Chapter 21: Sisterly Showdown
The heavy, salted warmth inside me had become a constant state, like the new weight of my breath or the drum of my heart. Grunts’s seed was a live thing in my belly, a simmering pool of potential. I watched it leak from me, a viscous pearl on my inner thigh, and felt no revulsion. Only a cold, analytical interest. A resource, slowly absorbed.
Mary was at the workbench, her short hair stuck to her temples with sweat. She wasn’t looking at the antique wrench or the disassembled rifle parts. She was staring at her own reflection in a piece of polished metal, her fingers tracing the impossible fullness of her lips, the hard curve of her jaw that seemed softer now. “The change isn’t linear,” she said, her voice detached. “It’s accelerating during and immediately after copulation. Cellular hydration increases. Mammary tissue is most responsive.”
Ellie laughed, a rich, throaty sound. She was on her knees, running her hands over the vast, pale dome of her stomach. “Responsive. That’s one word for it.” She glanced at Nancy, who was idly squeezing one of her own breasts, watching a thin, bluish milk bead at the nipple and trickle down the swollen globe. “Feeling competitive, sweetheart?”
Nancy’s eyes, always so warm, glittered with a new kind of heat. A challenge. “You’re bigger.”
“I’m older. I’ve had more time to… cultivate,” Ellie purred. She rocked back on her heels, her gaze sliding from Nancy to Buck, then to Grunts. “But maybe it’s not about time. Maybe it’s about throughput.”
I understood the proposition before she said it. A stress test. A direct comparison.
“You want a race,” Mary stated, turning from her reflection.
“A show,” Ellie corrected, standing. Her movements were a study in deliberate, swaying gravity. “Let’s see who they really prefer. Who they’ll try harder for.”
A feral grin split Nancy’s face. She got up, her curls bouncing against the heavy swell of her tits. “Loser has to clean the guns tomorrow.”
“Winner gets the last of the peaches,” I said, naming the precious, sugary relic from the old world. The stakes were real.
We positioned them like stallions at a starting gate. Buck and Grunts stood in the center of the shed, their cocks already at full, terrifying attention. They showed no understanding of the competition, only a blank, obedient readiness.
Ellie walked to Grunts. She ran her nails down his chest, leaving faint red trails. “You’re mine, big guy. You give me everything. You understand?” She then turned to Buck, slapping his cock with a wet crack that made the thick shaft bob. “And you. You save nothing.”
Nancy took the opposite stance, claiming Buck with a possessive kiss that was all teeth and tongue, then whispering filthy promises into Grunts’s ear.
They didn’t need more instruction.
Ellie mounted Grunts with the practiced ease of a rider settling into a familiar saddle. She impaled herself on him in one smooth, sinking drop, her back arching as she took his full, monstrous length inside. A sigh of pure, fat contentment left her lips. “Oh, that’s the spot. Right there. Now fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
Nancy, meanwhile, climbed onto Buck, facing Ellie. She lowered herself onto his cock with a choked, guttural cry, her eyes locked on her mother’s.
They began to move.
It wasn’t just riding. It was a brutal, grinding dance. Ellie set a fierce, demanding rhythm, slamming her hips down onto Grunts, using the strength in her thick thighs to force him deeper with each impact. The sound was obscene—a wet, meaty slap of flesh against flesh, punctuated by the creak of the floorboards beneath Grunts’s feet.
Nancy matched her, stroke for stroke, her body bouncing on Buck with a frantic energy. Their enormous breasts, already swollen and heavy with unnatural lactation, began to swing and collide. With every downward thrust, Ellie’s massive tits would smash into Nancy’s. The slap of soft, heavy flesh was a secondary percussion to the main event.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Ellie gasped, her words broken by the relentless pounding. “He’s deeper. I can feel him in my fucking throat!”
“Bullshit!” Nancy snarled, driving down harder, taking Buck to the hilt. “He’s thicker. He’s stretching me wider, you smug bitch!”
Their curses melted into wordless cries. They leaned into each other, their sweaty foreheads touching, their giant breasts pressed together in a sweaty, jiggling sandwich. The smell of them, of sex and milk and female sweat, drowned out the scent of rust and oil.
I watched, my own cunt clenching sympathetically, empty and aching. Mary stood beside me, her breathing shallow. Her hand crept between her legs, fingers working in a tight, desperate circle as she observed.
The zombies fucked with the same relentless, mechanical force as always. But the women atop them were alive, alight, feral. They twisted their hips, ground their clits against the bases of the monstrous cocks, used their nails to scrape red lines down the creatures’ chests, urging more, more, more.
“Come on, you dead fuck!” Ellie shrieked, pounding her fists on Grunts’s shoulders. “Fill me! I want to feel it! Drown me!”
“Breed me!” Nancy screamed, her voice raw. “Paint my fucking womb! Do it! NOW!”
The climax, when it hit them, was synchronized. A shared, convulsive shockwave. Ellie’s head snapped back, a raw scream tearing from her as her body locked around Grunts, milking him. Nancy’s mouth fell open in a silent, paralyzed cry, her inner muscles visibly fluttering around Buck’s shaft through the stretched, glistening lips of her cunt.
And the zombies obeyed.
Grunts came first. A deep, internal pulse that made Ellie’s stomach visibly jump. Then Buck, a fraction of a second later. But the show was external.
Thick, opaque ropes of cum erupted from where their bodies were joined. But the women were pressed so close, their swollen bellies touching, that the jets crossed streams.
Grunts’s release, pumping deep into Ellie, forced a geyser of their mixed fluids out around his cock. It shot across the narrow gap and splattered across Nancy’s lower belly in a hot, white wash. At the same instant, Buck’s volley, bursting inside Nancy, spilled out and painted Ellie’s skin in identical streaks.
They sprayed each other. Marked each other. It was a grotesque, intimate baptism.
The torrent seemed endless, soaking their pubic hair, dripping down their thighs, pooling between their pressed-together bodies. They collapsed against each other, spent, their heavy breasts resting on one another like spent pillows, their skin plastered with the evidence.
Panting, dripping, they slowly peeled apart. Strings of cum stretched between their bellies before snapping.
Ellie looked down at the mess coating her rival daughter, then at her own glazed skin. A slow, triumphant smile spread over her face. “Told you,” she breathed. “Deeper. More.”
Nancy, still shuddering with aftershocks, scowled. But her hand slipped down, collecting a mix of their juices from her stomach. She brought her fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean with a defiant glare. “Tastes the same.”
The competition was over, but the hunger was not. The violent display had stoked a different fire. Mary was against the wall now, Grunts having shuffled to her, his cock still slick and hard. She guided him into her with a desperate, needy sigh, her logical mind utterly abandoned to physical greed.
I moved to Buck. He was still spent, but the organism that drove him had no refractory period. Already, the flesh was re-knitting, the veins engorging anew. I pushed him onto his back and sat on his face, grinding my wet, aching cunt against his mouth. “Clean it,” I ordered, my voice rough. “Lick it all off her. Then you’re going to give me what you gave her. Every last drop.”
The world outside the shed walls, the moaning, shuffling world of the dead, meant nothing. In here, we had our own ecosystem. Our own rewards. Our own punishments. The last can of peaches sat on a shelf, glowing like gold in the lantern light. It would taste of sweat and salt and victory.
And tomorrow, Nancy would clean the guns.