn't really speak to either of them for a few days and nights. Just busied myself with the hunting and the setting up camps and searching for supplies.

So, here I was, having finally made my departure from them, snug and secure in my sleeping bag-hammock, my traps laid out on the forest floor. Squirrel, birds and rabbits seemed to be the staples these days, along with any nuts and berry's I found. My weekend survival and orienteering past-time was really paying off for me in this new world.

Even though I had left them behind, I felt guilty about it and felt like I should be on hand to protect them if they ran into trouble. So I kept a discreet eye on them. At least, that was what I told myself.

I could see the flicker of their fire through the trees. They were out of ear shot but using the light of their fire, which was far too big and dangerous in its potential of attracting not only zombies, attracted like moths to the pretty dancing light and the inviting heat source, but also for the small gangs of marauding scavengers who had lower morals than I did and wouldn't think twice about taking supplies away from people who already had them. They'd more than likely take Emily too, either then and there for a bit of fun and leave her to die in the woods or drag her off and force her to join their group as a plaything. I'd seen both cases happen before and it was never pretty.

I used to think anarchy wouldn't be too bad, that everyone has their own moral code and the majority would be pretty compatible. How I was wrong! Once people were hungry, unrestrained by laws and afraid, morality, compassion and empathy went out of the window.

I took my binoculars out, which were in my rucksack that I had secured to the trunk of the tree within easy reach, along with my 'homemade' weapons harness, and trained them on the fire and on Emily and Dean beside it.

They were fucking again and I lay there watching with a sort of redundant horny fever. In reality I was too far away and far too trust up in my sleeping bag to be able to get to their camp in time to help them should anything bad happen.

All I could do was watch the live porn performance, simultaneously enjoying Emily going at it while, all the while, writhing inside with jealousy and desire.

This time, Dean had her on her hands and knees on their stacked sleeping bags, he had one hand hooked around her throat, pulling her head up and arching her back, while the other laid open-handed slaps onto her reverberating, fleshy buttocks.

Once again he was sodomising her, slamming his cock up her pliant arse with fast and deep punishing thrusts.

I could practically see the sweat splashing in rivulets and whipping Emily's naked flesh as Dean drove into her taut young arse hole with his fast, hard, thrusts.

As I watched them, I started to wonder why they were both so complacent about the potential dangers all around them, why they seemed to be so unconcerned by the idea of zombies stumbling over their tent in the night, or potentially worse, roaming scavengers.

I lay there, a little awkwardly in my hammock, watching Emily's pale, tattooed flesh glowing in the fire light and gleaming with a thin layer of perspiration as her boyfriend humped against her cute perky buttocks, and went over the logical possibilities. And pretty soon I came to the conclusion that it was most likely my doing.

They had taken me for granted. I had more often than not been moving ahead of them either leading them along a path that avoided trouble or killing zombies before they ever came into contact with Emily and Dean. Keeping all the dangers at arm's length. Therefore they hadn't been in imminent danger themselves for a long time and I think they must have started to take me for granted, started to forget the danger that zombies and scavengers represented and underestimated the constant peril that surrounded us all, all of the time.

I turned the binoculars on Emily's face for a while and my heart raced at the exquisite lustiness of her sex face. The tenseness in her pursed brow, the pouting, slack, saliva-glossed lips, her flaired nostrils. She looked so sexy when she was taking a cock, even if it was Dean's.

I must have fallen asleep soon afterward because the next thing I remember was a weird dream.

I was sitting on a wooden dining chair, unable to move, in the middle of a pitch black, empty warehouse under a brilliant spotlight. Emily was dancing around my chair, happy, joyful dancing. Big beaming smile on her pretty face. Full of the joys of spring. And obviously enjoying the way she was flirting and being all playful and seductive, teasing me, tempting me, leading me on. My erection grew up big and fast like a salami snaking down my trouser leg. And the minute she spotted it, her eyes lit up and she playfully leaned over and popped it just like a pin into a balloon. And then went back to dancing, causing my erection to regenerate over and over. And each time she would playfully pop that balloon.

And while she danced she would tear off her clothes as though they were made of tissue paper, though, instead of luxurious naked flesh underneath, she came out in a new garment, a bunny costume, with cute floppy ears and a little tail, as Velma from Scooby Doo, as a pig tailed school girl, a bi-spectacled secretary, a police officer. Each costume created a renewed erection which was promptly popped with the little, gleaming, stainless steel pin.

And above us, big as a hot air balloon, like the Puppet Master, was Dean McHugh, or at least his head and hands. He was looking down and laughing maniacally while his hands manipulated the invisible puppet strings that were making Emily do her seduction dance.