The Trouble with Keeping a Zombie

His name is Mac Cortez, known as the red hunting dog who keeps his little slice of the world in order. Mr. Cortez is a 55-year-old man with auburn hair and deep-set eyes. And he has spent most of his life single, even before the end of the modern civilization. He's kept to himself most of that time, and has always been more at home in the country than he had in the city.

He was a reliable kind of person, who knew a thing or two about making due and getting things done, though he had a wicked temper which he tried to hide. Before the end of the world, he'd been an marine. After he retired, he'd had a homestead and lived as off-grid as he could manage. And now that all the infostructure was eaten up by the zombie infection and its consequences, he'd become a leader.

An old friend had brought to his door a tribe of survivors, and he couldn't turn them out into the cold. What was once his quiet acreage turned slowly into a settlement, then a town, and he made it his business to keep his town and it's residents safe.

He like keeping the settlement more than he'd liked lording over troops. This was a personal kind of business, one which made every man, woman, and child under his watch indebted to him. He liked how that felt. To know that everyone around him was alive because he'd made it so--there was no greater feeling of authority than that.

There was only one problem. Having a thriving, working, growing town, meant living in it.

This one thing had been difficult to compromise, and he was too proud a person to completely abandon his old ways and he didn't fully bend to the needs of the people. He lived nearer to a settlement than he would like, and further away than the people would like. Though he still lived within the bounds of the walls he helped build.

Still, he had a community that relied on him, and one he'd molded more into his own ideals. He tried his best to keep them safe and do right by the people who'd also managed to survive the near defeat of the human race, but in his own way. This wasn't always seen as a good thing, but it was how they lived.

Mr. Cortez also had a secret. A terrible, terrible secret which he never breathed a word of to anyone. A secret that stayed so by ensuring that no one was around his house, especially at night.

He had a pet. Not the kind of pet that could be bought or found. It was the kind that could only be made. A most forbidden sort of pet.

When he's away from home for a while, doing his duty for the community, he misses his pet dearly. He finds his mind wandering back home when he's on a long watch, and thinking about how he'd rather be spending his hours. His buddies were never sure why he was so eager to go back to his cabin, or why he would choose to live so far from the town center, even if they left him to his peace. He had no wife, and wasn't eager to take one. They assumed he must have been in love with the forest.

Living so far away from everyone seemed like an unnecessary danger though, and every once in a while, one of them would try to goad him into coming a little closer to civilization. He would not listen. And if they pressed to far, he would get angry.

No one liked to see Mac angry. At that point, the only one who could talk him down was his good friend, who was a good deal younger than Mac but was a fellow veteran. Ken Smith (who could only be bothered half the time to actually deal with whatever it was pissing Mac off) was a scruffy guy who liked to keep to himself to unless he was drinking, and so was a bridge between Mac's more woodsman ways, and the rest of the survivors.

Even though Mr. Cortez was something like an elder or a mayor to this tribe of survivors, they were cautious of him. He liked it that way.

For they would never know what he dreamed about coming home to, and it wasn't a warm fire and some peace and quiet. That's because they would never guess that he had you waiting for him out in his hunting cabin. His zombie girl.

Yes, you were very special to him, and he didn't like you to be lonely long.

You might have had the shape of a human, but you weren't really a person anymore. No one like you was. The infected were mindless. Just hungry, empty shells of people. After the incubation period, you weren't even infectious anymore, so he didn't worry about catching the zombification now that it had worked through you so splendidly.

You certainly still felt pleasure and pain, and had a will to live. You seemed to like him, or at least like that he took care of you. You were always eager to please him, and seemed to enjoy when he brought you pleasure. You couldn't speak anymore, but you could communicate in your own way.

There were ways with body language you could use, which told him where to touch you that felt good, and you could learn to please him too.

(Afterall, if you couldn't do that much, why would he have kept you?)

As much of a hard ass as he was, he sort of spoiled you--as much as one could spoil a zombie.

Even though it was "unsafe" to keep you around, he didn't consider you any real threat. You were dangerous to him the way a dog is. It's only really a problem that you have teeth if he lets you get too hungry. Elsewise you're as loyal as any good, trained thing should be. And you are very good for him.

This he thinks as he stomps into his cabin, the old wood floor creaking beneath his steps, and he barely takes the time to shed his coat as he makes way to you.

You're in the basement.

It's not bad for you down there, but he knows you get bored, and so he can't ever stay away for more than a few days. He keeps a shoot with fresh meat loaded in it that lasts you about three days, and that's his limit for time spent away, unless he wants to put you down. He's put too much time into you to put you down easily. Especially after years together... it would be impossible to replace you.

No, if he wanted a new toy, he'd probably have to have you help train it, and that would cause all sorts of problems--he was lucky enough to just find you sane enough to turn you into a toy, he'd doubted it would happen again. He would use you until he died, and then you'd likely starve to death down here, or get put down by one of the townspeople when they came in and cleared out his cabin.

Sometimes he wonders if they would figure out what he used you for, and if they'd decide to keep you too. However, this idea makes him a bit jealous, even in death. If he died, he'd have to let god sort out your fate, but for now, he was taking full advantage of having you all for himself.

He opens the door to hear a bit of skuttling on the floor. Then he flips the light on and a few groaning noises greet him. These are your happy sounds. You grunt and huff, eager to see him after two days apart. The

You, to put it simply, are his zombie sex pet.

A nearly brain dead, barely person who eats raw flesh and is clumsy and mostly dead, yet in a strange way immortal. You won't age, but you will decay if he doesn't take care of you, and it's easy for you to hurt yourself.

You're a victim of circumstance, just like most everyone in town. Just one that wasn't lucky to come out of the end of the world with your brain intact.

The apocalypse isn't something people think about anymore now that it's over. People are too busy trying to live day-to-day, with new complaints and new struggles to cry over what once was. The talk about the old world in the way that makes complaining about today soften a bit. They morn the loss of convenience and wash clothes on the river bank.

But the one and only Mac Cortez? He counts this fate as a blessing. He was a bit useless in the world before. One man apart of a dying breed. But in this ruined after world? He had everything he wanted, and skills people valued, and now he had the perfect woman.

She wouldn't talk, wouldn't fight, wouldn't ever want anything else but to please him. His favorite place is between those teeth of yours when his cock hits the back of your cold throat and you don't even have the instincts to gag...

Yes, he trusted you around his cock--you'd yet to bite him, and he had a gun nearby in case you did. And today he had a mind for putting his rod down your throat. You were surely already fed, and he was horny today, it had been bothering him all afternoon. He'd have his way with you, then make sure you were cared for, and then go about the rest of his evening.

He approaches casually and you crawl towards him until the chain that keeps you secured to the wall goes taunt. The sound of metallic thunking strains the metal as you try a few times to push pass closer, than huff and pull back and wait for him to come closer.

Your always so eager, it's really very cute.

That's when he reaches out to your head, rubbing your hair with a fondness. He tugs your chain and you crawl off to the side, following him towards his stool and so you can be closer to his heat, and he undoes the gag on your mouth and brings you closer.

You're happy to serve. You love this hot thing the master sticks deep in your mouth. He is warm and full of life, and that liquid he spews leaves you fuller than the cold flesh that comes down the shoot which you eat when he bids you. It is normal for you to sit back, and wait while he dangles the treat in your face.

But you're a good girl. You wait for him to tell you when you can move.

He puts a thumb on your chin, which is your signal to open your mouth wider, and your sticky breath moistens his cock before he slides you down on him like the toy you are.

You swallow him deep, until your nose is in the hair at the base of his length. The sound of your huffed gagging makes him strain to release inside you. Not that his cock was especially long, it was above average but certainly not monstrous, but no woman had ever deep throated him before. He loved it, and he loved you for being so easy about it--maybe that was because you were a zombie, and just didn't have the instincts left to gag.

Nevertheless, he was addicted as addicted as you.

There was something consuming about being fucked like this. Your hands grip the sides of the stool as his wrap around the back of your head. Eyes rolled back, there is no time your head is more full than when he's rocking his cock until it feels like your brain's been put back.

Nonsensical moaning sounds gurgle out of your throat along with the glug-glug-gluging of lips made vacuum tight, and a determined man using that mouth to take himself to his first climax of the night. He might have been getting on in years, but Mac was a virile man, and he wasn't done fucking after just one spew.

He fucks into the slightly chill wetness of your undead mouth until he reaches his first climax of the night. He wants another, fast and hard.

Your left, tongue out and panting, as he pulls you back. You'd sit on your haunches and let him use you for another hour without complain, but you have a feeling that he desires more from you tonight than to give your silly little mouth a treat.

He undoes your hand chains so he can more easily maneuver you into a new position. He hardly thinks twice about how the shackles fall and release your arms for the first time in months. It's a dangerous game he plays, being this casual...

You never hurt him, and he's been doing this for 5 years. In his mind, you're like a cute dog that he takes care of that happens to look like a young woman. You're a sweet thing, he claims he can see it in your cold glossed over eyes.

Right now, he wants to turn his good girl over and fuck you from behind like a wild beast. The thought is all consuming.

He thinks you'd never betrayed him, even if he wasn't so strict with you. This one time he could get away with it, right? And as you roll over when he gruffly commands you to, he is oh, so pleased.

You had to love him, you had to. He was your whole world.

And he was. What would you do without him? Your poor zombified brain never registered your master as flesh before, and as long as he wasn't too very lax with you, you probably never would.

Food to eat was always cold and unmoving. You lived like a snake on frozen meals, and so the idea of live prey had never crossed your mind.

When you turn over, you arch your back while eagerly bouncing back and forth and tempting him to fuck you. HIs hands grab your hips to steady you, fingers digging into your firm thighs that doesn't give in the same way a living body does, but still feels satisfying to make into the shape of his fingers.

Bruises never bother you, so he grabs tight. It's easy to lose track of time when he's rocking his hips into your tight little hole. He'll fuck your pussy and your ass, at least once a piece. You know just he way to coil up your insides, like even if you can't open your jaws and eat him, you'd still like to devour him whole.

He grunts and groans, sounds which mingle with your much louder ones. While you might be tight, your arms go totally lax as he fucks you silly. Your toes curl and you whine nonsense that seems to beg for more always (though you were an insatiable creature, so it was to be expected.) There is no time you feel more alive, more warm, and more useful, than when he's fucking you with ruthless heavy thrusts that echo off the bare stone walls.

If he could, he'd fuck you forever, but for now he pulls back and watches as his seed seeps out from between your thighs and smiles. This little slice of heaven was his, and even though he lost his isolation with the end of the world, he'd gained something that would have been impossible to have in the world before. You.

...

Years pass, and Mac grows older and grumpier, while you stay young and sweet. The perfect woman, as he would say to you and rub behind your ears. You knew when he was weak, and it worried you in what small way you could worry, and still than you didn't hurt him. He was precious to you, even if sometimes he was stern or mean or even harsh.

But one day, he went upstairs and never came back down.

Yes, the former marine had a secret that everyone would know after he passed, when they found a zombie in his basement. It's skin remarkably smooth and unrotted. You would be completely naked with feet chained to the wall, with sex toys strown across the room, making the purpose of this rustic sex dungeon totally obvious.

This is what his mind lingers on as he is in his last moments. He feels like he should have a few more years, but the end of the world has been hard on him, and he's given the world a lot of himself. Too much to go much longer.

He writes a letter, to explain what lives in his basement, and hangs it on the door. He'd hate for you to be put down now, when there was really no reason to fear you (even if you were a bit sex-crazy, you were easy enough to take care of). And then he lays in his bed and closes his eyes one last time.

In truth, it takes a few days away for people to grow worried, and when they do, it's his friend Ken that comes by to check on him. Eventually his search has him finding the letter, reading it over with astonished eyes, and entering the basement where he witnesses the world Mac kept secret for so long.

When you see someone finally enter the basement, as he steps down the stairs, you roll over and spread your legs, desperate for more food, company, and attention. You know how the exchange works, your master taught you well, and even with some forewarning this new comer is rendered speechless at the sight.

His eyes flicker around, taking in the room.

A cold shiver races down his spine, as Ken realized just what kind of trouble Mr. Cortez had been getting into in his private retreat. He looks at the sight before him finding himself equally mortified and oddly compelled. You finger yourself and groan a mess of sounds, desperate to do anything to please this man into either coming closer to give you love or thanking him for giving you feed.

This is what master liked, so you hoped this new man would too.

Only one questions remained to be asked, which would haunt Ken Smith in this forever moment. Would he dare to take the risk of taking you as his pet too? Or would he put you down, as seemed right and just, even if you were such a good little pet?

The basement door closes and he descends the stairs.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try you out, just once......