A reality worse than ..

Vittoria tugged her leg once more, stirring a muffled sound from beneath the ground and failing to release from her would-be captor's grasp. The first creature made contact, it's right hand grabbing her daintier wrist. Not as cold as the hand at her ankle, but still seemingly devoid of warmth, if softer than she expected. She was trapped and beginning to feel it, panicked as the slimmer, decayed zombie to her left advanced and pushed it's face into hers. It had no breath, but the smell of decay was abundant; a worm or similar visibly crawling over over and behind it's eye. Vittoria instinctively looked away to spare herself, only to find a second, bony hand grasping into her luscious split-tone hair. "Fuck!" she audibly cursed, her heart skipping half a beat.

That fucking thing pushed it's mouth onto hers! It's shriveled, gummy lips meeting the raven-painted surface of her own. It was the least of her worries as it's tongue soon followed, clumsily poking at her lips before forcing it's leathery, damp texture between. The taste was horrid; acrid and earthy. Vittoria could only mumble as she scrunched her brow; protesting and slightly confused.

It sounded as if the emaciated zombie struggled for breath, raspy in it's own mumbled utterings as it explored her mouth; hungered and eager. It's arthritic fingers begun to rub and wander over her waist and stomach, clumsy in it's movements and searching. Soon they leered up, brushing past the lower hemisphere of an ample breast. It's lips hugged at hers loosely and it's tongue shoved against the fresher surface of Vittoria's. She yelped against it, muffled as those fingers quickly cupped at her right bosom, squeezing unapologetically and plumping the weighted flesh through her dress.

"Uhhhghn..."

The initial, lumbering zombie moaned out, calmer in tone as if satisfied or amused by what it witnessed through it's glazed, lifeless eyes. It's digits seemingly caressing over Vittoria's wrist and upper-hand while holder her. It might've fooled her into a sense of comfort, if not for it's second hand making it's way along the rear and outer-portion of her thigh, struggling to discern between the fabric of her high-slit dress and bare, fair, warm skin. Vittoria's mind begun to race.