The relentless sun, a brutal, unforgiving orb in the sky for so long, now cast a mellow, golden hue across the makeshift beach. It was a sliver of forgotten paradise, stumbled upon during a desperate scavenging run, and for Beatrix Amerhauser, it felt like a mirage. Days bled into weeks in the new world, a world where the very air thrummed with the low, guttural moans of the undead, where every sunrise was a victory and every sunset a prayer. But here, on this secluded stretch of sand, bordered by surprisingly clear, azure waters and a few resilient palm trees, a different kind of silence reigned – one of peace, not impending dread.

Bea, as her friends affectionately called her, stretched languidly on a coarse, faded blanket, her blonde hair, usually meticulously kept, now a wild halo around her head, kissed by the salty breeze. Her blue eyes, so often sharp with focus or wide with alarm, were half-lidded, gazing out at the gentle swell of the waves. The world of "Zombie Ni Naru Made Ni Shitai 100 No Koto" was a distant whisper, an echo she could almost ignore in this moment of blissful reprieve. She had donned a simple, yet strikingly vibrant, two-piece bikini—a vibrant yellow, a splash of color against the muted tones of their survival gear—that did little to hide the generous curves of her form, especially the impressive swell of her big tits, which rose and fell with each relaxed breath. The fabric clung to her, a second skin, highlighting the firm planes of her stomach and the long, toned lines of her legs.

Beside her, I watched, transfixed. The heat of the sun on my skin was nothing compared to the warmth radiating from her, a quiet, potent energy that filled the space between us. We had shared so much since the world had irrevocably changed, faced down untold horrors, and clung to each other through the darkest nights. There was an unspoken understanding between us, a bond forged in fire and fear, but one that had, until now, been overshadowed by the sheer struggle for survival. Today, however, felt different. The air was thick with something else, a palpable tension that simmered beneath the surface of our quiet contentment.

“It’s beautiful,” Bea murmured, her voice a soft hum against the gentle lapping of the waves. She turned her head slightly, her blue eyes, now fully open, meeting mine. A small, genuine smile played on her lips, a rare sight that made my chest ache with a mixture of tenderness and longing. Her blonde eyelashes fluttered, catching the light, making her eyes sparkle like precious gems. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, the movement causing the fabric of her bikini top to strain deliciously across her big tits, the soft mounds of flesh threatening to spill over the edge. I swallowed, my gaze lingering a moment too long, but she didn’t seem to mind. Instead, a faint blush touched her cheeks, acknowledging the unspoken admiration.

“It truly is,” I agreed, my voice a little rougher than I intended. “A perfect escape, even if just for a few hours.” I reached out, hesitantly, to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. My fingers grazed her warm skin, sending a jolt through me, and I saw her shiver, just perceptibly. The gesture was innocent, yet charged with a lifetime of unspoken desires. The apocalypse had stripped away so many societal norms, leaving raw, unadulterated human connection in their place. And in that rawness, a deep, undeniable hunger had begun to grow between us.

As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in fiery oranges and soft purples, a cool breeze swept over the beach. Bea pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, a small sigh escaping her lips. “It’s almost like… before,” she whispered, her voice tinged with a wistful sadness that tugged at my heart. “No zombies, no running, just… peace.” She looked at me again, her blue eyes searching mine, a vulnerability in their depths I hadn’t often seen. “We deserve this, don’t we? To just… feel normal, even for a moment.”

I shifted closer, closing the small gap between us on the blanket. The warmth of her body was immediate and comforting. “More than anyone, Bea,” I assured her, my hand finding hers, intertwining our fingers. Her skin was soft against mine, a stark contrast to the rough calluses that had formed on both our hands from wielding weapons and scrambling through debris. Her thumb idly stroked the back of my hand, a silent conversation passing between us. The simple touch felt like an electric current, sending shivers down my spine and awakening a deeper, more primal desire that had been simmering for so long.

The "Zom 100: Bucket List Of The Dead" had always been about living life to the fullest, about chasing joy and experience in the face of oblivion. And in this moment, with Beatrix Amerhauser beside me, the most beautiful woman I’d ever known, I realized this was an experience I desperately craved. The golden hour bathed us in a soft, ethereal glow, turning her blonde hair into spun gold and deepening the sapphire of her eyes. Her lips, slightly parted, looked impossibly soft, inviting. I leaned in, slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, but she didn't. Instead, her grip on my hand tightened, and her breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

Our lips met. It was a gentle, tentative beginning, a question more than a statement. Her lips were soft, yielding, tasting faintly of salt and something uniquely her own. I savored the touch, the quiet sigh that escaped her. Then, as if a dam had burst, the kiss deepened. Her mouth opened beneath mine, and I felt the soft brush of her tongue, hesitant at first, then more confident. My free hand went to her waist, pulling her closer until her side pressed against mine, the warmth of her skin through the bikini intoxicating. Her other hand, still intertwined with mine, moved to cup my jaw, her fingers tracing the line of my beard. The scent of her – a mix of sea salt, sun-warmed skin, and a faint, sweet floral aroma from some wild blossoms we’d passed – filled my senses, drowning out everything else.

The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent, fueled by months of unspoken tension and the ever-present knowledge that such moments were precious, fleeting. I felt her chest rise and fall against my arm, her big tits pressing softly into my side, their weight a delicious counterpoint to the softness of her skin. Her moans, low and throaty, vibrated against my lips, sending a thrill straight through me. I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes now clouded with desire, glistening in the fading light. “Bea,” I whispered, her name a prayer on my lips.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her voice raspy, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me back down to her. This time, there was no hesitation. Our mouths locked, our tongues dancing a passionate ballet, exploring every curve and crevice. My hand, still on her waist, began to stray, tracing the curve of her hip, then moving slowly, deliberately, upwards. The fabric of her bikini top felt thin beneath my palm, and I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Her body arched into mine, a clear invitation, an unspoken plea.

With a soft tug, I found the clasp of her bikini top. Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, then snapping open to meet mine, a mixture of apprehension and fervent desire warring within them. I paused, giving her a chance to reconsider, but she just leaned into my touch, a silent encouragement. With a gentle click, the clasp released, and the yellow fabric fell away, revealing the magnificent swell of her big tits, unfettered and glorious, bathed in the last golden rays of the sunset. They were even more stunning than I had imagined, full and round, their pale skin hinting at a blush as the cool air touched them. Her nipples, perfectly pink and erect, beckoned to me.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as my gaze lingered, tracing every curve, every shadow. I reached out, slowly, my fingers trembling slightly, and cupped one heavy breast in my hand. The warmth, the incredible softness of her flesh, was almost overwhelming. She let out a small, guttural moan, arching her back, pushing herself further into my touch. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders as she tilted her head back, exposing the elegant line of her neck. I leaned down, kissing the sensitive skin there, then trailing my lips downwards, across her collarbone, toward the valley between her breasts. Her scent intensified, a heady perfume that made my head spin.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, as my lips brushed the crest of one of her big tits. I teased her, circling the rosy peak with my tongue, feeling it harden further against my wetness. Her entire body trembled, and her fingers dug into my shoulders, holding on as if to steady herself. The contrast between her strong, capable exterior, the Beatrix Amerhauser who navigated this zombie-infested world with unwavering resolve, and this vulnerable, passionate woman beneath my touch, was intoxicating. I finally took her nipple into my mouth, suckling gently, then with more fervor, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.

She writhed beneath me, a symphony of soft moans and gasps escaping her lips. My other hand moved to her other breast, kneading it gently, feeling its exquisite weight and warmth. Her big tits filled my hands, a testament to her lush femininity. I alternated between suckling and teasing, eliciting wave after wave of pleasure from her, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The cool evening air was a sharp contrast to the burning heat between us, a fire that consumed us both. The beach, once a peaceful escape, had become a sanctuary for our burgeoning passion.

My mouth left her breast, trailing wet kisses across her stomach, down to the waistband of her bikini bottom. Her lower body stirred, a restless energy building within her. Her blue eyes, now half-closed again, watched my descent, anticipation etched on her face. With another gentle tug, I released the ties of her bikini bottom, pulling the small piece of fabric down, over her hips, and past her knees, until it lay discarded in the sand. She lay before me, completely exposed, magnificent in her vulnerability. The last vestiges of sunlight dipped below the horizon, but the moon, a sliver of silver, cast its gentle glow upon her, illuminating the lush blonde hair between her legs, a soft curl around the entrance to her most intimate self.

Her hands moved, reaching down, instinctively covering herself for a moment, a last flicker of shyness, but then she caught my gaze. Her fingers trembled as she slowly, deliberately, moved them away, inviting my scrutiny, my touch. “I… I want you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes locked with mine, pleading, promising. The raw honesty in her voice was like a physical blow, stripping away any remaining inhibitions I might have had. This was Beatrix Amerhauser, the strong, resilient survivor, offering herself fully, completely.

I leaned down, kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, feeling the tremor that ran through her. My hand, guided by an instinct I hadn't known I possessed, moved slowly upwards, tracing the curve of her hip, then settling gently between her legs. Her muscles tensed, then relaxed as my fingers brushed against the moist warmth of her sex. She gasped, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through the quiet evening. Her blonde hair, damp with sweat, clung to her forehead, and her lips were swollen from our kisses.

I began to stroke her, slowly at first, feeling the delicate folds of her labia, the exquisite softness of her. She bucked slightly beneath my touch, her legs parting wider, granting me full access. Her hips began to move in a slow, rhythmic sway, meeting my hand as I began to explore her more intimately. My thumb found her clitoris, a small, sensitive pearl, and began to tease it gently. A low moan escaped her, long and drawn out, as her body reacted with an undeniable hunger.

The rhythm of my hand picked up, slow circles, then more direct strokes, rubbing against her tender peak. She gasped, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, her blue eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. “Oh… oh, god,” she panted, her voice laced with pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her hips continued their urgent dance against my palm, pushing herself into my hand with an almost desperate need. I leaned down, kissing her stomach, her inner thigh, anything to be closer to the source of her incredible moans, her exquisite heat. Her big tits, still heaving, bounced with each thrust of her hips, a mesmerizing sight in the soft moonlight.

Her fingers were tangled in my hair again, pulling me closer, whispering incoherent pleas against my ear. The moistness between her legs grew slicker, wetter, a clear sign of her rapidly escalating arousal. I increased the pressure, my fingers delving deeper, feeling the velvety warmth inside her, slick with her desire. I could feel her pulsing around my fingers, clenching with each stroke, her body a taut bow string stretched to its limit. “Faster,” she begged, her voice raw, “Please, faster.”

Responding to her plea, I quickened the pace, my hand a blur of motion, expertly caressing and stimulating her. Her entire body arched off the blanket, trembling violently. Her blonde hair was a chaotic masterpiece, fanned out against the sand, and her face was flushed, beautiful in its abandon. She cried out, a loud, glorious sound that echoed across the silent beach, a testament to her release. Her body seized, bucking wildly against my hand, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer, tighter. Her climax was a prolonged, exquisite affair, wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over her, leaving her breathless and shaking.

As the last tremors subsided, she collapsed back onto the blanket, a soft moan of contentment escaping her lips. Her chest heaved, her big tits rising and falling rapidly, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. Her blue eyes, though still heavy-lidded, were now soft, filled with a deep, liquid warmth. A slow, languid smile spread across her face, one of pure, uninhibited joy. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, reaching up to gently cup my cheek. “That was… incredible.”

I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then to her lips, tasting the remnants of our passion. “You’re incredible, Beatrix Amerhauser,” I murmured, stroking her damp blonde hair. We lay there for a long time, entangled, listening to the gentle rhythm of the waves, the soft sounds of the night. The stars began to emerge, countless pinpricks of light in the vast, inky blackness above, a universe of possibility. In this desolate world, we had found a moment of profound connection, a shared intimacy that transcended the horrors we faced daily. The "Zom 100: Bucket List Of The Dead" had given us a reason to live, to seek out joy, and in this moment, under the endless sky, with Bea warm and pliant in my arms, I felt more alive than I ever had before. This was a memory, a feeling, that would sustain us through any zombie horde, any hardship. It was a promise of continued life, of love, and of future shared passion in a world that desperately needed it.