Life Love and the Zombie Apocalypse

Just then she realized that I was still buried to the hilt in her ass. "You haven't come?" she asked. I shook my head. "Oh poor baby, then keep fucking my ass. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stop you."

I leaned down to kiss her, which levered my cock part way loose and she whispered into my mouth, "Oh that was delicious. Keep fucking me. Please. Please. Please."

I sat up and began to slide my cock in and out of her. Slowly at first but with her encouragement I started to go faster and faster until I blurted out, "I'm gonna come."

She opened her eyes and pulled her legs back and said, "Come inside me. I want to feel your cock pulse and spray inside me. I want your cum. Fuck me and come inside me."

I felt the tingle in my balls and without any other warning I bellowed and stared to shoot my load into her. I was coming so hard I had spots in front of my eyes and it actually hurt I was squeezing the juice out so hard.

When I came to, she was caressing my face asking if I was ok. I just gave her the biggest shit eating grin and nodded.

"Oh my god, I was afraid I had killed you," she said worriedly.

"I would have died the happiest man in the world," I slurred.

She didn't reply. She just smothered me in kisses.

A little while later we got up and cleaned up. We couldn't keep our hands off of each other. Finally, she sucked my cock to get me hard again and then rode me until I came inside her again and we both fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Her flight to California left in the afternoon. We barely made it. I had to leave her at security and went back to my car and cried. Eventually, I drove back to the apartment, cleaned out the rest of my stuff, tossed into the car and drove back home.

It was almost three years before we saw each other again at a ZRT training conference. When we finally got some private time, I finally confessed that she had taken my oral, vaginal and anal V-Cards. We made love that night and it was both sweet and sorrowful. We promised to remain friends, which we have, but we have never had sex again with each other.

I reported to my new assignment as the ZRT rookie in the small town office I was assigned to. The Sheriff was Dan Paterson, but everybody called him "Coach". Apparently he had been the coach of the high school football team at some point in the past. He turned out to be a great mentor for me.

But that didn't stop me from doing things wrong from time to time. He never got mad, he would just look at me and say, "Well, it looks like we have one of those teachable moments here," and then proceed to show me the errors of my ways.

About a year after I arrived, Coach announced his retirement, which shocked just about everybody in town, especially me. He decided that it was time to hang up the capture pole because he wasn't happy with the new directives the ZRT had gotten. Up until now, it was to capture the Zs for study. But the new orders were to terminate on sight. Apparently, the lab boys had plenty of specimens and since nobody could figure out how to reverse the zombification process it was safer to kill them, permanently.

So Coach put in the paperwork for retirement and I waited for Washington to send his replacement. I damn near busted a tooth when my jaw hit the floor a week later when the replacement showed up. It was my replacement. Sort of. I was being promoted to Sheriff and I got a green deputy.

Well after a lot of yelling and words that were not fit for polite company, Coach told me to either suck it up or write up my letter of resignation, because those were my only two choices. Flapping my lips with no sound coming out must have been pretty funny, but Coach never cracked a smile. He just handed me a pen and a blank piece of paper. I turned and walked out.

Three days later, we had the obligatory cake for Coach and he shook my hand and called me Sheriff. I miss that old guy. He had a heart attack about two months later. The z-virus patched him back together but something of the old Coach was still in there because he pulled out his service revolver and shot himself. I wasn't the only one that cried at his funeral.

My biggest mistake and my greatest triumph happened pretty much simultaneously about a year later.

We had been getting the usual three to four calls a week. I now had an extra deputy so we could run three shifts round the clock during the week and two on call shifts over the weekends. That week, I was on the graveyard (no pun intended) shift.

Dispatch called over from the County Sheriff's office with a report of suspected zombie activity. They were tied up with an accident on the freeway so they couldn't provide backup. Feeling my oats, I decided to respond alone. That was mistake number one.

When I got to the address, I could see an old guy in pajamas shuffling around on the driveway. Now I know what you are thinking. Old guy, shuffling around in pajamas, late at night (or early in the morning depending on your point of view) must be a zombie. Well, not always. I've had my share of sleep walkers and insomniacs as well. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared. I pulled into the driveway and left the headlights on the suspect. I got out of the truck and took my rifle down off my rack. Closed and locked the door (I'll tell that story another time).

Calling out to the old guy, he turned and looked at me. Slack jaw, glazed eyes, spastic movement. Yep, he's a Z. I saw the flash and my attention was drawn to his hand. He had a knife. Oh shit. Smooth motion pulled up the rifle. One round. He dropped. I went over and kicked the big ass kitchen knife out of his hand. He was still twitching. The Z-virus was trying to put him back together again. It didn't stand a chance. The one shot was a clean head shot. This one was down for the count.

I heard a noise and looked up. In the second story window was a red haired goddess. She was in a flimsy baby blue teddy style nightgown that had a single button between a pair of the nicest tits I had seen in a long time. If there were any other buttons, they were not being used so it fell open all the way down to a gorgeous shaved pussy. She was waving and trying to yell something, but all I could see was the way her tits bounced up and down hypnotically.

That was when my biggest mistake happened. I was still half trying to figure out what she was trying to say and half just enjoying the show when I felt a searing pain in my left leg. Instinctively I turned and lashed out. I hit a woman in her breastbone with the rifle as I turned and it fell to the driveway. She staggered back and I could see a different kitchen knife sticking out of my leg. It was in probably to the bone, so I left it. She was back on me almost instantly. I pushed her back and reached for my backup piece, a 9mm I kept in a holster behind my back.

It was one of those moments where time slows down until it almost stops. I pulled the pistol; the female Z started to lunge at me. I took note of the torn nightgown she was wearing that did not cover a very nice set of tits just starting to sag a little. I guessed her age to be a little older than I was. I swung the pistol and connected with the side of her head. She staggered back again. That gave me the time to aim pull the trigger as her forehead contacted the barrel. As the female Z dropped, I gagged a little. That was too close.

I looked up at the window, expecting to see the young redhead screaming. She was screaming but pointing. This time I took the hint and looked around. As I did, I saw a third one come around the corner of the house. This time it was a man, probably a little older than the woman, coming straight at me. He was about 20 feet away so I picked up the rifle and the motherfucker was jammed. Something happened when I dropped it. I pulled my pistol again and the slug him in the chest. He staggered back but didn't go down. I aimed a little higher and got lucky another headshot and he went down in a heap.

I was feeling woozy but I checked the window again. No redhead. Maybe she was a figment of my imagination. Just as I felt like I was about to collapse I felt a strong set of arms around me and the voice of an angel telling me, "C'mon let's get you inside in case there are more of them."

I started to object but she pulled and I just had to stagger with her. We went through the gate in her fence and through the back door into her kitchen. She sat me down on a kitchen chair and told me to stay put. Like I was going anywhere with this knife stuck in my leg.

She came back with the biggest first aid kit I had ever seen and pulled a pair of scissors out and started to head for my pants with them. I screamed and she looked at me funny.

"I'll take the pants off myself," I said. "These are very expensive parts of the uniform."

To explain, a ZRT official uniform includes pants that are leather over Kevlar and a fine steel mesh. They are guaranteed zombie teeth proof. They are also tailored and $400 a pair. I was not going to let them get cut off of me for no good reason.

That meant the knife had to come out. So macho dumb fuck me just pulled it out and damn near passed out. While my redheaded goddess held a big wad of gauze to my wound I undid my belt and started to slide the pants down. Fortunately, I wore underwear that day or my woody would have sprung up. I wouldn't have thought with the pain and everything, an erection would have been the last thing I would have thought about sporting, but seeing her close up with those tits and that body, she could give a dead guy an erection.

She told me to hold the gauze while she got something from the first aid kit. I nodded and the next thing I knew, she had shot something into my leg and it was getting numb. Next she pulled out a needle and thread. Not like a sewing needle, like a surgical needle. They look like fishhooks without the barb. She had me pull the wound open and she started sewing something inside it. I had to turn away. It is not like I haven't seen plenty of my own blood before, it just felt weird and I thought, 'If I puke, it might not be so good to puke into that wound.'

I didn't puke, much to my surprise. A minute later and she said, "All done."

When I turned she was spraying it with something and then had a big bandage to cover the whole thing.

She smiled at me and said, "I think that will hold until we can get you to the hospital and looked."

I slapped my head and pulled out my radio. Five seconds later I was talking with dispatch and had her order up an ambulance and the coroner's meat wagon for the Zs.

While we waited, I chatted with my goddess. It turned out that her name was Cynthia and she was an ER nurse at the local hospital. She has been taking medical courses to become a doctor and wants to be a ER surgeon. That explained the huge first aid kit.

I told her a little about myself and then the doorbell rang. I pulled out my pistol and told her to go to the stairs. Usually zombies don't ring doorbells, but once in a while the reanimation process occurs fast enough that they can sometimes remember things.

When I peeked out the door, it was just Sam and Dimitri, two of the ambulance paramedics I knew. Sam was short for Samantha and Dimitri was anything but short. I relaxed and put the pistol away and opened the door.

Sam looked at me in my boxers and Cynthia in her teddy. A big shit eating grin split her face as she nudged Dimitri and said, "Sorry if we are interrupting anything extracurricular, we were told there was somebody hurt here."

Before I could sputter out anything, Cynthia came up behind me and said, "Stuff it Sam. There is nothing going on around here but our heroic zombie busting sheriff got a knife stuck in his leg protecting me from three zombies."

Sam blinked hard and said, "Three zombies. Holy shit, dud! That is awesome."

Just then another set of lights pulled up and Dimitri announced that the coroner's van just pulled up and that he was going over to help.

Sam looked down at my leg and ignoring the tent in my boxers pointed to the bandage, asked, "Cyn, did you do this?"

Cynthia nodded.

Sam said, "Well then there is really nothing left for us to do--"

Cynthia cut her off, "Except to transport him to General to get that looked at."

Sam looked at me. I looked back, shrugged and said, "You heard the boss."

Sam took my vitals in preparation for transport. Satisfied and with eyes twinkling, she asked, "Can you walk or do you want the gurney of shame?"

"I can walk," I growled.

"Good," said Cynthia, who was now dressed in nurse's scrubs. I don't know when she snuck off to change, but she still looked hot in those. "I'll ride with him in back so I can explain what was done to close the wound."

Just then Dimitri returned. "Stiffs are loaded," he announced.

Something hit me and I dug into my pants pocket and came up with the keys to the truck. Flipping them to Dimitri, I said, "Can you drive my truck to the hospital so I don't have to Uber back over here?"

"Can I put on the flashing lights and siren?" he asked with a grin.

"No," I said, "Not even a little."

"Spoilsport."

The arrangements all made, we headed to the hospital. Sam was driving the ambulance; Cynthia and I in the back and Dimitri bringing up the rear in my truck.

By the time we got there, the adrenaline and the pain killer had worn off and I was hurting. We went through the admitting process and I had to get an MRI. God I hate those. Why can't they put my leg through first and leave my head out. No, they can't. So all of me is inside this fucking noisy 55 gallon drum to take pictures of a few inches of my leg. I was not in a good mood after that. Until they gave me a shot of morphine and the world was pleasant until I went away for a while.

When I woke up, I was in a bed. My leg was wrapped up and I was fuzzy. Cynthia was there and explained what had been done. They had opened up the outer stitches and the ER surgeon examined the inner stitches and told Cynthia that she had done a first rate job. He then re-stitched the skin and they put a pressure bandage over it and let me sleep the morphine off. She had my paperwork and went over it with me and then told me I was free to go.

As she wheeled my out, I saw on the nurses duty board that her name was in the off duty column. I asked and she said that she was off duty today but was acting as my friend. I ended up giving her a ride home. One thing led to another and she offered to let me stay in her guest bedroom as I stayed alone at my apartment. It turned out to be a really good thing. During the night, the wound went septic (their term, I would just say it got infected) and I started to run a really high fever. Apparently, that knife wasn't very clean, imagine that!

After another ambulance ride to the ER and a week's stay, I was released again and again ended up at Cynthia's house. Two weeks later I cancelled my lease (I was month to month at that time anyway) moved the two suitcases of my clothes, my Xbox and 55 inch TV to her house and we have been living together ever since.

I'm still the sheriff of the Zombie Response Team for South Eastern Illinois and I still walk with a bit of a limp as a reminder of my biggest mistake and if you see me with a lump in my pants and a shit eating grin on my face, it's because of Cynthia, my greatest triumph.