Takagi ground her bare ass on the counter, moaning whorishly as she worked the thick carrot in and out of her snatch. The juxtaposition of the chilled vegetable diving deep into her warm, wet folds flushed her cheeks red with arousal, and her pussy clenched tight around the intruder with anticipation. The other intruder, the human one she’d noticed a few scant minutes ago, peeked his head around the doorway to look at the siren behind the screams, and Takagi quickly closed her eyes to pretend she hadn’t seen him. It was easy to let her needy cunt take the front seat in situations like this: maximize helplessness, put on a good show, brace yourself against a hard surface to get fucked on. The pinkette reached up and began sucking on her index finger, her attempt to showcase her plump, cushiony lips devolving into a genuine fantasy about fellatio. If this guy turns out to be friendly, I promise I’ll spend the rest of the night on my knees to make up for it.
Because, of course, she wasn’t the smartest girl in her entire school because she listened to her pussy.
As she heard him stumble over the roller skate she’d put in his path, she snapped her eyes open, whipped out the frying pan from behind her back, and slammed it into the side of his head.
----
The first thing Romero noticed was the searing pain in his head. The second thing he noticed was the tightness around his wrists, binding him in place as he began to squirm. The third thing he noticed, once he opened his eyes, was the biggest pair of breasts he had ever seen in his life, which went a long way toward mitigating the first two things.
The woman attached to the breasts noticed he was awake as she dabbed the side of his head with a wet cloth. She bathed him in a bright smile as she set the cloth down on the nightstand next to the bed he was laying on, then ran her free hand over his nearest bound arm as she dangled her cleavage in front of his face.
“Sorry for being a bitch.” She said, with a tone as bubbly as her bright blond hairstyle. “My name is Shizuka. I’m a nurse.” Her words were dragged out in the measured fashion one would use to address a head trauma victim. Someone like me, Romero thought distantly, too distracted by his growing erection to feel any kind of fear about the prospect.
“You can call me Honey Jugs.” She continued, flashing a light into his eyes. "Do you remember your name?”
“…Romero.” He answered woozily, and he found himself captivated by the minor seismic event in Honey’s cleavage as she broke into a giggle fit. “I know, it’s… uncanny.”
Shizuka’s eyes drifted south to his bare legs. “Does this bitch have permission…?” She asked, her hand hovering over his bulge. At his nod, she nearly jumped for joy as she reached down to fish his erection out of his boxers, coaxing out a moan. Shizuka rubbed her palm against Romero’s thickening cockhead, and as her palm became wet with precum, Shizuka sighed in relief and withdrew her hand. “That’s good. Your equipment is still up and running.” She eagerly lapped the fluid off of her hand before looking back up to his face with a head-cocked grin. “When this bitch saw the size of it, this bitch was about ready to hit Licorice with a pan myself if it didn’t work again.”
Romero frowned, still trying to put pieces together. “Licorice?”
Shizuka nodded. “Licorice Lips. She’s the one who hit you.”
“Oh. Right.” The image of the masturbating pinkette faded back into clarity, and Romero looked off to the side with a peculiar mix of shame and arousal. “I… guess I must have scared her.”
Shizuka shook her head, producing another delightful avalanche of jiggles. “It’s only normal that she did what she did, especially considering that big weapon you were carrying.” She said with a breathy moan. “But mmm-mmm, me and the other survivors aren’t too happy about it.”
Normal. The word rang Romero’s head like a church bell, before his eyes widened and he attempted to sit up, straining against the wrist ties. “You need to let me go! I need to find my brother!”
“Your brother?” Shizuka asked, gently pushing him back down. “Do you mean Takashi, or Kohta?”
Romero shook his head, settling back into a lying position. “No. He’s a real buff guy, loves to state the obvious. Goes by the name Najiten.”
“Oh!” Shizuka said, nodding her head. “Yep, he’s here. He’s upstairs knocking up Sugar Booty, one of the other survivors.”
Romero let out a breath, glad to see Najiten wasn’t getting into any trouble. Yet. “What’s he been saying?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Has he said anything strange? Like, how the way things are supposed to be?”
Shizuka brushed some hair out of the way of the bandaged wound, smiling sympathetically. “I think you need some rest.”
“No, I’m fine, I—” Romero started, before Shizuka leaned over and gently kissed his cockhead. The motion also smothered his shaft in her abundant, soft tits, and his eyes rolled up as his mind short-circuited.
“You just wait down here for a little while.” Shizuka said with a gentle smile, getting to her feet. “Your brother will be done soon, and then he can tell us who you are.”
Romero shook free of his stupor when Shizuka was already halfway across the room, and he called out to her bikini-clad bottom in vain. “No, he can’t see me! You can’t tell him I’m here! There’s no telling— ”
Then the bedroom door shut, and he was alone.
Romero bit his teeth, trying to bite back his panic. He looked down at the palm of his hand, the faded permanent marker reading Everything Isn’t Normal. He’d taken enough precautions to know that he was supposed to assume that something was wrong at all times, even if he couldn’t tell what it was specifically. But none of that would matter if Najiten found out he had escaped from their grandfather’s house and aimed something directly at him.
His eyes frantically scanned the room, looking for something, anything to help. There, sitting in the corner, was the sword he was wearing when she had knocked him out. The sword that allowed to cleave through the zombie hordes. Not alone after all. He thought to himself, straining his hand toward the greatsword leaning in the corner.
There was nothing, at first, and for a moment Romero was struck sure that he had been unconscious for too long, and that the connection was severed. But gradually, so slowly it almost seemed like a low-light illusion, the sword propped itself upright so that its tip was pressing straight down into the carpet.
Then Chaz, the Unholy Deathbringer, the Weeping God, and now Killer of the Unkilled, began dragging itself across the floor.
Sat Jan 30 02:30:58 2016
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4 comments Last updated: Sat Feb 6 18:43:01 2016