Club Gore

Michaela was the only dancer to survive the club after the Resurrections started, and she’d be damned if she’d fought her way through all those zombies to end up playing house with a bunch of snotty townies in the safe zone.

 

The safe prison of New Dixie, she reckoned disdainfully.  A girl couldn’t have any fun here, that’s for sure.  And not just me, there’s still a lot of fellas needing to let off some steam….

 

That’s when the idea struck her.  The Club wasn’t too far over the wall, and it sat alongside the main road the Reapers traveled to and from the zone.  Michaela smirked, she’d show those goodie two-shoes.  She’d show them all.

 

Michaela had no lack of male suitors that allowed themselves to be seduced away to the fringes just outside New Dixie’s walls and into reaping some rewards – the world could be theirs, she cajoled, and their base would be the club.   Rechristening it Queenies, it was soon up and running with no lack of patrons, and Queen Michaela basked in being the featured (abet only) pole dancer.  

 

Surveying her little kingdom one evening before her performance, Michaela brushed aside her many admirers to make her way behind the bar.  Glancing at the sparse shelves, she deduced the reason for her bartender and soldiers grim faces.

 

“We have enough decent liquor for a wee while longer, then we’ll be down to the bathtub shine,” Bobby, the bartender, growled.

 

“There ain’t no liquor to be had for miles! Every place has been ransacked, and these fellows ain’t gonna keep coming in here just to watch you shake y’all’s scrawny ass!”  Without warning, Bobby found himself with a knife to his throat, held by an enraged she devil.  

 

“I will handle it,” she hissed.  “This is my club, I am the Queen here. And y’all best never talk to me like that again.”

 

Allowing her blade to graze a small cut to Bobby’s throat as a reminder who exactly was the boss here, Michela deftly stowed her knife, pasted on her ‘come hither’ smile and jumped atop the bar.  To music throbbing from a scavenged, old boombox, Queen Michela danced and twirled and beguiled the men who gazed adoringly,  hypnotized.  Seizing the moment at the end of a song, she posed in place, and fixed one and all with her seductress’ grin.

 

“A proposition!”  she announced.  “To those y’all Reapers on your travels outside the lines – bring back good hooch and I will offer fair trade for it.  A fuck for each fifth y’all fetch me!”

 

The club exploded with the din of patrons vying for assignments on parameter sweeps, and talk of how a fifth for a fuck wasn’t really much more expensive than before the plague.  Finished with her display, Queen Michaela jumped down, sash shaying back behind the bar, where she poured herself a little splash of shine.  Pensive, Bobby wondered what she had planned for them now.

 

Not much time passed before a Reaper returned from the dead lands with an uncracked fifth and rigid desires.  Leading him to a room above the bar,  Michaela unlocked a door to a dimly lit room, perfumed by the stench of alpine tree car fresheners to reveal his gore whore bounty.   One could see that the zed suspended from the ceiling had been quite a looker, alive.  When this young beauty still breathed, the Reaper knew he would of been outclassed, scorned for any interest shown to this alluring lovely.  

 

Too bad that bright fresh beauty hadn’t been cut out for this harsh world he reckoned.   The Rez fever had claimed her, as a consequence, Queenie had chained her, and now she hung naked, ball gag firmly affixed.  All this wilted bouquet could offered was porcelain skin shrouded hunger.  

 

Skin so very white and smooth, for a while yet, anyway.

 

Watching his face, Michaela knew she had him. Leaning close enough for her breasts to brush against him, she whispered in his ear.

 

“I even had all her teeth pulled,” she purred, “so y’all can take off that ball gag, if you ain’t ascard.  The boys tell me having a chopperless zed gnaw your pecker is, well, really somethin’ else…..”   

 

Queenie’s gore whores were a hit, the liquor flowed, she danced, and the boys got to let off some steam.  It hadn’t been easy capturing those beauties, she mused.  But sex still sells.  Sex always sells!

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