Dead House.

Posted by Barbanne on June 26, 2000 at 00:29:51:

A story in which Barbanne, or whatever she might be called in Bucharest, gets down and dirty with a dead guy!


I am the only female diener in the dead house of the Charite Hospital in Bucharest.
A diener if you have to be told is the person who precedes and follows the pathologist here in the dead house.
When a corpse arrives, oozing into it's enclosing bag, it is my job to get it out of the bag, out of its clothes and onto the table. Or if there is no time to autopsy that particular corpse on that day, then I move it into a drawer in the cold room cabinets. When the corpse is required I take it out and ready it on the table. At this time I do nothing to it as the pathologists like to see it in the state in which it arrived here. Often they may have seen it in situ where it was found anyway.
When the pathologist is finished it is me who sews up the Y incision and any other cuts the pathologist may have made and then I clean up the body, washing it if required, ready for the undertaker or the family of the departed to collect it for burial.
It isn't usual for a diener to be a woman in this latter part of the nineteenth century. I got the job because I pleaded for it and I have kept it because I am very good at what I do.
I love my work.
I love my dead bodies.
Literally. You see I am a necrophile.
This fetish, perversion some call it, is very unusual in a woman. But then I am a very unusual woman.
I fantasise being dead myself. I would like this very much and I would like to remain here naked and quite dead while every man who wishes can come and use my body for sex. I would like to be used a thousand times. Used lovingly or violently, I don't care. I just want to be dead and available.
Told you I was wierd.
I took my white lab coat off of the hook and slipped it on.
It is covered in stains from the work I have done, but over the years I have washed it again and again so that it looks well worn but clean. I crossed to where the pile of three canvas bags lay lumped together and containing the deliveries made during the night. I asked Grigor to help me and got all three onto individual carts for ease of movement around the charnel house.
I opened the first.
It contained the body of a five year old boy who had suffocated in a house fire. His little face was smudged with soot and smoke but otherwise untouched. I felt the awful pain in the pit of my tummy. I may be a strange young woman with very odd feelings but the sight of a young life cut off like this never fails to cause me exteme grief. Tears sprang from beneath my lids and rolled down my cheeks. I set to work to remove the small body and strip it and catalogue the clothes and their condition. Throughout the process I cried unashamedly, the tears wetting my face and rolling into my mouth leaving their unmistakable salty taste. His little nightshirt his so small underpants and his little bedsocks. I have no children but I am a woman and the loss of so young a life saddened me in a way I cannot adequately describe.
I laid him on the table and covered him with a sheet. When I saw the tiny bundle occupying less than half of the table I wept anew.
The second bag contained a young woman's body. A street walker and prostitute her body was clad in the ripped rags of her clothing. The state of their dishevelment attested to the violence of the attack which had taken her life. I removed her clothing item by item, cataloguing it and its condition. I lay her on another table. Her vagina was torn and reddened and her throat had been slashed with such vehemence that I could clearly see the ripped tendons and vessels in her neck. Her trachea was hacked and her windpipe severed. The top end of her spine was visible as lumpiness in the blood drenched flesh at the back of her throat. Her face was twisted in a rictus of terror, the terror in which she had died. Her eyes were bruised, her nose had bled and her teeth were bared and she had bitten half through her tongue in a last viloent spasm as she died.
Poor girl.
Such a fate awaits us all if we choose to bring comfort to vicious men.
I covered her and turned to the final bag.
My heart fluttered and I swallowed hard.
The bag contained the body of a man. Unmarked, dead from unknown causes. The face was sallow in death but undeniably handsome and what I could see of the body made my knees go weak. I looked around guitlily. No-one else was there. Only Grigor and I worked at this time and he had gone for breakfast.
I crossed to where the paperwork for the victims was kept and found the young man's sheet. His name was Alexai Dimitrov. I removed the sheet and reinserted it much lower down where it would not come up for autopsy for another day. Then I wheeled the cart and its burden into the preparation room to the left which was only used in emergencies.
With difficulty, I am only small, I got the body onto a table and removed the clothing. He was well dressed this Alexai Dimitrov. Splendid shoes, expensive hose, fine breeks and a very costly shirt and waistcoat. When I had removed his clothes and recorded them, I took time to study the body before me.
He was tall.
If he had been able to stand he would have stood a head taller than me.
He was very handsome.
He had black hair cut longish and wavy and thick. A curl had escaped and lay across his forehead. His eyes were closed and his fine downy lashes would have made many a girl jealous. He had a straight, slightly hooked nose that bespoke an aristocratic pedigree. His lips were soft and full and slightly parted so that his even white teeth just peeped through. His beard had grown enough to shadow his cheeks and chin. I ran my fingers down the left side of his face feeling the rasp of whiskers on my skin. I imagined the beard rash I could have had on my groin if I had met Alexai alive.
My fetish had gripped me. Where I had felt compassion for the child and for the prostitute, I felt only lust for the body before me. Orgiastic heat spread through me, dampening my pussy and prickling my nipples.
I gazed at the naked body stretched out on the table.
Michaelangelo and da Vinci were right. The nude male is true art.
Women's bodies are soft and curved and hold the promise of fecundity but for sheer sexiness, the nude male body is the ultimate.
I gazed in awe at the muscular corpse on the table.
Strong, powerful shoulders, the rounded knobs of the shoulders narrowing and then spreading into powerful biceps, another narrowing at the elbow and then the strong forearms dusted with fine black hairs and the long sensitive hands. Sinews and veins showed beneath the skin of the sculpted arms. I imagined those arms around my waist drawing me in, drawing me onto his cock. I imagined those hands stroking my breasts, stroking my face, encircling my throat, strangling the life out of me.
I shuddered.
His chest was deep and full. His pecs were raised like a bas relief sculpture crowned by small hard nipples. A fine down of hair crossed from breast to breast, just below those pectorals and then snaked down to his abdomen, just a centimetre or two wide, following a central path. His tummy was taut and rippled and the umbilicus was just a sexy fold over an indent. The fine line of hair down his tummy merged with a thick mat of pubic hair at his groin and then his uppermost thighs were hair free before a dusting of hairs covered his powerful thighs and lower legs. His feet were splayed but they were masculine. Tendons stood out sculpting the shape of the feet. Ten beautiful toes and such fine ankles and ankle bones, his glowingly smooth skin stretched tightly like velvet over them. Outlining the strength beneath the surface.
His knees were shapely and free of hair also and I touched them and stroked up inside his thighs allowing a frisson of excitement to play through me.
I let my eyes look at his cock and his scrotum.
I gulped air and felt vaguely faint.
His scrotal sack was full and round and one of his balls just hid somewhat shyly behind the other. They looked so full and round and brimming with his seed, which in life he would have shot inside my vagina. And then I gazed at the instrument with which he would have delivered it to my willing, waiting pussy.
His cock.
Even in death it was several centimetres long, Like a glorious tube it lay limply rolled to one side and his foreskin was hooded and menacing. I could see the underlying veins that would have filled with an engorgement of blood, expanding this tube to a glistening upcurved scimitar that could have plunged again and again into my hot pussy, ramming in as far as it would go.
Hurting me.
Exciting me.
Making me a woman!
I let my hand drift over his cock and rub against his balls and then stroke across his groin. I pressed my hand against the front of my coat finding and feeling my own mons veneris, my own pubic mound of fatty tissue. With my hand there I used my other hand to cover the genitals of Alexai's body. It barely rested on top of that magnificent mound. Oh to have this gorgeous bulge between my legs I thought. What it must be to be a man! How superb to know you could fill a woman's slit to bursting, as mine would be, jam packed by this glorious cock!
I shivered with desire. I gazed at this naked male corpse unable to get enough of this eye candy. I feasted my eyes unto gluttony on him, salivating, I didn't realise until the drool ran down my chin and dripped onto the naked corpse, lying where it fell, glistening. And then, hastily, I covered him with a sheet.
I would be back tonight.
In the pitch darkness of the midnight hour I returned to the dead house.
I had my story ready if anyone should find me. I had neglected to finish something earlier and awoke worried and had to put it to rights immediately. They would probably believe me.
I used a candle to light my way to the preparation room where Alexai awaited me.
I lit a gas sconce and started to undress. If my landlady had seen what I wore when I left the boarding house for young ladies she would have been scandalised, for I had put my long frock on over my nakedness. No petticoats, no pantaloons, no bustier. nothing. Just an all concealing frock and naked flesh.
I pulled my shoes off, I had no stockings either, and then I hoisted my frock over my head and there I stood, stark naked. This wouldn't be easy to explain. I smiled and locked the door to the prep room from my side. If necessary I could dress again as quickly as I had stripped.
I crossed to the table and pulled back the sheet.
In the dim light and after the passage of a few hours in this cold air, Alexai's body had assumed a waxen look, the appearance of death.
I stroked his cold, dead face and kissed his chilled lips. I kissed and licked my way down his torso, stopping to nibble at his nipples and run my tongue around his breast where the once powerful pecs had given it such a glorious shape. I came to his groin and burying my face in his pubic hair I sniffed the sexiness of him even now he was gone. I lifted his cock with one finger and as it lay drooping over my hand I used my tongue at full extension to salivate on his balls, licking and sucking at the tight scrotal sac. Opening wide I took his flaccid cock into my mouth and sucked on it as I would on some sweetmeat. Sweetmeat was what it was and when I had had my fill of that I climbed onto the table with my gorgeous dead lover, my Byronic corpse, and, after using my fingers to touch myself inside and carress my clit, I inserted the Turkish device I had obtained in the bazaar and started pumping it up and down. I used one hand to do this and with my other hand I fondled my cold sweetheart, pressing my warm body against his cold flesh and rubbing my breasts against his stiffened chest allowing my nipples to harden with desire.
As always the Turkish device, an excellent substitute for a man, caused me to come and I quivered with my orgasm as my pussy filled with the loving wetness my loins discharged.
I remained with Alexai's corpse for three hours during which time I explored every crease and opening of his body. I rubbed my breasts against every part in turn and used my lips and my tongue to coat him with my saliva. At one stage I replaced the Turkish device with his middle finger and on that occasion I came with an enormous rush such was the excitement I managed to generate.
Finally I knew I must leave.
I kissed him one last time, passionately and tenderly.
Then I slipped my frock over my head adjusted it and donned my shoes. I straightened out Alexai's body and covered it with its sheet. Unlocking the door I returned it to where it would be looked for in the main autopsy room.
I returned home sadly. Later this morning poor Alexai would be flayed open and his secrets explored.
But then...............
Then he would be returned to me so that I might sew his poor rent flesh together again and clean and wash him and return him to the room where he had lain.
Our room.
Our love nest.
I would be back again tonight..................