I Belong to the Living Dead Pt. 03

The inside of the chapel is candle-lit. It always seems larger when the darkness obscures the walls, making you feel as though this room extended out forever. Kaye knows there are people standing in the darkness, wearing smock-frocks and trench-coats, looking like wandering spirits. She can't see them, but she can feel them, and she knows they're there because she has been one of them. But she doesn't spare them a second thought, because tonight is her turn. Her turn with him.

Her eyes are drawn to the center of the room, where an ornate wooden alter is set with a candelabra at each corner, illuminating the form of Joshua who is lying on the altar's surface as though he were asleep, a white sheet pulled up to his chest. He doesn't look at her until she's just a couple of feet from his face, and when he does, he looks startled, even frightened. But then, recognition floods his expression, and he reaches for her hand. She takes it, smiling down on him like the Madonna as her guide removes her collar, places a ceremonial dagger in her other hand, and goes to his place on the far wall.

Kaye steps forward with the knife in her hand, holding Joshua's in the other. He clutches her fingers as tightly as though he were a frightened child and she were his mother. She has a sudden fleeting impulse to pull his head to her breast. Instead, she lifts the sheet covering his chest and drags it down to his navel, exposing a dark and crooked scar just below his sternum. The mark is broader and more raised than any knife wound: the purple flesh here has been wounded and has healed more times than anyone can count, has sealed and opened since time immemorial. A ghostly smile crosses Kaye's face as she studies the scar. She feels Joshua's hand grip hers tighter.

Then she raises the knife high in the air and plunges it hard into that mark, sinking the blade as deep as it will go into the flesh. Joshua gasps and croaks, his eyes going wide. He cries out with the blistering pain as blood pours from the wound, covering her hand and spilling down his sides as his body writhes. When he can no longer cry out, he coughs harshly and gurgles, and all the while Kay does not let up on the knife. He turns his blanching face shakily towards her and, shuddering, drops her hand.

Kaye pulls out the dagger and steps away from the dying man. She begins to disrobe. The flickering candlelight makes her thighs long and her hair luscious. She is a supernatural beauty now, her black hair cascading down her alabaster shoulders, her breasts full and heaving, her stomach flat, her bare bottom and sex as white and smooth as marble, every inch of her bare and hairless, her fingers dark with crimson blood. She is primal, the first Woman. She is an angel, an elevated being. The dying man sputters as two hooded figures step out from the darkness and pull the sheet over him.

Red blood spreads across the white sheet as the man beneath it breathes his final, agonizing breaths. At last, the sheet is still, and silence settles over the chapel again. Kaye looks at her bare feet. She looks at the blood dripping from her fingers to the floor. She lets the knife fall from her hand and it clatters to the ground. Then there is silence once again.

Everything is perfectly still.

Kaye might as well be alone in the chapel with the dead man for all that she can see or hear of the people around the alter.

The man on the altar is dead. His body stills.

Silence.

...And then.

A gasping breath.

Like a man being saved from drowning.

A smile lights on Kaye's lips.

The sheet rises with the body as the undead on the altar slowly, ever so slowly, lifts himself into an upright position. As he does this, with even greater speed, the sheet also rises at the Man-Who-Was-Joshua's groin, a massive erection that garners the first audible reaction from the onlookers: a sharp intake of breath, mostly from the female observers. Kaye, on the other hand, is silent. She gets down onto her knees and lowers her head, like a woman in prayer.

There's a rush of air as the sheet is throw off, a pad of bare feet on ceramic tile as the Man-Who-Was Joshua stands. Kaye listens to his footsteps as he approaches and doesn't look up. The sound of his feet makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She feels a firm hand take her by her chin, angling his face up to his. Now she is staring into the undead and ravenous expression she knows so well. She is already wet, but seeing his eyes - those cloudy eyes, viewing the world in shades of only lust, seeing her as a variety of holes to penetrate - makes her whimper aloud, and she thinks she can actually feel herself dripping; the sensation is not unlike melting. The Man-Who-Was-Joshua takes his enormous member in his left hand, still holding Kaye's face with his right. With all the seriousness of a person plugging a lamp in to an electrical socket, he squeezes Kaye's cheeks to make her open her mouth, then inserts his thick and veiny cock. It hits the pocket of her cheek first, and Kaye's eyes water with joyful tears. When he pulls himself away, a strand of saliva dangles from the end of his member, connecting it to her lips.

She fellates him emphatically, then, latching on to him as though he were the first meal she'd seen in days. She takes all of him, opening her throat and coating him with her tongue. She takes his testicles in one hand and strokes with one hand while, with the other, she brings his hips to her face, working him towards her, as he grunts dumbly and caresses her hair. She slurps noisily and moans with her mouth full of his hard cock, and he takes a fistful of her hair. This pleases her immensely - her eyes are smiling, now, even as her face is full of him, and she pulls off him completely, kisses the head, and them swallows him whole, taking him deep in her throat so he bellows and has to squeeze his fist tighter to stabilize himself. She sways backwards dangerously, leaning like a tree on the verge of being felled, and then issues forth another bellow before ejaculating into her mouth, ropes of his cum spurting into her smiling mouth, then onto her grateful face, across her forehead and her flushed cheeks. She takes his cum like someone who has been praying for rain might face a downpour. When he is finally finished, her face and shoulders are covered in thick semen, and her thighs are aching from the pleasure, soaked through with the sensation of having made him cum.

The Man-Who-Was-Joshua steps backwards. A mortal man at this point would surely be finished, having just ejaculated a pint of semen onto Kaye's beautiful face. But, of course, the Man-Who-Was-Joshua is no mortal man. He takes her by her midsection and lifts her squealing into the air. He throws her against the alter face down, and she laughs with delight when she feels his flat hand against her back, forcing her to arch herself. Her laughter stops suddenly when she feels the head of his penis at the entrance to her pussy, and she makes a soft, crooning, anxious sound as he slides into her, moistened only by her saliva and her own gushing wetness. She whispers something inaudible as he enters her. She cries out as his shaft pushes in fully, always deeper than expected, always large enough that she's completely full, impossibly full. She takes all of him and spreads her legs still further, past her shoulder width, and he begins to fuck her with the might of a demigod, his thighs slapping so hard against her ass that the sounds echoes in the crowded amphitheater, and Kaye's eyes cross as she begins to wail, her hands balling into tight fists, the pleasure building from her seat to the tip of her nose, the blood in her face hot and aching, the cock in her pussy hard and throbbing, slamming her forward with every thrust. Her wailing builds into a shriek and she arches her feet, then stands on her tiptoes, and he follows her upward like a tailing car, never once missing her G-spot, never once stopping in the thunderous rhythm of their fucking. Her face assumes an expression unknown in any other circumstance, reserved only for the mind-bending pleasure of this moment, and her body shudders as she cum, every muscle in her body screaming with an earth-shattering orgasm that takes away her breath. Then, crying out still louder, she orgasms a second time, still rocking in time with Joshua, his hips clapping against hers. Then, her voice fails her and her eyes cross for a second time, her mouth open with no sound coming out except for a feeble croak as she cums for a third time, and then finally (as she feels his hot semen jetting into her, still warm with half-life) she cums a fourth time and closes her eyes.

In the world after fucking the Man-Who-Was-Joshua, Kaye's eyes are blurred with tears. Her face aches from smiling. Her womb is full and dripping. She is lying on the altar, perhaps the happiest woman who has ever lived. Joshua falls over her as he finishes, grunting softly, and she reaches over her shoulder to stroke his face.

Tomorrow, Joshua will revive fully. He will remember nothing of tonight, know nothing except for his undying love for Kaye and whatever details the onlookers choose to tell him. But the Man-Who-Was-Joshua - the man who just finished giving her the best fucking of her entire life - is gone for now.

Until the next time, when he will rise again.

Meanwhile, Kaye will be taken by the clerics to an adjoining room. She will be cradled in their arms, laughing and dripping. She will be lain on a bed of silk sheets, and the other women will look at her with knowing smiles or ask questions with their eyebrows knit together. She will smile at them calmly. She will take her tea with two lumps of sugar. And as she sips it, her last visitor having left her, still naked and trembling and grinning to herself, she will close her eyes and say a small prayer of thanks to the woman who found her in that bus stop bathroom and brought her into the life where she has always belonged.