Raw Fuck in the Zombie Basement: My Adrenaline Hookup with Gufti

We’re huddled in the pitch-black corridor of the third sub-level labs. Power’s out. Others snore faintly—Karl, Harper, that chimp whimpering nearby. Corpses reek from the labs behind sealed doors. My heart pounds from the escapes: Paulson’s brains on the wall, chimp guts, endless moans echoing upstairs. Gufti’s next to me, solid, his breath hot on my neck. I’ve known him from VSL runs, quick chats on the app before shit hit. Flirty texts, dick pics, promises of rough first-night fucks. Never happened. Now? Apocalypse adrenaline screams ‘do it now.’ I shift closer, thigh pressing his. ‘Can’t sleep?’ I whisper. He grunts, hand grazing my hip. Sweat mixes with his musky scent—no fancy cologne, just raw man after hours of blood and bullets. My pussy throbs. Zombies banging upstairs, but here? Safe-ish. Tension coils. His fingers dig in. ‘Fuck me, Gufti,’ I hiss. ‘Been waiting.’ No time for games. I straddle his lap, skirt hiked, panties shoved aside. His bulge strains against jeans. Eyes lock in faint glow—mine hungry, his feral.