Zombie Seed Floods the Human Doctor (2)

The door opened.

Joshua stood there in the doorway of the bay, restraints broken and dangling from one wrist. His chest was still. No rise, no breath. Black veins sat thick and dark under grey skin. His cock was still hard, still wet from her hand, still leaking a slow, steady drip onto the floor between his feet.

Betty didn’t run. She looked at him. He looked at her. No lunge. No teeth. Just that same focused stare, unblinking and fixed on her face.

She grabbed his wrist, the one still wearing the snapped cuff, and pulled him out of the bay. “We’re leaving. Now.”

He followed without resistance, bare feet quiet on the tile. The hallway lights flickered again, stuttering over the pale stretch of his skin. Down the corridor another trauma team shouted over a fresh arrival, voices sharp and overlapping. No one looked their way. Betty signed herself out at the deserted desk with a hand that only shook a little, then walked him straight through the unmonitored side exit to her car. He sat in the passenger seat, silent, cock still out, still hard, the tip shining in the dashboard light. She kept her eyes on the road. Her underwear was already soaked, sticking to her as she shifted in the seat.

Less than an hour later she locked her apartment door behind them. Kitchen light on. City quiet outside the windows.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen. Three missed calls and a text from her ex-husband: I’m coming over. We need to talk. Still have the spare key. She ignored it and turned back to Joshua.

He stood in the middle of her kitchen, waiting. Restraints still hanging from one wrist. Cock thick and dark and dripping, the head flushed darker than the rest of him.

She told herself she was going to call someone. Report him. Do her job.

Instead she pushed him back against the wall and dropped to her knees.

She took his cock in her mouth before she could talk herself out of it. The taste was earthy, dark, not quite alive, settling heavy on her tongue. The weight of it made her pussy clench hard around nothing. She sucked him deep, cheeks hollowing, spit already running. Pre-cum and saliva ran down her chin in thin strings. Joshua’s hand settled on the back of her head… not forcing, guiding, fingers resting in her hair. She took more. Her jaw ached, stretched wide. She kept going until he was wet from tip to base, her lips meeting the cool skin of his groin with every slow bob.

He pulled her up by her hair. Firm. Not rough. He turned her around and bent her over the kitchen table. She went willingly, palms flat on the wood, ass up, the edge of the table digging into the tops of her thighs.

He shoved her scrub pants and underwear down in one motion. Cool air hit her wet pussy, the sudden chill making her shiver. His fingers found her clit… cold at first, then warmer as he circled it. She gasped, hips twitching forward into the touch. He rubbed slow, then faster, pressure steady and sure. Two thick fingers pushed inside her. She was dripping down her thighs, slick coating his knuckles. He fucked her with them until she was moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors, the wet sound of his fingers filling the quiet kitchen.

He pulled his fingers out, sucked them clean, then lined his cock up.

He pushed in slowly. She felt every inch. Every black vein. Every pulse that shouldn’t have been there. He filled her completely, stretching her open until she had to breathe through her mouth. She had never been this full. Her fingers clawed the table, nails catching on the wood.

He started moving. Deep. Deliberate. Each thrust hit the end of her, a thick, heavy pressure that made her toes curl against the floor. She pushed back onto him, meeting every stroke. He grabbed her hips and pulled her harder onto his cock, the force of it rocking her forward. The table scraped across the floor with every sharp pull. She came once, tight and shaking around him, a sudden clench that pulled a broken sound out of her throat. He didn’t stop. He kept the same deep rhythm until she came again, harder, voice breaking on his name and then on nothing at all.

He leaned over her. Chest cold against her back. Mouth near her ear. First words he’d spoken:

“You’re mine now.”

Betty pushed back against him harder, taking him deeper, the stretch almost too much. “Then don’t stop.”

The knocking started. Hard. Fast. A voice she knew too well.

“Betty, I know you’re in there. Open up.”