(Warning! Extreme literary licensing was taken in the writing of this story. This story is graphic and contains explicit adult content that may be unsuitable for some readers. This story involves necrophilia and if you are in anyway offended by such material, please do not read further.)
He laid on the bed, the sound of his breathing filling the room. Rushing, panting breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. His heart was pounding as if it would tear right through his chest and he refused to look to the left of his bed. He stared straight up. He lay with arms and legs extended nearly rigidly. His normally darker skin pale and touched with a light sheen of sweat despite the fact he had the air conditioning turned up full blast.
He had done it. He had really done it. There was no going back. No one had been any the wiser when he had left the mortuary after closing it for the night. Traffic had been slow moving. He had sat in line certain that at any moment police lights would be in his rear view mirror. His excitement had become nearly a violent nausea. His fingers still creased with the ridges of the steering wheel.
But he had done it.
He was here. At home, in the sanctuary of his room. Quiet house. His parents gone for the weekend.
"We trust you."
How many times had he heard those words. How many parties had he had the moment they had driven out of sight. Not this time. No party this time. Just him alone with....
Slowly he rolled his head to the right, dark brown eyes slowly moving across the ceiling, over the Nine Inch Nails posters decorating the wall, down until his gaze became riveted.
Jeremy had taken such a slow careful hand in preparing him. He had been a beautiful boy in life and now he was just as beautiful in death. Jeremy was twenty three and this boy, he didn't want to think his name unless it would bring back the reality of what he was actually thinking of doing. What he had done.
He had been twenty two, nearly twenty three. An aneurysm rupturing inside his brain had stopped the progress of his life just like a light being shut off. He was long, six foot three in life and well built. Muscular but not overly so. Just right. Broad shouldered, tapered waist. Long legs with heavy thighs and a plump muscled ass.
Jeremy groaned a little. He had never gone this far. He had never looked at one this way before. Had never even considered what he had already done. In two days this guy would be lowered in his casket into an eternal rest. His family would stand and cry and mourn for their lost son, brother, boyfriend.
His fingers curled into tight fists. He groaned. But for tonight, tonight he was here in his house, in his bedroom, looking for all the world as if in any moment his eyes would open. Dark blue eyes, he remembered. Black hair and blue eyes and a body...to die for. He laughed almost giddily. Fuck he was going to end up losing his mind. This was the act of someone who had completely lost their mind!
Oh, but not yet. A little voice soothed him. He wouldn't be completely insane until he touched him.
Slowly he rolled off the bed, hitting play on the stereo as he went down. The opening sounds of Trent Reznor singing Closer filling his bedroom. Loud. Pulsing. Drugging. He had wrapped him in a sheet and now the sheet lay spread out over the dark carpeting on his floor. The body. Shit, he thought. The body. Him. He was naked. Jeremy reached a finger out and touched the muscle of a broad shoulder. Wondering how it would have felt to feel it bunch and shift under his fingers. How it would have felt warm with life.
Now. Now the skin was the shade of pale that only death gave. Cool. Almost like marble. A statue laid out before him, at his mercy. He had slaved with meticulous care over this one. Handled him from detail to detail on his own. Cleaned him with a reverence he had not shown another unless it were a small child. Children were the downside. The saddest of all.
He shook the thought off. He couldn't think of any of that tonight. Tonight was...special.
"Tonight, you're mine." He whispered and ran his fingertips over full lips, pinching the lower slightly and drawing it down to reveal even white teeth. He wiggled the tip through, opening the cavity of his mouth more until he felt the unmoving dryness of tongue. He shuddered violently at the faintly spongy feel of it.
Images flooded him. Of this beautiful boy in life. In the throes of passion. Using that incredible mouth, thick hot tongue. Damp, flicking. Mouth pulling and suckling. He groaned again and reached with his other hand to slide fingers over the bulge of his cock, squeezing with a slow rush of breath. Sick. Sick. Sick..
His fingers slid from the mouth, over the squared chin, marveling over the perfection of this...body. He traced the lines of collarbones that were just a little more pronounced as the skin shrunk and begin to cling. Swept his whole hand over his chest, biting into his lip as he pinched a tiny pebbled nipple hard. Harder. No screams. No jerking in pain. No gasps. He squeezed until the tips of his fingers turned white and precum seeped from the tip of his cock to wet the inside of his boxers.
He trailed his hand down the ridges of his stomach...followed the flat plane of his lower belly where a thin trail of dark hair stood out starkly on the death pale skin. He hesitated when his eyes fell to the body's cock. He had taken special care with it. Imbedded a tube right down the slit that now kept it perpetually rigid. Inflated to what would have been his most engorged length and width in life. Nine inches. Thick. A beautifully formed cock that Jeremy stared at now as if he had never seen another in his lifetime, felt his tongue slide slowly from his mouth to dampen his lips. His heart racing. He had to. He had to. He was in love with this beauty. This perfection that remained even in death.
He touched the tip and felt his heart stop. Felt the sweat break out over his upper lip, bead against his own hairline. Trembling fingers brushed down the cold velvet softness of the body's cock made hard by him. As if the dead boy was turned on somewhere even in his death. Wanting Jeremy as much as Jeremy found himself becoming more and more...excited. He fumbled with his jeans and his sigh was loud and warm in the room as he pulled his own cock free. Stroked himself with a tight sure grip until he was nearly as long and nearly as thick as the dead boy had been and his fingers moved in an easy glide, slickened by his dribbling lust.
He bent over the body, spread over him really, his knees on either side of narrow hips, warm skin touching cold. His hands above the dead boy's shoulders, splayed wide on the sheet as he bent forward. His own dark hair rushing forward, falling onto the body. Teasing. Unfelt. The only sound his breath coming in erratic jerks.
"I'm going to kiss you." He whispered. "I'm going to love you." I'm going to fuck you like an animal. Trent Reznor echoing his thoughts in a crash of sound through the room.
He kept his eyes open and it was slow motion that he bent closer and closer down. He could smell the scent of soap on the body. Could see the blue of his veins just beneath his flesh. Tomorrow he would be embalmed. All of it intoxicating. Wrong. Surreal. His mouth hovered over those cold bluish lips and he felt a ripple of orgasmic terror flood him. He was really going to do it. He was going to cross one of those lines in life that you were not even allowed to think much less..do.
The room. The body. The pleasure that tore through him. All cold.
He let his lips melt down onto the dead boy's. Watched those eyes that did not flutter in case, just in case, somehow in his deviance he called to something hellish and those eyes did tremble, did open. He did not move for long minutes as he became used to the feel of those cold firm lips unyielding beneath his own.
Nothing but the racing of his blood through constricted veins and the soft wooshing of his fist pumping up and down his own cock, his knuckles at times brushing the body's stiff jutting flesh. Soft moan from his lips over the dead boy's. He reached up and pried those lips open again, he slid is tongue out and warmed the flesh with his own damp heat. Traced the ridges of his teeth and reached in farther to touch that dry unmoving tongue and that is when all of his hesitance was gone. In a heartbeat. He had crossed the line. There was no going back. A growl of lust poured into the dead boy. He nibbled and sucked at those cold bluish lips. Bit and tugged and worked his way down. Buried the heat of his face into the boys cold throat, nuzzled and purred and chewed at him with soft grunts of mindless need.
He bit softly down the front of his chest until he was at one of those small colorless nipples, flicked his tongue over the hard pebble of it. Opened his mouth wide and suckled. Tasting the soap he had used to clean him. Tasting the sterility of the environment he had been kept in. It only heightened the wrongness of what he did. He knelt up and put his hands on his thighs and rocked his hips until his cum dampened cock slid over the dead boy's. Let his head fall back as he battered it with soft thrusting passes.
He reached beside his bed and uncapped the bottle of KY he kept underneath for "dates". Squirted it without thought onto his fingertips and reached behind himself, sank his fingers between the cheeks of his ass and rubbed at the clutching rhythmic dance of his hole. He was beyond depravity. He only wanted. He froze as he worked in the first finger, not that it hurt anymore. It just felt that good as his cock slid across the cold of the boys. He fucked himself with two fingers for a long while, stroking his cock with his free hand as he stared down at the bite marks on the body. At the glistening of his own saliva left behind on tiny nipple.
"You are so beautiful in my desire"
He leaned down, letting his fingers slide free from his ass and he opened his mouth just as it brushed over the cock he had made hard by design. How many girls had this beautiful cock plunged into. How many tight asses had he used. He growled picturing the boy in life, his big hands wrapped around pretty hips, slamming into flesh. Pink. Supple. Warm. Had he ever taken a man, he wondered. He had seen his girlfriend. Even in hysteria she was the epitome of what straight men dream of. What would she have thought right now, he wondered.
He sucked the dead boy's cock like a well oiled machine. Timed it to each heavy beat of the music surrounding him. His glance cut to the posters of Trent Reznor lining the walls and he nearly came right then without even touching. He worked the cock with his lips and tongue as if he would force the body to orgasm. He warmed the flesh with the inside of his mouth. He cupped the frozen balls and ducked his head down to suck there too. He bit the insides of still thighs and when he sat up, his eyes were dilated blackness. Lust made him hot in the frigid room. He coated the dead boy's cock with the ky. Stroked it with loving slowness down, all over it.
"One last fuck before you go, beautiful"
He had to turn facing away from the boys face to find the right leverage, but it was blistered into his mind now, he did not breath as he crouched down and spread his ass cheeks open. Gasped savage as he felt the cool jelly covered nudge of unbending cock at his hole. Sick. Sick. Sick.
He worked himself down. His excitement. The well oiled piece of cold flesh made it easy. He spread around it like going down on a dildo. Hard. Cold. The feeling close enough to real, but somehow no longer real enough. He sank all the way down on the dead boy until he was filled. Penetrated. He wrapped his fingers back around his own cock and pumped until it matched the frenzy of up and down motion he was making over the dead boys cock.
"Oohhhh that's right beautiful, fuuuuuuuuck me."
"You're so hard. So big. Godddddddd" He cried out over the music. Jamming himself down on the cock. His ass opening greedily for it. His cock straining in the grip of his fist. He palmed the head. Rubbed his thumb through the slit like a saw, shuddered and felt his ass spasm inside around the dead boy.
You get me closer to God.
"Fuuuuuuuck yea, give it to meeeeeeee.......... Goddddd.."
He stared at Trent Reznor staring back at him from a poster. Imagined him there in the room. Singing just to him. Urging him on. He reached for the boys hand and drew it up to his hip. Ice on burning skin. He slid the hand all over him, anywhere he could reached and imagined it was the boy caressing him. Almost doubling over when he would drop his ass down full over the unforgiving hardness of that cock. Feeling it gut him. Digging up deep into bowels. Rubbing over his sweet spot as if it knew.
He pulled himself off, on hands and knees panting. His ass throbbing inside. Contracting. His dick trickling cum from the slit down to the sheet.
"You are a tease, you almost had me. But you know what I really want."
He took his time. He was gentle rolling the dead boy over. He moved his arms until they were curved up around his head. Turned his head so his face was to the door, the posters. Bent one of those long muscular legs up high until it spread those tight dead pale cheeks. He looked..comfortable.
"Mmmm, you want it. You know you want it Look at you. Practically inviting me."
He covered his hand in the ky and oh so slowly, worked a finger into that tight tight hole. Pushed his finger in deeper and deeper as if he would push all the way inside the body and crawl out the other end. He withdrew and fit the end of the ky tube in. Filled the emptiness with the clear gel until it begin to seep back out. No rigor. The initial had passed for now but by morning he would be frozen in his death.
But not tonight. Tonight he would give.
He knelt down in-between his legs, holding the aching jut of his cock, head bent watching. Watching his debasement take place. His horror. His lust unchained. He bit into his lower lip and pressed into the wetted hole, growled low and animal as the tightness fraction by fraction was forced open to surround him. He dropped both hands down on each side of the boy's ribs. His biceps trembled with strain, sweat dripping down to the graying body.
"Givvvvvve... it... to me"
He sank. Drove in. Buried himself into cold tight cavity. His mind reeled. He shuddered so harshly it threw his head back and unleashed a howl over the vibrating music.
He fucked. His fingers curled into the sheet, into the floor, he used the leverage of his knees and the weight of his body and he plowed through the resisting clench of the dead boys muscles. Opened him. Savaged him. Hit so deep that each bottoming out tore a near scream from his throat. He lowered his head and his teeth sank into cold flesh. He shook his head like a dog with a chew toy and felt the tightening of his ass as he rammed his cock deeper. Banged into the dead boy with a viciousness that betrayed the slip of his mind in that moment.
And yet the dead boy never moved. Took it all. Lay there in his comfortable pose and bore the unthinkable act of his lover.
"Going to fucking fill you up. Fill you up with me"
He felt the tingle in his toes. Never before had he felt it happen like this. Orgasm tore through him like a locomotive. Blood roared through his ears. His teeth tore through dead flesh and his hips pummeled against the dead boy's ass. It became hard to move those moments just before he shoved himself deep inside the cold grip and froze. Howling wail tearing out of burning lungs just as his cock erupted. Spewing burning heat into ice cold tunnel.
He lay over the cold dead body, covering unmoving hands with his, laying his cheek to the dead boy's cheek and he came into him. Rutted and growled until his body slowed reluctantly and then he fucked him like a lover. Slow and gently as his body calmed. Turned his face to nuzzle at cool hair and even cooler skin. Skin that now showed its veins like a roadmap of recent life.
He lay heavy on him, panting.
"You did so good. You did so good" He crooned into his silent loves ear. Withdrew and rose, walking into his bathroom. Cleaning himself without slow casual ease. Warm water washing away the feel of cold gel, cooling cum and dead body. He moved back into his room with a warm cloth and just as gently begin to clean the boy. Knowing when his funeral came two days from now, he would shed his own tears for his silent lover.
Jeremy's Fall Part 2
For Jeremy the days after "him" moved like honey through water. Drifting slow, spreading, encompassing him but not quite merging him into the passing season. Every day at work, he waited with nearly robotic patience. Watching each one that came in. Too young, too old. Too torn up, too burned up. They had to be...perfect.
He took more care in each of 'his people' now. Having had that night with him, he took greater appreciation for the beauty that remained in each of his people after death. Women, men, children. He bathed them all with slow graceful circles and strokes. He performed the necessary's with their dignity in mind. Nails were manicured, toes given pedicures, hair trimmed, shaped. Make up applied with realistic intentions.
Sometimes though, Jeremy longed for bits and pieces of this one or that one. A woman's left breast had been spared in a car accident while the rest of her had come in nearly completely mangled and so he spent an hour brushing his knuckles against the perfect outer curve of cold marbled flesh. His fingertips grazed the permanently puckered nipple and he awed over the sweet pale pink shade of it. How he agonized a silent war within himself not to lean over and close the warmth and wet of his mouth over that breast. He longed to suckle hard and deep and sink his teeth in, feel the moment when skin gave away and split to the force of his bite.
A girls lips. She was eighteen. Her mouth parted in death in such a way she seemed to invite his mouth down to hers for a kiss. He had traced its shape for the longest time, marveling over the babysoft texture and spent half an hour lining and coloring those lips to a perfect coral for her burial service. Her eyes had been hazel with a perfect ring of gold around the iris and a part of him had wanted to lick his tongue against one. She had died after a brutal assault, her body knifed to ribbons, a slash tearing from the corner of her eye all the way down to the elegant curve of her throat. He had labored with painful care over the tiny stitches that had sewn tender skin back together, something not usually done, most going to their grave with glue that tacked the flesh together. But not for her. He had consulted a professional make up artist on how best to minimize the savage tearing of youthful flesh and spent two hours blending and smoothing until he had sat mesmerized.
Oh and just this morning, a man. Nearly perfect. Men seemed to somehow suffer less damage than the women. It seemed even in death women remained more fragile. More delicate. This man had only been thirty-five years old. A cowboy thrown during a rodeo and trampled beneath the mad hooves of a deranged bull before his body had been recovered and dragged free. Massive bruising covered his chest and legs and though he seemed...perfect...his body inside was mush, bones and organs split apart like a child's toy. Carelessly used and then discarded. But Jeremy had awed over his face, the faint bristling of two day old beard, full lips, dark eyes that stared back into his own without wavering. He had been tall and rangy, slender but finely muscled and was not at all disappointing size wise. Jeremy imagined someone would be mourning that bit of pleasure for a long while to come, but there was no pleasure in dragging around a body that was minced meat inside. He had contented himself with merely touching with slow feathered strokes here and there. Asking him how he liked it and answering for him. Laughing at the intimacies they shared at a time...like this.