This is just a simple, fun and incredibly smutty idea I've had in mind for a while. All of the characters are over 18, and I hope you enjoy it.
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The city is always quiet in the mornings these days. As I stand in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors of somebody else's apartment, I can trick myself into thinking everything is okay. It's not until the first eager rays of sunlight break over the horizon that you can see the damage. Streets packed with abandoned cars, smashed and trampled. Clothing and discarded luggages is strewn about, mixed with the rubbish of a city that's long since fallen apart. I can even see scorch marks and small craters marring the roads. The towering building aren't much better. Many of them bear some signs of warfare; scorches, gaping holes and one or two are even partially collapsed. And then, staggering through the city is the cause of it all. The zombies that ended the world.
The huge hordes of the early days are long gone, no doubt spreading out into the countryside in search of food. But there's still enough around to cause a problem. They tend to cluster together, and I've seen groups ranging from four five, to as large as twenty or thirty. Every now and then I hear distant screams or gunshots, and I know there are other survivors still in the city. And as long as there's fresh meat for the infected, some of them will stay in the city. If I had anywhere else to go, I would. But I've managed to create my own little haven in the city and besides, it's not like I have any family left to go and find. For me, the world ended when I came home to find my dad hunched over my mum in the hallway, her guts hanging from his mouth. I can still remember the way his face was covered in blood, the way it puddled on the wood flooring. He sipped as he came at me, giving me time to run out into the street before he was on me. He had been reduced to nothing more than a mindless monster, and moments after tackling e to the floor, somebody blew his head off. They assumed he was going to kill me, but this was back before anybody really knew anything about immunity.
See, this isn't the kind of zombie apocalypse we all watched on tv. Those that are infected aren't dead, reanimated monsters. They're still alive. They're flesh and blood, and while a headshot is the easiest way to put one down, it's not essential. The virus reduces them to mindless, flesh eating monsters. Given enough time, it also mutates their bodies, focusing development on strength and speed. Most of the zombies at this stage are lean, with little fat and an impressive amount of muscle. Before the last survivor camp in the city fell, I was starting to hear some scary rumours about more...extreme variants that had been further mutated beyond anything I'd seen. I just hoped I never ran into one, if they were actually real.
As for me, I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm immune. Except it's not really immunity, and I don't feel lucky. See, we're still infected. Before all media stopped, it was revealed that those with immunity are still infected. But the virus doesn't take our minds and as far as anybody could tell, it doesn't affect our bodies. However it does change how the zombies see us. Instead of trying to feed on us, they try to breed with us. I know, right? I've seen first hand just how messed up that can be. They don't care about their victims and if a group catches you, well, they're happy to share. The irony of it is, there's been no recording of a zombie actually knocking anybody up, but that doesn't stop them from trying. It's like a sick joke, but that's just the world I live in now.
Anyway, I've been along for while now. Six months at least, since the last survivor camp fell. It was people getting greedy and dangerous that caused it to fall, so I struck out on my own. This way I don't have to worry about anybody letting me down. All I have to focus on is avoiding the infected and keeping myself alive. Easy, right? For the past few weeks I've actually been doing really well. I holed up in this apartment that looks like it was toned by a young woman. Compared to most, it still seems to be in good condition, and there's a wardrobe full of outfits that seem to fit quite well. Granted, a lot of it is skirts and dresses that don't make for the most practical of apocalyptic wear, but there's still some good stuff. Clearing this floor of the building was easy enough and, combined with a couple food shops nearby, I've managed to amass a pretty decent stockpile. After securing one of the stairwells, I've got easy access in and out, along with rooftop access to gather rainwater. All things considered, I had it made. Yet there was something missing.
Earlier that morning I was laid in bed, tangled in the sheets as I writhed and moaned. My fingers worked between my legs and after half an hour, I finally managed to bring myself to a mediocre orgasms. Soft moans turned to a growl of frustration as I flung the covers aside. Swining my legs over the edge I padded barefoot and naked to the window where I waited for the sunrise. I truly needed to get laid, but as you can imagine, there were few opportunities for that. Well, there was one possibility that had been lingering at the back of my mind, the temptation growing and growing. Stepping away from the window, I knew I was about to do possibly the stupidest thing I'd ever done.
Heading over to the wardrobe, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. At 5ft6, I'd always been pretty athletic, and the apocalypse only helped that. Before me stood a lithe, toned frame with a flat stomach and ample, D cup breasts. Back when the world was normal I'd always been pretty happy with toned, powerful thighs and perky bubble butt. Meanwhile long raven black hair framed a tarp face with full lips, big green eyes and a cute nose. Honestly though, nobody takes you seriously in the apocalypse when you look like a damn Pixar character!
