Page 42 of Doomsdate

Touch it with me.

Like…this? Dream-Maisie joins her light touch to my own, circling the soft skin of the head with her thumb and forefinger while I stroke hard up the shaft.

Yes, that’s it. Her eyes focus on the task at hand as I trail my fingers across the hair at her temple, sliding in there, gripping softly. She runs her thumb over the pearl of moisture that escapes my cock and buffs it into my tight, hot skin.

My head leans back, mouth falling open, as I work myself, hard. The pleasure is giddy. It courses down the backs of my legs, weakening my knees. Dream-Maisie stares up at me as she drags the head of my cock over her bottom lip. I shudder, imagining how I’d snarl my fingers in her hair, loading each inch of me into her beautiful round mouth.

I am incredibly hard. Dream-Maisie closes her lips around me, forcing out a real whimper from me, when snow crunches, loud and sharp, from behind.

My eyes flash open, arm freezing. A wave of dread crashes through me. I’ve been caught dick-handed. What is Maisie going to think of me now? Wincing, I glance over my shoulder, not turning lest she see the evidence for herself. Maybe if I’m lucky she’ll think I’m peeing on the fire. Do people pee on fires?

But the tent flaps remain closed. Beyond the small circle of our campsite painted with firelight is only darkness, still and calm. Probably just an animal, then. A pine cone heavy with snow, dropping from a tree. Then a scratching sound comes from within the tent, followed by Chicken’s urgent mew. I exhale a ragged breath, eyes shuttering in relief. It was just Chicken.

Undeterred, my cock tightens in my fist, like hey man, forget something? I pump it once, twice, then Dream-Maisie’s back before me, kissing the crown of my cock as I push it inside her mouth. I’m so close, but something thunks behind me, even closer. Chicken straight-up yowls from within the tent.

A stiff, cold hand lands on my shoulder. And I know. I know. The feel of it, the flat, heavy way it landed against me, the way it’s scrabbling for my neck now.

It’s wrong.

Dammit, they surprised me again!

An inverted scream tears out of me, air sucked in so hard I choke on my own terror. I twist around to see what I already know is there.

Two milky, silver-blue eyes stare down at me coldly from beneath the wide brim of a green felt campaign hat, the strap tucked beneath the zombie’s chin. Or what’s left of it, anyway. The tall ranger’s uniform is in rags, large chunks of his body chewed away by other mouths. The smell of fresh gore is thick and gruesome. I gag on it, forced to breathe it in. He’s smiling at me, or no, it’s just his lips are gone, revealing the skull’s perpetual grin beneath. His teeth shine with the same blue glow. The embroidered name patch on his chest reads ranger phil.

“Mais—Maisie!” I rasp out, still coughing against my own breath as it tries to exit and enter my lungs simultaneously. I stagger backward, pulling free of the zombie’s tight grip. Ranger Phil rudely stands between me and the tent and all our weapons. I stuff my massive erection back into my trunks, struggling to get the base layers up and over it, but then the zombie lunges for me, and I give up, dancing out of the way. “Maisie!”

The tent zips down suddenly. Maisie appears, fully alert, boots on, machete gleaming. I wouldn’t have known she’d slept at all except for the soft, puffy look around her eyes. She glances at Ranger Phil, then me. Then both our gazes fall to my stubborn erection, pointing aggressively at her through the black cotton underwear. When she meets my eyes again, there’s mild alarm.

“Um. Fear response?”

Growling, Ranger Phil charges her, and my heart contracts in terror. He’s fast and feral, infinitely more dangerous than the blank-eyed cashiers at REI. Maisie lashes out with the long-handled machete, driving it directly down the middle of Ranger Phil’s skull. It slices the hat almost neatly in two. The zombie seizes once, twice, then drops down dead. Fully, this time.

She picks up my Fun & Stun, throwing it across the fire. I catch it clumsily with one hand, since I’m still trying to pull my pants up over my erection, which has somehow grown harder. “It’s, uh, not what it looks like—”

“So it’s not a horde of zombie park rangers coming our way?” Maisie’s eyes look beyond me, steel setting in. She nods in that direction, and I whip around. Two shining orbs blink in the darkness—that milky, glowing blue. Two more glimmer on, then more, until suddenly our wintry grove is riddled with headlamps beaming our way. They’re standing between us and her car. There’s nowhere to run. Which means…

“Prepare to fight,” she says, and goddammit, this boner’s never going away.

The moon reappears, revealing the gaggle of park rangers in various stages of eaten. Arms missing. Legs lacking calves, chewed-up knees. One young ranger resembles Goldie Hawn in 1992’s Death Becomes Her, though the hole gaping wide in her abdomen is much messier. A few are waving their arms dumbly in the trees beyond, trying to reach our food bag. Almost all are still wearing their felt campaign hats. Rangers to the end and, it seems, beyond.

“Jesus,” I hiss, hands clammy around my Fun & Stun. I can’t decide whether to hold it like a baseball bat or a spear, switching it back and forth as the horde advances. I fire it up, even though it’s likely pointless. Why didn’t I opt for the ice axe at REI? Or the butane torch? Or the—

Maisie raises her machete as they draw near. “You ready, Professor?”

The word strikes my dick like a mallet to a gong, and I groan, leaving my erection to veer wildly left and right in my softly structured tech pants as the zombies come for us in a wild, clumsy sprint. I aim the stabby end of my Fun & Stun for one’s eye socket, just like Maisie did in REI, but it glances off its cheek as the zombie pivots, taking a huge flap of dead flesh off in the process. I stumble to the side, catching myself just before my calf meets burning log. Something connects with my ankle, and I yelp, only to see the zombie trip over my outstretched leg. It makes no noise, no cries of pain or last gasps, as it careens into the fire, devoured by flames.

“Good,” Maisie purrs from somewhere beside me, and the completely unearned praise lights up my chest. “Now take this one down with a front kick.”

Something clicks within me, the old conditioning to do, obey, submit ingrained by years of military school whirring to life as a tall zombie comes at me. My heart’s about to burst from adrenaline, but I hinge my right leg upward, delivering the power from hip to foot to the zombie’s chest, just like she taught me. It’s a beautiful kick, or it would’ve been if it hadn’t sent my erection slapping into my balls hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I lose balance as the punch of nausea claims me, but the kick still manages to take the zombie down.

Unfortunately, I go down with it. It’s a race to see who can get to their feet first—the person with feet, or the one who wants to eat them. I barely make it up before he grips me behind each knee, yanking his crumpled body forward, reaching. His jaws are open wide, but there’s only one piece of me he’s aiming for.

I scream, but Maisie kicks him in the head before he manages to bite off my dick.

“You’ve really got to”—she pauses as her machete hacks into dick-biter’s neck—“do something”—she pulls it clean—“about your cock”—hacks again. The last strike severs his head. She’s too busy wiping her blade to see zombie Goldie Hawn behind her.

“Maisie, watch out!” I push between her back and Goldie’s advancing mouth. This time, I plunge the Fun & Stun’s four metal prongs directly into Goldie’s embroidered name tag, where there’s still enough chest left to aim for. The thick stitching keeps the sharp points from embedding, but the charge sends arcs of bright blue lightning across her torso anyway. Goldie convulses once, then pitches backward into the snow.