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He’d been tracking you for months. Not to say that it was hard to keep track of you; you rarely ventured from your nook in the woods, but it seemed that, no matter where you were or what you were doing, he was watching you. It was impossible for the eye not to catch his hulking, powerful frame in the distance. He lingered on the horizon and lurked through thickets, all the while his eyes were trained on you.
You weren’t afraid though. You’d learned the ways of the woods, the ways of the infected. You knew how to stay alert and quiet, and you’d also already caught the same virus. As far as the runners and crawlers were concerned, you were one of them. As for him, the Alpha that led the flock of runners in your part of the woods, it was unclear what he thought of you or why. You weren’t afraid—except when it came to him.
You could still remember when you first encountered him. You had been foraging in a particularly lovely area plentiful with wild berries, snipping bunches at the stem and filling up your basket, when you heard a powerful roar in the distance that sent you sprinting out of the field and towards your home. The thin branches you’d carefully sidestepped before cut at your hands and ankles as you clutched your basket and ran, ran, ran, past the rusted olive car, the gently babbling creek; over raised and thick branches until you could see home in sight.
Only a few heavy footfalls reached your ears before you had been caught by the back of the neck and dragged backward, away from the sight of your white cottage, away, you feared, for the last time. The snarls of infected surrounded you as a hoard of them gathered around you and your mysterious captor.
You couldn’t see him, but you could smell him. He reeked of soured soil, congealed blood, and shit. His hand was so rough that you felt it cut into your soft skin under his powerful grip. Tears pooling in your eyes, you whimpered and clutched the berries against your chest, pawing instinctively at the hand that held you hovering over the ground.
“No, no, no, no,” you whispered, breath quivering under the force of quiet sobs. “Please, please—“
With a loud grunt, your captor hurled you to the ground, and you held in your pained cry as you held onto your berries and collided with the ground onto your side. You hid yourself, curling into a ball and shivering with terror.
The smell grew worse as he crouched over you.
You held your breath, squeezing your eyes shut as his stench enveloped you, and you felt his hair tickling your cheek. The odor had gotten so strong you wanted to gag, and you clenched your fists, berries smushing and smearing against the fabric of your coat. You heard other footsteps come near you, likely curious (or hungry) infected following the leader, but he gave a warning growl in response. He leaned over you again.
You knew not to look into his eyes–that much you had learned. Just stay still, don’t breathe, you told yourself, it would be over soon either way. Your nosehairs stung as the tip of his nose nudged your neck—you felt your throat fall into your stomach as he inhaled deeply, taking in your scent. Your eyes flew open in horror as he let out a soft grunt.
Your muscles ached in their frozen state as you waited for him to stop smelling you. He grabbed your shoulder roughly and you fell over onto your back, weeping softly, turning your face away and keeping your eyes shut. Every second that passed without your innards spilled onto the forest floor gave you increasing slivers of hope that you might make it home alive, if not unscathed. He wasn’t hurting you. You were crying uncontrollably, but it wasn’t from him tearing your limbs apart.
His hands crushed the autumn leaves that haloed your head as he leaned over you again, closer, inhaling deeply. Suddenly, he grabbed your face, making your head snap towards him. Your tears rolled over his blood-soaked fingers. You opened your eyes as he held your face still and let out an insistent grunt. His eyes were red, clouded, framed by a wild mass of matted curls and heavy brows. His teeth were gritted strangely, as if he was fighting the urge to crush your jaw under his large hand, and his bushy beard was dotted with leaves. You helplessly held his stare, bracing yourself for the inevitable snap that came with it.
It didn’t happen.
You waited longer, face contorted in fear the longer you held his wild stare, listening to the infected snarling and wheezing around you, then whimpered and shut your eyes. He was a terrifying sight. You couldn’t handle it.
He released your face and nudged your hands away from your chest, prodding at the mess of crushed berries. You stole a peek at him in confusion, listening to his soft grunts. Your eyes widened in bewilderment.
He was tasting the berries.
You watched as he dug into the fabric of your coat, then brought the purple-red coated fingers to his mouth, eyes widening. Without hesitation, he grabbed your basket and yanked it from your hands, sniffing them curiously and returning to a standing position–you gasped quietly and averted your eyes away from the giant cock nestled in his forest of pubic hair.
He grasped a berry, crushed it between his fingers, then brought his hand to his mouth again. He paused, stepping over and away from you, staring into the basket intently as he tasted the juices properly. Not one to waste an opportunity to escape, you slowly began to crawl away as the other infected began to wander or chase other sounds.
By the grace of God, you made it back inside.
But you didn’t escape him.
As the nights passed, it became more and more frequent for you to hear his soft grunts by your bedroom window. You’d hold your breath and sit up in the dark, rigid as a corpse, watching his silhouette through the curtains. You were sick with fear—you knew Alphas were smart, but not this smart. How could he have followed you home? Was it your scent?
However he followed you, he kept doing it. It unnerved you. You didn’t like being watched, noticed. Stalked like prey.
Autumn turned to winter and winter into spring, yet his presence did not falter. Gradually, your fear melted with the remnants of snow under the golden sun. He began to intrigue you; sometimes he would disappear and return, stumbling after you as if he was drunk, then collapse against a tree or sway in place. If you were brave enough, you’d approach him and put berries in his hand, or remove some of the leaves from his beard; sometimes you even dressed a healing wound with some spare salve you’d concocted. His eyes were changing, you noticed. They had softened; wandering about the treetops with a revelatory glimmer. They went from frenzied red to maroon. They entreated you, watching you dazedly if he was focused on your face, and you began to feel partial to him.
Your growing feelings toward the infected man surprised you. He was still caked in filth, his hair remained matted and tangled, he even still reeked on occasion, but something had changed in him that had grabbed you, caught your attention. You felt safer knowing he was near, safe enough to hum soft tunes under your breath as you foraged mushrooms and roots, safe enough, even, to bathe in the lake.
You doubted he knew the difference between you being clothed and naked, and he showed no sexual interest in you, seeing as he was so tranquilized, and so you guided him to the bank, undressed, and waded into the clear water until you dipped beneath the surface. The water rippled and nipped gently at your skin, tickled your scalp, made your hair dance around your face as you swam, a small body in the lake’s vast expanse. As your muscles burned in satisfaction from the familiar movements of your youth, when you glided through blue pools to the cheers of your parents, you returned to the surface to check for the Alpha.
Sure enough, he was there, swaying. It brought a small smile to your face, and you waved at him as if he would notice.
It was nice, having company. Even if it was barely aware you existed.
By the time you’d returned to the bank, he had disappeared.
Then, out of nowhere, and very much to your dismay, he disappeared for a long time.
Nearly a month passed without the presence of your friend. You grew used to the solitude again, going about your business as usual, but something deep in your heart had broken. Part of you longed for his return, to hear his heavy footsteps in the distance; you even returned to the bushes of wild berries to find him. But he was nowhere to be found.
It was half-past eleven when a knock came to your door. You woke with a start, reaching for your machete tucked between your bed and the wall, and jumped out from under the covers, holding the blade steady. Your cottage was dark—for any straggler looking for an abandoned place to crash, your home was of little interest. Which opened up many possibilities of who could be on the other side of the door, knocking as if it was normal. None of them were good.
Another knock knock, gentle yet heavy. Your breath trembled slightly, but remained steady, until a baritone voice rumbled through the padlocked door.
“Hello?”
Your eyes widened. You didn’t know why, but the voice, its tone, its gravely edge…it sounded familiar.
You parted your lips slowly, testing if you should speak. “Ye–Yes?”
The porch creaking made your heart pitter-patter. Against your better judgement, you undid the door’s bolt lock and pushed it open, gripping your machete tightly. You peeked through a crack.
His figure loomed over you in the doorway, taking the air out of your lungs. Moonlight glowed softly onto his bare skin, which looked cleaner than usual. You frowned, studying his calm countenance, his gentle expression. He looked relieved to see you as you opened the door wider, stealing glances around to see if anyone else was near.
“Hello,” he repeated.
You froze, eyes fixing on his, or at least trying to. The moonlight left little visible; you could only make out the curves of his eye sockets. You hesitated, unsure if perhaps the disease had finally gotten to your brain, or if something even more improbable had come to pass in the Alpha’s absence.
“Did…did you just speak?”
You jumped as his large hand reached out, fingertips grazing your cheek. A small, weathered smile formed on his lips.
“Thank God,” he muttered, “You are real.”
You stepped back as he stepped inside, letting himself in without a care, brushing past you and your weapon. The stench was gone—an earthy, woody scent filled your nose—he smelled like your drying white skirt and blouse from your swim in the river earlier. He opened the curtains, letting the cool glow of the moon shine into the cottage, then admired his surroundings quietly.
“What are you—”
“Nice place,” he complimented, “It…”
He seemed to hesitate, struggling over his words, then settled on—
“It smells good.”
Without missing a beat, his stomach growled. You were dumbfounded, but you closed the door and set the machete down by the sink. Your heart jumped into your throat as he made a quiet grunt, smelling the air with a nod. You crept towards him into the light of the window, tentatively reaching out towards his muscled back. He was partially dressed, you realized; there was a cloth wrapping around his hips. It made no sense, but that grunt was unmistakable.
“Are…are you who I think you are?”
He turned around before you could touch his fresh skin. He looked down at you in silence. You held your breath, unsure what to expect.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I think I’m a bit different now. Everything’s…so much clearer.”
You exhaled softly, back straightening as he leaned down to study your face. He looked so peaceful, so aware. Gone were the wild eyes that nearly made you wet yourself in fear as you cried. Gone was the foul stink of death and gore that clung to your strange friend’s skin. He seemed amused by your mystified stare, giving a light chuckle.
“I remember that look alright…you’re the same one from the river.”
Your face spiked tenfold in warmth as he crouched down, getting a better look at you, gently guiding you to face the moon’s glow by your hips with a feather-light touch. He hummed thoughtfully.
“I don’t think I have one, but…are you my wife?”
Your jaw dropped in surprise at the question, then you covered your face, chuckling. “No, no…”
You swore you saw a flash of teeth. “Then why do I know what you look like underneath this dress?”
Your voice caught in your throat as he held your hips carefully, his deep voice rumbling through your body like a tremor of the earth.
“I…I remember you underneath me,” he muttered, rising from his crouch to lean towards you, grazing your neck with his nose. A shiver passed through you as he inhaled softly, humming.
His thumbs kneaded into your skin softly. He hummed again, pressing the tip of his nose into your stomach, holding your waist firmly, hands dragging over your nightgown. The two of you inhaled in sync as he eagerly took in more of your scent and you felt your legs turning into jelly. You barely managed to whisper as goosebumps raised on your arms.
“What’s your name,” you forced out of your throat, hands hovering over his hair as he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against the softness of your stomach. He moved you like nothing, like you weighed a pile of leaves; even if you wanted to resist you wouldn't have been able to.
He pulled back, silent for a moment. “I don’t remember my name. But my friend called me Samson.”
Your face bloomed into a smile. “Samson.”
He paused, resting on one knee, hands swallowing your waist as he looked up at you. You held each other’s gazes with bated breath until, shyly, you placed your hands over his.
“Can I stay the night,” he asked, voice soft.
You nodded without thinking, lower lip caught in your teeth. “Yeah, you can…”
One of your hands roamed to the back of his neck, feeling the roughness of his tangled nape. “You can stay longer than a night. You can stay as long as you need.”
His voice rumbled, eyes falling shut in what seemed like relief. “Thank you.”
Your body shuddered as he let you go, rising to his full height. He looked down at you, broad chest rising and falling slowly. He took your jaw gently in his hand.
“Are you still afraid of me?”
Your gaze cast downward, and you slowly looked up at him through your lashes, shaking your head. As if to prove it you reached up and grazed his scarred chest with your fingertips. The infection had passed with the help of your salves, and possibly thanks to whoever Samson’s “friend” was, leaving behind rough skin and muscle. You pressed your palm down on his pectoral, feeling his heart beat fiercely against it. You let out a soft, quiet exhale.
“I haven’t been afraid of you for a long time,” you assured him, “I…missed you.”
“Hmm,” he grunted, cupping your face, “Missed me.”
You touched his chiseled arm, fingers gently caressing the raised scar across his bicep. His thumb grazed your cheek—an unmistakably human gesture. You licked your lips, pushing up onto your toes and closing your eyes. He leaned down and kissed you. His mouth tasted sweet, like berries. You sighed, smiling against his mouth.
He took a shaky breath, grabbing your waist and lifting you up as you kissed him again. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms leaned over his shoulders, and a soft grunt left your mouth as he fastened his hold on you by your ass.
“Beautiful,” he muttered.
You shivered, pressing your body against his, kissing him again. It started gently. He seemed mindful of how delicate you were compared to him and set you down on the dining table, leaning onto it with his hands on either side of you.
Then you tugged at the cloth around his hips and opened your legs.
You bit his lower lip harshly, pushing up against him and pulling him closer at the same time. The heat that came off of you seemed to take him by surprise. His movements were heavy, slowed.
“Please, Samson,” you whispered, closing your eyes and placing his hand around your small throat, “It’s been so long since…”
There weren’t any more words necessary—he understood completely.
He pressed his forehead against yours and grabbed the back of your neck, making you shiver in pleasure instead of fear. He craned your head back, dragging his nose down your neck and smelling you, then kissing you, then eagerly licking you. It was so strange and raw that you moaned softly, falling back into his hold. Just how long had you gone without a man’s touch, you couldn’t recall. All you knew is that you needed more. He was so big and heavy against you that your head was spinning.
Suddenly, Samson closed his hand around your throat and pinned you down to the table. It all happened too fast for you to anticipate—the dull ache at the back of your head, his fingers grasping the neck of your nightgown and tearing, your bare, vulnerable body bathed in silver light. He pushed your thighs apart and spanked your pussy with his cock, rubbing it against your slick, making you whimper and squirm under his hold. Your hips bucked wildly as if possessed. Your body was waking up in ways it hadn’t for years.
“Fuck,” you whispered hoarsely, holding onto his hand around your throat, “Fuck, put it in–”
He groaned as he indulged in the sensation, holding your legs apart until he paused, cocked his head, and put your legs together, sliding them over his shoulder and sliding his thick cock between your sweaty thighs. A low growl erupted in the back of his throat, making you shudder, making your slick pour out and smear over your puffy folds and clit. You were close to weeping now, hips shaking as he fucked your thighs and leaned onto you, the weight and pressure on your sensitive core making your thighs seize tighter.
“Please,” you begged, “Please, Samson!”
As if he finally heard you, he yanked you closer to him by the hips and fully leaned onto you, lining himself up. You knew you weren’t ready to take such a big cock, and a mixture of fear and arousal lapped at the base of your spine. He wouldn’t hurt you, you told yourself as his fat head bullied against the resistance of your dripping cunt, he won’t–
“Agh!”
The pain was searing. Your body arched up against him as he pressed in further, a strangled moan pouring from the back of his throat, and your legs shook as he split you open. Tears pricked at your eyes as you covered your mouth, trying to hold back another cry, lest you attract any other infected. It hurt so much, the way he forced himself in, barely overpowering the tight squeeze of your pussy, his heavy, groan-laden breaths fanning on your face; you were sure that you were bleeding.
But then he filled you in all the way until his balls slapped against your ass, and hit something inside you that made your body scream with pleasure. You bit down harshly on your lips as hot tears rolled down your temples, the temperature of your body rising rapidly. Sweat was already forming on your skin. Your groan was guttural, animalistic, vibrating in your throat.
“Sam–Samson,” you whimpered, reaching for his face, but he pinned your wrist to the table and made it rock.
The pain ached so deliciously as slick heat filled your cunt that you started to cry openly. He squeezed your throat tighter, pushing all the way in again, greedy for your pussy to suck him in.
“Oh my God,” you sobbed, “Oh—fuck me—fuck me, please—please—-”
Your begging rode every straining hitch of your breath as he growled again, releasing your throat and gripping your waist tightly before slamming his hips against yours. He fucked you so hard and so deep that the table scraped against the floor, moving inch-by-inch with his thrusts, and your mind melted into sludge as you felt your stomach bulge repeatedly. Your body bounced with every thrust as you hyperventilated, body rolling into the rhythm of his hips. You couldn’t take him. You couldn’t take him at all and it was mind-numbing.
High-pitched moans filled the room as he pressed his weight onto you and shifted his hips faster, overwhelming your pussy with the repeated stretching and gripping it did on his cock, and you shrieked, body reaching a white-hot tipping point and—
“I’m—I’m—ohmyfuckinggod—”
You gripped onto his scarred shoulders for anything solid as you shook under him. He groaned, only spurred further by how you creamed and squeezed around him and squeaked and whined.
He toyed with the word you kept crying out. “Fuck…”
He buried his face into your neck and pressed through your pussy’s spasms, making you melt onto the table. Something in your stomach fluttered, and you whimpered as fluid filled your cunt and leaked out onto the worn wood. Samson began to use his words as your tits bounced; he was bringing his tempo back up again. It was only then you realized he was as overwhelmed as you were.
“So–tight–,” he choked out, sinking his teeth into your neck.
You were completely exhausted, fucked absolutely dumb. Your face was twisted in ecstacy as he held your legs up against his chest and somehow pressed deeper against your cervix, hitting that spot again. You dug your fingers into his tangled hair and fought to breathe, feeling every fiber of your body tense and tighten as his breaths shuddered. There were no more words, only the desperate writhing of bodies and creaking wood. Suddenly, his hips seized, stuttered, and pressed completely against yours. He grabbed onto the other end of the table, sharply rutting into you, chasing more sensation as his cock pulsed and twitched and filled your pussy with cum.
“Don’t…stop…,” you whimpered, “Don’t—mmmh…”
You bit your lips, feeling it leak out, feeling the bulge of your stomach, your hips grinding against him as you eagerly chased more friction.
You stayed that way as long as you could—braced together, sweat pouring off of your bodies as you lost yourselves in a slow, endless fuck, grinding until your bodies were spent, until your pussy’s walls were painted with your combined fluids, until it spilled and leaked onto the floor, until he was starting up again, his cock hardening, and you were begging for him to make it worse.