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Introduction:

in this town, if you're not a zombie fucker, you aren't anyone
The following is a hard and fast glimpse into the life of a small character introduced in the gothic action/adventure novel, The Red Fang by Nicola C. Matthews. This character is reintroduced as the main character in the second novel in the BEFORE THE SUN RISES series, a book called Immortal Sins by Nicola C. Matthews. This story is written in the same style as the short story "Now That's Fucking Hardcore!" and the rewrite, "Hardcore Porno: a NTFHC! story." Hope you guys enjoy.

First Time Zombie Fucker
a Now That's Fucking Hardcore! Story
by Nicola C. Matthews
© 2011 Nicola C. Matthews
All rights reserved

I know it's clichéd as hell, but it really was a dark and stormy night. Well, there were thunderstorms earlier in the evening. Now the ash grey clouds had parted and a full moon had risen over the land, giving the charcoal colored landscape a luminescent glow. I was partially thankful for the rains from earlier. It would make my task of raising the dead a bit easier.

This would be my first time to ever attempt such deep magic. Up until now, I had only dabbled in the dark arts, mostly conjuring up elemental spirits and dishing out hexes to the skanks on the cheerleading squad. Raising the dead, well now, that was a whole new level of magic for me. I had been practicing, though, rising up the beloved pets for the neighborhood kids. So far all that had went smoothly. A human being, though, that's a horse of a different color. I hear it can get pretty tricky. I had pulled everything off the net that I could find, but I still wasn’t sure I could pull this off.

I hadn't planned on performing this task myself. I had originally asked Anita Blake, sanctioned vampire hunter and certified necromancer, to do the raising for me. That hadn't gone so well. The bitch said that me wanting to raise my dead boyfriend from his eternal slumber for one last fling wasn't a good enough excuse to perform the type of magic that was required.

"Whatever," I had said, "Not my fault you are losing your nerve. I'll just do it myself."

Given her reaction to my request, I guess it's a good thing I hadn't been totally honest with her. The guy I was about to have claw his way out of the earth wasn't really my boyfriend. His name was Ashton, and he had been a serial killer.

Why was I about to risk my life to raise up a man who had spent the last decade and a half of his terrifying the entire countryside? Aside from the fact that it was Friday night and I was bored out of my skull, zombie fucking was the latest craze among the teenagers of the country. Call it a rite of passage if you want, but these days you weren't considered a part of any group until you had officially fucked a zombie. In other words, if you weren't a zombie fucker, you weren't anyone. And let's face it, I was sick to death of everyone falling all over themselves simply because Lisa Kripsky had fucked not one but three zombies in the last six months. Fucking showoff.

So here I was, staring down at the plain headstone marker that merely read "Ashton Jones." That was it. No birth date, no death date, just a name. But what do you expect for someone who had tortured and killed hundreds of people? The bastard was lucky to even have a marked grave.

I checked my watch. It was nearing midnight. Time to get started.

Notice: if this story appears anywhere outside of XNXX.com or Nicola Matthew's own personal website www.NicolaMatthews.webs.com or her personal blog LetUsWrite.wordpress.com, it has been reposted without permission and is in violation of the copyrights owned by Nicola C. Matthews. Please contact the author's representative by sending an email to asylum@gmx.com with links to the incidence of plagiarism. © 2011 Nicola C. Matthews All Rights Reserved

I tossed my duffle bag full of magic tricks onto the headstone. The rope around my waist tightened a bit, the goat on the other end giving a soft bleat as I pulled him forward. I think it knew that something was not right, that its life was rapidly approaching its final few minutes. But I couldn't think of that right now. I had to prepare.

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the metal stake and small hammer. I drove the stake into the ground next to the headstone and staked out my sacrifice. All the websites I had consulted said that a chicken would work in most instances, but the longer the person had been dead or the longer you wanted them above the earth, the greater the blood sacrifice needed to be. I wasn't about to take any chances. Ashton had only been dead a few years by my reckoning, but I wanted him 'alive' and kicking for a good three hours.

I figured if I was going to fuck a zombie, I might as well enjoy myself. Judging by all the photos I had seen, Ashton was one seriously hot, albeit seriously deranged man. That was of little consequence. The spell that I was using had a built in safety device that would not allow the raised dead to inflict harm onto the living. Well, it was designed so that it couldn't inflict deadly harm to the living. I liked my men a little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean, and Ashton was about as rough around the edges as they come. But so long as he didn't try to draw blood, I would be fine. And that had been one of Ashton's favorite things to do, whip his victims until they bled. If he tried that, the joke would be on him. My blood is what would send him back into the grave, so if he tried anything he would immediately return to the earth from which I had called him.

Now that the goat was secured and bleating softly into the night, I pulled out the blessed sea salt and drew a huge circle around the grave. I had checked the blueprints of the graveyard and lucky for me, Ashton was planted securely away from the other graves. I was able to draw a really nice sized circle, big enough for us to play in and without fear that I would accidently raise up another body that was buried nearby.

I tossed the bottle of salt back into the bag. I dug around some more and brought out the little wooden bowl, the small packets of ingredients for the incantation, the ceremonial sacrificial silver dagger, and the printed spell that I had found on NecromancyMadeEasy.com. Satisfied that I had everything, I poured all the ingredients into the little bowl and began to chant softly.

The circle around me began to glow as the words left my lips and drifted softly on the night air. I walked over to the goat and wrestled it to the ground, thankful that zombies didn't have full use of their five senses. If they did, I'm pretty sure my dead serial killer would turn his nose up at the smell of goat hair and sweat that clung to my skin.

I wasted no time in slitting the goat's throat, picking up the bowl and catching it full of the thick fluid. The pungent metallic aroma filled the still circle as I walked around, tipping the blood and other ingredients out onto the ground as I traced the outline of the salt. Finished, I tossed the bowl to the side and dipped back onto my duffle bag to pull out the sleeping bag. Zombies may not care about dirt and goat stink, but I'd rather not go home coated in mud and leaves.

The moment of truth had arrived. It was now time to see if I could really raise the dead or if I was going to go back to school tomorrow with the new title of 'loser.' Gritting my teeth, I slid the blade of the dagger across the palm of my hand, letting the blood slowly drizzle down. I buried my hand into the damp earth, saying the final line of the incantation as I did.

The entire circle suddenly lit up with a light so white that it was almost blinding. I squinted against the brightness, becoming momentarily disoriented. As the glow faded back into the earth, the ground beneath my feet began to tremble and lurch, knocking me down and onto my side.

As the soil settled back down, I watched the top of the grave intently for any sign of movement. As the seconds ticked by and gave way to one minute, and then three, and then five, I sighed in exasperation. I guess I must have fucked something up in the incantation or pronunciation or something. I ran my hand through my long brown hair, sitting back up onto my haunches, wondering exactly which part I hadn't gotten right.

"Guess I should have just offered that Anita woman some money and then I wouldn't be sitting here on my ass getting mud on my favorite pair of heels," I muttered to myself.

The words had scarcely left my mouth when the earth directly in front of me began to move. Suddenly, without any warning, a hand came shooting out of the ground right next to my foot, the long nails clawing at the soil and narrowly missing my ankle.

I screamed, falling back onto my rear end. In the next instant the entire world exploded around me, bits of dirt and debris raining down on all sides. The shower of dirt particles had me coughing and sneezing, rubbing at my eyes to clear my vision. I looked down at the ground, expecting to see the serial killer climbing his way out of the earth. From what I had read online, this was supposed to happen. Zombies were supposed to be slower, their reaction time a bit dulled out by the magic, specifically for just such instances as idiot teenagers trying to raise a prolific serial killer.

What I saw, however, was not a slowly rising zombified corpse. What I was staring at was a pair of dirty black leather biker boots with silver accents on the toes and some faded jeans.

My blue eyes went wide as they traveled upward, taking in the lean muscular body, the red shirt that was only half-buttoned, the tossled dark hair and brown eyes that blinked in the moonlight.

“Holy shit,” I muttered under my breath. I had seen so many pictures of Ashton Jones during my months of research that I practically had his features memorized. Yet staring at all those photographs didn’t prepare me for the raw sensual being that stood staring down at me, the eyes so dark and expressionless that I would have shivered had I thought for one second that he could actually hurt me.

I had been secretly terrified that I would raise a half-rotted corpse. I had read stories on the necromancy websites of raisings that had went wrong, those that had been performed by amateurs who had messed up, bringing forth from the bowels of the earth nothing more than a reanimated corpse that begged to be put back into the ground. But this zombie, the raised body of Ashton Jones, serial killer extraordinaire, was, for lack of a better word, simply perfect.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep, almost musical, nothing at all like I imagined. I guess I was expecting something gritty and inhuman, not soft and sensual.

I stared at him for a second, almost forgetting why I was there in the first place. I scrambled to my feet, clearing my throat a bit as I patted the little sachet charm that hung around my neck. “I’m Mindy, and I raised you from the dead. As the one who called you forth from the earth, I am your master and you will obey me.”

The zombie Ashton merely blinked a few times at my statement. I had heard that zombies often did crazy things when they discovered that they were dead. They had been known to start screaming, crying, howling, even crawl back into the earth and begin to cover themselves up. What they didn’t do, however, was laugh. And that is exactly what my zombie was doing at this moment.

“A zombie, hugh?” he asked, a smirk crinkling up the corners of his mouth.

I frowned at him. “Yessss,” I hissed, annoyed that he seemed amused at the news that he was a walking corpse. “You are a zombie, the walking dead, and I am your master. You will obey me in all things,” I repeated my little speech. Sometimes you had to remind the zombies that they had no free will, that they were nothing more than puppets.

“So,” Ash asked as he walked around me, looking me up and down, taking in the little flared cotton skirt and tank top, “to what do I owe the pleasure of having you dig me up from my dirt nap?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. I didn’t like the way this zombie was staring at me. I expected a dulled-out version of Ashton Jones, not this thing that acted more like a predator than the raised dead.

Ashton moved a bit closer to me, sniffing the air. “You smell like goat,” he said almost absently as he looked around. Spying the slaughtered goat just outside the circle, he moved forward.

“Hey!” I shouted, reaching out and grabbing hold of his shirttail before he could make it to the salt. He seemed completely oblivious to my weight as I dug my heels into the mud, trying to stop him. “You step outside the circle and you will return back to the earth immediately!”

For a split second I thought he wasn’t going to heed my warning. And then he stopped, whirling back around towards me so fast that I fell into him. I grunted slightly as I came into contact with flesh as hard and cold as stone.

“Oh, yeah, zombie.” He sighed, grabbing hold of my arms and holding me away from him as he once again looked me up and down. “Alright, I’ll play along. So tell me, my little necromancer wannabe, why did you raise me?”

I tossed my head around, trying to clear the brown hair out of my eyes. “Uh, uh ..” I stuttered slightly, taken off guard by the question. I had never really given any thought on how I was going to tell my zombie that he was going to be my fuck-toy for the evening. Now that I had been confronted with the question, I wasn’t really sure how to phrase the answer with enough tact to save myself from obvious embarrassment.

“Well?” he pressed, giving me a little shake. “I’m sure I don’t have all night. So why did you bring me up out of the grave?”

I shook my head again, frowning up at his gorgeous face. “Well, if you must know,” I said, slightly pissed at his obvious impatience to be put back into the ground, “I brought you back to have sex with you.”

Two solid seconds passed as he stared at me in disbelief, and then he started laughing again. I mean, really really laughing.

I merely frowned harder, waiting for his amusement to pass. He looked past me at the sleeping bag spread out on the ground and suddenly stopped laughing, looking at me hard. He let go of my arms, allowing me to drop to the ground as he said, “Holy shit, you’re serious.”

I pushed my hair out of my face, saying, “Yeah, I’m serious. We gonna do this or what?” I asked as I flopped down onto the sleeping bag, leaning back and propping myself up on my elbows. “You only got about two and a half hours before the spell wears off. Now I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have to rush through this, if you don’t mind.” I looked up at him expectantly, patting the sleeping bag.

“So let me get this straight,” Ashton said, looking around the little circle and then further out into the graveyard. “You came here in the middle of the night to raise a zombie with the sole intent of fucking him?”

I held my hands out and rolled my eyes around as if to say, ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

“Why the hell would you do that?” he asked, clearly a bit disturbed by the whole situation.

I sighed, getting up from the sleeping bag and moving towards him. I reached out and began to quickly unbutton his shirt, running my hands over the scars that criss-crossed his stomach and chest. I would have loved to get the story behind the marred skin, but the clock was ticking. “It’s just what I’m into,” I said as I roughly unbuttoned his jeans and pushed the zipper down. I reached up to pull his head down to mine for a kiss, but I wasn’t strong enough to force him into the kiss nor was I tall enough to reach his mouth on my own, even in heels.

I was getting annoyed with each passing moment. If I wanted to get turned down by a male I could do that with a living, breathing human. One of the main reasons why the girls were choosing zombies over boyfriends these days was because you got to put them back into the ground once you were done with them. No going around the school spreading rumors and lies about how you sucked in bed or how much better your best friend was. Either way, I certainly wasn’t about to spend the next two hours begging a damn walking corpse to fuck me.

"Look," I said, “I’ve got a chicken in the trunk of my car, a whole new jar of blessed salt, and a few hundred graves sitting around to choose from. If you’re not into the whole fucking and forgetting it routine, I’d be more than happy to put your rotting ass back into the ground and go find me a zombie who’ll fuck me six ways from Sunday. Now do you wanna fuck or go back into the grave?”

I stepped back a few inches to pull my tank top over my head, letting my ample boobs bounce lightly as I put my hands on my hips. My nipples hardened as the cool night air brushed over them.

Ash's dark brown eyes raked over my half-naked form as I stood there expectantly. For one second I thought he was seriously going to choose resuming his dirt nap over a few hours of fun in the moonlight.

He shrugged one shoulder absently, looking around as he said, "Sure, what the hell. I never could pass up a free piece of ass."

Had the guy been alive and said that to me I would have packed up my shit and told him to go fuck himself. But with zombies, you didn't have to worry about bumping into them at the local clubs later on in the month, so it didn't really matter how rude or obnoxious they were. It was just another perk of zombie fucking.

Ashton's entire demeanor changed suddenly as he lowered his head somewhat, those dark eyes almost glittering in the dim light of the moon. He walked slowly, deliberately towards me. I involuntarily took a step back, feeling my heart lurch in my chest and then take off like a frightened cat. Ashton cocked his head slightly, almost as if he could hear my racing heartbeat.

A slight breeze rustled through the trees, the delicate current of air and forward momentum of Ashton's stride working together to push his open shirt out and away from his chest, the firm muscle rippling beneath the pale skin. He was absolutely perfect, in spite of the scars and the pale skin, dead skin, the man was absolute perfection. His dark eyes, the dark hair, the cut of his jaw and the chiseled, high cheekbones all worked together to give his face the look of a predator, a very handsome, very determined predator.

Ashton reached out with both hands and grabbed my upper arms, pulling me roughly against him. My nipples brushed up lightly against his chest, my skin fevered in comparison to his cold, hard flesh. A tiny moan escaped my lips, a sound that was quickly extinguished as Ashton's mouth claimed mine in a hungry kiss.

I could already feel his cock getting hard inside of his faded jeans, a sensation that had my body melting into his. I tried to reach up to pull his head down, his mouth staying just close enough to kiss mine but still agonizingly far away. I wanted to feel his mouth claim mine fully, to feel every inch of my body pressed against his, to feel his arms wrapped tightly around me. But he still held my arms firmly in place, taking complete control of both me and the situation, only allowing the caresses that he decided to bestow upon me.


The feel of his skin grazing lightly against mine was maddening. I wanted so much more, wanted to be taken so completely. And in a way, he was doing just that. He was making all the decisions, and while I desired to have that control taken from me, the reality of being forced to wait for his touch, to not be able to quench the burning passion that was rolling its way through my loins was enough to make me want to scream.

I grunted slightly, something between the sound of a moan and a very frustrated, very unladylike grunt. I tried to inch my way forward, but he refused to allow me to get any closer to him, his body actually moving back a fraction of an inch.

I was shifting my weight from foot to foot, nearly dancing in place as I tried wrenching my way out of grip. By now I was horny, pissed, and wasting precious time. I was tired of playing games with this walking corpse. I finally pulled my head back far enough and asked crossly, "Damnit, we gonna fuck or you planning on pussy-footing around all-"

In the next instant I was on my back, my skirt gone and Ashton the serial-killer-turned-zombie was laying on top of me completely devoid of the clothes he had had on less than a second ago. I didn't know what had happened, how he had managed to strip both of us down to our birthday suits in the blink of an eye, but once I felt that rock hard body pressed into mine, the feel of his cock pressing against my inner thigh, my brain got put on pause as my body went on auto pilot.

I moaned then. Not a cute, ladylike moan but an all-out 'I'm-such-a-dirty-whore' moan. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my entire body arching up into his. His left hand grabbed the cheek of my ass and pulled me hard against him, his boner stabbing directly into the deep, slick folds of my pussy. I screamed as his dick penetrated by body, not because I hadn't had sex before but because he was so damned big. Even with all the research I had done on this man, knowing what had drove him to become a killer in the first place, memorizing the cut of his jaw and the outline of his cheek, nowhere in anything that I had read did it say anything about the man being hung like mule!

With every forward lunge of his body, his pubic bone ground into mine, his dick pounding into my cervix. "Oh, my god," I hissed, the sensations of him hammering into me so hard and so fast had my first orgasm in months barreling down on me like a runaway freight train.

"There is no god here, woman," he growled, picking up the pace slightly.

My entire body was nothing but a mass of quivering nerve endings and a sea of sensation. One of Ash's hands was wrapped tightly in my hair, my neck pulled to the side slightly with his face buried into the flesh, his other hand pulling my hips up to meet each of his thrusts. The feel of his cock bumping into my cervix was sending a river of sensations flowing up into my body, the feeling building up so quickly that I was screaming out in ecstasy within a few minutes of our union.

I heard him laugh again just a split second before I felt the searing pain in my neck. My entire world went slightly grey for a moment before the feel of his dick swelling inside of me brought my reality sharply back into focus. He picked up his pace, his body hammering into mine so fast that within five seconds I was once again pushed over the edge into the most earth-shattering orgasm of my young life. I screamed as he shoved himself so hard and far into my body that I swear I could feel his cock pumping its seed directly into my womb. I was convulsing beneath him, my eyes rolling back into my head as his teeth sank deeper into my flesh, our bodies united so completely at the hips that it felt like he was trying to crawl his way inside of my body.

I think I passed out, because the next thing my brain registered was the feel of that huge cock shoving its way into my ass. My screams this time were from pain instead of the drifting euphoria that I had been suspended in for the past several minutes. I put the heels of my stilettos against his upper thighs, the thin points digging into his skin as I tried to push him off of me. All I succeeded in doing was giving him a better angle, his dick slipping further into my bowels.

"Stop it!" I managed to choke out, the weight of his mouth on my neck nearly suffocating me. I was panting hard, fighting for each breath. My hands were pushing against his shoulders and my feet were trying to shove him off the rest of me, but it's like I was trying to move a marble statue. His dick continued to plunge its way into my body until he had finally bottomed out inside of my ass, my own pussy juices and cum making his entry easier.

His grip on my neck tightened, his teeth sinking further into my flesh as he began to ream my ass with his huge dick. I was growing weaker by the moment, black dots beginning to dance in front of my eyes. I could feel consciousness begin to slip away, the sound of our bodies slapping together a low background noise to the rushing blackness. The world grew darker as my body went rigid beneath Ashton's, the single most intense orgasm ever ripping its way through my body and finally pushing my mind over into the black oblivion that had been threatening my sight for the past minute and a half.

My vision began to clear the same way it had left, with black dots dancing on the outside of the world. My breathing was erratic, the cold night air once again caressing my flushed skin. I moved my head slightly, my neck sore and my entire skull feeling like it now weighed twenty pounds all on its own. My brain was sluggish, my ability to think clearly greatly impaired. I reached up slowly to touch the side of my neck, shocked to see the digits stained with blood. My eyes moved slowly upward to see Ashton standing over me, buttoning his jeans as his tongue licked the last few droplets of my blood from his lips.

"Next time you go trying to raise up a zombie, toots," he said as he slipped his arms back into his shirt, "you might want to check with the Council to make sure they didn't play any part in the victim's death." Ashton picked up my duffle back and plundered through the contents until he found the container of salt. He tossed it into the air a few times as he spoke. "Otherwise," he said as he crushed the bottle in his hand, the white grains spilling out onto the ground as he moved his arm around, "you might end up calling forth something that won't go back into the ground."

I stared open-mouthed as he walked right out of the sacred circle, his laughter lingering momentarily as he sprinted off into the night.

My head was still pounding as I crawled over to my bag where Ashton had discarded it, pulling out the extra set of clothes I had stashed. I pulled the dress over my head, struggling to stand on legs that still felt like they were made of butter. I haphazardly shoved the sleeping bag back into the duffle, muttering, "Damn vampires," as I gathered up my cellphone. I smiled to myself as I hit the "upload" button on my Galaxy, instantly streaming my little midnight romp to YouTube. "Well, Miss Lisa Kripsky, we'll just see who's the queen bee at the Homecoming Dance tomorrow night, won't we?" I said quietly as I strolled off into the night. "After all, anyone can fuck the walking dead, but it's not every day that you get fucked by a vampire and live to tell the tale."

© 2011 Nicola C. Matthews
All Rights Reserved
17 comments

anonymous readerReport

2013-05-27 23:06:41
You should write more stories like this

The Midnight ShadeReport

2012-07-14 04:05:40
Wow, extremely good. I hope you'll check out a few of my stories. There not as good as this mainly because yours was rivetingly detailed. It was great.

The Midnight ShadeReport

2012-07-14 04:03:06
Wow, extremely good. I hope you'll check out a few of my stories. There not as good as this mainly because yours was rivetingly detailed. It was great.

anonymous readerReport

2012-05-28 12:27:39
love your work it hot

MadMaeMarchReport

2012-04-18 01:51:54
Loved this. Crazy sexy. I have an odd, dark little fetish for dangerous men, a fascination with serial killers, and a long standing love for zombies and vampires. I never thought I'd find such a fucking hot story that combined all those things. AMAZING!

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