“Do you really think you’re going to be able to add anything to the cultural conversation about zombies?” Johnny asks.
“Pull your pants down,” Barbra says.
They are holed up in his mother’s basement for the week. Couldn’t afford to go to Cabo for Spring Break like the rest of the kids on their hall. It’s fine. They’ve got all the weed and streaming movies they can possibly want, plus the apps of three different pizza delivery places linked up to Barb’s dad’s Paypal account.
Johnny takes a long drag of a joint while he unbuttons his jeans and lets them drop to his ankles. Attempting to keep the smoke in, he says, “I mean: George Romero, Shaun of the Dead, Walking Dead—” He continues the list while Barbra pulls his cock through the fly of his boxers.
“Pride and Prejudice and Zombies; World War Z—the book not the movie—the movie sucked ass. iZombie!” He finally exhales, looking down at the top of Barbra’s curly purple head of hair. She’s kneeling on the floor in front of the mustard colored sofa working his mostly flaccid dick between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. When he’s only a fraction hard like this, she can take him all the way in. She loves tightening her lips around his base. With just enough pressure from her, his erection strengthens, pushes back towards her throat. Jack & the Beanstalk on time-lapse. Soon he’s rigid and bigger.
She skims his balls with her fingertips while making a tight aperture with her lips on his head. She barely lets him in before pulling back and squeezing him out. Her grazing finger pads continue with one hand, while she grips his base with the other, gliding it up and down over the slickness left by her tongue.
“All the major themes have been covered. Infectious diseases, mortality, the complete breakdown of civilization,” he says.
“Really?!” She stops and looks up at him.
“Yeah, the baby boomers are getting Alzheimer’s. It’s so obvious. That’s tens of thousands of mindless, shuffling—”
“I wasn’t seriously asking, Johnny.”
“What?” His dick softens.
“I mean, like, are you really going to keep talking about fucking zombies while I’m going down on you?”
“I didn’t say anything about fucking zombies.”
“Pass me that joint.”
This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, a site where writers share erotic stories (fiction and non) every week. The fun is hosted by the brilliant and gorgeous Marie Rebelle of Rebel’s Notes, whose endeavors you can support at Patreon.
Read more fab Wicked Wednesday “Zombie” entries here!