Chapter 2

Pagan was in the shower. He was humming a hit that had been popular at the club lately, and rinsing off an effort-sweat of the likes that his body had literally never seen before. He soaped his sagging folds and, to prepare for what was coming, he decided to clear the plumbing. Ten seconds after he began to stroke his dick, Pagan grunted and spewed a thin drizzle of semen onto the bottom of the tub, where it was instantly washed down the drain.

 

Kathy had been correct in her assumptions of his staying power.

 

Premature ejaculation issues now dealt with, the fat man shut off the water and dried himself with a towel that was far too small to handle the job. Still glistening, he jiggled out into the room and laid down on the bed beside his new toy. She was tied face-down to the mattress, pinioned to the four posts by her wrists and ankles. He'd used his boot laces on her arms, and the polyester sashes that had bound the curtains back were now securing the captive monster's legs in a widely-spread V. It had been difficult beyond words to secure the dead girl in this position - several times during this wrangling, Pagan had been sure that the feral, wiry thing was about to slip out of his sweaty grasp and latch onto his throat.

 

"Hi, baby-girl. Mmm-mm, you look so damn good like this, hell yes. This is how bitches should always be," he told her. She was struggling tirelessly against her bonds, trying to pull back and forth against them ... but once upon a time Pagan had been a boy named Dennis Francis, a shy and overweight boy who had been very active in the Boy Scouts. He had made absolutely certain that the impromptu ropes were tied as taut as possible, and there was no slack for her to work with. The thing tensed her body continuously against her bondage. It made the lithe muscles ripple beneath the fascinating grey and blue shades of her skin. Her dead hide was stained darker colors on the back of her body, where the blood had began to settle as she'd been laying in the tub. Her buttocks and a few patches on her back were unmarred by the discoloration - these spots were where her body weight had rested, squeezing the rapidly-congealing blood out of the capillaries in the skin there. He traced the outlines of these light-blue patches with a finger, then played connect the dots with them. Her flesh was cold to the touch. The dead girl's constant straining against her bonds made her body's musculature stand out in Di Vincian relief. Her ass cheeks looked like twin marble carvings; greyish-white, and clenched to perfection. Pagan fondled them, traced the curvature and plane of their surfaces. He slapped them, and giggled at the flat, dry crack that issued forth every time he swung his palm down.

 

While he did this, the dead girl tried her damndest to snake her neck out far enough to bite Pagan's face. Clack-clack-clack-clack, her jaws snapped hard onto thin air, so hard that the sound echoed in the sparsely furnished room. Stacy's blue eyes were covered by a thin film of translucent cataract. They stared at him with no emotion save hunger. Pure, primal need. He stared back at her with a similar expression.

 

"Gonna have to do something 'bout your teeth, girl. Can't have no accidents." He got up and strolled naked over to the glass doors that led out onto the balcony. He couldn't see what was happening down on the street because the balcony was in the way, but Pagan could hear plenty. For the past half an hour, things had been getting considerably louder out there. Shouts, sirens, the blaring horns of gridlocked traffic - and gunfire. Pagan didn't have to see what was going down out there to know the score: he'd viewed enough zombie flicks to know that the situation was rapidly going to shit outside of his cozy little hotel room. As he looked out the window at the business high-rise across the street, he saw a man smash through a ten-story window and fall, screaming and wind-milling, down to his certain death below. There was a chorus of screams at this from the street, but Pagan was too far up in his third-story room to hear the impact. He imagined that it would have sounded much like an over-ripe pumpkin being smashed on a sidewalk.

 

A figure stood briefly at the broken window, then disappeared back into the gloom to search for new prey.

 

Pagan heard his cell phone ringing. He went over to where his pants lay crumpled on the floor, and fished the phone out of the hip pocket.

 

"What's taking fucking so long? Where are you?" Pagan listened, then scowled ferociously. His fat cheeks quivered. He ran a hand through his long, rapidly-afro-ing hair and blew an unsympathetic gust of air through his lips, pffft.

 

"The fuck you mean, 'I can't make it through the traffic?' How close are you? Where you at?" He listened again, and his eyes narrowed. "Then get your ass out and walk, nigga. What I pay you for? To be a scared little bitch? Not on my dollar, son, hell no. You're my boy, dawg, you know that; I pay you to have my motherfuckin' back at all times. I need you up in this motherfucker over here, right fuckin' now ... what?! NO, you ignorant Negro, this ain't the end of the fuckin' world!" He shouted the lie into the phone with a feverish tone of indignity. "There ain't no need to be gettin' religious all of a sudden. No, don't go get your Moms, she's gonna be just fuckin' fine wherever the woman currently be. All you gonna end up doing is get yourselves both dead. Listen to me, my nigga,listen real hard, because you're pissing me off with this pussy shit and I ain't gonna be happy if I gotta repeat myself." Pagan took a deep breath and sat his blubbery, naked ass down heavily on Stacy's back. She undulated and hissed beneath him. This felt good on many different levels, and he smiled.

 

"It's time to man up, my nigga. Everything's all chaotic and shit out there right now, and it's dangerous, and I don't give a fuck. Get out of your ride, man up, and walk the fuck over here. It's only six blocks, man, you can get here in no time. You're one hard-ass nigga, and that's why you my boy. You're tough as nails. This is a good thing, because this shit is for real. These things will fuck your shit up if you let 'em get a hold of you ... anyone comes anywhere near you, you blast his stupid ass. Man, woman or child. Cop, even, I don't give a fuck. You draw and you pop 'em right in the head, cold as ice. There's so much shit going on out there right now, no one'll even notice. Get the fuck going, dawg, I need you here." He glanced briefly down at the body that was trapped beneath his massively fat ass. Stacy was straining to look at him from over her shoulder. Her teeth gnashed unceasingly.

 

"Yo, dawg, wait up ... you get what I asked you to get?" Pagan asked the voice on the other end, and nodded approvingly at his response. "Yeah? That's good ... I don't know if I need some of that shit still, but you bring it anyhow. See you real soon."

 

Pagan lifted his bulk up for a moment, placed the phone on the cheap wooden nightstand beside the bed, then plopped back down to resume grinding and itching his asshole against the straining, rigid backside of the thing beneath him. The sensation was nothing short of amazing. He wedged his hands between Stacy and the bed, seeking out her tits and finding them. Grinning madly, Pagan twisted the pliant mounds of deceased flesh as he smeared and soothed his hemorrhoidal bung against the living corpse pinned beneath him. Ah, it was good. So good.

 

"No wonder dogs do this shit on rugs," he grunted. His cock was a stiff, somewhat crooked branch, which poked through a wiry cover of oily pubic hair to nudge against the underside of his sagging gut. Stacy cranked her head around until her neck creaked, and stared at his hard-on with mindless hunger. She snapped her teeth at it.

 

Clack. Clack. Clack-clack-clack-clack-

 

This, for some reason, ignited his mind into a fiery rage. He screamed "STOP THAT, BITCH!" and slammed his pudgy fist into her exposed right cheek. The fragile bone snapped beneath the cool, rubbery flesh, and the dead girl's head spun back around fast-first into the bed. Pagan seized her hair and pushed her cranium hard against the mattress, forcing her gnashing jaws to bite into the mattress beneath her face. With his other hand, he pushed the relatively unmottled flesh of Stacy's tensed ass cheeks apart. Her anus was greying now, as well. He studied this phenomenon briefly with a species of unbalanced, depraved scientific curiosity - then curled over til his nose was almost touching the corpse's ass-crack, and deliberately spat a large, greenish-brown wad of semi-gelatinous mucus onto the discolored ring of her exposed asshole. It oozed off immediately and ran down over the purple-brown lips of her deceased pussy, then dripped off out of sight. Pagan muttered a curse and tried again. Satisfied now that the ride would be relatively smooth, he grasped his erection and pushed it hard against the puckered, dead-liver ring of Stacy's anus. There were a few moments of cold resistance ... then he was inside her ass, bucking and keening, slobbering, sweating and rolling his eyeballs helplessly. While he buggered his unwilling captive, Pagan battered the back of her head and shoulders with his free hand. The blows caused a reflex that made her rectum tighten around his member spastically. She struggled wildly beneath him, and he pushed the creature's face harder into the bed as a response. So tight, so unwilling ... He wrapped his hands around the things throat and squeezed convulsively when he came. Cartilidge crunched beneath his fingers when he shot his load up the dead girl's ass.

 

Ah, sweet Jesus, it was good. It was so good.

 

.......

 

 

Pagan had just cleaned off his dick and got his clothes back on when there was a knock at the door, hard and panicked, WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM. A husky voice said, low and urgent, "Hurry up, please man, fuckin' hurry!" He trundled over and, after checking through the peephole, he threw it open. The knocker scurried inside, a large black man clad in an all-red track suit. He held a Glock 17 9mm in one massive, tattooed hand, and an Adidas gym bag in the other. His eyes were wide and wild. He opened his mouth and a stream of garbled words spewed forth.