Afterlife or Little Death

She is shriveled, misshapen, and ugly. Her creaky voice begs, "Please, Leo, make me voluptuous and beautiful, especially voluptuous."

"Certainly, my dear," I say. I raise my penis and splatter her upper body with semen. Gigantic, lush breasts spring forth on her, shredding the pathetic gray rags that covered her frame.

"More please!" she cackles.

My prick rises, extends, and enters her gap-toothed mouth. She sucks greedily, and more of my male nectar surges down her gullet. Her face blooms with youth and beauty. Golden hair pushes past the dreary stubble on her scalp and cascades down past her shoulders.

"Finish it!" she cries, now in a clear, sultry alto.

My putz enters the darkness between her withered legs and parts the dry, crumbling gates of her pathetic womanhood. More gouts of my cream make her pathetic no longer. Her arms and legs grow smooth and shapely, the rest of her torso becomes a perfect match for her rich, already-heaving bosom, and her derriere swells with health and desire. The cavity I have filled becomes warm, soft, and wet. Her angelic face is transfixed with orgasm.

My shlong raises her from the ground and brings her to me. As it does, a second dick bursts from my groin and travels to enter her anus, where it bores in and spews. Her body closes with mine, and I pull the breasts I crafted to my face. I press both saucer-sized aureoles into my mouth and suck. Her own vital fluid roars down into my stomach. We remain this way for more than four hours, blasting away nonstop, because I have no need to inform my doctor of erections lasting that long.

That's because I'm dead. Pretty sure I am, anyway.

This might be an afterlife, but since I've never believed in that, it doesn't make sense that I'd be rewarded with one. Especially this one. No, I think it's more likely that I'm in my point-of-death moment, and I'm experiencing a fantasy that's been accumulating in my subconscious. So while it seems as though time is passing for me in this world, I'm probably already dead. Yet somehow I'm getting the opportunity to be aware of the entire fantasy. Which has gone on for quite a while.

I'd always heard that men gets erections at the point of death. That might explain a lot.

There are other people here. Or things that seem like people. In a very idealized way. Nearly all of them are female. Very, very idealized. The pathetic creature just mentioned is not the first one that I idealized myself.

There are women here of all nationalities and a wide variety of body types, but every one is stunningly beautiful. I credit myself for having eclectic taste. There were so many women I wanted to fuck while I was alive. My subconscious seems to have stored them all away.

I'm also an idealized version of myself. Not hugely muscled, but more fit than I ever was while alive. I'm also naked. All the time, if I want to be. And I have this powerful, versatile wang.

If I'm not thinking about the background, it doesn't exit. There's a vagueness that seems to have depth, but no distinguishing features. I can decide for there to be surroundings, and if I do, at once there's a peaceful meadow or a warm beach or a cityscape or a building interior, I guess brought up from the subconscious.

I'm now putting myself in a sumptuous penthouse, with views of a huge gleaming city. Joining me on the bed is a nude, idealized woman with gleaming onyx skin. Her hair drifts in jet-black ringlets to her hips. Her huge dark eyes gaze at me in deep passionate love.

In real life, I never had sex with a black woman.

My prick splits, one shaft entering her hairless quim, tentacling within to her G spot, and of course spurting jizz. The other shaft ventures up her muscled torso to be engulfed in her massive breasts, and continues above and beyond them, into her mouth, where she sucks it mightily, and ejaculation ensues. Despite this, she says clearly, "Oh Leo, let me worship you forever!"

The nipples and aureoles on these breasts I also bring into my mouth. Her milk fountains into me. Our multiplex orgasm goes on for five hours, because I decide that it does.

While alive, I never knew I had a breast milk fetish.

Seems like I'd get bored with all this.

I haven't.

Maybe I can't any more. I'm not sure that I have what can be considered emotions.

When I became aware of my presence here, and what I could do, the first thing I did was suck my dick.

I didn't get bored with that, but it eventually occurred to me to wonder if there were women here.

Wondering about that gave them existence. They all want me to fuck them. I want to fuck them all. And so, that happens.

There are other kinds of wishes I fulfill, and this is where things that look like men enter the picture. Literally. My envisioning is like drawing a picture.

I play sports against some of these men, and dominate them. Other men, I beat up.

In my life I was actually a nice guy, a team player, and I wasn't prone to making enemies. The subconscious must have stored away a lot of hurts and slights.

I've had a few team-playing moments here. They've been pretty video-game-ish. Me and some other kinda-humans, both sexes, wear weird armor that leaves erogenous zones exposed. We have weapons that can do pretty much anything. We fight huge monsters.

I thought this might bring out some of my real-world self.

Nope.

After the monsters are slain, loudly and with explosions, I fuck all the women in the team, because they wanted that all along, and so did I. The men cease to exist.

The fantasy I'm in now...

Maybe it's ending, this quasi-afterlife.

What I'm in now doesn't seem coherent. I'm with maybe a dozen women, but some of them fade in and out. My prick splits several ways. Four branches enter the pussies and assholes of two women on all fours in front of me. Another branch is at my left, being sucked by an Asian woman who's rubbing her boobs against my skin, her milk trickling down to my leg. Other prick branches go where I can't see, or they cease to exist, then reappear.

I never had an Asian either.

I black out now and then, or do whatever blacking out is here.

I should be scared shitless. I'm not.

"Leo, can you hear me?" says Sheila.

Sheila's a real person. In the real world. I remember her screaming, while a chunk of the upside down car got torn away by something.

A blackout ends and I'm back in my fantasy, looking around. "Sheila? Where are you?"

A voice I don't recognize says, "There's a response."

Another strange voice: "Maybe we should, uh, move his hand away."

"Leave him alone!" yells Sheila. More sweetly: "Is this what you want, Honey? I can do it for you, Leo."

And among all of the incredible nude women I see Sheila, fully dressed, standing right in front of me, stroking a small branch of my prick.

"How did you get here?" I ask her. I may be feeling something, but I don't know what.

A strange voice says, "Another response, stronger,"

"Do you want to come home, Leo?" asks Sheila, now beating my meat with both hands. She looks...like Sheila. Nice. Pretty good, really, but, come on. No way she can compare with the beauty all around me. But my subconscious is full of her. I...want her?

Sheila kneels. "Do you want to be with me again, Leo?" Her voice is lower-pitched, husky. She's dressed in a plain blouse and jeans, but her eyes...

A strange voice says, "What are you—no!"

"You can't do that! My god!" Another stranger.

Sheila puts this tiny branch of my penis in her mouth.

I feel her lips.

Ten branches of my prick vanish.

I feel her tongue.

Eight voluptuous, fantastic women vanish.

I feel her fingers squeeze my balls.

"All vitals are back," says yet another voice.

I'm alone with Sheila in a place with no surroundings.

She sucks, and sucks...

There's noise. Some voices are part of it. I see nothing.

I open my eyes.

My voice does something that my ears hear as "Shhhllluuuhhh?"

"I'm here, Leo!" I see her, the freckled face, the caramel-colored waves of hair. Behind her I see ceiling tile and fluorescent lights.

I hear beeping. I feel patches on my skin.

"Leo, you've been in a medically-induced coma," says Sheila slowly. Something wet hits my chin. Sheila wipes her eyes.

My right hand flails up and waves. I'm scared. "Yuh, yuh, okaaaaiii?"

"I'm fine, Leo. I wasn't in the car. You dropped me off—"

A South-Asian-looking woman leans in to Sheila and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Too much too soon, Mrs. Zerwicky." To me, this woman says slowly, "You had open-heart surgery, Mr. Zerwicky. The coma was necessary."

"They couldn't get you out of the coma!" says Sheila. "It took so long!"

The other woman is dressed like a doctor. She smiles at Sheila and says, "Mrs. Zerwicky, can I get you a glass of water?"

Sheila relaxes, and laughs. "No, thank you, I'm fine." She laughs louder, and leans closer to the doctor. Quietly: "Hardly a new experience. First time ever with an audience, though."

The doctor loses it, peals of laughter doubling her over. Other people in the room look at her, puzzled. Some look disgusted.

The doctor says to Sheila, "I'd like to publish a paper on your inspired, ahem, kiss of life, but I'd understand if you want this kept quiet."

"Can you publish, but keep us anonymous?" asks Sheila. "If this can save lives..."

The doctor looks at me. "One and counting," she says. "I'll send you a draft to look over."

The doctor then goes to the other medical people and talks to them.

"Shee-lah," I say carefully. "Wh, whah, did, you do?"

"What any loving wife would do."

She leans down and kisses me.

Her lips part, and mine do also.

She pushes her tongue into my mouth.

She scrapes off cum on the back of my teeth.

Pulling away, she smiles sweetly and murmurs, "And my loving husband owes me cunnilingus, every day, for the rest of our lives."