It's So Easy to Die

Posted by blue.beard on March 28, 20011 at 20:35:22:

I finally got my last Petra story scanned, here it is:

It's So Easy to Die

Story text only, by Petra Bee

This is the text of a photo-story originally set to a photoshoot of Kira done by Cartharsis, and posted (text and pictures) on Peter's Erotic Horror site.

However, it seemed to me that this is a photo-shoot story where the text can stand on its own independently of the photographs (although it is a lot better with the photos), so I thought I would include it here. For the full effect, however, you have to be a member of Peter's site. The photography was good, and Kira wonderful: sexy, beautiful, and believable.

I'm posting this in part because it has some of the most intimate things I've ever written ... and I thoroughly enjoyed writing about the sex parts - which surprised me. I've not written about sex before in any detail or intimacy, and I liked it! I must be a strange woman.

Oh, God, its just so easy. I didn't have any idea how easy it is.

It was my first job after secretarial college, so I really didn't know much about the ways of the world ... and I suppose I was asking for trouble. You see, I just thought that this was going to be an exciting adventure and that I was going to catch a really, really cute bloke. Well, a second one, in fact. Instead, I caught a couple of bullets.

To start off

I should explain. It was my first real job (I mean, I don't count summer jobs working in a hamburger joint or being a hostess on a tourist bus), and I had started working for Nucleo-Genetics International as one of the assistant secretaries to the men in the marketing department. They were OK, but only just, and then one day got assigned to cover for a girl in the Research Management office. I had a huge amount of fun for a couple of days, and really got on with the other girls, as well as the men running the show. So John, boss of the RM group, got me transferred there, and a month later I was one of his secretaries. I really enjoyed working with the RM group; everyone seemed very loyal to each other, and everyone seemed to get along well. John was just a dream of a boss, too: really gentle with me while I was learning the ropes, and never asking me to do more than I could manage ... and patient with me when I screwed up. Which happened often enough!

His PA - Yuki - was an incredibly sophisticated, beautiful oriental woman (well, her parents had come from Hong Kong so we all thought of her as oriental, even if she had been born only a couple of miles from where I lived), and we all adored her. She wasn't much older than the rest of the secretaries, I guess, but she had been with the company since the beginning and knew everything about everybody, and basically she ran the Research Management office, and John signed the papers. Well, OK, so I exaggerate a little, but you know what I mean. She was just so cool and so sophisticated.

Yuki was sort of our Senior Aunt In Residence, and she always seemed to care about everybody and every detail in the office. Me and my mates would ask her advice about clothes and what to do with our boyfriends and that kind of thing, and she was always getting us to dress better and go to the right sort of shops and stop behaving so stupidly(or like alley cats, as she said once) with our boys. I just thought she was the most amazingly wonderful woman, and hoped that one day I could be as in-control and impressive as she was, although I knew I'd never get her figure, no matter how hard I tried. She was also great to work for, because she handled all the confidential business with John, and nothing else, so didn't interfere with what the rest of us were doing, and I could always do what I needed to do with him without always worrying that I was stepping on her toes. In the marketing department, all the PAs seemed to feel that they owned their bosses, and they acted like the rest of us had to take orders from them, and not the boss. Not so Yuki: I think she enjoyed all the girls around John, and never worried too much about our work.

Well, OK, so you can see what is coming. It wasn't long before I just had the most humongous crush on John. He was just so much fun, and such a sweetie. He was Scottish, and I suppose that his accent was the thing that turned me on first, and I could just sit in his office for hours listening to him and dreaming of Scottish hills and Lochs and imagine him in my arms by a peat fire in a crofters cottage ... and so on.

There was only one problem, only I didn't really think it was a problem, and that was that I was already having an affair with another bloke. I mean, it wasn't a problem so much because I had to keep my other bloke pretty much a secret (except with Linda, my closest girlfriend) because he - Bill - was a married man. Bill was from some old French family, and about as gorgeous as a human male can be, and the last of the old-fashioned gallant men. He had seduced me about half an hour after we first met, he was so gorgeous and charming, and when I was with him I usually could resist pulling his clothes off and taking him to bed for about 5 minutes. When he turned up in uniform, it was even less. Bill was a naval officer in some high-tech hush-hush sort of thing, so I never knew what it was that he did, except he regularly told his wife that he was going to some meeting at the other end of town or the other end of the country, and I would get him for an afternoon and an evening, or overnight, and just once in a while, for a whole weekend. He was just so incredibly cute, and such a wonderful guy in bed, that I suppose I didn't really mind that I only had him to myself occasionally, and we always had to dodge friends and places where he might be spotted. He was very good at those sorts of things, anyway, so it just sort of added to the fun. And since he was only a kind of part-time boy-friend, and he had another woman - his wife - it didn't much bother me if I played around a bit as well. He could hardly complain, could he?

But I'm getting distracted. I was telling you about John. He was very good with a he would take one or other group out for drinks most evenings, just to talk about their work all the staff, and get the various teams to 'brainstorm' about the research work that was going on in each sector. And the nice thing was that he didn't just get the managers together, but would bring the whole group along, so that the secretaries and other staff would get to know each other and could contribute too. And since I was one of his group, I was invited along to his brainstorming sessions pretty regularly. John was a 'dry' ex-alcoholic, so he never touched anything but tonic water with lemon (he called it his"infinitely weak gin-and-tonic") ... which was a great thing, because it meant that when any of us drank too much, he would drive us home.

It was not long before I made a habit of telling him that I had drunk enough to put me over the legal limit, and so I'd get a lift home. A couple of times I had managed to get him to come up to my flat for a cup of coffee, and sometimes he'd take me over to his house and cook dinner for me, and then send me home in a taxi. He was such a gentleman.

Success

It was in the late spring - so I guess about 5 or 6 months later - that I finally seduced him. It was a Friday evening, and he had brought me back to his house. This time I really was a bit tipsy after office drinks, and he cooked me some beautiful Chinese dish of noodles and vegetables and some wonderful spicy sauce, and opened a bottle of wine that I pretty much finished off myself. I just felt so good, and I wanted him so much, that I decided that I was going to have him. At the end of dinner we went over to the living room (his house was all a huge open space, so it was easy enough to get him to move to the couch), and I just stood on the other side of the fire-place and announced that I was not in any fit state to take a taxi home, so I intended to stay the night. John didn't react, he just sat still, looking puzzled. And then, just standing there, I slowly and carefully stripped, carefully peeling all the clothes off my body until I was standing naked in front of him. God but I loved that.

I don't suppose I've ever enjoyed anything as much as I did taking my clothes off in front of him that first time. By the time I was naked I was so aroused I was shaking. He didn't say a thing, but watched me, his eyes never leaving my body as I took each bit of clothing off. When I was naked, I just stood still on my toes, arching my back and pulling my hair back and up, watching him watching me ... and then I just launched myself onto him. He didn't exactly resist long, and I got what I had wanted from him for months.

John was simply the most incredible, wonderful, adorable lover. He was older than most of the other boys I had known, and it was just wonderful to be with another man who knew what to do, and who was just so wonderfully good at it. That evening he made love to me on the couch, then stretched over the coffee table, then on the carpet in front of the fire, and then finally I lay out on the dining table and lay absolutely still, and he pulled me to the edge and took me as I lay arched over the edge of the table. It was just amazing.

The next morning I woke up before he did, and managed to really gently and quietly get him aroused (it wasn't difficult) and had got on top of him and had him inside of me before he woke up. 'Riding' him like that was ...er .. kinda nice. He seemed to like it too ... and climaxing on top of him like that was, well, different (in the sense of being about the most amazing orgasm I had ever had).

That Saturday afternoon I had Bill over at my place, and he seemed even more energetic and cuddly and beautiful than normal. I think I was still turned on from the morning, or just turned on by having both men on one day. I got him to tie me to the bed and take me tied up, and we both climaxed like we had never done before, and I lay there under him afterwards, still tied up, feeling like I had had the most wonderful 24 hours of my life. Being tied to the bed with my arms stretched out above me and my legs tied open was more sexy than I could believe, and then to have Bill lying over me and be tied up and unable to move was just too sexy. I felt like my body was the most erotic thing in the world. I really liked the feeling of being tied up and exposed to him and helpless like that. I just loved it when he took me, like when John took me. Two beautiful men, and in one day, was just too good to be true.

The next week I managed to get a lift home with John a couple more times ... and stayed the night with him, too. Sober, I wanted him even more than I had when I wasn't sober. He seemed insatiable, and wanted to make love to me draped over just about ever piece of furniture in the house. I liked that. But at work I had to be really, really careful not to do anything to show anybody what was happening, especially Yuki, as I really didn't want to risk her finding out. A couple of times I wondered if she was watching John and me when I was in his office, or at the brainstorming sessions, but she seemed normal enough, so I didn't worry about it. When I asked John about it, he told me not to worry, that Yuki was "OK" and there wasn't a problem.

A problem

Well there was. The next weekend I went to a street market in a part of town where I never normally go, and I happened to notice Yuki sitting at a sidewalk cafe ... and to my complete and utter astonishment, she was sitting with my Bill! As they talked, she had her hand on his ... and suddenly I wondered if my world was going to collapse. I grabbed a taxi and fled home in tears.

Bill and I had arranged for him to come over to my flat for a couple of hours that evening as his wife was out at some 'do', and I lasted about 10 seconds before I exploded in a fit of tears and anger and resentment. He had barely walked into the flat before I was grabbing him, crying, beating his chest, not knowing if I wanted to hug him or punch him: what the hell was he doing with Yuki?!

Bill acted surprised for a few seconds, and then gently pushed me down onto a chair, promising to explain everything. I carried on shouting and blubbering for a bit longer, but eventually calmed down long enough to draw breath, and then Bill started to explain.

It was a long story. One of his hush-hush projects involved something to do with one of the research teams at Nucleo-Genetics, and they had been working together for a couple of years. Recently Bill had started to suspect that someone at the company was holding back something from him, and he had been in contact with Yuki, although John and the others at Nucleo-Genetics didn't know that. He had enlisted to try to find out exactly what was going on with one of the projects. John wasn't involved, but the records that he held would tell Bill what he wanted to know. And Yuki had found out that John kept the most confidential records of the secret research work at home, rather than in the office safe or computer system.

Not so smart...

I brightened up, and had the most stupid idea of my life. I told Bill that sometimes John took me home and cooked dinner for me if I had had too much to drink at the research group brainstorming sessions, and maybe I could find a way to sneak into his study at home and raid his computer? Bill looked surprised at this - as if he didn't know about what John and I had been up to! - and looked as if he was thinking about it all. I was being set up, and I was launching myself into it, hook line and sinker.

In a flash, Bill was telling me what he was looking for, what sort of names would be on the files, what sort of information he wanted. I knew enough about the filing system in the Research Management office to know what sort of records he was looking for and how they were filed; these were confidential and encrypted things that I had never looked at, but I knew where they were kept in the office system and, I guessed, I might be able to find the missing ones on John's computer. It would be all very easy.

I felt immensely cheered. Everything was fine, and I was going to be able to help Bill where Yuki couldn't. Bill didn't know anything about me and John (silly me!) and he and Yuki were not up to anything, they were just involved in whatever hush-hush work Bill was doing (silly, naive me). I was suddenly relieved and happy again, and it was still early enough in the evening that I had plenty of time left with Bill all to myself. He wasn't in uniform that evening, which was a pity, but nevertheless by the time I had absorbed the story and he had fixed me a very large gin, I was feeling back to normal and thinking about ways to occupy the next couple of hours of my Saturday evening.

Bill said he had to go to the bathroom, so I decided to offer him a little surprise. As soon as he was out of the room I tore off my clothes and threw them out of sight, and lay over the back of my largest, softest, stuffed chair. The height was just right for me to fold myself over the chair, head down the front with my arms loose on the cushions, and my bum firmly in the air with my feet just off the ground. I felt wonderful draped over the back of the chair like that, and remained there, silent and unmoving, waiting.

I seemed to wait for hours ... waiting for Bill to return. And when he did, he seemed to like what he saw. I heard him start - a sharp intake of breath - and then quietly come up to me, his hands eventually touching me, wandering over my back, my thighs, my bum ... caressing me softly, gently ... and getting me very excited. I did not move, just lying there limp, waiting ... and that seemed to get me more and more excited. Then I could sense he was undressing and, a few moments later was rewarded by being gently penetrated and made love to in a way I had never had before in my life ... and had me shouting with the pleasure of my climax a few minutes later. I had tried to remain limp and still, but hadn't managed for all that long.

When Bill had finished, he very gently picked me up off the chair and laid me on the floor, putting a finger to his lips to quieten me. I let him lay me out, moving my arms above my head and arranging my hair, pushing my legs open, and then stood there, wonderfully aroused, looking at me. Looking at him look at my stretched out body was something new and very interesting, and I made a note to remember to play these games again with Bill. He liked to look at me all stretched out. And I liked to be looked at, all stretched out.

He knelt beside me, and whispered to me that he found it very sexy to find me limp and stretched out, and loved making love to me when I was trying not to move or react, but just lying still and letting him do what he wanted to. I had found that a huge turn on, too ... and I liked being taken from behind, as well. After a while Bill asked me to try to lie as still as possible, and he made love to me again, this time with me stretched out on the floor. I managed to stay still a bit longer this time, but eventually I could resist no longer, and I ended up on top of him, kneeling on him, and ... well, and a good time was had by all.

So my Saturday didn't end so badly, after all.

The next week was a huge bundle of nerves and excitement for me. I tried to play it cool with John, and tried to be as normal as I could with Yuki, trying not give her any sign that I knew something special about her. I managed to get John to take me home twice, and we had two wonderful nights together... but I didn't have enough time alone to do more than put my head into his study and see his computer and desk. Clearly I had to adopt different tactics.

My opportunity came the next Saturday. I made very sure that John took me home to his place on Friday evening, and made very sure that we had a good evening together. I even tried my over-the-chair trick with him, and it worked with him, too, in the most wonderful way. I guess I had learned something about what men liked!

The next morning, John was going off early to play Saturday morning rugby with some of his other Scottish friends, and since this was very clearly a boys-only morning, I volunteered to stay at home and get some lunch ready for him, so he could come home and shower and clean up and ... er ... have lunch. He seemed to like the idea, and seemed to like the idea of the "... er ..." between the shower and lunch too. I thought to myself that I was getting better at this game.

So he got up and showered, and I lounged in bed, enjoying the feeling of Saturday morning, and thinking that this was the morning when I could do what Bill had asked me to do. John came out of the shower, and I lay stretched out on the bed with a pillow under the small of my back, gently massaging my breasts and arching my back, my legs stretched out and just a little open ... and John suddenly seemed to forget about his rugby game. I guess something persuaded him that he just had time to make love to me one last time before leaving, and it wasn't long before I had him on top of me. I whispered to him that I was asleep, and he could do what he wanted with me, and he proceeded to make love to me with a passion that had me gasping; eventually he came out of me and pulled me down to the bottom of the bed so that my legs were off the bed, and he knelt there and pulled me onto him, my back arched on the edge of the bed ... and gave me the orgasm of my life. Needless to say I didn't manage to stay sleeping all that long, but he seemed to like to take me asleep. I made another mental note.

Eventually we calmed down enough and he remembered his rugby game. Match. Whatever. As soon as he was gone, and still naked, I went to his computer and switched it on. Silly boy - he used the same password as on his office computer (which everybody in the office knew), and I was into his computer in a trice. It didn't take me long to find the files that Bill was looking for, and I was copying them onto a floppy. It was all so easy, I really couldn't believe it. It cannot have taken me 15 minutes to get everything that Bill was after, and then I was stuffing the floppy into my make-up bag.

I thought that I would prefer to call Bill and arrange to meet him and get rid of the floppy right away, rather than risk something go wrong, so a quick phone-call on my portable and Bill arranged to drop by in half an hour. That would still leave me nearly a couple of hours before John came home ... and the thought just crossed my mind that I might just be able to persuade Bill to reward me with ... well, a couple of hours of his time before I went back to attend to John and ... you know, whatever happened before lunch. The thought of a morning that went from John to Bill and back to John again made me feel very excited: I was really having my cake and eating it too.

Somehow, it all seemed so easy. I was getting everything I wanted, two wonderful men, and it was all so easy.

It was all such good fun, and it's all so damn easy.

Dressing up

I had the disk safely in my make-up bag, and I still had half an hour before Bill arrived.

But I still had the taste of John in my mouth, and could smell him on my body. I took a quick shower, dried myself, and then found I was in the bedroom, looking at myself in John's long mirror, and enjoying what I was seeing. Men seemed to like what I was looking at... and that made me feel good. John had been particularly interested in my tummy this morning, stroking it for what seemed ages and ages, and I had really enjoyed that. I held my breasts, so I could look long and hard at my tummy, trying to imagine looking at me as a man looks at me. What do they see? How do they see it, how is it different from what I see?

My hands cupped my breasts, holding them pushed up, feeling their warm and soft skin, feeling their weight and firmness in my hands. How men liked to feel what I was touching! What was it that they felt when they touched me, what was it about my breasts that so turned them on. I looked at myself intently in the mirror, trying to be Bill or John, trying to look at myself as they did. I wanted to see myself as a sex object, see what I looked like when they wanted me only for sex, see what I was like when I was a body, a body to be taken, used, pleasured ... a body to be fucked.

I looked hard at myself, trying to see me not as me, a living woman, but as a body to be fucked. An object, a thing to be used, taken, enjoyed by a man. I tried to see me as an inert thing, the object of their desires, a body to be fucked, not me, a feeling, laughing, crying woman.

I rolled the phrase around in my mind ... "A body to be fucked..." Somehow, I liked it. Somehow, I took pleasure from looking at me in the mirror, and trying to see not me, but see a body that a man wanted to take, possess, use ... fuck. I rubbed my belly, thinking of John inside me, thinking of Bill inside me ... thinking of them using my body. Fucking me. I whispered the words to myself. "Take me. Fuck me. Use me. Use my body." I loved to say it, even if it was just a whisper in my brain to myself.

And then I thought of Bill, and tried to pull myself from my reverie.

It was time to get dressed. I quickly found the nylon stockings I had been wearing last night, and started to pull them on. I knew that the boys would like these; they were proper old fashioned stockings with the seam up the back, and somehow all boys over the age of 25 seemed to think they were about the sexiest things a girl could wear. I didn't see it, but if that's what they like, then I'm happy to give them seamed stockings.

I don't know why, but pulling on stockings is something that always makes me feel luxurious and sensual. There is something about pulling them on, pulling them up my (freshly shaved) smooth legs, and feeling them holding me, caressing and encapsulating my legs. Only a man could think of inventing something so silly as stockings, but... I guess I liked them, too

I thought of Bill... and felt the soft silky material on my leg as I pulled the stocking over my knee and onto my thigh. Something inside me stirred, and I felt Bill's hands on my legs, stroking me as and holding me just as the stockings were caressing me. I thought about Bill, and something in me stirred again. It had been nice to have John take me this morning, but now I was looking forward to Bill.

Then the mirror interrupted my daydreams. I couldn't help it: I've been a girl for 20 years now, and I wasn't about to change! A mirror in front of me meant that I was looking carefully in the mirror as I pulled up my stocking, looking at my bum, checking out my thighs. I thought that I need to do some exercises and lose some weight on my bum ... but... no sign of cellulite. Good body. Good girl. That thought reconciled me to my image in the mirror, and I thought again about Bill. I hoped I could persuade him to stay for a bit. I liked the thought of John and Bill in the space of one morning. I was a wanton woman ... and I loved it.

The stockings on, I put on the garter belt... an idiotic invention, uncomfortable, stupid and cumbersome. But my two men seemed to love them, and since I didn't have stay-ups today, the wretched thing was a necessity. Anyway, I was thinking of a way of making it altogether more comfortable. Altogether a lot more comfortable.

Quickly, determined now, and wanting time to do my face and hair again, I clipped the stockings to the garter, and then pulled on my skirt. No panties. Bill would like that... I would sit in front of him and do a Sharon Stone. He'd get that message. And ... no panties made that stupid garter belt a lot more comfortable.

I chuckled to myself. I was enjoying this. I know how to be a girl, and I'm getting good at it.

Now I was quick. The skirt zipped, I pulled on a shiny white blouse, with nothing underneath. I knew my nipples would show through, and that was what I wanted. Bill liked me in white shirts and tight skirts, and he'd see my breasts right away. I liked that... I enjoyed thinking of him walking towards me, and watching me as I walked to him, carefully moving my body as I walked so that my breasts swayed, not jiggled ... and watching him fix his eyes on my breasts. The thought warmed me, and my mind was already working. "Look at me, Bill. Enjoy my body..."\

Then, a nice necklace that I didn't think he'd seen before, and then I sat on the floor to pull on a pair of very impractical shoes that I had stuffed into my bag yesterday. They made me so tall I could just about look Bill in the eyes ... and they made my legs look so good.

I liked that thought, too. Getting dressed for Bill was becoming a very special pleasure this morning; the pleasure of anticipation, of dreaming every look and feel and sensation that I was going to have when Bill walked through the door.

I stretched out my legs on the floor in front of me. Again, I smirked to myself. Heels. Outrageously high heels.

I felt so good. I felt like Superwoman. I was sex triumphant, invincible. I had the disk, and I was going to have my men.

Happiness is being a woman. Happiness is being a woman who is going to have her man.

I smiled. Men, not man.

I started to play with my hair ... but I had to get to the bathroom to do that properly. I looked down and I checked my blouse, pulling my arms about, checking that it opened much too much for decency, checking that my breasts showed off properly, indecently. For a moment my hands touched my breasts, and I felt them ... my soft, living flesh, that flesh of mine that men so wanted. I imagined Bill's hands on me, then John's hands. I tried to feel my breasts, feel my own body, feeling it as a man feels it. Something turned me on, just thinking how my body was what a man wanted. My breasts - that which would give life to my babies, and which gave so much else to my men. I love my breasts, and I wanted Bill to see them and to enjoy them.

Then I crawled up onto my feet - not so easy a feat with those platform heels, I'll have you know -- and adjusted my stockings; they always need pulling up, and the clips re-tightening. And now to the bathroom for hair and make-up, and still with plenty of time. I was really, really starting to look forward to the rest of this morning.

It's just so easy to get killed. And so easy to die. So easy.

And then my world went pear-shaped. Standing at the door to John's bedroom was Yuki.
YUKI???

"What in gods name are you doing here?" My eyes focused for a second on Yuki, not understanding, and then on her outstretched arm. I understood even less. She was holding a gun, and it was pointing exactly and precisely at me.

I couldn't think. Nothing made sense. She and John worked together, but they weren't lovers - oh, god, I didn't think so. A terrorizing thought had gone through my brain. She and Bill worked together ... but they weren't lovers. I didn't think so. What did she want? Why was she pointing that gun at me?

I started to blubber, confused, asking, pleading, explaining, gibbering all at the same time. She was still pointing that gun at me, her face cold and impassive. I looked at her, then the gun, then back to her. I was looking at death, and I didn't understand. My mind was nothing but confusion. Fear, confusion, terror.

Yuki just looked impassively at me. "I don't like little girls fucking around on my patch, you tart."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't say anything ...

I didn't know what to say, and anyway, my mouth wasn't working, so I couldn't say anything even if I wanted to. But the look on Yuki's face was so cold, so frightening, that I knew this wasn't a joke. She was pointing that gun right at my chest for a reason. My stomach tightened with fear, with horror, at what was happening. I had to try to explain, to stop her.

I didn't want her to shoot me. I didn't want to die.

There was not time. I saw Yuki blink, and then I heard a bang, and saw a flash spew out of the gun's barrel. And then I felt myself stagger, punched in my chest, just below my breast. I felt a hand fly up in shock, and I moved back a pace to keep my balance ... and then came the pain. A huge, stabbing pain, deep inside me; hot, exploding, tearing my innards. I felt my body slouch, my chest folding ... my hand reaching for the pain.

And ... oh, so slowly, so very slowly, a thought seemed to form in my brain. Yuki had shot me.

I had been shot. The words had no meaning to me.

The pain was too intense. My chest, my stomach hurt too much. I was trying to breathe, feeling my lungs winded and pounded by the punch I had received, and at the same time, keep my balance. I wanted to scream, to shout, to protest at the pain, to protest at what Yuki had done ... but all I could do was gasp, trying to get air in my lungs, try to keep on my feet.

I could not. I felt my knees hitting the floor, the pain sending fiery daggers deep into my body.

The pain became worse, not better. My chest was afire, screaming, burning, tearing my body into pieces, the pain was so terrible. I couldn't keep my balance ... couldn't hold on to anything - the thought suddenly formed in my brain: "don't let go of your makeup bag! It has the disk in it!" - but I could not. I could do nothing but feel the pain, and the fear that was holding my body.

I tried to stay upright, but the pain in my chest was too great; all I wanted to do was fold up and hold myself, to crawl into a corner and make the pain go away. I was frightened. I did not understand what was happening. But it didn't go away. It just got worse. I could feel I was crying out, whimpering, moaning ... and I could feel the floor beckoning. I couldn't sit up any longer, I just wanted to lie on the floor; maybe that would make the pain go away. The room seemed to swim and spin around me, and then I felt my head hitting the carpet, the floor supporting my shoulders, hard beneath my back. I focused on the room again, the ceiling above me. I didn't understand what was happening to me. I didn't understand why I was feeling such pain, I didn't understand why I was on the floor, my body possessed by such piercing, penetrating agony. I didn't understand. But I knew ... I knew I had to understand. That would make the pain go away.

Yuki. Yuki had shot me. I could still see her ... still holding the gun. And it was pointing at me. The words suddenly had meaning: Yuki had shot me. I had been shot!

The pain was the pain of a bullet, a bullet inside me. A bullet inside me, inside my body, killing me. I tried to open my eyes and focus again, and I could see Yuki holding the gun, pointing at me. I didn't want to be shot again. I tried to stop her, put up my hand, to say something, to get her to stop ... but the pain was too much. I just wanted to scream, to cry ... to do something, anything to make this pain inside me stop.

I didn't want to be shot again. No, not again.

But it was no good. The more I moved, the more I tried to say something to Yuki, the more my chest hurt. I tried to pull my head up. I could feel the pain inside me, could feel the bullet deep inside me ... could feel it killing me. Oh, god: that was what was happening. I had been shot, I had been killed.

I was dying. Yuki had killed me.

I fell back. I could no longer keep myself kneeling. Somehow, lying on my back felt better. The pain eased, or something: I could feel myself again. I looked down at my hand, looked at my body. My breasts, moving as I breathed. My pale skin. And then I could see blood ... my blood. My hand had my blood on it! Now the thought made more sense: I had been shot. Yuki had shot me. Killed me. I was dying.

Those words suddenly meant something. My mind cleared, the pain in my chest receding. Yuki had shot me, I had a bullet inside me, and the pain I was feeling was caused by the bullet inside me. I had been shot, and I was dying. I was lying on the floor in John's house, and I was dying.

I looked down at my hand again, and saw the blood on it. I could see my chest heaving as I struggled to breathe, and I could see that I was sprawled on the floor, my skirt hiked up, my blouse open. And I could see a small, neat hole in my skin a couple of inches below my breast, with a small, neat trickle of blood coming from it. A hole that told me that I had been shot, a hole that told me I was dying. I gasped, pulling air into my lungs, and saw my breast rise. Somehow, that reassured me. I could see my body. It was my body down there, me, that I was looking at. And I could feel the bullet in me, I could feel it killing me. The pain I was feeling was the pain of the bullet killing me. My mind grasped the words, focusing on the words: I was dying.

I was suddenly aware of the world around me, crystal clear and conscious. Yuki was standing over me, pointing the gun at me again. I tried to shout, to hold up my hand to stop her. She bent lower, pointing the gun at my heart. I cried out again, blubbering anything, trying to get her to stop. The gun pointing to my heart... that would kill me. I knew that. If she shot me again, I would die. I could see it pointing, and I knew that I was looking at my own death. That gun was no more, no less, than my death. And Yuki pointed it more and more deliberately at me, her hand muscles straining as she prepared to pull the trigger.

I wanted her to stop. I wanted her to take that gun away, to let me live, to do anything but not to kill me. My hand went up again ...

"Its time to die, little girl. Time to go. Goodbye."

Her words were soft, cool, almost friendly. But her voice came through clearly to my consciousness. She was going to kill me. There was no time left.

It was very easy. I watched carefully. Her muscles flinched, and again the gun spat flame, and again I felt the crashing sound in my ears as I felt the punch of the bullet as it hit me. I felt my whole body jerk with the impact of the bullet, my mouth wide open with the gasp of pain. My chest exploded with the pain, and I heard myself scream. But this time I had no confusion.

My left hand sought my breast, holding it, pressing down, as if I could comfort myself. I could hear my lungs trying to scream, to cry out, but all I could do was rasp ... what I heard was the strained, agonized cry of a dying animal. Me.

I held myself, feeling my hands on my breast and my tummy, feeling two bullets inside me, two wounds, two fiery penetrating shards of pain inside me. Pain inside me, pain that was going to kill me. I knew I was dying.

I felt limp. I could feel my body jerking, my back arching involuntarily, my breath rasping with the pain; I could feel my lungs trying to cry out. But I also could feel my body become heavy, my movements difficult. I tried to hold my breasts, to feel life again from my breasts, but I could not move my arms. I was dying. I had seconds of life left; I was dying.

It was so easy. I had been alive a minute ago, and now I was dying. It was that simple. It was so easy to die. I knew that I just had to lie there another couple of seconds, and I would be dead. It's that easy. I just had to lie there, and I would be dead. I pulled at my neck muscles, and I could just move my head up to look again at my breast. I could see the wound, the obscene hole that penetrated my breast, that penetrated my body. I could see a tiny, neat trickle of blood, my life, oozing from the hole. The hole in me.

My head fell back. My arms tried to grasp my breast, to hold my life inside me, but I knew it was hopeless. I could feel the heaviness in my arms. I tried to move my legs, to make one last gesture of life, to protect my body, to defend myself, to defend my sex ... but my legs jerked, flicked briefly over the carpet, and then I could move them no more.

The thought was clear in my mind: I was dying. This was now my death.

It didn't take long.

My arms fell to my side, and I could feel my legs go limp, and I could control my limbs no more. I tried to move my head, but my body did not respond.

So that was it. I had died. I could feel the two daggers deep in my body, and I could feel my still chest; I could feel my limp arms and legs ... but I had no control over my body any more. No motion, no breathing, no life. I was dead.

It had been so easy. All I had had to do was lie there, and I had died. And I was now a dead body. I said the words to myself clearly, trying to understand what they meant: I was a dead girl. A dead body. I was just a dead body. It was that easy.

It was all so easy. I just lay there, dead. I was lying still on the floor, and I was dead.

It's that easy. I was dead. Yuki bent over me to check my pulse, putting a hand on my breast to feel my heart... and I knew what she could feel: nothing. I was dead.

It was that easy.

I wasn't me any more, I was just a dead body. A dead girl, a dead piece of meat on the floor.

As easily as that: two bullets and a couple of minutes, and I was transformed from a living woman to a dead body.

I lay still, my body now inanimate, limp, suddenly still. I tried to focus: I was dead. I could no longer move. My chest was still, no breath came in or left my lungs, my arms moved no more. I was dead. Oh, dear god, I was dead. The bullets had killed me. Yuki had killed me ... and now I was no longer me. I was a dead body. The word seemed huge, terrifying, awesome: dead.

I felt Yuki close to me, kneeling down, touching me, fiddling with my skirt, pulling at my clothing, as if she were looking for something. I could no longer think, could no longer reason; I was just trying to feel myself, feel what I was, feel my body, sense myself. Sense myself. Sense my dead body. Feel my limp arms, my unmoving legs, my still breasts, my motionless torso. I could feel Yuki doing something with me, touching me, but I was past caring. I had died, and I was a dead body. It had been so easy: one minute I was an alive and living me, the next minute I was just a motionless dead body. It was so easy.

It really isn't difficult to die.

Maybe dying is about the easiest thing a girl can do.

"Come on, you bitch. Where is it?"

I could hear Yuki clearly, as she groped about my body, pulling at my skirt, at my shirt, in my mind: I knew exactly what she had done. I had been hit by another bullet, this time in my breast looking for something.

"Give it to me, girl. Give it to me."

I had nothing to give. I could hear Yuki, but I could not move, could not answer. I could feel her hands on me, feeling under my arms, around my skirt and around my back, I could feel her touch my breasts. My breasts! They were dead, unmoving ... my beautiful breasts: giver of life, made to feed babies, to suckle my lovers, to feel the caress of men ... and they were dead, unresponsive, still. I could not believe that this was me: an inert, dead body, no longer me.

Yuki's hands left me, she was doing something else. And then her one syllable laugh of satisfaction told me she must have found what she wanted.

She straightened up, and I could see she was holding the disk I had put in my make-up bag. She was smiling - gloating? - as she looked at it, then down at me.

Was that what she had wanted? Was that why she had killed me? I had died for that disk? I wanted to protest, to complain, to shout that it wasn't fair, that I didn't deserve to die for that stupid disk, that she didn't need to have killed me for the disk, that I didn't care that much about it, that she could have the damned thing, that it wasn't fair, that I wanted to live, that I didn't want to be lying on the floor, dead ... but it was too late. I had died because of that disk. Yuki had killed me, snuffed out my life, for that disk. ... But Bill wanted that disk, and Yuki worked for Bill, didn't she?

And it had been so easy to die for that disk. All I had had to do was stand there and have two bullets pumped into my body, and I had died. I hadn't really had to do anything, and I had died.

It's so easy to die.

Yuki reached down, and started to move my legs, gently straightening out one, then the other. Her grip was firm, but not unfriendly. She carefully moved one leg, then the other, moving my legs apart, opening my legs and exposing my sex; I could feel the air moving on me, feel the air on my sex. I felt exposed, open, vulnerable. Oh god, I was so vulnerable. I was without defence, I was open, my sex exposed, and I lay there unable to move. I could feel my body, but my legs and arms lay on the floor limp, unmoving. My chest did not breathe, did not move. And my head lay still, my eyes open and unblinking.

My opened legs somehow made me feel more dead. I was a limp, motionless, unmoving dead body. I was me no more, I was dead.

And I was defenseless. Somehow, something in me felt my exposed body, my naked breasts, my exposed sex ... and somehow, somehow, I felt it... erotic. I was dead, but I was naked and exposed, my naked breasts showing, my naked sex exposed and offered, my legs open and inviting. My dead eyes look out on the room, now motionless. My breasts felt the air move on them, but I could not cover myself, could not move. I was so naked, so exposed, so motionless. Breasts, sex ... me. I was there for the taking.

"I'm dead" I thought. And ... how can I tell you? I liked it. I felt erotic, exposed, open; a dead body, a picture of submission, of defeat, a body abandoned by life, by me. Whatever happened to my body now, I could do nothing about it. It wasn't really my body now, you can do what ever you like with it. I was dead.

As she left the room, Yuki chuckled ..."Ta Ta For Now ..." and closed the door.

I was very alone. And very dead.

Maybe being dead is about the easiest thing a girl can do.

I do not know how long I lay there, so utterly still; time seemed not to pass, despite some sort of vague consciousness that time was passing. Maybe hours passed: I don't know. All I knew was that I was lying on the floor dead. Maybe I lay there only for a couple of minutes ... the sun in the room continued to be bright and warm.

I knew I was dead; I felt a kind of coldness in my body that wasn't unpleasant - not like feeling a chill wind - but was a sort of deep, inner coldness. It is strange to feel so motionless. Somehow - it's difficult to explain -1 could see, but somehow I couldn't see. I mean, I was aware of the room around me, and I knew what there was in the room in my field of vision, but I couldn't actually look at anything. I could also hear the sounds from the street outside, so I could hear, and I could feel my still limbs as well. But... but... I lay so utterly still, not breathing, no reassuring rising and falling of my chest, no little twitching of my limbs, moving to adjust myself... nothing. I was still as I had never imagined myself before: utterly still and limp and ... oh, god ... I could say the words in my head ... I was dead. My body was limp and vulnerable and exposed, lying there half naked, and I couldn't move to cover myself or to protect my body. I could feel my body ... yet somehow, I wasn't sure I was feeling my body. It wasn't really my body: it was just a body, a dead body ... it wasn't me, this was just my dead body.

'No, you stupid girl' I thought... 'that's what you are. You're just a dead body. You're dead.' The thought was strange. And strangely pleasant, maybe exciting. I kept saying to myself, again and again and again: 'You're dead. You're dead' as if repeating it would make me understand what I was feeling.

And so I lay... and lay ... just feeling still and dead.

I heard the front door open, and I could hear quiet footsteps on the carpet outside the room. Two sets of footsteps. And then, Yuki saying in a soft sweet voice:

"She's in there." And then after a pause, "no, no ... everything went fine."

Then footsteps came into the room, and the door closed. I really wasn't prepared for what happened next, no matter how much I felt shocked and confused and my brain squashed by what had happened. I was still concentrating, trying to understand, to feel what I meant by saying to myself that I was dead, I was now just a dead body. It was more than I could do to understand what I saw next. The person who came into the room was ... Bill. Bill must have had Yuki kill me. Bill had ordered my execution!! Yuki wasn't working for John, and wasn't protecting John, she was working for Bill, and carrying out Bill's orders! It made no sense. Bill? Bill had had me killed?

Bill? He was my lover; I was doing this for Bill! He can't have had me killed. I was too confused, too shocked, too numb to try to understand, to try to react, to try to think. I didn't know if I was angry, furious, betrayed ... or happy and relieved to see Bill looking at me - at least a familiar face, a lover, someone I trusted. I trusted? He had ordered me killed, surely?! I don't know ... it made no sense. I couldn't understand. My mind could not grasp what had happened to me, and could no more grapple with what I was seeing. Was Bill here to see his handiwork, to enjoy the sight of me dead? Why?

Bill came into my view, looking down at me, looking intently at my body. I wanted to react - to leap up, to hug him, to smile, to beckon him ... something. Instead, all I could do was lie there, motionless, and feel him looking at my body. I felt so naked.

He stood still for what seemed to be many seconds, just looking slowly up and down my still body. Somehow, I felt unemotional about this. I was dead after all... he had been my lover, he knew what I looked like naked; I had undressed in front of him many times, and I had planned to do it again this morning. So now he was seeing me undressed, as planned. Only I was dead, and lying utterly still in front of him. I felt it somehow sexy to be undressed in front of him, and have him looking so carefully at my naked body. I felt so naked. So exposed.

Eventually, Bill knelt beside me, his face coming close to mind, his cheek on mine, his warmth suddenly very powerful and strong next to my cold skin. He whispered something near to my ear, but I could not understand it, except that it was full of endearment.

And then, oh!! his hand! His hand was on my breast. I could feel it... and his hand felt beautiful. He was my lover, and the feel of his hand touching me was to feel my lover touching me. I expected to feel myself shiver, to react, to turn to accept his hand touching me, an arm raising to embrace him - but no, I was motionless ... oh, god, I was dead. At first he just rested a hand on my right breast, gently rubbing me, and then moved his hand to my left breast, a finger lightly tracing the contour of my breast, reaching over to the outer side, then touching my nipple, carefully avoiding the wound. It was beautiful. And I had no desire to move, no desire to respond: I was dead, he was touching ... touching not me, just my dead body. As I felt his fingers on me I felt I was falling, falling into a sort of dark abyss of submission: I was yielding my body to him, giving up my dead body to his touch, a sort of complete submission as my body was completely open and defenseless; he could touch me and do whatever he wanted with my body. It was no longer mine to control, to protect.

His face came close to mine again, his sweet breath warm on my skin. His lips touched mine, and then my cheek ... and then back to my lips. He began to kiss me, gently, then deeply, his tongue deep inside my mouth, penetrating me with a power that would have left me gasping, if I could have responded. But I could not: I lay there, still, my mouth and my body yielding to him as his tongue seemed to penetrate me more deeply than any man had been inside me before. His kiss was deep and passionate and penetrating, and I felt myself ever more submissive to his touch: I could do no more than accept him, accept his tongue into me.

He kissed me and kissed me and kissed me until I wanted to scream. His lips were so warm and soft and enveloping, and his hand gently resting on my breast so strong and commanding ... it felt as if he were all over me, covering me. I felt so naked, so helpless, so taken. It was wonderful.

He moved his head back, and I felt my head move, flopping involuntarily to the side. He gently pushed my head back upright, and as soon as his hand moved away from me, my head rolled to the side. He let it rest there, a limp reminder to me of my helplessness; a reminder of the complete submission of my body.

His hand moved down my tummy, and I felt him tugging at my blouse, un-tucking it. I felt the shirt pulled out from underneath my skirt, my tummy sensing the moving cloth, feeling myself exposed more, and more. Then he stood up and walked to the desk, returning to kneel beside me. I felt him lift the material of my skirt, and could sense he was looking at my sex. I felt so exposed. I was lying prone, open, and while he was looking at my motionless body, I was without any hope that I could protect myself. Feeling defenseless like that felt.. well, strangely sexy, Elating, even: he could do whatever he wanted with my body, and I could do nothing about it. He chuckled quietly to himself, muttering something that I could not make out. And then I felt and heard scissors cutting, and the skirt soon fell open at my sides, leaving me completely exposed. I felt the air on my tummy ... and I felt even more open, and dead.

His hand grabbed the garter belt, and I felt the elastic pull, and then fall open as it was cut, then the stocking clips opened, and the garter slip off me to my side. I was now completely open, with only my arms and legs covered with the shirt and stockings. My body felt so still, so helpless: my body was completely exposed and in Bill's power.

He gently pulled one arm, then the other, out of the shirt's sleeves, pushing my arms up so they were straight out and above my shoulder. If it were possible, I felt more naked, my splayed body more open. I felt thoughts forming in my mind ... with difficulty, as somehow it was hard to do more than feel what was happening to my body. I could hardly think, all I could do was sense ... but I knew I loved the feeling of being so open and exposed. My body was Bill's, now. His.

And then his face was by mine again, kissing me as fingers ran gently, lightly down my tummy, lower and lower, his fingers gently touching my skin below my navel, lightly stroking me as he kissed me gently, softly, so sweetly. He shifted his weight, and then I felt his fingers again.. now at the top of my leg, then stroking the top of my thighs ... and then, oh god! what a sensation! His fingers began to touch my sex. So gently, so softly I could hardly sense that he was there ... but he began to touch me, rubbing me softly, expertly, as if he were trying to arouse me. His fingers gently moved my skin, gently parting me, opening me, exposing me. I wanted to scream, I was so exposed.

His head moved away from my face, and I could see him looking down at my body, carefully examining my naked torso, my breasts, my tummy. He shifted his knees down, and I felt his hands on my legs, pushing one and then pulling the other, opening my legs ever further. And yet further. I wanted to move, to respond, to close my legs, or to pull him down on top of me - to do something, anything ... but not to just lie there, ever more exposed, my body so vulnerable and open. And yet, my head just rested on its side where it had fallen after Bill's embrace, my arms limp above my head, my mouth still open from his kisses, my eyes unmoving. It was wonderful. I was just a dead body.

Bill moved back from me on his knees, then stood. I could see enough of him to tell that he was undressing. And I knew what was to come next.

I wanted to feel excited, I wanted my body to feel excited, to feel the tension and pleasure of anticipation. I wanted to feel that tightness at the bottom of my belly, as I waited to feel a man inside me, those iron rings around my chest as I waited to be taken, my body anticipating his. But no ... Somehow, for all that I could feel myself, I could feel nothing, I just lay there, limp. Dead, submissive, meat. My open legs and exposed sex made me think of only one thing: of Bill taking me, possessing my body, using me. I so wanted my body to feel the excitement at the thought; instead, I lay spread out and unmoving, just a dead girl. Just a dead body.

It was a strange feeling. I knew he was going to make love to me. Something inside me wanted to protest; this was rape, this was without my consent, and he was taking advantage of my still body to take it without asking me. I wanted to be made love to, not just used like a piece of dead meat. Part of me wanted to scream with the pleasure of anticipation, waiting to feel him inside me, waiting to feel him take me, use me, have me. Some part of me desperately wanted him to embrace me, and for me to whisper in his ear "fuck me, Bill, take me, use me, do whatever you want with my dead body". I lay so stretched out, so exposed to him, and all I was, was just a dead body. I wasn't me any more, I was just a dead body, helpless, his, there for nothing more than just his pleasure. I felt my body so dead as I waited for him.

Then Bill was kneeling between my legs. His hands again on my thighs, again pushing my legs further and further open. I almost didn't believe my legs could open so wide.

And then I felt his hair, his cheeks, his face between my legs. The bristles of his mustache suddenly against my sensitive skin. And then ... his tongue. His tongue. Oh, dear god of all the heavens, there can be no pleasure, no sensation so perfect, so soft, so wonderful, so commanding as his tongue. His face was hot between my thighs, his breath hot on my skin. He made no sound. His hands rested on my hips, holding my hip bones as if to steady my movements. And his tongue. His tongue. His tongue came to me, touched me; licked, probed, touching, searching, opening my most intimate self with a warm, soft wet gentleness that left me screaming, crying, moaning with pleasure ... in utter, still silence. I could do no more, nothing other than to lie there and be touched and probed, yielding and accepting his tongue. He probed further, his tongue carefully finding the point of greatest pleasure, and then he carefully licked, worried and caressed me, sending shivers of ecstatic pleasure down into my tummy and up my spine, making me writhe and roll my pelvis with the pleasure, with my desire, making my chest heave as I arched and moaned as the pleasure penetrated me deeper and deeper ... and yet all the while I lay still, utterly, helplessly still. I was not a living, writhing, moaning, demanding girl, I was a dead body. Utterly still.

He continued to caress me and coax my body until I knew that I was somewhere near an orgasm, desperate to move and respond and control the orgasm as it came nearer. I wanted to feel my muscles tense, to move my legs, and to reach down and pull his face onto me, harder, willing him deeper into me, but instead my arms lay still above my head, limp, unmoving ... and dead. The motions of his tongue lengthened, deepened, and I felt him penetrating me, gently ... and then he moved an arm, shifting his shoulders. And then he moved his head a fraction, and I felt a finger start to penetrate me. I wanted to scream, I felt my lungs breathless with the impact of the sense of excited pleasure that hit me.

His tongue returned to caress me and as I felt his finger push, millimeter by millimeter, into my limp and yielding body, I felt my orgasm. It seemed to stab my innards, holding my sex in a grip of pleasure and bliss that had my chest heaving and moaning, my arms flailing as I pulled him onto me, the orgasm filling my sex, filling my body with a soft, liquid, burning pleasure, making me writhe about as I stretched out, trying to control the orgasm, trying to command it to begin, to deepen, to maintain its grip on me ... but - no, no, I did not move: my dead eyes could do no more than gaze at the wall, my still mouth could do no more than remain limply open, and all I did was lie there, still, as Bill's tongue willed my dead and unresponsive body to feel what it could not feel, to experience what it could not experience.

To climax in an utterly motionless body is not something I can explain: it is a form of torture, of pain, of the most exquisite pleasure to be bound motionless in the chains of a still, dead body. In my mind I writhed and moaned and cried out, but for all that I was experiencing the most intense and enveloping pleasure, I lay utterly still, my still chest and motionless head giving no life to the screams of pleasure I felt. Did my climax end? I'm not sure it did. I was not able to pant, to flop on my lover chest, to pull his head to mine, to groan softly and to allow my mind and body to savor the gently falling into feather pillows as my orgasm receded. All I felt was - well, less ecstasy, less heat inside me, but somehow, not really an end to my orgasm. I just felt Bill's finger penetrating me, his tongue caressing me; all I could feel was my sex.

Did Bill know I was climaxing? Of course not: I was just a dead body, yielding to his wishes and pleasure, and he was just wetting my sex for his own interests. All he saw and felt was a dead body, a dead girl stretched out in the act of the most total, final submission to him. He shifted, his head moving and his hand withdrawing that perfect pleasure of his finger, and I felt him move up me, his weight on my body, carelessly resting on me. All I wanted was to feel him back inside me. He pulled himself up further, the weight of his torso on mine, his hips on mine. And then, deftly moving his hips, I felt him at the entrance to my sex. I waited ... breathless, waiting ... longing.

He waited a second, the longest second, and then gently, firmly, pushed into me, penetrating into my body as deeply as I could have ever imagined being penetrated. I felt him push, his slow, deliberate thrust pushing into me, opening me to him, my sex yielding to him, accepting him inside me. I felt my mouth open involuntarily, a soft moan of surprise and pleasure as I felt that exquisite second as he entered me, my body arching to meet his penetrating thrust, my arms holding him to me as he took me, pulling him deeper into me ... but no, I am a dead body, and my limp arms lay silent, still, on the carpet spread out in surrender, abandon, submission to death.

He held himself deep in me for seconds upon seconds, as if to torture me further with my silence and my stillness. And then slowly, he moved, rocking his pelvis and pushing gently into me, then out, then shifting his hips and legs, and pushing into me again ... it seemed ever deeper. He felt huge in me, filling me, my legs so wide open that he seemed to be pushing his whole self inside me. His motions told me he would not be long ... and soon he let himself down from his supporting arms, allowing his whole weight to fall on my chest. I felt wonderful: crushed under him, covered by him, overwhelmed by his body all over me. He reached up, pushing my arms up above my head, his face reaching around to find my lips, and then kissing me, his hot tongue deep inside my mouth, penetrating me, filling me ... oh, god, he was taking me, using me, fucking me... and all I could do was lie there. He was just using my body, and I could not respond, or give him sex back: I was being used, fucked. I loved it. I have never felt so loved. So used. So taken. So possessed.

His motions became more urgent, almost violent. I felt my body rocking with his hard, penetrating thrusts, my breasts moving to the rhythm of his hips, even my head seemed to be nodding in time with his body; his chest hot and his breathing urgent on me. I wasn't climaxing any more, but this was a sweet, consuming pleasure that filled my body with a different satisfaction: I was being taken, my body used, as I had never been before. He was using my dead body for his pleasure, greedily taking his pleasure from me, sucking his pleasure from my dead body.

And take he did. His rhythm changed, his the muscles of his body tensed, and I felt him push carefully, deliberately, deeply into me, holding himself deep in me, and then his breath, his body, his arched neck signaled his climax. He pushed my arms above my head violently, opening me to his embrace. I felt his release inside me, deep, oh god so deep inside me: it was as if he were penetrating me all the way to my throat he seemed so deep inside me. He seemed to almost tremble over me as he climaxed, his arms now around my body, pulling my chest up to his, arching my back, pushing my head back. A soft, deep groan in my ears, and the sigh of his lungs releasing, and I knew that his climax was nearly complete; my body had given him his orgasm. My dead body had done what had been asked of it. He moved more gently, now, his orgasm continuing for seconds, his body different, gentle, savoring the pleasure he was taking from me.

Taking from me. I tried to focus on those words, as he continued to moved on top of me. I was dead, and he was taking his pleasure from me. He was still my lover, he still wanted me, he still was taking his pleasure from me. My dead body still offered him what he wanted; my breasts, my mouth, my sex, still gave him what he desired. I was just a dead body, but he still wanted me, he still took from me. I felt a warmth, a comforting closeness and embrace from the words as they formed in my mind. Bill loved me, Bill wanted me, after all. And I was still his, still his lover. My dead body was his plaything, an object for his pleasure.

Bill lay over me, his weight crushing on my chest, panting in my ear, for more long seconds. I felt him relax, his body softer, his muscles less driving, less intense. Eventually, he seemed to recover his breath, and slipped out of me, his body moving down me, and then he was back on his knees between my legs. I could feel him looking at my body, now splayed open with the wanton abandon of sex... but limp and yielding, motionlessly open, as his passion had left me. I felt a coldness on my skin, on my sex, and I wanted him back on me, back inside me; I wanted to feel my body filled by him, and feel my body used by him. I wanted to reach up and pull him back onto me, and feel his strength inside me, dominating me.

He moved to my side, his hand trailing up my body from my thigh to breast, my throat, and then a finger playing on my lips. Oh, how I wanted to catch his finger with my lips, and pull it into my mouth ... as I wanted to pull him back into me. His finger parted my lips further, and then returned to my cheek ... and then was gone. I was alone, my lover no longer on me.

I watched him as he moved about me, gathering his clothes, pulling them on as he continued to look at my motionless body. My splayed arms and legs made me feel more open and exposed than I could have believed, and I felt every inch of my skin naked, my body vulnerable and defenseless. There can be no surrender quite like being a dead girl, her body opened after sex. And that was me. And something in me loved it.

Bill did not return to me, did not kneel down to kiss me, nor stroke me, nor hold my yielding body in his arms. He finished dressing, and then moved to the door, opening it and walking out without a pause. I wanted him back. I was dead ... I was nothing but a dead body, wanting to be taken and used by him, and now he was leaving me. I wanted to call him back, but my stretched out body made no motion.

I heard Bill talking in the distance and then a muffled response from Yuki - so she was still in the house? - and then another silence, and a door closing. Then I saw Yuki come into the room, and pick up the phone, and dial. She waited, abstractly looking at me, her face cool and without interest. The phone was answered, and her conversation was short ... and shocked me back into a state of confusion and alarm that should have had me sitting up and crying out with bewilderment.

"John?" The word was said with affection and warmth; then a short pause. "You can come back home now." Another pause. "No, no, it went fine. Easy as could be." Then she smiled into the phone. "Fine. See you."

She hung up, and walked out.

It seemed only a few minutes later that I heard a door opening, and John's soft Scottish sounds in the distance. Both their voices approached the living room, and I could hear John thanking Yuki. Thanking her for taking care of me!

I wanted to scream, to shout, to throw things about the room ... I wanted to understand what had happened, and why I was dead. But instead, I heard John bidding Yuki farewell, and then saw him come into the room, his dirty boots in his hands, his legs and shorts muddy. He stood near me, and I could sense he was looking at my dead body. And then he tossed his rugby kit and boots into a corner, and disappeared towards the bathroom. I heard the sounds of the shower, and then after a brief silence, he reappeared, still toweling himself down.

And then, he tossed the towel over a chair, and moved towards me. Ohmigod, he was coming over to me ... he was naked, and coming over to my dead, dead body. My open, inviting, dead body.