Man is a zombie to man.
Lord, what a way to end up...
She peered cautiously from behind the curtain, practically whimpering with terror. From the fitting room where she was hiding, she had a perfect view of the deserted chaos of the boutique, the display window, and—the zombies wandering outside the window.
Damn, damn, how did this happen... Just had to hole up at home for a couple of days with ice cream and weepy movies, turning off my phone, and bam—a zombie apocalypse happens! Who else could be so lucky? Liza sighed and leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better look at the zombies. Unlike, apparently, the rest of humanity, she hadn't had a chance to examine them yet.
Actually,
she had planned to spend a couple more days alone, but discovered that not only the ice cream but all the food in the house was gone. So, still without turning on her phone, she threw a long coat right over her pajamas, shoved her feet into old boots, and trudged to the nearest store. Luckily, the mall was right across the street. Lost in gloomy thoughts (what a horror, her boyfriend dumped her—now that seemed so insignificant!), she didn't even notice how suspiciously empty the streets were. There were probably zombies somewhere around, but she simply hadn't noticed them. Until she got to the store. Fortunately, she managed to grab a shopping cart—and only then did she notice how suspiciously devoid of people it was. And half the goods were suspiciously scattered on the floor. And shuffling across the floor toward her... Luckily, her reflexes kicked in as they should. Even before she realized how strange the approaching figure looked, she managed to shove the cart toward it with all her might and run away. And while running, she understood: that was definitely, absolutely, without a doubt, a real zombie!Around the corner, she ran right into two more—she couldn't stop in time, bumped into them... Thank God, this time her coat saved her. The zombies grabbed at it, Liza somehow twisted free and dashed forward. But, frightened, she thought it best to hide quickly—and ran into this boutique. Luckily, it was completely deserted, and she slipped unnoticed into a fitting room. Now, barely catching her breath, she was peeking outside—what was out there? Zombies.
There were several. They were wandering leisurely around the floor, but didn't seem interested in the boutiques. Liza gave a nervous chuckle. She was always the one staring at this display window. What luck that zombies aren't interested in fashion!
"Shh..." someone whispered behind her. "You don't want them all to end up here."
"Mmm." Liza gave a slight shake of her head and wanted to turn to see who was behind her, but a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth more roughly and pulled her back against the man standing behind her.
"Quiet, girl. Quiet."
And then a second hand slid, stroking her side, under her arm, and settled on her breast. Only then did Liza fully realize she was in trouble. She tried to kick—but the man behind her was stronger, and every movement, it seemed, could attract the attention of the zombies outside the glass.
"No, sweetie. You won't do that," the man behind her spoke with such insinuating calm that it gave her goosebumps. "You're practically in plain sight. Make a sudden move, scream—and they'll be here in an instant. So it's in your own interest to stand still and not move. Understood?"
Liza gave a tiny nod.
"That's a good girl. I'm going to uncover your mouth now, and you'll stand quiet as a mouse. Okay?"
Liza nodded again, resignedly. Why her?
The hand began to slide slowly from her mouth. As he did it, the stranger roughly ran his index finger over her lip, and that suddenly began to arouse her.
"What's wrong with me, what's wrong with this whole damn world!" She suddenly remembered she was standing here in just her pajamas. She had planned to dash out of the house for ten minutes and hadn't intended to take off her coat, so she hadn't even put on a bra under her t-shirt. And her breasts, to be completely honest, were too large to go without one in public. The stranger, it seemed, had already appreciated that. With his left hand, he was carefully stroking her breast over the t-shirt, while his right held her by the neck. Now his left hand moved up and down her breast, almost accidentally brushing her nipples, slightly lifting the breast...
"What a naughty girl. Not wearing a bra? Were you hoping to meet someone?"
"I just..."
"Shh," the stranger leaned very close to her ear. "You don't want them to show up here, do you? I certainly don't. I've been looking at their ugly mugs for two days now. And I haven't seen a pretty girl in a long time... Or touched one."
With these words, he pinched her nipple with two fingers—even through the fabric, the sensation was so intense that Liza instinctively flinched back and pressed directly against the rigid erection of her assailant.
"What, already want to get better acquainted?" He chuckled near her ear.
Liza wanted to pull away back, but he firmly held her in place, not letting her move.
"We could, of course, retreat behind these lovely curtains, but we don't want to lose our vigilance and lose sight of them, do we?"
Mockery was clearly audible in his voice. It seemed he took particular pleasure in her helplessness and immobility. Standing here, practically in plain view of anyone who might look into the display window, her back to the curtains, allowing this pervert to do whatever he wanted with her.
The pervert, meanwhile, gently rocked her by the shoulders, contentedly feeling her trembling breasts with his other hand. He lightly slid from one nipple to the other, playing with them with his fingers. And Liza cursed herself for being too lazy to put on a sweater through which these touches wouldn't feel so vivid.
Though, that would have saved her only briefly. The stranger had already placed his other hand on her stomach, lifting the t-shirt. Liza felt his hot palm on her belly. And the palm seemed to hesitate, where to go? Up or down? Finally, the hesitation was discarded, and the palm crept upward, slipping under the t-shirt. Higher, higher, and now it had captured the other nipple. Liza jerked as if from an electric shock. So extraordinarily intense was the sensation from the stranger's two hands playing with her nipples, one through the fabric, the other squeezing her nipple with hot fingers.
A guess suddenly flashed in Liza's mind. She suddenly vividly remembered this boutique—of course, she had walked past it many times, gazing longingly at the cool clothes and terrible prices in the display window. But the store attracted her not only for that—the store always had an incredibly attractive consultant. A young, white-toothed hunk with a great body... Strictly speaking, there were two of them, working shifts, apparently. One brunette, the other blond, but both could boast a white-toothed smile and a fantastic body. So this was what that attractive hunk, her unexpected tormentor, was like. But which one—the brunette or the blond?
Meanwhile, the caresses became rougher. Still squeezing her breast with one hand, with the other he decisively moved downward.
"Stop, what are you doing!" Liza finally pleaded. But he was relentless.
"I know perfectly well what I'm doing. If I die today—I'll die happy!"
With these words, he pressed her even tighter against himself and slipped his hand into her pants. With her back, Liza could feel that his cock was already simply rock-hard. And it also seemed to her that it was simply huge—it rubbed against her back like a hot rod.
His hand slid into her panties, stroked the pubic hair, and his fingers immediately parted her lips.
"Stop, don't, please."
"Why? I can feel you like it too."
To her horror, she realized that right now at least two of his fingers were already feeling her wetness. A lot of wetness. Because everything in this situation was turning her on. The danger, the fact that anyone could see them, the fact that behind her was the one she had been eyeing, and especially—that the man she hadn't exchanged a single word with until today was now slipping his fingers into her most intimate place, touching her there shamelessly.
"Don't..." she repeated, already without much conviction.
The stranger only chuckled and pushed his fingers a little deeper. Now her lips were spread wide, four of the stranger's fingers were bathing in her juices, and his middle finger was unambiguously positioned at her entrance.
"Well then, shall we have some fun?"
Come what may. Liza suddenly realized she didn't care anymore. That is—no, not that she didn't care. She desperately wanted him to do it. And she suddenly felt an incredible lightness because the world was going to hell. Which meant—no more need to worry, no need to observe any rules of decency, honor no longer mattered. There was only here and now, this sturdy torso she was pressing her back against, and these male fingers pushing into her as if they had every right.
She relaxed and spread her legs a little wider, giving him access to her, into her. And with pleasure felt one finger enter her... withdraw... and plunge in again, now together with another.
Liza closed her eyes and surrendered to these sensations. She began to slowly rub against the erect cock, impaling herself on the stranger's fingers. Faster, faster...
"What, you like it? You like it, you bitch?" her invisible assailant asked in a suddenly angry voice. "Huh, probably three days ago you'd have been screaming and filing a police report against me..."
Liza could only mumble something incoherent, grabbing the stranger's hips with her hands, her legs were giving way so much.
"And what about this?" And he simultaneously twisted her nipple with one hand, and with the other—suddenly teased her clitoris with a free finger.
And then Liza couldn't hold back and screamed. Through the incredible, all-consuming orgasm that washed over her headfirst, she didn't even immediately realize that the assailant suddenly yanked his fingers out of her and recoiled.
"Are you completely stupid?" he yelled. And suddenly shoved her away with all his might.
Still barely thinking, she took a step to avoid falling, but her legs betrayed her and buckled—waves of orgasm were still coursing through her body. Falling, she saw two things: her assailant darted toward some door behind the fitting rooms, and he was the brunette. And from the direction of the display window, a blond was approaching her quite briskly—once the same white-toothed hunk, now, definitely, a zombie. The door behind the fitting rooms slammed shut, the lock turned. Her legs and arms wouldn't obey, a final spasm of orgasm twisted her once more, and then the dead eyes of the blond looked directly at her.