Gently, Ryan pulled her close, her full breasts falling warm and heavy across his bare chest. They kissed, tongues intertwining madly, savoring the taste of each other. Her red filaments laced with his black hair as the man and woman shared breath, their hearts wildly pounding. Then Ryan grabbed her around the waist, pinning Krysty in that position as he started pumping hard and fast, using his thighs to drive his cock into her at greater and greater speeds.
“Gaia!” she gasped, biting a lip, galvanized by the overpowering sensations. “Yes, lover! Yes!”
Their bodies gleaming with sweat, Ryan rode the woman from the bottom, maintaining the motions until Krysty trembled all over, her pussy convulsing. He thrust hard one last time, filling her completely, each lost in the sensual world of physical pleasure, and for a few precious moments, there was no world outside of their arms.
Back arched, hair splayed, Krysty waited for the tingling of the orgasm to pass when there was a sound at the door. They both drew blasters and swung the weapons toward the portal, then relaxed when they heard the telltale step-and-click of Doc walking by, using his swordstick.
“Want to go eat now?” Krysty laughed softly, placing the blaster aside and nestling against the big man’s chest.
“Later,” Ryan answered, rolling over and placing the woman on a clean area of the bedsheets.
Lustfully, Krysty raked his back with her nails, as he spread her smooth legs wide and slide inside the hot satin once more. Their bodies moving together as one, each was lost in his or her own private world of joyful passion and affection beyond the limitations of words.
SEVERAL LARGE-CALIBER machine guns fired nonstop, the burning tracer rounds forming dotted lines through the nighttime sky over Shiloh ville as the rooftop weapons cut down the muties crawling over the stone block wall in every direction.
“They’re everywhere!” a blue shirt shouted, running from the front gate. A mob of muties was on the other side of the steel bars, reaching for him with claws and tentacles. It was worse than any nightmare. He fired his blaster at the inhuman creatures, and a few dropped, but others fought to get closer.
A winged mutie landed on top of the wall and was cut down by machine-gun fire, the heavy rounds slamming the body back into the darkness.
Slinking from the gap was a pack of cougars, their fur changing color to match anything they were near. Their fur was cut by the sharp coils of concertina wire, droplets of clear blood oozing from the wounds. Snarling, they converged on a sec man struggling to clear a jam in his blaster. Flesh was bitten off in bloody gobbets, the high-pitched screaming only lasting a few moments as they ate the man alive.
Then the roar of an engine split the night, and a Hummer charged into view, plowing through the catlike muties, their bodies smashed against the steel fenders with sickening crunches. One survived the attack, and leaped inside to savage the driver. The blue dragged out a handcannon in time blow off its face. Shoving the Hummer into gear, he sped away, leaving the other men behind.
Small-arms fire peppered the darkness, then the steady chatter of a large-caliber machine gun ripped the attackers to pieces. Dozens of muties died, but the rest spread throughout the base, hooting wildly as they latched upon anybody who got close. Fangs were buried in throats, tongues licking up the hot spurts of blood. The sec man fired from doorways, from between buildings. The dead and the dying were lining the streets, but the muties kept coming, wave after wave, in countless numbers. And as an ammo clip became exhausted, another norm fell screaming to the ground as his flesh was consumed before his heart had time to stop beating.
Inside the armory, sec men fired volleys through slim notches cut in the thick walls. In the shadows of the night, it was difficult to tell their own men from the muties, and often they didn’t pause but fired anyway. Sometimes it was a bestial scream, occasionally a human cry of pain.
“Sir, the fuckers are everywhere!” a sec man panted, thumbing fresh rounds into an exhausted clip. He slammed the magazine into his weapon and worked the bolt, chambering a round. Then he started to load a second clip. A case of 7.62 mm ammo was at his boots, and two more full of grens were on the table for easy access. The door was barricaded with the heavy oak throne, and the window shutters closed for the storm were now nailed tight into place.