THE WOMAN ON THE BEACH
Posted by Barbanne on August 12, 2003 at 23:57:22:
THE WOMAN ON THE BEACH.
A tale of necrophiliac awakening.
At age fourteen it was something Donny had only dreamt about. He raised his father's binoculars to his face and looked again.
Down below him, on the sand, the woman lay on her back at the water's edge.
She was completely nude.
She lay staring at the blue sky, one arm lazily curled around her head, the other lying palm up by her side. Her fingers were curled up and the waves washed over them, foaming between them, giving the impression she was beckoning to him. A smear of sand streaked across her torso gave the feeling, fleetingly, that she wore something, but it was obvious from her large brown nipples and the thatch of hair at her crotch that she was nude. Her wet, blonde hair was haloed out on the sand around her face and was drying rapidly in the sun. Soon it would be stiff and salt encrusted as was the curly bush between her thighs. Her legs were spread wide shamelessly, and it was the pink and crinkly, partly open vagina that Donny was staring at.
Her mouth gaped open.
Her parted lips were painted red with lipstick that was smeared onto her cheeks and chin. Her toes curled upward. Her breasts splayed away from her chest, drawn by gravity to point away from each other.
A nude sunbather.
A nudie!
Donny caught his breath as he watched and felt arousal. His hand clasped his erect penis.
Cathy wished she hadn't taken the E earlier.
Wished she were in control.
They egged her on.
She downed her scotch. She had no idea that it was loaded with rohypnol. The date rape drug.
The drink tasted strange. She felt worse.
She knew she was in trouble. She was on the verge of going under. Somehow she stayed conscious, but she had no will of her own.
The boys dragged her to the car.
She complained. Or did she. Her mind was a mess. She tried to think, to concentrate. Their hands were all over her. She felt her clothes torn and pulled from her. She said stop, but her tongue was thick and her brain was frazzled.
The car stopped and she felt herself pulled out. They were somewhere quiet and dark. She felt cold. The wind whipped over her and she could hear the sound of waves. Her frock was half off her and its pretty top hung around her waist, her bra had been pulled askew and one breast was exposed. She knew they were going to hurt her, but she was unable to fight them off, unable to stop them, unable to help herself. She was barefoot and as they pulled her along she felt soft sand under her toes, then harder, wet sand.
She was pushed over, forced down and she felt her frock ripped away. Then her ruined bra. As someone ripped it, the metal hooks caught her left nipple and stung her with pain. She was trapped in a fog, felt like she was stuck in a treacly trap. She tried to move, to hit out, to scream for help, but the drug held her entrapped in its grip. Her panties were tugged off. She realised she was helpless and started to cry.
The boys were all over her. She could smell them, smell the beer, the liquor, smell their body odours and their foul breath. She could smell vomit.
She felt the first penetration as her vagina was forced open. Someone was raping her. Tears fell and ran down her cheeks. He was finished, another came and then another and another. It was all her nightmares at once. She felt wetness between her legs and knew without looking that she was bleeding.
They used her and used her. The raping was interminable. Then one started hitting her. She retreated inside. Crawled into a dark place and curled up.
Sometime, in a frenzy of drunken lust, one brute grasped her throat and squeezed. He liked the feeling of hurting this helpless girl and kept it up. Cathy could feel it in her dark place. She knew this was the end.
Crushing relentlessly, the boy strangled the abused girl.
It became apparent to the drunken louts that the girl under one of them wasn't moving, wasn't breathing.
One kicked her.
Another shook her. Slapped her face.
They talked.
A fat boy vomited.
Someone held the girl's body, felt for a pulse.
She was very dead.
Two of them picked her up. She dangled limply in their grasp. They carried her inert, naked, corpse out onto the rickety pier and heaved her into the ocean.
She hit the water and floated face down. The tide bore her back and forth on its currents, swept her out offshore and then brought her back.
Donny looked at the nudie.
His eyes followed the curve of her breasts, the line of her ribcage, the lean flat belly, the small indent of her belly button. He admired the shapely arms and the slender fingers. The way her thighs were full and strong and her pretty knees and curved calves leading to shapely ankles and fine feet.
He was getting very excited and his penis was throbbing.
It was his every dream. A quiescent woman whom he could study at length. If only he was by her, he could actually touch and feel her. But she would not allow that.
He came all over his hand.
Lying there she was still very exciting and he felt his young body aroused by the sight. If she stayed a little longer he could jerk off again. He moved closer. From his new position he could see her even better.
She had bruises.
The clatter of the helicopter startled Donny and he slid down lower so he wouldn't be seen. If anyone knew what he was doing his father would beat shit out of him. And his mother would be disgusted.
The helicopter landed on the beach and green suited para medics swarmed out together with police. They surrounded the nudie and as they examined her, Donny realised she was dead.
He had masturbated over a dead woman!
It had been awfully exciting.
He watched from his place of concealment as they examined her and covered her and finally loaded her into the helicopter.
It was fantastic.
Dead women were beautiful.
And you could do what you liked to them.
Oh.............., Donny had found a new direction in life.