Want some fun zombie action? Well, Sexy to Go, Volume 10 has it!
A Zombie Ate My Panties is a (hopefully) funny and sexy story. Check out the excerpt below.
Trista’s boob-obsessed zombie is making progress but is far from being rehabilitated. When she removes his muzzle, will he eat her face off or just eat her panties?
Trista unlocked the restraints that secured the moaning zombie to her bed. Handcuffs and ankle cuffs weren’t just for BDSM.
The Infected Rehabilitation Agency (IRA) had assigned him to her six months ago and although he’d made a lot of progress, she wasn’t quite ready to trust him to not eat her face off if she rolled too close to him while she slept. Yes, she kept his Hannibal Lector type muzzle-mask on at night, but better safe than sorry. After all, he was one muscular zombie.
The movies had the zombie apocalypse both right and wrong. Right, because it happened and the zombies did crave flesh. Wrong, because they weren’t undead—just infected—and they craved sex as much as brains. Once the CDC had come up with a vaccine, every single person over the age of twenty-five, who tested psychologically capable of caring for one of the infected, was assigned a zombie.
The infected required a daily shot of a brain-function-boosting serum and needed to be taught, well, basically everything. Once they’d improved enough to be a functioning member of society, they were released to live life like a normal person.
Zeek—that’s what she’d named him as he’d been a John Doe and because she thought Zeek the zombie was funny—shot off the bed and lumbered toward her, his large hands reaching for her.
“Boobs,” he said. He moved into her personal space and gave her breasts a squeeze.
She batted his hands away. “Behave, Zeek.”
She turned to walk to the bathroom, but he wrapped his muscled arms around her and squeezed her breasts again. He was so damn strong. She couldn’t understand why they’d assigned a muscular, six foot tall zombie to a petite, five and a half foot tall woman. Maybe that’s why the IRA had also issued her a tranquilizer gun.
She elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted and loosened his grip enough for her to spin around and face him. “Stop it. I have to pee and so do you.”
He hung his head and let her lead him down the short hallway to the bathroom where he clumsily shoved his sweat pants down, grabbed his dick, and shook it at her. Of course, it was hard. Damn thing was always hard. And as much as she tried not to think about it, it was the most beautiful penis she’d ever seen. Perfectly straight, fat head, silky smooth. She shivered and turned her back.
“Make sure to get it in the toilet.” Cleaning up zombie piss was not on her list of good times.
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