Posted by Dead Leslie on September 09, 2001 at 23:19:50:
All,
Thanks again for all the feedback on my last story. I've had some free time again, and bring you a tale (possibly) more disturbing than erotic. We shall see.
DL
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Casket
The casket was open as he approached. They were alone. He hadn't been left alone since that horrible night. Friends, family, everyone wanted to talk to you. They wanted to hug you and let you know it was all right.
He looked down at her, laying there so serenly in her casket. No, nothing was going to be all right again.
Tentativly he reached out and touched her. His fingers trembled as they glided over her hands, clasped as they were on her belly. The warmth they he'd grown used to was gone. The gentle touch that used to caress him at night--all gone.
In a split second life changes. In a split second, life ends.
Tears filled his eyes as he thought about that night. That call. He'd never expected it. They had so much longer. Years to go before children or ties bound them to one place. He'd never expected a drunk in the rain to take that from them.
She looked so life-like. You couldn't even see the injuries.
He leanded down towards her, inhaling the smell of her perfume. It was as if she'd been sleeping. Maybe, just maybe if he kissed her she'd awake like sleeping beauty.
His lips pressed against hers, but nothing happened. Her dead flesh was cold and unyielding, her lips cemented together when she was embalmed. The warmth of her tongue would never grace his mouth again. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine them laying together in bed. He imagined her pressed against him lovingly, kissing him, her hands rubbing his inner thigh.
His hand was in motion now, gently caressing her corpse, feeling where death had left her stiff, and where the gentle curve of her bossom still felt soft and yielding. He could feel her hard nipples poking up through the thin blouse and pressing against his palm. He could almost imagine that even in death her body desired his.
He was growing stiff himself. Eyes still closed he reached for her with his other hand. Down past where he hands lay interlocked he slid his palm along the curve of her belly. Beneath the dress he could feel the seam of her pantyhose, and beneath them the gentle roughness of her pubic hair. He ran his hand down past the hem of her dress and felt the silkiness of her thighs. His fingers danced up the length of her inner leg until he felt the tickle of the hair that covered her crotch. A small tube poked out of her sealed up clit, and it stabbed against his fingers; a warning that in death he could no longer enter her.
But his love was not swayed, nor his desire sated. Now wholey focused on his dead bride he climbed into the casket with her, one hand unfastening his trousers, while the other fumbles with the dead woman's skirt. Her dress now hiked up past her hips, he pulled down the white pantyhose and lay his throbbing member on her. Her mound was cold, but he was now remembering the days where it was warm and inviting. He remembered the pleasure they shared when he would penetrate her--the gasp she would make each time as if he had just taken her maiden-head.
She did not gasp this time as he rubbed himself against her sealed vagina. The tube, so creully inserted, stabbed at him but he ignored it. He was kissing her now, his hands grasping at her barely concealed tits. Trembling fingers, helped little by his frantic pelvic thrusts against her abdomen, undid the white bluse, and he sank his face against her dead breasts, licking and sucking, all the while feeling the cold dead flesh, but rememberingwith both sadness and joy the warmth of her body beneath him.
Oh how he wished they had one last moment together--one last warm, and gentle fuck. He would give anything to hold her in his arms again; warm and alive. If only she had died with him, when he could love her one last time. When he could feel his cock sliding in and out of her. Perhaps even hear her last breath whisper the exctasy of orgasm to him even as she died.
He exploded his passion, not in her but on her. That was the price of the embalmers ultimate desecration of her body. His seed would lie spread about her, while another mans may very well lie within her. As he lay there, overcome by weariness and sorrow he wondered if another man had tasted his wife in death. Had she been as enjoyable as he remembered her in life? Had she been as enjouable as his last fuck now?
It took scant few moments for him to right the dissarray of the casket. Her blouse was buttoned up, and pantyhose slipped into place and skirt arranged. All looked as it had before. Almost.
As he lowered the bottom half of the lid which would cover her from the waist down, he smiled ruefully. A small wet stain was soaked into her skirt at the crotch. His love, to stay with her forever.