Good Vibrations Magazine

Jake was dressed up like a zombie. That’s how it started. I mean, not that I’ve got a thing for monsters, or anything, but you remember Young Frankenstein? “A creature like that would have a very large schwanzstucker.” Know what a schwanzstucker is? I didn’t either. But you get the idea. Jake had one, all right. I already knew that.

It wouldn’t have tempted me so much if I wasn’t dressed up like a damsel in distress. White fluffy dress, cut very close and showing a lot of cleavage, drawing stares from everyone at the party, women and men alike. Not to mention the dual slits up my legs, so high that they almost reached my hips. My blonde hair was in pigtails, my eyes painted so they looked even bigger than they are — big and bright and utterly without guile. Very sexy, but virginal.

I mean, the whole innocence gone wrong thing really appealed to me, and it was kind of turning me on knowing I looked sexy enough to draw stares from everyone. Usually Halloween is when people break out their sexy personas, the schoolgirls and sluts and cheerleaders and vamps and French maids they always wish they could be. Not this crowd.

There weren’t even that many costumes — maybe half of the guests were dressed up, and those ones had gone for… you know, the usual lame costumes selected by people without much time to create. Lawyer types dressed as James Bond. Computer-geek army men. One woman dressed like a judge, waxing philosophic on the importance of having women on the Supreme Court.

It’s not like we planned it that way, but when a party gets boring enough, you need something to keep you occupied. And Jake’s always good at keeping me occupied.

Jake? He’s into costumes. He found me the dress, even bought it for me. So maybe it was his idea to begin with. His costume was better than mine. He’d gone for the face paint and even a bit of a rubber prosthesis — a big gash in his head, running from his pallid chin to his pallid forehead, oozing what looked like blood. Really, really gross. It was Halloween, after all.

Jake’s a big guy, 6′6″, more than a foot taller than me with broad shoulders and muscles. He doesn’t even work out and he stays in perfect shape, his chest developed and his belly and legs slim and sinewy. I hate him for that. But then again, I love him for that.

“Ugh,” Jake grunted at me, leaning over and nuzzling my ear as we sat on the couch listening to some loser spin another tale of dot-com riches gone poof.

I swatted his arm. “Don’t get friendly,” I whispered. “If you think I’m going to make it with a zombie, you’re dead wrong, mister.”

“Dead,” he grunted into my ear. Then, quieter, “Zombies have supernatural strength,” he said. “You’d be helpless to resist.”

I elbowed his hard-muscled six-pack abs and put my lips to his ear. I whispered: “Just try it, Maggot Man. We’ll see who’s helpless to resist.”

“Zombies need love, too,” he whispered.

“Some zombies need a spanking.”

“That, too,” I heard him say.

“What are you two whispering about?” sighed Annette, one of the hosts, as she breezed by the sofa picking up discarded plastic cups. She was dressed as a fairy princess, her high-peaked cap smacking the chandelier and falling off every time she passed under it. “Care to share it with the rest of the class?”

“We were just discussing zombie love,” said Jake.

“I hear it’s quite compelling,” winked Annette, and flitted away.

“What’s with her?” I wondered in a whisper.

“She said we could use their bedroom,” Jake said softly.

“For what?”

“I told her you had a headache,” he whispered. “I said you might want to lie down.”

“I don’t have a headache,” I hissed.

“I’ll give you one,” Jake said.

“You are already.”

“Good,” he said, and got up from the couch. Grasping my hand, he all but dragged me with him.

“Excuse me,” he said to the other guests clustered around the couch. “I’ve got to go fix my makeup.”

“Jake,” I protested as he dragged me along the hallway. “This is rude.”

“It’s a scientific fact that zombies have no social skills,” he said, pushing me toward the staircase. “But they have enormous sex drives.”

I felt a quiver go through me as he said that; was he really being that blatant? He was telling me that he was going to take me upstairs and fuck me in his zombie costume?

I looked at him, admiring the weirdness he’d poured into his costume: the caked blood on the tattered suit coat, the big gash in his head. But more than that, I admired the way the black, threadbare suit matched the contours of his body.

I turned and hurried up the stairs.

I had never been in Annette and Mike’s bedroom; they were friends of Jake’s, not mine. It smelled unfamiliar, a mix of potpourri and incense with the hint of strange bodies underneath — unique, the way every lover’s bedroom smells different the first walk into it. They had framed prints of Klimt on the walls and a smattering of candles around the bed. The candles had been lit. More importantly, they had a big king-sized bed with an enormous, heavy wooden frame. At the head of the frame, they’d Velcro’ed three different kinds of lube in big pump bottles.

And right there in each corner, metal restraints were bolted directly to the frame.

Jake closed the door and locked it.

I turned, my eyes wide. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I didn’t know Annette and Mike were kinky!”

“Very much so,” he said. “Even kinkier than us.”

“You’re not thinking…”

“Zombies have inordinate strength,” he said, and grabbed me.

I felt like I should argue with him, but I just sort of melted into him. When Jake and I make love I adore the feeling of his huge bulk on top of me, his strong arms crushing me to him. I love the feeling of losing myself in his hugeness. The only problem is that he really does have an enormous schwanzstucker. And as for me, I’m not exactly built like the Bride of Frankenstein, know what I mean? Jake’s the most patient, understanding, gentle lover I’ve ever had, though, so it’s all good.

But this was a zombie, right? A monster. He’s supposed to have an enormous one, in any event.

More importantly, there was something hot about Jake’s costume. Dangerous. Scary. Don’t they say fear is an aphrodisiac?

“What if Mike and Annette walk in?” I asked as Jake began to untie the back of my innocent-virgin dress.

“They won’t,” Jake said. “I told them I was bringing you up here to fuck you.”

“Um, excuse me? Come again?”

“They’re cool,” he said as he pulled the last fastener and my dress slipped off my shoulders, pooling around my feet. I stood there in a white thong and no bra, white four-inch heels on my feet lifting my head to only a foot lower than Jake’s.

I could feel my nipples hardening against the wool of his thrift-store suit.

“On the bed, prisoner of love,” he told me.

“Or what?”

Jake and I like to play games a little, and that was all the opening he needed. He seized me, his hands firmly gripping my shoulders, and pushed me back onto the bed. I gasped as I went bouncing onto it. Under Jake’s bulk, I was helpless as he fitted my wrists into the cool metal restraints and clicked them closed.

“I hope you have the key,” I whispered.

“Nope,” the zombie said cheerfully. “Annette has it.”

“What?” I hissed, pulling against the restraints — but by that time, Jake was down at my legs, forcing my ankles into the manacles.

He had to stretch my legs wide, very wide, to get them to fit.

“I think the bed’s too big,” I squeaked. “Can you loosen them at all?

“Annette’s taller than you,” said Zombie Jake. “That’s as loose as they get.”

I lay there, utterly immobilized, stretched out on a stranger’s bed, manacled. I was stretched so tight I couldn’t move even a little bit. I was spread wide, my pussy exposed except for the thin slip of fabric that made up my thong.

Jake stood next to the bed and surveyed his conquest: me, spread-eagled in an X of surrender, slim breasts peaked with hard nipples as it sank in that my boyfriend was going to fuck me like this. I was about to be taken.

I was still in the innocent-virgin mode, and discovering it was a huge turn-on for me.

“Please,” I whispered breathlessly. “Be gentle.”

“Zombies never gentle,” he grunted. “Zombie love is hard love. Zombies eat human flesh.” He made a dramatic face, which got me giggling a little.

Jake shrugged off his blood-spattered suit coat and pulled his T-shirt over his head, careful not to disrupt his head wound. He quickly undid his pants and let them fall, then stripped off his boxers and kicked off his shoes.

Standing there nude except for face paint, a prosthetic head wound, zombie face makeup with whiteface and trickles of blood running out of his mouth — I have to admit it, but Jake looked strangely compelling.

More compelling, though, was his hard cock, standing full and hard and huge, with its gentle curve beckoning to me.

Whenever I see it hard, I have to admit my mouth just starts watering. I squirmed against the steel manacles, feeling helpless, wholly owned. I could feel my pussy getting wet as my eyes ran up and down Jake’s hard cock. I could feel my throat aching for it, could feel a thin dribble of saliva forming at the edge of my mouth. I slurped, perhaps a little louder than I needed to, and licked my lips.

Jake could see me looking at it. He knew what I wanted.

“Zombie need virgin,” he grunted. “Evil jungle zombie god need virgin sacrifice.”

“Cut the zombie crap,” I breathed, “and come over here and put that thing in my mouth.”

Zombie Jake crawled onto the bed, holding me down with his bulk as he squeezed his knees and his folded legs awkwardly into the space between the top of my head and the headboard. I opened wide and he guided his cock to my mouth, sliding it in until the head reached the back of my throat.

It tasted divine. I wanted to moan, but my mouth was so full. I ran my tongue along the underside and swirled it over the head, tasting his pre-come. I felt my pussy throbbing, hot and dripping, as I pressed my face up against him, coaxing him to press deeper into me.

It was a good position for doing it. Deep throating, I mean. Some girls aren’t into that, I know. But nothing turns me on more. I’ve been working on it ever since I started going out with Jake. All I have to do is take a deep breath, hold my neck straight and swallow.

And I swallowed Jake smoothly, filling my throat as he slid into me.

I was so lost in the taste of Jake’s cock and the feel of it sliding down my throat that, even though I heard him grunt “Zombie must eat human flesh,” it didn’t register until I felt him pulling my thong aside.

By then, his tongue was so close to my pussy that there wasn’t even any time to anticipate it. It slid hard against my flesh, and he knew then — if he’d had any doubt — just how wet I was.

I laid back, neck straight, and felt Jake slowly grinding on top of me as he slid his cock down my throat. It’s a more complicated sort of motion than one might think, but my favorite zombie has gotten very coordinated. So much so that he was able to fuck me slowly, smoothly, sensuously while his tongue found my clit.

If I hadn’t been so full, I would have gasped; I would have moaned. As it was, I couldn’t make a sound, not even low in my throat, as I felt the tip of his tongue starting to work my throbbing, swollen clitoris. I felt my body straining instinctively, trying to arch my back, lift my ass off the bed, press my pussy more firmly into his face. But I couldn’t; locked in Annette’s restraints, I was stretched to the limit. All I could do was lay there and let Jake use my mouth as he licked me, mercilessly, knowing exactly the touch that would make me explode into the stratosphere.

I wanted to say it. I wanted to moan it. I wanted to tell him, “Jake, baby, I’m going to come,” but I couldn’t. All I could do was lay there. All I could do was lay there, dissolve into the sensation of his tongue on my clit and let him slide down my throat, pulling back every few seconds to let me breathe before sliding in again.

But he knew it was approaching. He could read my body, could tell from the way I tensed and struggled against the bonds that I was getting very, very close.

Which is good, because he slid his cock out of my mouth, leaving me panting and drooling, spittle covering my face and running down my chin, my mouth wide open as I finally let the wrenching moans explode from my mouth, let him know that I was only seconds away.

When I came, I tried to buck, tried to fuck my pussy against his face. It was my body, moving, like a zombie’s, no brain to tell it to stop.

But it didn’t matter. It was hopeless, because I was stretched so tight I couldn’t move. All I could do was pull on the chains, moaning and whimpering and coming as Jake’s tongue drove my clit over the edge.

When my moans quieted, I gave Jake’s cock one last, savory lick, running my lips up and down its enormous length. Then he pulled away and crawled on top of me.

Between my legs.

I knew what was coming, and I felt that momentary pang of vague fear and intense, overwhelming arousal that comes from knowing that Jake is going to enter me. I didn’t even realize it until I felt him guiding his thick cockhead to my pussy, though. Didn’t realize that he’d reached up to the headboard and squeezed a thick glob of lube into his hand, smeared it over his cockhead, slicked more of it around the entrance to my pussy.

Usually we use lube when he fucks me — lots of it – but I guess it still caught me off guard. I was still wrapped in the costume of an innocent virgin, naive, about to be taken by a huge, scary monster — even though the costume itself, all but the thong, lay in a limpid pool at the foot of the bed.

“Zombie god demand virgin sacrifice,” growled Jake, and entered me in one smooth, hard, well-lubricated thrust.

I was so wet, so turned on, so opened, that it went into me easily; his cock took me in a single rapturous push, possessing every inch of my cunt as his big zombie body settled on top of me. I always get a little tighter right after I come, but everything feels so much better — so even the taut embrace of my pussy around Jake’s huge cock made me moan with delight. I would have pushed up against him, would have lifted my ass to meet his thrust — but I couldn’t move. I was his prisoner.

Jake began fucking me as I looked up into his zombie eyes. The prosthetic head wound was beginning to melt, and his face glistened with sweat, making the makeup run. Coagulated stage blood went liquid again and dripped down onto my face. The gash was disintegrating, pulling free from his flesh and turning into a mass of goo as he fucked me harder.

He looked ridiculous. I didn’t laugh, though, because all I could say was, “Fuck me, zombie master. Make me your zombie princess.”

Jake ground his hips slowly, leaning heavily so that his pubic bone pressed against my clit. I gasped as he did that — he knows it’s the perfect way to make me come.

“Fuck,” I moaned. “Fuck, yes…”

I was going to do it again, maybe before he did. I wished I could grind against him, wish I could push up and help him take me, help him fuck me, help him make me come. But I was immobile, and as I dissolved into the sensation of being fucked helpless, I felt my orgasm building, utterly out of my control — and then I came, stretching my limbs against the manacles, my breath choking in my throat as I closed my eyes as tight as I could. My climax exploded through me.

An instant later, my zombie lover grunted, this time not a stage grunt but a real one, an uncontrolled rumble of pleasure followed by a monster howl as he came inside me. The sensations of my pussy contracting around his thickness mingled with the feeling of slickness as he filled me with his come.

Still moaning, bathed in afterglow, I opened my eyes.

Jake’s head wound finally dislodged from his head and went glop on the pillow next to me in a wet red mass.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighed.

“See?” I giggled. “It’s true what they say. Love heals all wounds.”

“I don’t think Annette and Mike are going to see it that way,” he said, eyeing the stage-blood stain he’d made on their pillow.

“Tell you what,” I whispered. “I’ll convince them.”