Zombie Wants Sperm Not Brains

Julie had suggested camping. Frank's breakup had been devastating. They needed to get him out of the house and force him to start living again. Roberto wanted to organize a softball game in the park. Walter thought a horror movie marathon would put him to rights. Angela wanted to take him to that raunchy strip club across the county line, where there was nobody to enforce the decency laws. But Julie would not be deterred. So camping they went.

They chose the forest to the east of town. There were no campsites, no restrooms, and no barbecue grills. Such things were for the lazy and pampered. A clearing and a creek was all they needed. They left the car at the ranger's station and hiked into the woods.

Once they'd selected their site, Angela and Julie put up the tents. Roberto and Walter gathered wood and built a fire. Frank sat on the ground and sucked on a bottle of brandy. They got him to eat one of the burgers they cooked, but otherwise let him wallow in his misery.

"Ilan."

A voice in the darkness.

"Ilan."

Recognition. Someone had called her name.

"ILAN!"

She tasted dirt. Her mouth was full of it. She tried to breathe, but she was buried deep. There was no air. She wanted nothing more than to suffocate, but that choice wasn't open to her.

"ILAN!" It wasn't one voice. It was all of them.

She should have been dead. She wanted to be dead. The rope and the tree should have been enough. But the voices weren't going to let her go that easy. Her crimes were too great.

"ILAN!"

She twisted and writhed, breaking the grip of the soil surrounding her. She struggled and fought to be free of the earth. She was weak, weaker than she'd ever been, but she was strong enough for this.

"ILAN! ILAN! ILAN!"

Frank passed out while the others played Confession. They took turns telling deep, dark secrets and guessing whether those secrets were true or not. Angela and Roberto dragged him into one of the tents and returned. Julie was telling a story about a boyfriend who robbed a convenience store while she waited in the car. Julie tended to freak out if her library book was close to its due date. The story was obviously false.

Ilan saw the sunlight, but it wasn't real. It was hot on her skin, but it was an old, old memory. She was still deep underground. It was the sunlight from three thousand years ago when Ilan stood on the wall and watched the ships coming. A thousand ships, the legends said.

Her husband was here to make war on her lover. She felt such pride in that moment, such joy. No woman had ever had so much power. She was the prize of two nations. A mighty king and a powerful prince fought for the honor of sharing her bed. Thousands of men would die in battle. Thousands of women and children would die from fire and starvation. The war destroyed a generation. All because of her.

The city of Troy fell, never to rise again. She was reunited with her husband. But ten years of war had aged her. Her legendary beauty was faded. Her children would always be illegitimate. Her husband had a new and younger wife. And Ilan was retired to a pretty prison at the top of a tower. Her power was gone. Her pride was gone. And then she died. But the gods of Troy wanted vengeance. The survivors of Troy would need a protector. Helen of Troy was called from the grave to ensure that survival.

Walter was nodding off. His coffee was about to spill. The light was fading. Roberto was building up the fire.

"What was that sound?" Julie asked.

"ILAN! ILAN! ILAN!"

The taste of soil returned. The weight of the earth was crushing her once again. The voices had sent her back into her memories to give her a taste of the glory she'd once known and to remind her what she owed. And now, it was time once again to pay the price.

Ilan dug and clawed her way toward the surface. Her lungs were desperately craving air, but the need wouldn't kill her. Her body was no longer living or human. She was also starving and thirsty. The Voices would keep her animated, but the hungers compelled her to escape the earth. Ilan fought and struggled to get above ground. She writhed and scraped and twisted and dug. The dirt was hard-packed around her. She'd been down here for some years.

Julie stared hard in the dying light. She was sure she heard some kind of scraping noise from the other side of the fire. But there was nothing there but a fern and a young tree. She stood up and walked over to get a better look.

The dirt was moving. Some burrowing animal was under the ground, coming up to the surface. Julie called Roberto and got out her camera. This was fascinating.

Ilan's fingers broke ground. She pushed her hand out into open air. She felt a gentle breeze and heard some terrified gasps.

A skeletal human hand scrabbled out of the earth. Julie and Roberto gasped in horror. The dead fingers wiggled, shaking off the dirt and dust.

Ilan pulled her shoulders free of the ground that had held her. As her head emerged from the ground, she saw a young man and woman staring down at her in terror. She didn't blame them. She was not the beauty that the city of Troy fell for. Ilan knew what she looked like upon rising. She was a rotting corpse with a mouth full of dirt.

Another man and woman were seated next to a fire. They saw her head and shoulders wriggling free of the ground and jumped to their feet and fled. The two

Ilan dragged herself out of the grave and sat on the edge of the hole to rest. She looked around, taking stock. She was deep in the woods, which surprised her for a moment. But it made sense. No graveyard for the accursed witch. They would never have buried her in sanctified ground or marked her grave with a stone. They put her in a deep hole in the forest, far from the village, then forgot about it.

Pastor Elkin had grinned as the noose had gone around her neck. She'd been hanged as a witch before, and as a whore, but such crimes were not punishable by death in 1881. So, they'd accused her of poisoning a child. And she'd gone into the ground. But she never stayed there.

The young people had left their campfire, and three tents. Ilan explored the site, and discovered that one of the tents was not empty. The fleeing campers had left a friend behind. He was male, maybe nineteen or twenty. And passed-out drunk.

That would help. Ilan had been granted certain powers, but they didn't work on everybody. But wine and ale and other spirits always made it easier.

Frank's girlfriend had just broken up with him yesterday. His friends had suggested this camping trip as a way of distracting him. Lisa had moved out of their apartment, and the empty space was too harshly depressing to leave him alone. So, he'd come out with his buddies, downed an entire bottle of rum, and had dropped into a blissful void.

Now he was dreaming of beautiful girls, naked, parading before him. He was a prince in a faraway land. And then, the most beautiful girl of all appeared. He was mesmerized. The other girls were ugly hags compared to this magical creature. His beloved Lisa was a rotted corpse compared to this lovely girl. Something flitted through his mind regarding a rotted corpse, but it was gone a moment later.

The beautiful goddess knelt before him, opened his princely robe, and took out his dick. She stroked him lovingly. He was soft, but she put him between her lips and he responded. He grew hard and stiff in her mouth. And she moaned in gratitude. It was the most erotic dream he'd ever experienced.

Except, he wasn't asleep. Dreams and alcohol battled with reality, tossing his brain back and forth between them in some fantastical dream. But his eyes were open and his head was aching. He was lying on the forest ground, with a vinyl tent floor protecting him from the damp, and there was a rotted corpse sucking on his dick.

He tried to scream, but his voice was gone. The mummified thing laughed at him, a dry, hoarse, cracking sound that sent chills down Frank's spine.

He tried to escape, but bony, skeletal fingers were gripping his cock and balls. If he left, he'd be leaving them behind.

The eye sockets were sunken holes filled with dirt, but Frank knew the creature was looking at him, even so. Dry mud was caked in what was left of the dead woman's hair, piled on top of her head.

That hideous face descended on his poor dick once more, the dry, grey leathery lips closing over the tip of him. In terror and horror, Frank struggled and screamed soundlessly. But there would be no rescue.

Instead, the dream returned. He was surrounded by naked beauties and the loveliest of them all was giving him a blowjob. He forgot why he'd been scared. The campsite, his friends, even Lisa were gone from his mind.

The lips were soft and wet. The tongue massaging his dick was agile, and knew all the right places to drive him crazy. The fingers stroking him, tickling his balls were skilled like no woman he'd ever known.

Beautiful green eyes looked up at him. Gorgeous pink lips surrounded his cock. Frank reached down and grabbed her long black hair. For just an instant, he was gripping thin, wispy tendrils and a handful of skin, loosely wrapped around a skull, tearing in his fingers. For a moment, the horror returned. Then the fantasy was back, and Frank was face-fucking the prettiest girl in the world.

Ilan let the man control her. He held her head and yanked her back and forth on his cock. She dragged her tongue over him, in all the ways that men liked best. And in moments, she brought him to his ecstasy. He burst in her mouth, flooding her dry, dead tongue with fresh, living seed.

She had missed that lovely elixir. Even in the grave, with no conscious thoughts and no living mind, there had still been the craving for human sperm. And with her fantasies woven into the man's bewildered senses, he was coming harder than he'd ever done in his life.

She let the semen fill her cheeks, savoring the moment, then swallowed him down. The life force warmed her chill body, and quickened her heart to beat once more. Blood was flowing, hot, liquid life. Withered muscles swelled with fresh health. Her lungs expanded and she could breathe now, for the first time in a century. The shriveled flesh of her face smoothed out. Actual human eyes filled her sockets once more.

No longer a dead thing, animated by the gods of an ancient people. She was a living, breathing human once more. It wouldn't last. The curse was upon her. One offering of semen would last her for a few hours, and then she would start to die again. But for right now, she was alive. The price had been paid.

Once upon a time, the lust of men had given her power and she had used it to destroy a city. Now, she was a slave to that lust, her beauty and vitality dependent on rewarding a man's desires. Never again could she tease and tempt just to torture a man or force him to do her bidding. She couldn't afford to tease them. Her very life depended on giving them what they wanted. She gave them orgasms and they filled her with life.

The drunk was out cold. He was dreaming of harem girls. In gratitude to him for his life-giving serum, Ilan had chosen some of the most beautiful girls she'd ever known to fill his fantasies. One of her father's whores, a woman Ilan had admired and idolized. A handmaiden of Cleopatra, who used to ready her queen's lovers with her mouth until her mistress called for them. Salome, who danced naked for her stepfather to make him do her bidding. King Arthur's lovely Guinevere, who seduced Lancelot and broke a kingdom and must surely be on her own journey of redemption from the grave.

The fantasies were working on him, recovering him, making him ready for a second round. Ilan needed just one more dose. It might kill him, but that was unlikely. He was young and strong. He'd probably survive. If not, his soul would be forever trapped in the erotic fantasies Ilan had fashioned for him. He'd never remember his name or his life, but he would never be unhappy. If he died, Ilan wouldn't feel too guilty.

She watched him writhing in his sleep. She listened to his moans. She closed her eyes and made an adjustment to the fantasy. The girls were begging to be bedded now. They needed him buried in their sweet little pockets.

Ilan was alive now, and human, but not at all attractive. She looked and smelled of disease. The drunk would need his fantasies. She lay down beside him and reached out to lightly touch his stiffening cock.

He reacted as he had to. The drunk rolled over on top of her. His eyes were open, but he was seeing the girls in his fantasies. He pushed his dick slowly into Ilan. She was dry and scaly in there, but he didn't feel that. His mind was lost in the dream. He was fucking the hot, juicy pussy of a beautiful girl instead of the dried-out snatch of a filthy mummy, freshly returned from the dead.

Ilan gave herself to him. In the ancient past, she had controlled the encounters. The men touched her when she wanted, penetrated when she ordered, and came when she allowed. But now she was at the men's mercy. She needed cum.

Ilan lay back and kept her legs spread as the man on top of her pounded her pussy. His fantasy girls begged him to fuck, and Ilan let herself live in his fantasy for a moment.

She was Guinevere. Cleopatra's handmaiden was rubbing her pussy all over Guinevere's face. Ilan licked at the pussy, sliding her tongue inside, tasting the virgin walls. Cleopatra kept her maids virgin until she was ready to give their maidenhead to someone she wanted a favor from.

But a virgin twat tasted different from a pussy that had known a penis. And Ilan loved that innocent flavor. She often visited this fantasy herself. And when men learned she could make these dreams so real, they paid hefty sums for this one.

Frank was getting it for free. He fucked Ilan/Guinevere and pushed his face next to hers to share the handmaiden's taste.

Salome came up behind him and licked his balls as his cock went in and out of the cunt beneath him. She was no innocent. Her stepfather had been in the habit of offering her to friends at parties. And she'd been a willing and enthusiastic participant. She pushed her nose into Frank's ass as she kissed his balls. She slid one finger into Ilan/Guinevere alongside Frank's thrusting cock and another finger into her ass. Ilan loved when she did that.

Frank was fucking her hard and fast. Salome was fingering her furiously. Cleo's handmaiden was grinding her pussy against Ilan's face.

She came, tremoring and panting. And Frank was coming, sending that precious seed into her pussy. And she felt the little sperms like tiny balls of energy flowing through her. They didn't stay in her pussy. They penetrated every muscle and blood vessel. They swarmed her heart and electrified the nerves and fibers. The sperm flowed under her skin, awakening, rejuvenating, energizing.

Ilan was a young and beautiful woman again. She was sorely in need of a bath, but she no longer looked like she'd just crawled out of a grave. She eased up off of her lover, slowly letting his oh-so-generous cock slip out of her pussy.

She knelt on the tent floor and kissed the wonderful appendage. Once, she'd been worshipped as a goddess, but now this was her true god. It gave her life. It made her whole and healthy. She worshipped the penis and would do absolutely anything for it.

Now that she'd had a full blast of come directly in her pussy, Ilan had at least a fortnight before her age started to show again. Certainly she could find another donor before that time was over.

With her lips on his dick, she could feel Frank's pulse. It was weak and slow, but it was there. He'd survive. She hadn't killed anyone this time. He'd be unconscious for a day or so, but his friends would surely come looking for him. And his dreams would be an unending erotic adventure.

Ilan left the tent. It was time to find her latest destiny. Somewhere nearby, a descendant of Troy was in danger of dying without offspring. It was her duty to make sure that didn't happen. Somebody was gonna get fucked before the sun went down. Someone would be pregnant before the week was out.