The Lady Wore Red Ch. 02


Michael coughed, spewing blood. He blinked at Lily, once, twice and then toppled over backwards. He died with his eyes open, laying at Lily's feet. She could feel a light wink out of him. It was a warm little sad light that flared brightly for a single instant, started to pull towards her and then vanished like the flame of a candle blown out with a single puff of air. You should be screaming. Her mind told her. You should bring your hands up to your mouth and scream. A man just died. In front of you. This man just fell over dead and you know you had something to do with it.

The bar door opened and closed. She couldn't take her eyes off of Michael. There was no creeping horror at what happened; she watched in calm, slightly detached satisfaction as a bar patron felt clumsily at Michael's neck for a pulse. Images of Michael's sister danced quietly through her head. Used over and over as she begged him to stop. And then she stopped begging and it was just a matter of time. A great big clock ticking down the seconds of her life. She liked to think that the girl (wherever she was) smiled at the violent passing of her brother but, in reality, she didn't care. He was nothing. An excuse of a human that should've ended his life as a stain on his mother's bed sheets.

People shouted and moved around her. The faint sound of sirens screamed in the distance. Lily turned in the general direction of her house and started walking. Nobody stopped her. In the confusion, nobody noticed her standing near the body. It took her three hours to find her way to her house and she was barely tired. She'd never walked so much in her entire life yet she only felt refreshed. For most of it, she dwelled upon the last twenty four hours and what had happened. She wasn't a fool -- the essence inside of her, the piece of Michael was his soul. A sliver of it, perhaps. She'd taken it from him the previous night when she fucked him. Or when she sucked him. She'd taken that piece of him and it'd done something to her. Her stomach was still the same as earlier and she still didn't need her glasses. The soul itself was quiet now -- as if it had shrunken into itself to escape her notice. It was barely there.

She went through her evening motions in a near trance, barely thinking anything at all. She started by cleaning the broken glass in the kitchen and then worked her way through cleaning the whole house without even meaning to do it. It was calming in a way, not focusing on anything in particular and letting her body work. Relaxing after all the mental stresses she'd just been through. When she ran out of things to distract herself, she wound down and got ready for bed. She expected to feel guilt or shame or something bad when she crawled beneath the smooth sheets but there was nothing. She wasn't hiding her emotions -- there was just nothing there.

Michael's soul was dying inside of her. It howled like a puppy in a hurricane, tugging at the titanium bonds that held it in place. Lily felt herself grow wet at the struggle. Whatever the sad little thing was doing, it made the pressure build in the pit of her stomach. Her hand went under her cotton sleeping pants and into her simple white panties. Her pussy lips were so slick and engorged. She opened herself with two fingers and slid a third inside, groaning at the way her arousal twined with the thing inside of her. The struggle turned to a shudder as the last remaining piece of Michael was pulled into her sexual desire. Two more fingers joined the first and she pushed and rubbed with all three. The pressure in her cunt built higher and higher until the orgasm rode through her body, making her arch her back and scream in pleasure over and over again. She'd had one or two stronger orgasms before but this one was... delicious in a way she'd never experienced in her limited sexuality. It felt heave in a sense. Solid. Her brain couldn't decide how or why it was different but there was no doubt in her mind that it was. She wanted more but touching herself was nearly painful at the moment.

Somewhere along the way, Michael had finally died inside of her. She no longer felt him at all. Not a trace. Burned out by my orgasm. She smiled at the imagery of him screaming into nonexistence as her body shook. The orgasm made her relaxed and lazy, like a cat soaking in a sunbeam.

As she fell asleep, she realized she hadn't had a bite to eat all day and didn't feel the least bit hungry.

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