Randomness from Twisted Sister

FICTION — Zombie Porn

Tall and striking, Ronald wasn’t the best-looking zombie in the place, but, something about him caught her eye. It might have been the way he was missing an eye of his own, and writhing mass of brainworms spilled out of the empty socket, or the way that his intestines seeped out of the gaping hole in his abdomen, but Zorba thought he was fine.

Zorba smiled at him from across the bar, and tossed the snarled remains of her hair, boasting proud locks that were once blonde and were now maggot-filled and streaked with blood. Her tattered dress strained across an impressive bosom; three breasts, each of different size and shape, all in varying stages of decay; and her aroma defied description, rotted, putrid flesh, and something else. Feces, perhaps.

Inhaling deeply, Ronald took his cue. Dames like her were hard to come by, even if you were undead.

He lurched toward her, a smile twisted on his face while maggots fell out of the open wound on his cheek. She raised her glass in his direction; rather, she lifted her decaying wrist in her good hand and grinned at him over the glass.

Three teeth fell into her drink.

Ronald was smitten.

“Me, Ronald,” he stood before her, inhaling her intoxicating aroma.

“Zorba,” she groaned.

“Want know me better?” he leered at her. “Quiet – back there.” He jerked his head, nearly detaching it in the process, and pointed toward the darkened shadows at back of the bar, where foul smelling liquid seeped out of the washrooms.

Zorba nodded coquettishly and stood to follow, stumping along on one leg too short, and leaving a trail of decaying flesh behind her. Ronald turned toward a half empty storage room; a pile of corpses sat stacked in a corner, waiting reanimation, or burial, or both.

“Lady first,” Ronald grinned, the blackened remains of his teeth gleaming in the dim light. As Zorba giggled and passed by, he reached out, grabbing her ass and wasn’t surprised when a cheek came apart in his hand. He sniffed at it, and then wiped the crumbling remains on his pants.

Zorba giggled again, and flashed a near toothless smile at him. “Oh, Ronald, naughty boy.”

Inside the storage room they made short work of each other, Ronald reached for Zorba, detaching her arm in the process, and he leaned in, nibbling along where her earlobe used to be. She shivered, and more flakes of flesh fell away.

Ronald picked up a piece of rotting flesh, and nibbled at it, daintily, then leered. “You tasty.”

Zorba blushed and giggled. “You wait.”

She twisted the bony remains of her fingers into his pants, tugging at them, and feeling the soft rip of fabric sink into his decaying flesh. The aroma that rose between them could only be described as undeadly, Zorba sniffed at the sickly-sweet odour of rot.

“That you?” she asked.

Ronald groaned. “Gas.”

“You stinky.”

“Me know.”

“Pretty good.”

Ronald leaned toward her, the remains of his lips brushing hers, exposed bone and decaying teeth crunched into the other; he flicked his maggot-filled tongue into her mouth, teasing, and half her face melted away, crumbling into a heap onto the floor.

Zorba grinned seductively, her face now a shiny mass of exposed bone and putrefied flesh, maggots writhed across the remains. Ronald stepped back, startled with her beauty; the moist and dripping flesh of his leg making contact with an electrical socket on the wall behind him, and as the jolt of electricity flooded his body, he sparked, arching and smouldering, limbs flailing wildly before he shot off the wall.

Zorba bent to pick up his charred remains. Ronald groaned. “You hot babe.”

He raised his hands to her spectacular bosom, and sunk into the varying states of decay of all three breasts. As he removed a hand to go lower, a bony finger detached, and remained lodged in her third breast.

Ronald fumbled with the hem of Zorba’s skirt, hiking it up her decaying thighs, while the maggots that resided between them dropped to the floor and attempted to wriggle away. He stomped toward her, squishing maggots beneath his bare toes; and pressed onward, oblivious to the faint snap and soft sound of tearing flesh as his whole hand gave out, now stuck and crumbling between Zorba’s tremendous thighs.

“You want?” she asked.

“Oh, give to me – me want head,” Ronald moaned, and then his last eyeball popped out, rolling across the floor.

Zorba fell to her knees, a shower of writhing maggots spilling from the open side of her face, and unhinged her jaw. A slurping sound filled the room, the suck suck of wetness, churning together…

The horrific whine when she sucked in was more than Ronald bargained for, but she kept going. He leaned against the wall, the foul odour of decay filled his nostrils.

She was getting busy.

Exposed bone protruding through muscle, Ronald’s thighs trembled; he waited for what he knew would come next.

Zorba reached for the top of her scalp, and with decaying digits entangled in the maggoty strands, she lifted off, detaching her own head from her neck.

As green ichor oozed, she dropped the wet heap into Ronald’s lap with a loud splut; wetness stained the tattered remains of his trousers.

He leaned back and smiled. “That good head.”

 

*

Author’s Note — File this one under Randomness from Twisted Sister, with some editorial support from jfxmcl, but around here nobody’s taking credit for this monstrosity. But, in reply to the great editorial question ‘why. he. talk. caveman.’ the response is ‘zombie. no brain. want. head.’

And that, my twisted little friends, just about sums up this piece.

 

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