Horny Dead Fucks
Ruby Anya moved from one laminated card of ink designs to the next, scouring the walls of the Glaring Graffiti tattoo parlour, searching for that special piece of work to be ripped into her smooth, syrup-coloured thigh.
She huffed, not finding anything close to what she wanted. This place is a waste of time. There’s nothing of interest, Ruby thought, about to give up. Unless they have more—
“I love your hair,” the voluptuous girl working the reception desk said. “It must take you hours to get it to stand up like that.”
“Thanks,” Ruby said, without taking her eyes off the design sheets. “I’ve always loved multi-coloured mohawks.”
“You’re a punk, right?”
You think this is a costume? It’s a way of life! Ruby thought, laughing and turning to face the girl, exposing the tight, tits-enhancing Misfits tee she wore beneath her waist-length leather jacket that sported a cacophony of pins and patches. “Punk’s dead, right?”
“Not by looking at you, it isn’t!”
Girl’s bi, Ruby thought, watching the chubby gal undress her with her heavily made-up eyes. Pretty, mind. “Goth?”
“When I was younger, yeah.”
“Do you have any horror designs? I’m looking for a splash of sick zombie ink, and I can’t seem to find anything on the walls.”
“Yep. I’m pretty sure we do. Hang on.” The receptionist bent, retrieved a large book, and slapped it down on her counter. Dust exploded off its cover and spine. “We should have loads of horror, gothic and creepy stuff in here.”
“Do you mind?” Ruby asked, holding a hand out, her green nails looking Krueger-like.
“No, go ahead!” The woman gave Ruby the book. “Have a seat over there. And please, take your time. Coffee?”
Ruby nodded. “Please,” she winked before taking the large portfolio over to the plush-looking sofa. With a ‘humph’, she sat and began to peel through its pages, a ‘wow’ and ‘awesome’ escaping her as her eyes fell on the horrific images within. “This is more like it,” she said aloud.
“Oh, good,” the woman said, causing Ruby to look up, standing with a mug of coffee.
“Ha!” Ruby bellowed, laughing at what was written on the porcelain, accepting it into her hands: ‘Tattooists Prick You All Year Round.’
“Yeah, it’s not mine – it’s the boss’!”
“I hope he’s as good as his word,” Ruby winked, taking a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. Christ, that’s strong enough to wake my ancestors, she thought, placing the drinking receptacle on a small desk by her side. “Lovely, thanks,” she lied, trying not to pull a face as though she’d swallowed her tongue.
“Call if you need anything—”
“Wait!” Ruby jumped out of her seat. “This one!” she said, her mouth beginning to loll, pointing at a large image of a black and white, Hammer Horror-esque graveyard scene filled with mist, a new moon and zombies that poured out of the shadows and earth alike. “It’s… breath-taking…”
“Aye, that is pretty badass,” the girl agreed. Would you like me to book you in for that one?”
“Yes, please,” Ruby said, her gaze glued to the image. “Wow…”
“We have next Tuesday available?”
“That works for me.”
“All day session?”
“Please,” Ruby said.
“Cash or card?”
“Great. I’ll only take a deposit today – anything over forty pounds.”
“And where are you thinking of putting the tattoo?” the girl asked, jotting everything down.
“My thigh,” Ruby said, grabbing the hem of her denim skirt and raising it, showing off her stocking-tops, thighs and the underside of her knickers; a jolt of pleasure throbbed through her, stirring her juices.
“I think that’s a great idea.” After she took the rest of Ruby’s details, she handed Ruby an appointment card and smiled. “We’ll see you next week, bright and early.”
When Ruby returned home from Glaring Graffiti the next Tuesday, ignoring her five flatmates, she stormed upstairs and went straight to her bedroom and stripped off in front of her full-length mirror. Beneath her punk band, horror film and undead posters, she eyed the gory, unorthodox bandage hugging her thigh like a fucked-up lover.
I need music, she thought, hitting the play button on her retro tape deck, filling the room with 45 Grave.
“Fuck yeah!” Ruby said, stepping before the glass again, slipping her bra off to the sway of her hips and arse wiggling. She loved the way her rear looked in her pink Horror Sleaze Trash knickers; perfectly peachy and tight. She unclasped her spiked collar and let it hit the floor before sliding her favourite panties down her legs, kicking them from her.
She was lost in her music, eyes closed, her hands wandering over her large, golden-coloured tits down her abs and sharp hips.
45 Grave was replaced by The Cramps singing about the Surfin’ Dead.
Ruby’s hand continued down the valley to her shaved cunt, and she bit down on her pierced bottom lip; a soft moan escaped her as she came upon her perfectly sculptured pussy lips.
It had been a few years since the bottom surgery completed her transition to becoming her true self, the wrapping matching her gloriously feminine interior. She always hated her body before; the thought of touching it — down there — made her vomit. Now she had finally become whole with her body, and every inch of it couldn’t be more perfect.
As the music pumped her eardrums, she thought back to her session on the chair. Getting inked was such a hot rush, the continuous prick of so many needles at once; the gun may as well have been a little fuck machine for her skin. It really was the ultimate foreplay, even if she was going home to fuck herself. Clicking off two of her nail extensions with her teeth and spitting them to the floor, Ruby sucked her fingers, then moved back down, throwing her head back as she dipped two wet digits into her soft cleft… how very far she’s come from that depressed little boy of her childhood.
“Can you turn it down a bit in there, Ruby!” someone said, knocking on Ruby’s door, which Ruby didn’t hear. “Ruby?” came the voice again. Ruby?! Jesus Christ,” the person said, opening the door, gasping.
When Ruby opened her eyes, she smiled. “Come to help, Amy?”
Amy laughed. “You’re such a bad girl. Why don’t you stop fucking yourself and show me your ink?”
“Is she playing with herself again?” a guy yelled from downstairs.
“Okay,” Ruby said, stopping what she was doing, her hands going to the bandage. “You know, I thought there would have been a lot more pain at this point, but there’s nothing. If anything, it feels numb.”
“Odd, considering how long you were there.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the Chinese he was mumbling as he rubbed lotion over it helped?” Ruby laughed as she unwrapped her leg before gasping, her thigh black, save a load of running ink, blood and gore. A huge chunk of her flesh thudded to the floor with the bandage, “What the fuck?!”
The room began to rumble, followed by an onslaught of groaning, moaning voices. When Ruby looked up, she saw her posters depicting the undead ripple and coming to life – a fog rose from the ground, engulfing her and Amy.
Ruby’s eyes fluttered open to a haze of eerie smoky darkness; wails surrounded her, and she was no longer in the warm comforts of her flat. She felt her body in some sort of motion as her vision bumped up and down; friction cold and hard at her back, she felt her skin shredding. Pulling her hands up to rub her eyes, then her head, she squeezed her lids shut and opened them again, blinking to clear her vision. On top of her, a gruesome, heaving, macabre beast was frantically gnashing its teeth; a nightmare? As she further came to, she realised she was being mercilessly fucked by a giant zombie looking fucker; its stink was beyond words. Half its face was gone, teeth glistened like diamonds within its ripped cheek as it furiously chattered and grunted. That’s when the bottom half of her body woke up, and she felt the pounding of her life, frantic, animalistic. No human could fuck this fast, closing her eyes away from the horrifying face she submitted to the feeling… “uhhhh, mmmmm, fuck…”
She was in pain, horrified, confused, and at the same time, she knew she was fast heading towards the orgasm of her life. Her pussy was screaming for more, as did she, eyes closed tight, “uhhhh, fuck! Fuck me! Yes! Fuck!” She reached out towards the hips of the beast; its flesh felt firm, highly muscled – evolved for speed and furious fucking. As it continued to hammer into her, she was soaked – a puzzler, considering her inability to produced natural lubricant… maybe it was his…
She ventured to open her eyes again, the sight was ghastly, but the stimulation coming from it was hard not to appreciate; just go with it, she thought. She peered down — her tits swinging back and forth like volleyballs. For a second, she worried her implants may burst out. She continued to eye down her body with the stallion zombie-like beast’s hulking form raised over her. His monster cock drilled her cunt, a jackhammer. Her thighs and lower abdomen were blood sodden. It was tearing her apart — after how long it had taken her body to become one with her womanhood; this horny dead fuck was, literally, screwing her out of it. Then, his fevered pace halted, and he looked down from such a height, his eyes full of a cold-dead-fire she’d never seen in the living, he licked the air with his long tongue (one that rivalled Gene Simmons) and laughed — the sound was deep, reverberating through his body, so she felt it within her own. Then he let out an ear-splitting screech; the moans that surround her in the dark shifted to other screeches, seemingly, in response.
Pulling out of her and dragging her up by the hair, he threw her onto her knees, narrowly missing smashing her head off a headstone. How did I get here?! She wondered. It was then she saw her thigh bone — the flesh where the tattoo had been was gone, yet it was painless. She felt his large bony fingers grasp her hips as he stuffed his meat into her arse. She gasped, letting out an involuntary whimper, eyes watering. She threw back her head in sharp ecstasy as her body let the beast in (not that it had a choice) and finally managed to see where the other noises were coming from; she was surrounded by an orgy. Though most of the participants were deceased, it was like a horror movie set turned porno. Some had a vague semblance of beauty, but most were grotesque; half skeletal monsters banging away, grunting and groaning from decaying throats, skin hung from some, showing raw muscle and dried fat, innards now ‘outards’.
Then she saw Amy — screaming as her arm was being ripped from its socket and eaten by the dead thing having its way with her. Well, I can’t exactly do anything to help, Ruby thought. There was a ghostly faint echo of music, she could just about make out Rob Zombie’s infectious gritty vocals over the wail of guitars. And beyond that, the distant chatter of friends in her flat… a dimension away? The fog rose, caressing tombstones and the frisky reanimated fiends. Flesh battered into flesh, ghoulish tongues licked, and teeth gnashed and tore into lovers as they cavorted, possessed. Ruby could feel it too; all she wanted was to be fucked to death. The air was thick with sex and dead things…and she realised she must’ve been with the real stud of the pack, the king of the horny-fuckin’ dead — as they were centre of attention with a harem of zombies touching themselves and groaning desperately as they watched him pummel her. Ruby had never been more turned on; she was his living dead girl. His Trash. She came so hard and so fast, her life flashed before her, in a display of flickering lights. The orgasm rolled through her body, pumping her heart as fast as he did her; she felt the organ explode in her chest, she choked, spluttering blood, unable to breathe and collapsed bleeding out onto the grass…