Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Kate Versus The Zombies, Part Two: Commander Kate by Chris Hailey, Copyright 2017 Story codes: Mg11, Mf, Mfffg, SciFi, lolita, harem Summary: Meet eleven-year-old Kate, a skilled zombie killer and--this will surprise you to learn--a nymphomaniac. Self-proclaimed 'dirtiest girl you've ever met.' In part two, Kate is introduced to the rest of the girls, and I've added a big section of the 'backstory' that didn't exist in the Loliwood version. I hope it doesn't bore you too much. This story was originally published at Loliwood Studios and has been fairly extensively edited for this re-publication, this tale is only an excerpt from a much larger story that has never been written. ============== It was a pleasant and leisurely cruise along the southern coast of England; hell, there was even some occasional sun along the way, which matched my light-hearted disposition when I saw Kate and Sarah actually seem to get along every now and again. Honestly, I think that dropping the lurchers at Sheerness had been a bonding experience for them. It'd given Sarah the chance to play her favorite role of a "mother hen," and I had a feeling that Kate hadn't had a female she could look up to in years, and was beginning to like it. Eventually our little scow with her jury-rigged sail arrived at our destination and we glided nice and easy into the empty wharf. Our Jackal was dutiful waiting for us where we'd left her, and shortly the three of us were bouncing down the pock-marked road to our compound. We lived, my ladies and I, in a castle. A castle of sorts, at least. Once upon a time apparently it'd been a real castle, built in the fifteenth century to ward off rioting peasants, the ungrateful slime, always demanding to keep a little more corn to feed their babies. Like most castles that reach their sixth century, this one was mostly a ruin, but luckily the seat in the House of Lords was bought by some wealthy upstart industrialist in the later part of nineteenth century, and along with it came the castle, and he set about modernizing it. One thing he did, thankfully, was fully restore the curtain wall, even though rioting peasants' were not much of an issue any more. Except the Bolsheviks I suppose. The guy couldn't have guessed the marauding hordes of undead that the wall would keep at bay a hundred and fifty years later, but we were damn glad he was an obsessed neogothic and liked the appearance of a fortification enough to spend the money to repair the wall and install a handsome set of heavy iron gates that even a skilled driver in an armored vehicle would have some difficulty ramming through. Lurchers, the poor mindless idiots, didn't have a prayer against it. The rest of the place was nicely modernized, at least by the standards of the industrial age, and subsequent owners did their part, too. The castle itself consisted of several halls on the ground floor with twenty foot ceilings, absolutely impossible to keep warm against the winter fog and rain, a decently modernized kitchen designed to serve dozens at a time, and twelve sleeping quarters filling the upstairs floors. Most interesting were the two turret towers, lovingly restored and providing an expansive view of the surrounding forested hillsides. Inside the curtain wall was a pond, perfect for a little swim on a warm summer day, and a nearby well which pumped out clear cool spring water, at least when we were running the diesel generator. And there was a hen house, a garden, a stable... A pretty good setup, really, so long as you stayed inside the curtain wall and didn't venture out into the undead hellscape of the rest of the world. Elizabeth opened the gate as we pulled up in the Jackal, dispensing with our usual protocol of sending gunners to the top of the wall before opening the gates. It was broad daylight, after all, and the lurchers aren't big fans of the sun, and I was at the Jackal's big gun and ready to smoke any stray zombies that decided to make an appearance. So Elizabeth opened the gates and greeted us with an enthusiastic wave. Ah, Elizabeth. What a fine woman she was, a Nordic blonde with strikingly merry blue eyes, strong and solid and buxom, her belly swollen and her cheeks a rosey pink from the blush of her second pregnancy in the last two years. Our first baby, little Josie, was at the hip of Bobbie, Elizabeth's eldest daughter, who at twelve years of age was a spitting image of her mother in every way except for her more girlish physique. I jumped from the Jackal and opened the door of the truck for Kate, offering her a hand to help her down. This caused her to give me a somewhat confused look. The girl definitely wasn't used to chivalry. "Elizabeth, this is Kate," I said by way of introductions, patting Elizabeth's belly to greet the baby growing there. Kate eyed the woman suspiciously, but did accept her offer of a handshake. Then I shouted out loud, "Girls, I've got someone here I want you to meet!" Squeals came from around the compound as I jogged back to close the gates. Soon there was shoving and arguing, and from various places around the castle grounds appeared a gaggle of girls ranging in ages from eight to sixteen; Beatrice is the youngest, Emma the oldest, I won't bore you with the names of the others for now. They swarmed around Kate, who was clearly and immediately overwhelmed. Terrified. She grabbed onto me like a child clinging to her father for protection. Oblivious, the girls all talked at the same time, like girls will do often do. "Where do you want to sleep?" "You can sleep in our room, we have two extra beds!" Kate just held tighter to me in response. "I think it'll probably be best if Kate sleeps in me and Jennie's room for the first night, OK?" "Oh! No fair!" "Com'on Jennie, let's show Kate our room. Kate, this is my niece, Jennie." At this point, I suppose I ought to give you a bit more background about who these people are, and how they all came to be at our compound. Were I ever to write up in full detail the whole story of what happened to us, you'd know already, but I'll fill in what I can now, hopefully without boring you too much or sidetracking very far from the narrative of Kate, who is, of course, the subject of this particular story. Two years ago, my family joined my wife's siblings for a rendezvous in London. One early morning, everyone went out to a spot near our hotel for breakfast. Having been out pubbing the night before, I opted to stay in bed instead, to sleep off the effects of too much ale. Jennie and her father were in a room a few doors down from ours, and she stayed in as well, though not for the same reason. Mostly I suppose because a twelve-year-old girl preferred to Snapchat with her friends back home, rather than go out for breakfast with a bunch of boring relatives. Sometime around noon, I got a text from Jennie, asking if I'd heard anything from the family. She'd expected them to be home hours ago, she said, and repeated calls and texts to her father had gone unanswered. Eventually she came over to my room, and we watched with increasing horror the news on the television and the internet. Something was terribly wrong. By six PM, the TV was nothing but static on every channel, the internet was down, and we stood at the window of the hotel, watching utter mayhem on the streets below. That was the first, and worst, night of "the troubles." We never saw our loved ones again. We have no idea to this day what happened to them. The hotel proved a decent enough place to hole up against the zombie horde. For one thing, it turns out that the undead are quite bad at negotiating a staircase. And they probably wouldn't have been any better at using the elevator, but that didn't matter; there'd been no electricity since the morning after the apocalypse. So, while the ground floor was teaming with the fuckers, particularly at night, we were safe up the stairs, especially once we sufficiently secured the stairway doors. We had decent enough food from the kitchen, which luckily was on the second floor, but we lacked for weapons other than a few chef's knives and broom handles. That left us veritable prisoners in that damned hotel, a situation that we soon realized needed to change. So we gathered up what food we could, and other items, and hauled it all down to my rental car. I probably could have found a better vehicle for a journey into hell than the little Peugeot I'd rented, but it didn't really occur to me at the time. And it sure would have been good to have more by way of weaponry then a few kitchen knives. Regardless, speeding through the streets of London proved an easy way to foil the flesh-eating ambitions of the lurchers, and even put a few of them out of their misery when they happened into the middle of the street. Eventually we made it to the countryside, where things were a little calmer. I found a petrol station, and we filled the car and every gas can we could find, and headed out again. Our destination was a refurbished castle that we'd visited earlier, before that terrible night. I knew that it would be a good spot for us, both because of the curtain wall, with fresh water and a garden inside, and because of its proximity to a nearby military base, where I hoped we could scavenge the weaponry we so badly needed. I figured there'd be plenty of food at the base as well. Those first few nights in our new home were terrifying. The local lurchers were apparently aware of our presence and would gather by the score outside the wall, but eventually we were convinced that the gates would hold them back and their presence became something like nighttime background noise. Some people get to be lulled to sleep by soft waves rolling against a nearby shore; we got moaning zombies. Oh well. As Kate puts it, that's life in the zombie apocalypse. We started calling the horde our "paparazzi." Speaking of our nights... Even though there were a dozen bedrooms in the place, my niece Jennie would not sleep away from me; we'd shared a bed, and an intimate if nonsexual bedtime closeness, since the troubles had begun. She liked to have me hold her tight while she spooned against me and we fell a into a troubled sleep. Eventually, weeks after that terrible first day of hell and now in the comfort of a safe and soft bed with a beautiful girl nearby, I began to feel the usual feelings that a man will feel. At first, I'd wait until I was certain she was asleep, and then quietly masturbate before falling asleep myself. I did my best to avoid thinking of the girl while I rubbed myself off, because that seemed wrong and unnatural, but this proved more difficult than I thought. Within a few nights, I was staring at her soft beautiful sleeping face as I jacked off, imagining her beneath me, or on top of me, or on her hands and knees and offering herself to me. I'd known Jennie since she was a baby, and admired her throughout her twelve years as only an uncle can. I thrilled at watching her blossom into her adolescence, in all the meaning of that phrase: smart, precocious, and increasingly sexy. She was an incredibly beautiful girl. Dark hair with a hint of red, bright green eyes, a small and slender and girlish frame that in the last few months had begun to show signs of pending womanhood. It was inevitable that I would find myself craving her, there at the end of the world, ensconced in our new protective home. And crave her I most certainly did. One night while I was masturbating and staring again at her beautiful face, she opened her eyes and, seeing me stare, gave a little smile. I reached a hand out to hers. In her sleepy state, she was unaware of what I was doing, but when I pulled her hand to me and set it on my engorged cock, her eyes went instantly wide and she pulled away. But I still had hold of her wrist, and I pulled her back. She was hesitant, but otherwise unresisting, as I showed her how to wrap her fingers around my thickness and then helped her to pump her little fist along my length. Eventually I took over for her, breathing hard and whispering "Oh Jennie!" as I came. She didn't say a word after I was finished; she just spooned against me, as she loves to do, and it was a sweetly tender moment between uncle and niece as we fell asleep together. The next night, I didn't wait until she was asleep. I was disappointed that she didn't offer me her hand, and I had to reach over and take it. Again she resisted at first, trying to pull back, and again I held her wrist tightly and pulled her hand to me. This time I kept her hand in place until I finished, with my hand wrapped around hers and helping her to stroke. As I came, I turned slightly on my side, to face her, and jets of semen landed on her belly and torso and soaked into her pajamas. She spooned tenderly against me again when I was done. This became a regular occurrence for us. She never offered her hand, I always had to take hold of it and pull it into place, and then together we would jack me off. When I began slipping my hand down her pants at the same time, she tried to stop me, but I would have none of that and soon I was fingering her to orgasm, of a sort at least, while she and I together made me cum. During this time, we finally worked up the nerve to venture out to the nearby army base. The first time, we found the courtyard littered with weapons, probably dropped in place when the soldiers zombified. We left that day armed to the teeth, and over the course of the next several weeks, we returned many times, leaving the Peugeot and commandeering an armored Jackal instead. We brought home a diesel generator and a tanker trailer of fuel, and everything from handguns and grenade launchers to sniper rifles. Finally, we were in a position to start a large-scale depopulation of the lurchers of the world. But it was still just we two, just a man and his twelve-year-old -<niece. That, of course, was soon to change. It was fairly early in the AM, nine o'clock I suppose, one day when I heard -< the sound of a car horn blasting from outside the gate. I about fell off the chair I was sitting on while eating my oatmeal, and I was out the front door of the castle, an A2 in my hands on the assumption that somehow the fucking lurchers had managed to commandeer a car, or God knows what. The last thing I expected to be true was the thing I hoped for the most--that there honestly was some human, some living non-undead human, outside the gate and honking their horn to be let in. And there, on the other side of the gate, sat a pickup truck. When the driver saw me, she set to honking furiously again, and I could see why... a lurcher was emerging from the woods, his cold blank stare focused on the truck. As I ran to the gate, she rolled down her window and stuck a rifle out, and I raised the A2 as well and we both fired a few rounds at the poor undead's forehead and dispatched him to the great lurcher kingdom beyond the vale of tears. I opened the gate, and welcomed the newcomers. I didn't really want to aim the gun right at them, especially since I'd figured out that it was a woman and her daughter, but I have to admit, defensiveness had become my primary stance by then and the sudden appearance of humans of the non-flesh eating variety was both joyously welcome and overwhelmingly terrifying at the same time. Elizabeth--for that is who the mother was--seemed to understand, and before she even opened the door of the truck, she made a point of demonstrating that she was setting the rifle barrel-down in the front seat before stepping out with her hands in the air. It turns out the Elizabeth and her ten-year-old daughter, Bobbie, had been living out the apocalypse at her nearby farm, where they'd managed to keep a few animals alive despite the lurchers' insatiable hunger for living flesh. But things were terrible for them there, out in the open like they were, and when they'd heard gunshots ringing out from the castle, they figured there must be other humans there and decided to find out for themselves. When they climbed from their truck and first laid eyes upon our little slice of heaven in hell, they knew instantly that they needed to stay with us, and my offer of the same was immediately and enthusiastically accepted. By eveningtime, Jennie and Bobbie had become fast friends while Elizabeth and I made several trips back and forth to the farm, gathering their belongings and food, and the animals. Now our paradise inside the curtain wall was populated with a milk cow, a mother sow with a litter of piglets, and a flock of hens. And one very lucky rooster. Elizabeth told me her story over glasses of rum that night, while the girls played video games on the television nearby, I having fired up the generator so that the two of them could have some rare electrified gametime for a change. She was local girl, Elizabeth was, who'd gotten knocked up when she was seventeen by a widowed farmer three times her age. He was a good man, it seems, a church-goer and family friend who'd asked her to help him out with his kids after his wife had died. She was thirteen then, and over the next few years became a mainstay in his household. The outcome was predictable. He'd married her, once she was in a womanly way, then died eight years later and left her alone on the farm with their child. She'd -< managed to run the place on her own, with hired hands and the occasional help from her husband's older children, who by then had grown up and moved away. Two years later, when the shit hit the fan, her time alone had taught her a remarkable resilience and she and Bobbie had somehow managed to survive the lurchers' onslaught. She knew, though, that they wouldn't be able to survive like that forever, but like us, she'd assumed that she and her daughter were the only survivors left in the world. This caused her great despair, a feeling she was not accustomed to; she felt that God had abandoned her when her husband died, and now had abandoned the world as well. Finding us, she told me that night, several glasses of rum into the evening, had renewed her hope in the future. "We're sort of like Adam and Eve, aren't we?" she said with a half-drunken smile. "We have to repopulate the world!" "Be fruitful and multiply!" I said with great enthusiasm, and we raised our glasses in a toast. We set about the chore of being fruitful and multiplying that very night, the first night that we'd met, up in the bedroom that she and Bobbie had selected to be theirs, while the girls played video games below. She proved to be a wonderful lover, a dream come true for a man who needed it very badly: beautiful and buxom, playful and energetic. I was thoroughly smitten by the second time I mounted her that night, and the feeling has only increased over the years. When Jennie and I retired together to our own bed after Elizabeth and I had finished, she reached her hand down to my cock, voluntarily for the first time in our relationship. What she found, though, wasn't what she'd come to expect. "You're not hard?" she whispered. "Yeah," I said, "not tonight I guess." "Is it because of Elizabeth? Did you guys, you know..." "We did." She pulled her hand away. "Do you like her?" I reached out and took her wrist and brought her hand back. "I do. She seems nice, and she's a good mother." I helped the girl to cup her little fingers around my balls, then reached over to slip my hands down her pants. She stopped my hand. "I don't want to," she said. "You don't need to be jealous, Jennie," I said. "I'm not jealous," she said quickly, then added crossly, "I just don't want to." She tried to pull her hand away from my balls, but I caught her wrist and held it there. "But I want to," I said. I forced my other hand free and pushed it down her pants. She let out a labored breath as I started petting her kitten. "Do you..." she whispered, "do you still like me?" "Of course I do, Jennie," I said. "I love you." "Okay." By now, I was halfway to hard, and she wrapped a fist around my shaft and started pumping. The girl had gotten good with her hand from the weeks of practice she'd had by then. "Just because I made love with Elizabeth doesn't mean I don't love you, Jennie." "Okay." By now, she'd gotten me to full erection. "And you know, baby, I want very badly to make love with you, too," I said. She didn't respond. She just looked at me with her wide green eyes. She was uncooperative as I pulled her pajama pants down, keeping her legs tight together. I put my hands on her knees. "I won't do this if you don't want to," I said. Again she didn't respond, but she also didn't resist, as I spread her legs open. I suppose the girl was conflicted; she'd never been an enthusiastic partner, but clearly she also harbored some jealousy toward my new relationship with Elizabeth. Somewhere in her hesitant young mind, she was probably honestly glad that I wanted to fuck her, even if she wouldn't admit it, even to herself. And so it was that I got my second pussy that evening. Unlike the first, the second was unenthusiastic to the point of unresponsive. But regardless of that, I'm sure I don't need to tell you how wonderful it was to take my twelve-year-old niece's virginity, even if she didn't see it that way. I'll skip the gory details, since this is really supposed to be a story about Kate and the zombies, not about sex with my niece. You can assume the usual stuff--tight, hot, wet, a little bit of pain for her and a fuck of a lot of pleasure for me. Hopefully some pleasure for her, too, although it was hard to tell because she was entirely non-committal throughout. And, yes, I did cum inside, although I think my little guys had already been so well-drained inside Elizabeth that they didn't have much to offer Jennie. A couple weeks later, Elizabeth suggested that there must be others survivors out there, since we had managed to survive, our two little groups, apart for so long. And so we started setting out on little excursions to see if we could find anyone else, any other humans out in the wasteland. These jaunts burned a fuck of a lot of gas--jesus the Jackal burned through the gas!--and resulted in plenty of lurchers being sent to the great beyond, but no success at finding other survivors. Until one fine day when we were making our way down a winding street in London town, blowing the heads off of the occasional lurcher who was lucky enough to appear around the corner of a building. We were passing by an unnoticed, nondescript doorway, when suddenly the door opened, just a crack, and the head of a young woman peeked out. Excitedly, Elizabeth stopped the Jackal and jumped out, while I provided cover from behind the big gun. The woman invited her in, and a few minutes later Elizabeth peeked out the door and waved me in as well. It was a boarding school. A girls' boarding school. The woman was Sarah, whom you've already met. She was a teacher's assistant in her early twenties, and had managed to keep alive and protected a small group of her charges, seven girls of varying ages from very young to early teens. I won't go into the details of their life in hell for the last few months, but it ain't a pretty tale. Sarah was hesitant to take up the offer to join us at the castle. She had an independent streak that I'm sure existed even before the troubles, but that had certainly increased since. The girls, however, were thrilled with the idea. Just being able to run through the grass barefoot again, this was something that none of them had experienced in months, and probably figured that they never would again. So, with the well-being of the girls always in the front of her mind, Sarah finally relented. It took a few trips to get all of them and their stuff back to the castle, but by the evening, we were feasting on roasted pig prepared by Elizabeth's skilled hands in the kitchen, and music was blaring from one of the kid's freshly recharged -< iPods and a nice Bluetooth speaker. It was a celebration. They were family already. Sarah told us that she knew they weren't the only survivors in London. But the story wasn't a happy one. There was a man in town that maintained a harem of sorts, keeping a few dozen women locked up in a hotel. Some of his prisoners were girls from Sarah's school that'd been convinced to join him, or had been kidnapped. This was why she was so hesitant to join us, figuring that our description of paradise inside the curtain wall was just a veneer to disguise the sexual slavery hidden behind. This man, this sadist, was the only surviving male that she knew of, until she met me. Rumor was, she said, among the few ladies she knew that scraped out a living by themselves, that the disease had effected males at a higher rate than females. Maybe it was tied to the sex chromosome. Elizabeth and I agreed that this seemed to make the most sense. We pledged that night to find a way to free these women hostages, although Sarah assured us that the man was armed to the teeth and wouldn't let go of a single one without a bloodbath. Alright, then, we said, it's a long term goal, but let's never forget it. And we never did. So thus ends the saga of how all these ladies came to live with us in our fortified compound in the English countryside. Me and almost a dozen females. Can you imagine? I swear I was going to start growing a set of tits, there was so much estrogen in the air around there. Sarah wasn't interested in sex with me at all. I swear she was probably lesbian, although she never told me that or made any efforts that I saw to that end. And she was very protective of her girls. If I'd touched -< one of them, she would have castrated me on the spot and fed my balls to the pigs while she forced me to watch. But eventually, Elizabeth got pregnant with our first, and conversations began to turn to the need for us to repopulate the world. Elizabeth, the good woman, convinced Sarah that my sperm was too valuable to the world at this point and that she, Sarah, had an obligation to the future to set her womb to the task of breeding. The same applied to the girls, Elizabeth argued, at least those that were old enough. Elizabeth was a farm girl, after all, and had a farm girl's practicality about sex. The purpose of fucking was to make babies, and when babies are needed, fucking is how they're made. The fact that it was also a hell of a lot of fun was just a gift from the Good Lord, the horny bastard. And so, Sarah's became my lover, of a sort, although she didn't accept Elizabeth's broader argument and all the rest of the girls, other than my niece, who remained an even more reluctant lover than Sarah, were strictly off limits, even though it was clear that a few of them were quite unhappy with this situation. Despite many future forays to London and other locations, we found no other survivors, other than the prisoners and their guard. Until Kate, of course. Which finally brings us back to our actual tale... That night, Kate's first night with us, Jennie was sleeping with me like she has every night since the troubles. She had her own bed in our room, but she never slept in it, so it was Kate's bed for the night. But Kate wasn't sleeping in it either, not now; she was on top of me, her pants off, my penis out of the fly of my boxers, and she was riding me like a little minx. She was working it nice and slow, really quiet, the only sound our steady breathing and the slish-slosh of wet sex as she slid high up on my belly and my cockhead slipped out of her tight warmth, then a sweet sloppy sucking sound as she pushed back down again. I knew from personal experience that she could keep this pace up for ten, fifteen minutes if she wanted, and I was in pure fucking heaven. It was the finest feeling you could ever imagine, her vagina so hot and tight and comforting. I wanted to be inside her forever. I felt a bit sorry for Jennie, sleeping or should I say trying to sleep next to us. But I have to admit I was hoping she was paying attention; this is how a woman loves a man, Jennie. Do you see?!? Eventually, after at least ten minutes of this slow, steady, gentle lovemaking, I felt my orgasm starting to boil, deep inside me, and I couldn't wait to shoot my junk into little Kate's willing little cunt. But right as my semen was about to start it's glorious race, she stopped. I don't know how she knew, but she knew, and she had the timing down just perfect, and she stopped, just the head of my cock inside her soft, wet lips. Oh, fuck! I wanted her to keep going, finish me off, I wanted to cum so badly! Oh, fuck! She kept my dickhead right inside her lips until my orgasm passed, unfulfilled, then she let him slip out, sat up on her knees, and pulled her shirt off. She pulled my shirt off, too, and then she started working magic. Pure magic. As my cock lay prone against my belly, she sat down on it, splaying her sopping wet lips around my shaft, then slowly, luxuriously, slid them up to my head. My cock twitched, trying to raise himself up and enter her--Yes! That's where I want to be! I want to be in there! Let me in!--but she did not let him in, she slid back down, only slightly, only an inch, the hot, slick folds of her vaginal entrance wrapping voluptuously around my head. Then she slid back up to the tip, and down, caressing the underside of my head as my cock lay prone against my belly, so gently, so softly, so caringly showing her womanly love to my head. As she did this, her cum flowed out of her; my belly and my cockhead were soaking wet and I knew she was rubbing her clit against my cock, I could feel it, stiff and small, sliding along the most sensitive part of my cock: from my hole, down and over the ridge of my crown, then down a little further, following the path of my urethra a half an inch, then back up, up and over my crown to my hole again. Down, and up, sliding wet and gentle. Oh my god! Each time she slid up to my urethral opening, my cock would arch excitedly, lifting off my belly--Let me in! Let me in! Pussy! Pussy! Pussy! Let me in!--but she did not, she only moved back down again. After she had massaged me like this for a couple minutes, she once again brought me to the brink. "Oh god Katie I'm gonna cum!" I said in a shockingly loud, hoarse voice. With that, she stopped, not letting me cum. Instead, she slid her slick lips down my shaft, all the way down to the hilt and then even lower, onto my balls. And then she made love to my balls, sliding her pussy lips over my scrotum, soaking it, reaching down and lifting a ball and holding it up and wrapping her wet pussy lips around the testicle, then doing the same for the other. "Oh my god," I said in a quieter, though still hoarse, voice. She had a big grin on her face. And then she leaned over me, her face right above mine, and slid her pussy lips all the way up my shaft to my head, and then down, all the way down, then up again, then down, then--"Oh, Katie!"--my orgasm began, my cum boiled, a huge shot fired out of me, all over my chest and her chest and all over both of us and she just kept sliding up and down on my shaft as I came, draining me of all my cum. Then she lay down on me, rubbing her chest against me, sliding all over me with my cum as a lubricant. "Did you like that?" she whispered to me, still sliding her skinny chest over my cum. "Oh, god, it was incredible!" "I told you I was dirty." "Where did you learn to do that?" "I just made it up right now." Then she just held me, and I held her, and we fell asleep like that together. At some point during the night, Jennie spooned against me as well, as she likes to do. It was not uncommon to hear gunshots from the castle towers after dinner, although it was less common now; these days, now that we'd cleared out a lot of the lurchers around here, they weren't all that common, either. So I was a bit surprised to hear someone popping off some rounds from the front tower and I went up there to check it out. I was fairly amazed, when I got there, to discover Kate and Jennie together, each of them with a rifle, picking off lurchers as they appeared. The more you shot, the more of them appeared, that's the thing about lurchers. "She's a really good shot, John!" Jennie said, smiling at me as I poked my head into the room at the top of the tower. Kate looked proud at the comment, but appropriately grim-faced. Another lurcher appeared, zing! Kate immediately nailed him right in the forehead. Damn, she is a good shot. A couple of the other girls poked their heads up to see what was going on, and Kate just stood there, picking off lurchers as they showed up, sometimes three or four in a row--zing! zing! zing-zing!--forehead shots, all of them, or at least most of them. It was something to watch. "Wow, can you teach us how to shoot like that?" Yuka, an eleven year old, asked. "Sure, come here." Kate taught the girls how to aim, keep still, hold their breath. Eventually it started getting dark and Jennie started firing flares to keep the field lit, which drew in the naturally nocturnal undead in larger numbers. The girls couldn't hit much with that awkward light, but Kate was still able to score kill hits on over half the lurchers she fired at. By the end of the day, the girls were calling her "Commander Kate," and they had plans for further training the next day. After the excitement had passed, the girls all trundled off to their bedrooms. Not surprisingly, Kate climbed into bed with Jennie and me, and a few minutes later was doing what she does best: giving me a unbelievably fantastic blow job. She licked everything from my balls to my head, letting the spit flow until it was all soaking wet; then she took my head in her warm mouth, my shaft in one hand, my balls in the other, and she started massaging me. She kept it up for quite a while until I finally blew my load. Like always, she took every drop, and then swallowed. The next morning, something very surprising happened. I'd just returned from my morning jog, ten time around the curtain wall was a couple miles, a I figured, and a cool dip in the pond afterward. Kate was asleep, but Jennie sat up when I walked in the room. "Hey, John," she said. "Hey, Jennie, what's up?" "You should come here," she said. "I was... You know what Kate did last night?" "The shooting?" "No, after that... In bed..." "Oh... that?" "You liked it, didn't you?" "Yeah. I like it." "Maybe... You think maybe I could try it? Would you like that?" This was pretty much the first time, ever, that Jennie had ever offered to do anything sexual with me. And all the sudden, here was this incredibly beautiful girl--Jennie really is the most beautiful thing on earth--offering to give me the first blow job of her life. Having Kate join our little troop was paying some mighty good dividends, I've got to say. I dropped my shorts and lifted my cock to her; she leaned down and took him in her mouth. She really had no idea what to do, other than whatever she'd been able to see in the darkness the night before, but I just stood there and let her experiment a bit. It was fun to watch her, from above, as she tried to figure out what to do. I pulled her hair away from her face so I could watch her, and she looked up at me. "Don't watch," she said, taking my cock out of her mouth. "Why not?" "'Cause I'm embarrassed." "It's one thing the man gets to do, Jennie. He gets to watch, when a girl gives him head." "Oh. Okay." She leaned back in and sucked a little more. "Does it feel good?" she asked, taking my head back out of her mouth and looking up at me. "It does, Jennie, it really does." "As good as when Kate does it?" In put my finger under her chin. "Kate's really good at it, but you are, too." There was a stirring in the bed next to ua about right then, and Kate sat up and smiled at us. "You should kiss his balls, Jennie," she instructs my niece as she gave a little morning yawn. "Get down underneath and kiss his balls." Seeing little Jennie, my beautiful little niece, down underneath me... Well, it was quite an erotic sight. My balls looked huge compared to her face. Kate moved over towards us, then put her hand on Jennie's lap. "Suck him some more now," she said. As Jennie took my head back in her mouth, Kate slipped her hand down Jennie's pajama bottoms. A minute later Jennie pulled off my head; she was breathing hard; shallow, excited breaths, and she looked over at Kate and smiled. Kate leaned into -<her, and they kissed. "I can taste his cock in your mouth," Kate said with a little smile. I could see Jennie's face get a little pink. "I'm going to make him cum now, OK?" Kate added, "or do you want to?" "You do it," Jennie said. Kate turned and took my head in her mouth and started jacking me with her free hand, still fingering Jennie with her other hand. As she worked, Jennie slipped her hand down Kate's pants as well, and she kept her face right there, right in front of Kate and I. Only a few dozen expert strokes from Kate's skilled hand, and I began to orgasm. I dumped my load her mouth, huge, hot, wonderful shots, and then she turned to Jennie and kissed her, opening her mouth and filling Jennie's mouth with my cum. Jennie made a face, and Kate pulled back. "Don't swallow yet," she said. "You have to show him. Guys like to see their cum in girls' mouths." Grimacing, Jennie turned towards me and opened her mouth and I could see my cum; big, thick, viscous globs of semen. Then she closed her mouth, made a face, and swallowed. Yes, it's true. Having Kate join our little girl scouts troop was proving to be a fine thing indeed. [If you like this story--or if you don't like it!--please consider leaving a comment at my erotic fiction web site, Thanks!]