Wesley and the Sex Zombies

Wesley and the Sex Zombies

Portia Da Costa

Kindle Edition

Copyright 2011 Portia Da Costa.

This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. With exception of quotes used in reviews, this story may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

Please be aware that this story contains sensual content that is only suitable for adult readers who are comfortable with frank language and descriptions of erotic scenarios

*** *** ***

WESLEY AND THE SEX ZOMBIES

It was nearly midnight and Wesley Greensward was a disappointed man. He wasn't where he wanted to be, or doing what he wanted to be doing, and this grungy motorway services' café was the ideal place to feel sorry for oneself. Fate had taken two mean and spiteful swipes at him today and he felt thoroughly entitled to be miserable.

Swipe Number One: at ultra-short notice his firm had seconded him to their dreary northern outpost. A massive computer catastrophe had required the immediate presence of the company's top software wizard -- yours truly, Wesley Greensward. Remote diagnostics had been deemed impractical, hence the mile-burning overnight journey when he'd been looking forward to a weekend of consolidating his precarious sexual relationship with Lindy.

Oh God, he was getting aroused even now, in this horrid place, as he thought of their last -- and first -- night together. The degree of her "experience" had been an almighty shock to him, but who was he to argue with a woman who could suck his penis like a lollipop and still manage to grin gleefully at the same time? She had made him feel totally helpless but in an odd sort of way, he had liked it; especially when she was gulping down his semen.

Unfortunately though, Lindy was fickle, and had a whole stable of admirers. Even now, she would probably be sucking the fortunate cock of Wesley's immediate rival, an obnoxious martial arts expert who worked in the office next to his.

But the second swipe was the one that had hurt the most.

He had received a phone call this morning from his best friend Ethan, saying that the "grand project" was off. The fantasy magazine they'd always dreamed of publishing together. In the scrapper before it was even launched. Now, no-one would read Wesley's weird but cherished stories -- or head-hunt his literary talents for bigger and better things.

There was a woman behind it, of course.

Ethan had been full of her. "Serena this", "Serena that", and lots of sighs and gasps down the phone. Instead of the magazine, he was going to devote himself solely to drawing his lady love.

Wesley's first reaction had been acute genital jealousy -- because his instincts for that sort of thing had told him that Ethan's ragged breathing and disjointed speech had a lot to do with the lip-smacking pleasures that Wesley himself had rarely enjoyed before Lindy.

His second reaction was a bitter sense of being let down. He and Ethan had been mates, and the magazine something of a holy quest, and now -- suddenly -- a case of overactive hormones had snatched everything clean away. The worst of it was he couldn't really feel angry with Ethan.

Bloody hell, I would probably have done the same thing myself!

Glumly, he doodled in a pile of spilt sugar. Then, as even his sugary pattern went wrong, Wesley suddenly smelt a rather pungent and overpowering perfume. Twitching his nostrils, he looked up to locate its source, and saw approaching him what was probably the most gorgeous and unusual apparition ever to grace the Woolley Edge Services Cafeteria. He blinked furiously. Making a royal progress amongst the tables was a creature as tall and voluptuous as she was bizarre: a quintessentially female vision of night-dark eyes, creamy-white skin, scarlet lips, and hair colored the very precise bloody-purple of a glass of Beaujolais Nouveau. Her breasts were high and deliciously pointed, her waist was narrow and her legs were supernaturally long. Quite a lot of their smooth, pale length could be seen too, because the mystery woman was clad in what could only be described as designer rags; a soft filmy frock all slashed and cut in a selection of provocative places. Beside her was a being appeared to be her slave -- a disturbingly pretty young man with a platinum blond buzz-cut and an equally eccentric taste in clothes.

Wesley was bewitched. He gaped at the fantastic couple, and then silently laughed at himself. They were just a pair of cleaner than usual New-Age travelers after all. Nobody else in the cafeteria even seemed to have noticed them.

"Follow me, Maxi my sweet. I've found us a table," the woman said, drawing long, green-painted fingernails across her young friend's chest, then extending a slender arm, covered in tie-dyed silken cobwebs, to indicate where he should sit. The sound of her soft, husky voice sent tingles through Wesley's every nerve-end and made his half-hard cock leap with sexual hunger.

Gliding forward like a supermodel, the dazzling woman made her way to a seat close by, and as she passed she turned and fixed him with a glance so sharp and hot he almost came in his pants there and then. A fascinating play of emotions danced across her powerful yet finely-formed features: hauteur, sexual interest, and -- to Wesley's utter surprise -- a trace of what could almost have been relief. As he fought a battle for control of his senses, she turned away towards her compliant young partner.

She likes me!

Wesley felt punch-drunk. It was an effort of will not swivel round and stare open-mouthed at her.

"She likes me," he whispered aloud as sweat trickled down inside his shirt and his penis surged up in his jeans. It felt like a rigid, aching pole; a painful tribute to her beauty. He sighed and stared fixedly at the coffee-smeared table before him, seeing nothing but a heavenly, curvaceous body, lush, violently-colored hair, and the pale oval face of a hard-times Renaissance angel. Dark, smoky eyes seemed to reach out and caress him, focusing fierce rays of pleasure on his cock. If he hadn't been sitting in a roomful of people, he would've unzipped himself in an instant and stroked his flesh until he climaxed in her honor.

As a distraction, he took out his shorthand pad and pen. This morning, after Ethan's shitty news, he had sworn he would never write another word; but now his head was full of them. Full of descriptions of shabby but imperious temptresses with wine-colored hair and eyes that could sear a man's soul, not to mention what they did to his anatomy.

On this thought, he wriggled in his seat. "God, I bet she's hotter than hell in bed!" he muttered, then began to write it all down as fast as was humanly possible.

*** *** ***

As she took her seat at her crud-littered table the object of Wesley's adoration shivered, and for a reason that would have rather surprised him. He was, in fact, completely mistaken about her. Luciferia Jones was very, very cold stuff indeed.

Body heat was a luxury that neither she and nor her travelling companion, Maximillian Tesoro, could afford right now. Hot coffee, the usual warmer-upper in such circumstances, was no good to them either, but even so Luciferia bade Maxi fetch some. Appearances meant everything at the moment.

"And please, try not to frighten anybody in the process!" she whispered, and then felt instant remorse for her snappishness. Maxi was doing a damn good job even though he was in just as much a mess as she was. Sighing, she watched her half-dead lover drift his elegant way towards the serving counter.

It was getting so difficult to maintain the illusion now -- even with their consummate skills. If they didn't find a sorcerer soon their facade would quickly start to crumble -- quite literally.

Pushing away that nasty thought, she glanced across to where the young man was sitting at his scribbling. If only she could be sure it was him. But she felt so cold, so tired; and it was dangerously taxing to do a mind-probe when her reserves were getting so low. What was more, her present enervated state meant her ability to influence him was negligible.

"They're odd again, Lucie."

Maxi's soft, airy voice made her jump.

"Shit!" she said wearily, looking up into his beautiful, but increasingly mutable face, "It's getting so difficult to hold the patterns. I should've made us less pretty, shouldn't I?"

"But you look delightful with one green eye and one brown!"

"Yes, maybe so, sweetheart, but fairly soon it's going to be something more noticeable. Something that's going to upset people." She picked idly at the tattered sleeve of what had recently been a chic Sonia Rykiel dress, "Clothes aren't a problem. People seem to wear any old thing nowadays, but I somehow don't think they'll be able to handle the sight of your nose dropping off!"

"Don't say that!" Maxi grinned ghoulishly, "You know it makes my flesh crawl."

"Maxi! Please!" she replied, torn between admonishing him for his tasteless humor and loving him for trying to cheer her up.

Dear sweet Maxi. He was a treasure, one of her most brilliantly designed re-animates. His face was exquisite and his body superb -- for the time being -- and he had a cock between his legs like the branch of a lusty young tree! He was the lover to end all lovers, and what was more he had a gentle, caring personality to match. They
had
to solve their dilemma for his sake; it would be a crime to watch such a work of art decompose.

Something which was what would happen quite soon if they didn't find themselves a sorcerer. 

*** *** ***

Wesley was scribbling furiously. He had never had a story gel so quickly, and it was going so well that he had almost forgotten his erection. Well, almost forgotten it.

The story was a mood piece -- his specialty -- a simple evocation of the events and impressions of his journey. A lonely traveler had been thrown together with the undead -- in the form of a pair of infernal but beautiful lovers based on the rag'n'bone couple he had just seen. In reality, they would probably be tickled pink to know that a complete stranger was writing a story about them, and for a moment Wesley considered using it as a chat-up line. It was such a damn shame that she was already "taken".

Oh God, what about a threesome? A real, sexual
menage a trois
? He directed the notion to his story. Yes! The lovers were the two corners of a triangle in a relentless search for a third.
Yes yes yes!
The solitary writer was the missing element but he didn't know it. He had the same power that they did, but it was latent, undiscovered.

His red pen raced across the page. He could hardly wait to get home and get all this onto disk. If only he didn't have to go up North.

He glanced around quickly, half expecting the weird and wonderful travelers to be gone. To his relief they were still there, sitting just behind him: their two pale faces close together and the fatigue of some desperate worry written heavy on their fabulous features.

*** *** ***

"But we always knew this might happen," said Maxi philosophically.

Luciferia smiled. She had originally patterned her paramour magician as a frivolous, pleasure-loving creature, but right now, he was proving to be astoundingly sensible and mature.

Mature? That was a bitter twist! They were both well past their "sell by" date now, and soon it would start to show. She felt a flash of cold anger at their fate. "If Serena Black wasn't dead already, I'd kill her!" she muttered darkly, "We had a nice thing going there, the three of us, but I might've known it wouldn't suit her. She never could bear to share."

"I liked that arrangement too!" Maxi smirked, and then flicked his hand absently over their coffee cups. The murky fluid promptly disappeared.

"You would, you randy bugger! It was the best triad of all from your point of view: one male and two highly libidinous females. Non-stop pussy. And don't do
that
! We're low enough on power as it is!" Maxi steepled his errant fingers to preclude any further tricks. "It was a bit tiring though, sometimes," he observed innocently.

"That, Maxi, is because you're such a lazy creature! How can it be tiring when you lie back and let the woman ride you? It's no wonder you've got more power left than I have. I've used up all mine pleasuring you!"

She had done it again. Lost her temper with the sweetest, kindest familiar she had ever resurrected. "I'm sorry, Maxi darling, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just we've never been this close to the edge before and I'm getting really, really frightened."

"Don't worry, Lucie old thing, something'll turn up. We'll work it out." He stroked the softening skin of her long white hand.

"I hope so," said Luciferia mournfully, feeling the effort of promoting their illusion, "Because it won't be much fun when our eyeballs fall out and the flesh starts sliding off our bones. It'll mean the end of our sex life, of course."