One of the great advantages of living in a post-apocalyptic zombie-infested nightmare is that you can get the best Scotch in the world for absolutely free.

Sure, I know, most of you, when you think about the zombie apocalypse, focus on the downside. Like, having the rotting teeth of a member of the undead gnawing the flesh from your face while you await the antagonizingly slow arrival of death. And, yes, that would suck.

But trust me, it isn't all downside. To wit:

This evening, I was breaking the seal on a new bottle of Bruichladdich, settling down in the fore of the boat and watching the stars appear. It was a beautiful, still evening; Kate had the evening watch which meant I could relax until midnight.

My solitude was, alas, interrupted by two girls who joined me in the fore. These were two of my favorites from Sarah's boarding school: Emma, a tall, womanly girl of sixteen: curly brown hair, a soft, delicate face, and a figure that had left adolescence far behind in the rear-view mirror; and Heather, a smart little whipper-snapper of a twelve-year-old, straight blond hair, a little freckled face, and quite firmly on the opposite side of Emma on the curve that separates girl from woman.

"It's so cool that Sarah's pregnant!" the younger one said as she and Emma settled down on one of the benches that ran along the rail in the fore.

"Yeah!" the older one agreed.

"That means we'll have three babies soon! Isn't that awesome?!?"

"Hopefully we will," I said.

"It is awesome," Emma sighed, "I just feel so sorry for those babies, stuck inside the castle walls for their whole life."

"Kate has a plan," Heather said, bouncing with excitement like she always does. "She says she wants the babies to be free, just like we were, when we were kids. She says she has a plan."

"To freedom," I said, lifting my glass of whiskey in a toast, "and to Kate's plan."

"We can't have a toast," Emma said. "Heather and I don't have a glass to toast with." The sixteen-year-old's eyes twinkled. She did like to share a drink with me, when she wasn't under the watchful eye of Sarah the Mother Hen.

"Go get a couple of glasses then," I said, and Emma dashed away below. "So what's Kate's plan?" I asked Heather when we were alone.

"I don't know," the girl answered. "But she's been looking at maps."

"Maps?"

"Yeah. I think she thinks she can find us a new place."

I nodded thoughtfully. Life certainly had improved since the arrival of Commander Kate, and you'd be a damned fool to bet against any of her ideas. The girl knew her shit.

Emma was quickly back, two glasses in hand. I poured each of them a little shot.

"To Commander Kate, and her plan," I said, lifting my glass again.

"And to babies!" Heather added with a big smile as we clinked our glasses together. She took a sip, and made a face when the whiskey hit her tongue. "Uuggg, what is this?"

"It's scotch."

"It's strong," Emma said reverentially. She took another sip.

"Well, I think it's yucky. Here, I don't want it." Heather handed her glass to me, and I poured the rest into mine.

"I like it," Emma said, finishing hers off.

"You're a lush, Emma!" Heather teased, and both girls giggled. As if in response, I filled Emma's glass again.

"Meg says we should all have babies," Heather continued. "We need to 'propagate the species.'"

"Seems right to me," I said, giving the girl a smile. Both girls giggled again.

"Emma, you're the oldest of all us girls," Heather said. "What do you think? When are you going to have a baby?"

In the dim light of dusk I could see Emma's cheeks go red, and I swear her ample bosom heaved, if only a little bit. The girl had a nice set of tits, that's for sure, and I swear she liked to show them off to me. I admired them now, as I so often did, thinking maybe that since we were out together without Sarah Mother Hen along, I might finally get a chance to give them a little more "hands-on" admiration.

"Don't you think Emma should have a baby, John?" the younger one asked.

Emma took another sip of her whiskey, and I looked at her beautiful face. "I think Emma'd make a good mother." She smiled meekly at me.

"It's so weird, though, isn't it? That there are no other boys?" Heather said. "The only other guy in the whole world other than John is the 'Evil Dude,' and he keeps women tied up so he can have sex with them," Heather finished her thought.

"Heather!" Emma said over her glass of whiskey, scandalized at the young girl's words. Maybe she was a bit of a mother hen herself.

"Well it's true, that's what he does," Heather asserted. "I heard Sarah talking about it." The girl looked back at me. "Why do you think there are no boys around, John?"

"Sarah thinks the disease must have something to do with the Y chromosome. It definitely seems to infect men more than women. But of course there might be more men that we just don't know about."

"What's the Y chromosome?"

And so the conversation veered off into other territories.

A few hours later, I relieved Kate at the helm. It was an amazingly calm night, not a ripple of wind on the water, the sail hanging limp. I knew we were at least a good twenty miles out to sea, so no need to worry about getting too close to shore. Really not much to do on a watch like this but stand here and admire the moon as she begins to rise over the water's horizon.

I heard some soft noises from below, and a moment later Emma appeared on the stairs. "Hey, Emma," I said quietly. "Your watch doesn't start for a few hours."

"I know, I just couldn't sleep."

"Well I'm glad for the company. Maybe you can keep me from falling asleep."

She stood in silence for quite a while, staring out at the reflection of the newly-crested moon, almost full, on the still water. I could tell there was something on her mind.

Finally she spoke. "So you really think I'd make a good mother?"

"Of course." I figured I think I knew what was occupying her thoughts, and so I paused, waiting for her to say something more, but when she didn't speak, I added, "You're thinking about what Heather said? About having a baby?"

"Do you think I should?"

"I'm probably not the best person to ask."

"Why not?"

"Because I have a vested interest in your decision."

"What do you mean?" she asked, but then I could see her, in the moonlit glow, begin to get a little smile and a sweet blush on her pretty face as she figured out what I meant.

"So what do you think?" I asked her. "Do you think you should have a baby?"

"I don't know if I'm ready," she said.

I nodded.

"But... but it isn't just about having a baby, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

She stood silently for a moment, staring out at the sea. "I mean, like, sex. It's about more than just having babies, it's about other things, too, right?"

"Sure," I agreed. The girl had obviously been thinking about the subject some. "Like what?"

"Um, well, like, showing the other person how much you like them. And..."

"And?"

"And having fun? I mean, it is fun, right?"

"Its lots of fun."

She smiled back at me over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"You know, Emma," I said, "there's really no reason for me to stand here at the con. There isn't a lick of wind blowing at all. Why don't you and I go to the fore and have another glass of that whiskey together?"

We sat together, both of us acting a little nervous. I filled our glasses, making sure that Emma got a decent pour this time.

"So, you think sex is about showing the other person how much you like them?"

"Yeah, isn't it?"

"It is. It's really nice to make another person feel good. A person that you really like."

Her face was very red and her dark eyes stared at me as she took a big drink of her whiskey.

I reach my hand out towards her, and put a finger on the bare skin of her upper chest, then slid the finger down to the top button of her blouse. She sat immobile, red-faced and staring up at me, as I unfastened the button. The next button, and the next, and I slipped my hand inside.

"You have the most beautiful breasts, Emma," I said softly to her.

"I do?" she answered, as if she actually didn't know how attractive they were.

"I've wanted to touch them since the first time I saw you." My hand was cupped around a bra-clad tit, squeezing, gently kneading, feeling her soft flesh.

"I'm glad," she said.

"Are you cold?" I asked her. "Should I get a blanket?"

"I'm feeling sort of warm." She took another big drink of her whiskey.

"Good," I whispered. My hand moved to the top of her bra cup, fingers slipping in.

"Should I take my shirt off?" she asked.

"I'd like that," I answered.

One of her hands began unclasping the rest of her buttons, while the other lifted her whiskey to her lips. She finished it off in one big drink. Then she set the glass down on the bench and shrugged her blouse off her shoulders.

"My bra, too?" she asked, very quietly.

"Yes."

She reached around her back and unfastened the clasp of her bra, then pulled the straps over her shoulders. The cups fell off her breasts. In the yellow glow of the midnight moon, I watched them shimmy, round and firm and pale white, as she pulled off the bra.

"They're so beautiful," I said reverentially. And they were. They were perfect; not large, but ample; not taut like a young girl's breasts, but sitting plumply on her chest like a woman's bosom as she stayed motionless, letting me stare. Her nipples were wide, covering the tops of her tits in pink goosebumped flesh, puckering up into thick, dark, prominent nubs.

I reached out with both hands and cupped her naked breasts, and leaned in and kissed her. She tasted of alcohol, and of flowers. We kissed, and kissed, while I fondled her sweet titties.

As often happens in such cases, things moved quickly from there. I wanted to have her, and she was anxious to be had. I'm not sure when or how her pants came down, nor mine, but if my recollection serves correctly, it wasn't more than a few seconds and we were naked, lying together on the hard cold metal floor of the fore, locked in a tight embrace and my tongue deep in her mouth. My cock found her entrance, dripping wet already, and I entered her with little more than a few solid thrusts of my hips.

Our lips never parted, her hands never left my back and mine never gave up their grip on her breasts, while we made love. Soon I was sliding the full length of my cock in and out of her hot hole and she was dripping the essence of her love onto my balls, and her ass, and the floor beneath us.

When my orgasm begin to boil, I stopped​, and whispered to her, "I need to pull out, or I'll..."

"Don't stop," she whispered back. "Finish inside."

I charged ahead then, and it was only a few more strokes before I exploded, ramming my cock is deep into​ her as I could and filling her with a huge blast of my seed. I reared back, in the full ecstasy of my climax, and as I plowed deep into her again, she arched her back and let out a long, low, sonorous moan, and I fired an even larger blast, filling her to overflowing already and not half done with my ejaculation.

When I was finished, I kept my cock buried in her, and while we kissed, both of us red-faced and quaking from slowly-fading orgasm, tens of thousands of my sperm, prevented from leaking out of her by the cockplug I kept inside her, swarmed through her cervix and filled her unconquered teenage womb in their sightless race to find a ripened egg.

We sat together after, a blanket wrapped around her now, sipping whiskey.

"Did you like it?" I asked her.

"Oh yeah," she answered, a big smile on her still-reddened face. "Lots. Did you?"

"Oh yeah." I smiled back at her, and she giggled.

"I could tell," she said. "It seems like you came a lot. I can still feel it. I still feel full."

"Yeah, it was a really powerful orgasm."

"I like the way it felt, when you were..." She gave a little embarrassed smile. "...when you were pumping your cum into me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it felt warm, and thick. I liked​ that." Her description caused a stirring in my loins.

"I'd like a chance to do it again," I said.

"Really? Right now?"

Sweet Emma was on her knees this time, knees and elbows, the blanket over her but pulled up above her ass, and I enjoyed again the slick hotness of her womanhood, and then gave her my second load, adding tens of thousands more sperm to the life-giving charge inside her womb. And I knew, or at least I could sense, that while the girl stood her midnight watch, or sometime during the next few days, a sperm would find his way into an egg, and my dear Emma, having twice now fulfilled her duty to a man, would also fulfill her duty to mankind.

Over a breakfast of pancakes and fresh cow's milk the next morning, Kate expressed her frustration with the lack of wind on this particular voyage. "We'll never make at this rate," she said, "and we can't even abort the mission, since we'd never make it home, either."

There was strenuous agreement around the breakfast table, and so, at our commander's insistence, we took down the mast and fired up the diesel engine, and a few hours time we were tying the boat to a dock in London town. Kate insisted that the girls remain with the boat, much to their grumbled disagreement. But Kate was right; she always said it was best to travel light in the zombie apocalypse, and so she and I alone disembarked, heavily armed, flashlights in hand, and made our way to the nearest Tube stop.

Kate had taught us that the Tube was the best way to travel around the city. Few lurchers made it down to the depths of the tunnels, given their difficulty with stairs. Occasionally one might mindlessly stumble down a non-functioning escalator and land at the bottom, so you did need to have your wits about you; even a lurcher with many broken bones can be a serious risk, especially one that's been stuck in Underground without a bite of flesh for days.

More dangerous still were the living breathing humans who had taken up residence on the platforms and in the tunnels. Most of them were armed, and their first instinct was always to shoot. And, being that they were vagabonds of a sort, you never knew when or where you'd encounter them. But luckily, the more sensible among them had at least some sort of light, most of the time, be it a fire or electrical illumination. And in the utter darkness, it wasn't hard to see them. Nonetheless we'd learned to keep up a constant and loud chatter, even if this did attract a stray lurcher or two. It served to warn the denizens of the deep of our presence. Usually if they knew another human was around, they'd scurry and hide, rather than confront. You just didn't want to catch them by surprise.

The tunnels generally represented the most direct route from one place to another in the city, so long as you know where you are going. And Kate knew the tunnels well, from two years traveling them with her protector before we'd rescued her, and so after a few miles of walking, we emerged into the bright sunshine of the Hammersmith stop.

There were a few lurchers nearby, but we held our fire. Best not to shoot unless you have to, or unless you want to attract more of the poor fuckers. And so we humped down the avenue to our mission's destination.

The hotel where the one the girls called "the Evil Dude" had taken up residence was a big fancy marble-pillared affair, which in its 1980s heyday must have been a fun place. Today, though, it looked more like a hotel in Beirut circa that same era--sandbags lined the exterior, even the gilded entrance, in a ten foot high, three foot thick zombie-proof wall, and from what we could see through the windows into what must have once been a glorious front plaza, sandbags lined the interior as well. The only exit from this fortification was a side door, probably a fire escape from the stairwell, which had no visible means to open it from the outside.

The second floor--or the first floor, as Kate called it in her quint British way--was much more open. A large exterior patio showed signs of recent use, and had two gun nests, with big weapons of some sort aiming down at the street. The nests were currently unoccupied. In fact, as we sat behind the burned out shell of an automobile and scanned the building with our binoculars, it didn't seem to have any life inside it at all. It was hard to imagine that dozens of women were trapped inside as virtual slaves.

Mostly, this was a scouting mission for Kate and me. Just determine the lay of the land, so that we can plan our next move. But I knew that Kate was feeling a little trigger-happy, and I wanted to send a message as well, to let the ladies inside know that someone out there in the nightmare was thinking about them and working to get the free. On the other hand, I felt it was important not to be too rash. First off, we didn't know the guy. All we'd heard was second- and third-hand stories. And like it or not, he was keeping these women safe, and we'd be damned if we blew a hole in the side of the place and left them to succumb to the gnawing teeth of the lurchers.

Speaking of which, a few of our friendly undead had waltzed into the scene by now. They didn't appear to be aware of our presence, thankfully​, but I've always found that the bastards have some sort of sixth sense when it come to the presence of living flesh, so I set watch and let Kate do the reconnaissance. Certainly the goal was to avoid any interaction with the undead at all; if we had to start putting them out of their misery, it'd bring a quick end to this mission. So I just kept an eye on them and a steady finger just off the trigger of my rifle, while Kate thoroughly cased the joint.

Anyway, yeah, if we blow a hole in the side of the building, we better have a plan in place for what to do after that, or else we've just made matters worse, not better, for the ladies. And then there was the fact that "Evil Dude," like it or not, was a male. Which means, testes. Which means, sperm. Now that I'd sired three children (okay, two of them still in utero), and hopeful even now my little swimmers were finding their way to Emma's egg, I was beginning to get a little worried about the subject of genetic diversity. All the babies in the world can't just spring from my loins. Well, they'll actually be springing from the loins of my ladies, of course, but you know what I mean.

Kate dismissed this concern as "utter rubbish." First off, she asserted, nobody wants his horrible sperm, and if he does manage to survive, she swore she herself would personally cut his balls off, though only after she'd crushed them in situ with the heel of her army boot.

I liked the girl's enthusiasm. It was infectious.

And secondly, she said, we knew he'd already had babies with his slaves, back before Sarah and her girls left the London party scene. Certainly there's been even more since then. So there's your genetic diversity. And anyway, he's not the only man alive. She'd seen a couple others when she was living out the London dream herself. They're out there, we'll find them, and when we do, we'll find that they've had lots of babies, too. Guys, you see, Kate explained to the girls during our war council earlier that morning, can't keep their dicks out of pussy.

That made Emma blush.

Eventually, the sun was starting to hang ominously low in the London sky. We still hadn't seen any movement whatsoever from the goddamn place. And now the lurchers were starting to arrive in more disconcerting numbers. But Kate wouldn't want to leave without doing something, I knew that. And so in whispered tones, we hatched a bit of a plan.

Swinging our rifles over our shoulders and each of us taking two grenades from our vests, we stood, and broke into a run. We paused just long enough to toss those grenades into the gun nests on the second floor patio. We took the opportunity before the grenades engaged to let loose a shower of bullets, deanimating the corpses of a couple dozen lurchers, before sprinting around the corner just as the explosions overhead made our presence clearly known to those inside.

Now, I was feeling rather anxious to get back to the Tube stop at this point. But Kate wanted to find out if her grenades had hit her mark, and no doubt to brag, if hers had been more successful than mine, which, of course, they probably were. So we had to wait a bit while she examined the scene with her binoculars. Sure enough, I suppose you can guess, both of hers had landed home, and the gun nest was in smithereens. Meanwhile, the first of my grenades had apparently hit the front of the sandbag wall of the nest I'd been assigned to destroy, and had rolled harmlessly away, where it made a big noise and maybe blew a hole in the ceiling. The second, though, appeared to have cleared the sandbag wall, and at least the gun it been unmounted, if not destroyed.

The street with filling with the undead now. We really had to get the fuck out of there. But right then, Kate's like, "There he is!" and I looked, and sure enough, there was Evil Dude, emerging from the door to the patio, wearing a smoking jacket like he was fucking Hugh Hefner, and looking confused. A couple ladies came out behind him. Kate had her rifle at her shoulder in a heartbeat, but the distance was too far for anything but a lucky shot, and would just as likely take out a lady as it would Mr. Playboy. Too bad the girl hadn't brought her sniper rifle.

Hugh hid himself behind a potted plant (I'm not kidding) and fired a few random shots from a pistol. He clearly had no idea where we were, or even what the hell was going on.

Once he'd drained his clip, I shouted out in my loudest voice, which is pretty damned loud, "We're coming to free the women!" This was answered with another round of random pistol fire. The next clip gone, I continued, "Ladies, we'll be back as soon as we can. Be ready for us!"

And that was it. We disappeared into the Hammersmith tube stop, and were gone.

Dinner, and I was damned hungry by now, having missed my precious lunch, was couple of chickens roasted to a fine golden brown by Emma and her little sister Bonny, some potatoes, some carrots, and since we were away from Susan's watchful eye, a couple of bottles of wine as well. We dined above-decks in the fore, at anchor in the Thames with the silhouette of London's city center behind the pale rising moan, and the moans of the lurchers for our dinner music.

Kate recounted the day's events to the assembled, who oohed and awed at her prowess. Somehow I managed to come off as a bumbling idiot in her retelling. Okay, it wasn't that bad, but she sure did seem to want to emphasize the fact that my grenade tossing skills were sub-par compared​ to hers.

"Next time," she said, as all the girls listened​ intently, "we go in big. RPGs, the jackal, maybe even an M-1 or two. And we need a transport so we can get the ladies back to home base."

I tried to imagine what it would be like to have another couple dozen females living with us. Good god. The number of tampons alone would be unnerving.

Debriefing done, the girls expressed their dissatisfaction with having been left behind, and not having had a chance to smoke a single lurcher on this entire trip. So I fired up the diesel engine and piloted the boat nice and slow down the river while the girls stood along the rail, firing flares and practicing their headshots. They put a lot of lurchers out of their misery that evening.

Eventually I was feeling pretty tired, so I handed the con over to one of the girls and headed below. Kate followed. So there I was, a few minutes later, sitting up in a bunk nice and comfy with my back against some pillows, your and my favorite eleven-year-old zombie killer crouching down between my legs, working her magic with her mouth. Spit was flowing down my cock and dripping off my balls and I was clinging like a desperate man to her hair, feeling rather anxious to give her some of what my balls had to offer.

That was when I saw Emma come down the stairs and walk into the room. She started when she saw us, surprised and shocked I suppose, and quickly turned to leave.

"Hey, Emma," I said, trying not to moan too obviously from the pleasure Kate's miracle mouth was giving me. "Come on in."

"What're you guys doing?" she asked, apparently genuinely confused about what was going on.

Kate pulled off my cock. "I'm giving him a blowjob. Com'ere, I'll show you what to do." Ah, Commander Kate, always giving her soldiers instructions, in this case teaching a rookie how to prime the pistol between my legs.

Emma crawled onto the bed next to Kate, who slid over to accommodate her between my legs. "Open wide," Kate said to the teenager. Emma did just that, and took my head in her mouth. "Lots of spit, he likes it really wet, don't you, John?"

"Oh yeah."

"Now bob your mouth up and down on his head, and use your hand, too, like it's your pussy. Not too tight, just let it slide."

Emma worked me for a while, gradually getting the hang of it, then she pulled off and Kate went back to work.

"Come here, Emma," I said. She climbed up the bunk, kneeling next to me. I started tugging her shirt off, and she joined in, understanding full well what her lover wanted. I didn't have to ask her to take off her bra, she immediately reached around and unhooked it, and her beautiful full breasts bouncing out, happy to be unrestrained.

"Now hang those beautiful tits in my face," told her.

She giggled, the leaned over me and I rubbed my face in between her breasts, rolling back and forth and enjoying the soft warmth of her fatty flesh against my cheeks. Then I latched onto a one of her big nipple nubs.

Pretty soon Kate's skilled mouth had me on the edge.

"Sit back now Emma," I said to the older girl, starting to get breathless. "Make... those pretty titties... bounce."

She giggled some more, And sat back and started bouncing on the bed, her big tits shaking and shimmying. "That's right, that's what I want!" She was grinning broadly. "Oh, fuck," I said, putting my hands back on Kate's head. "Oh Jesus lord!!!"

And so I came, exploding into Kate's sweet mouth, while Emma shook and shimmied on the bed next to me.

Afterwards, Kate headed back upstairs to oversee the zombie hunting. Emma stayed with me, holding me in a tight motherly hug with my head against her bosom, my favorite pillows on Earth. I latched onto a nipple, and she stroked my hair like I was a baby at her breast, and I drifted off to sleep, and to very pleasant dreams.

In the dim quiet of the morning, I made love to Emma again. I've always felt it's good to keep a girl full of sperm, if you want to get her pregnant. Or even if that's not what you want to do.

She was mostly asleep when I mounted her, and dry, but she warmed up quick. I took my time, wanting a nice long morning fuck, and she didn't mind at all. My balls were swinging, thumping out a rhythm against her ass and reminding her of our requisite roles in the act: she to be the recipient, of cock and of cum, and me to be the giver, the provider. The woman, and the man, united inside her body, making babies.

As I neared completion, I noticed that the other girls who'd gone to sleep in the other bunks after last night's fireworks were sitting up and watching, smiles on their faces. They knew that Emma would soon be a mother, and they were very happy for it.

And so that morning Emma and I gave all the girls an important lesson, a graphic demonstration of how a woman pleases a man, and what it's like when a man cums inside her. Which I did. Lots. They all stared wide-eyed at my glistening cock as I pulled out of her, and then watched in fascination when Kate joined us afterwards in our bunk and licked me clean.

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To read the fourth andfinal part of this tale, head to Kate Versus The Zombies, Part Four: Alderney Island.

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