By Jacquena (Jacquenaa@hotmail.com)
I've never been intimate with a dead person, much less another female, but I have thought about it. I've envisioned a young dead teen-female silently lying on a stainless-steel slab in the morgue, still clothed in her drab black body-bag. You know the beautiful-bodied cheerleader type, the sad victim of a car accident, of her boyfriend's drunken recklessness.
My shaking hands slowly unzip that thick, uncooperative and stiff blackness, fully exposing her pale lifeless body, the same lithe body that had previously been so full of life and so wantonly giving to her reckless boyfriend. Every inch of her previously-creamy flesh had been his to torridly touch, to hotly caress, and to ever so lewdly fondle.
I wonder if they had been intimate at that party just prior to her death. Was his creamy cum still up inside her stone cold body, those wiggling spermies valiantly trying to impregnate an egg, still trying to fertilize her lifeless form, to grow a bouncing baby in her already decaying womb.
The noise of that metal zipper echoes like thunder off those cold sterile walls, clickity-clack, clickity-clack, then a long lingering "zippppppppp" as I tug even harder, soon pulling it all the way down.
Her jet-black hair is all mussed around her limp head, strangled strands that had at one time been so smooth and silky. Her empty black eyes are still open wide, no longer sparkling, but still deep dark windows to her restless soul.
I slowly unbutton her frilly white blouse, then unhook the front-clasp bra of her lacy red bra. Her lifeless titties tumble out, at least D-cups, looking so pale, yet still so delicious. Her long, thick, rubbery nipples are frozen into obscene erectness for all eternity, begging to have one last hot horny suckle. It's so very hard for my fevered flesh to resist.
My head dips down, my lusting lips suckling those defunct spouts like a hungry baby. First the left one, then the right one. My hot wet saliva makes each one glisten, two sparkling stars on her lifeless form.
I feel her cold body shiver, but it's only lingering muscle spasms. Both her full breasts still jiggle as my lust-filled lips lick and lap. They sin-suously roll around on her chubby chest, almost making me believe that she's only sound asleep, ready to pop back to life as her silent and still body becomes more and more aroused.
Both my hands tug down her wrinkled ankle-length skirt, letting that dark-blue covering puddle around her bruised bluish ankles, just like her unmoving blood puddles there too. Her red-silk panties mold her curly bottom, both hiding and exhibiting, not leaving much to the imagination through their lacy sheerness. They soon join that wrinkled skirt around her ankles.
That clothing contrast amazes me. Prim and proper on the outside, yet red-hot as a two-bit whore underneath. I suspect that it had been a very formal party.
Her musky fragrance still lingers between her limp legs, teasing and tickling my nose. God, her pussy looks moist and flavorful, her long curly pussy-hairs mussed and tousled just as I like them. I deeply inhale, my fluttering cloudy eyes fully closing, my entire body floating as her feminine fragrance surrounds and hugs me.
"Hmmmmm, they did have sex just before her death," my naughty mind concludes, my harried heart beating even faster, my own D-cups bulging out of my too-small bra, heaving and straining to escape.
I begin to primally pant. She may have been totally heterosexual in life, but she is going to be a full-fledged, card-carrying lesbian in death.
While her lifeless eyes watch, my shaking horny hands slowly now remove my outer clothing, piece by piece, then my lacy undies û my bulging bra cups and my moist molding panties, until all that is left is my long fiery red hair and my sparkling emerald-green eyes. Both my reddish brown nipples are rigid as bullets while my clean-shaven cunny lewdly pouts, opening like a flower, its fragrant womynly dew making it ever so brightly glisten.
Slowly, my nekkid buxom body crawls up onto that silver-slab, slithering into that black body-bag, snuggling on top of her stone cold flesh. I pull that stiff body bag around us both, its long dark arms enclosing and comforting our fleshes, hers very dead, mine so filled with lusting life and daring desire.
Every cell in my shivering body feels her coolness, then retaliates by radiating its warmth, warming her bluish flesh up. My lips wetly kiss her non-responsive, much darker, and ever so limp ones, my torrid tongue slithering into her motionless mouth, a sinister snake checking out her still limp lifeless form.
And my fantasy goes on and on . . .