The Sick New Obsession
Created by: Aquilus Domini
It had been so many years. Peter hadn't been with a woman in nearly a decade. It wasn't that he couldn't or that he didn't want to be. No, it was because of the tragedy that befell the only one he ever actually loved. Her death was almost his but somehow he continued on alone.
All the pent up sexual frustration had made him fearful of his own thoughts. They'd become aggressive and often he'd thought of just going out and grabbing a random woman and doing with her what he pleased. That would never do though, he realized if he did rape someone, he'd never be able to bring himself to kill her and what freedom he had would be annhilated by a lengthy prison sentence.
His taste in pornography had run to the S&M side. The latest issue he picked up portrayed a good many women taking a hard pounding while hog-tied in ropes and chains. Despite the arousal the images produced, he didn't feel satisfied at the end of what he considered a dismal and boring orgasm. His cock didn't emit more than a small trickle. It was like a broken water fountain that could no longer propel the water past the hole.
Just when Peter didn't think he could take it anymore, he happened upon a new dirty magazine with a new perversion he hadn't seen but only heard of. While wandering around the porn shop he often frequented, he glanced at the sign above a room he had never dared enter. Printed in black letters on a red background, the paper banner said "Forbidden Passions". Always thinking that room contained sick and very illegal material, he was pleasantly surprised to notice when he entered that it did not contain the one forbidden passion he himself would never lower himself to. Instead, he discovered magazines and movies of beastiality, rape and a selection of snuff films. Then he came to the end of the room and on the bottom shelf saw a perversion that didn't seem to hurt anyone. "Necrophilia" was printed in bold black letters on a white paper categorical sign taped to the shelf. Inquisitive, he picked up a mag and on the cover saw a very dead and decayed nude woman. Almost brought to puking, he quickly opened to a middle page, where he was pleasantly relieved to see a fresher dead woman being rammed by some unidentified man. His relief at the sight quickly turned into arousal and Peter decided to put the magazine back and fled the store in fear.
The whole walk back to his house, he couldn't stop himself from remembering the images he had just seen. A pretty woman, (pretty dead too) laying on a casket roof. Her skin so white it seemed to glow. Blue hues darkened the high points of her body, her cheeks, her chin, her knuckles and toes. She didn't look any older than 25. Long raven coloured hair flowed from her head like a black river. Her pussy had grown a pinkish grey with death, but that didn't bother Peter. He was quite taken by the beauty of the scene and even more taken by the fact that she was dead and gone. Oh how he wanted her and oh how he needed to be buried inside her.
Such thoughts scared the hell out of him. He didn't want to be burdened with them. What would his deceased girlfriend think of him now? Having lowered himself to wanting to fuck a dead body. What a horror. Could he deny the need though? Of course not. The images would come and Peter would oblige them because his body gave him no choice.
Two weeks passed since his fateful encounter with the Necrophilic porn section and Peter found himself completely obsessed with the idea. He knew it was wrong and hated himself for thinking the way he did but he couldn't resist the urge to self-pleasure at the rememberance of the magazine picture. They were the only thing that made him produce more than a busted water fountain trickle. Now it was like he was a repaired faucet with the propelling action of a god.
Often times he considered going back to buy the magazine but realized that it would fuel an already dangerous problem. He was so sickly obsessed his ideas started to interfere with his work. While trying to put together pvc valves he was often interupted by naughty necrophilic thoughts and would then lose track of what he was doing. A few times he told his boss he was sick and then went home to masturbate. Eventually he realized just how bad the problem had gotten. Peter made up his mind to try something new. If the new plan didn't work, he'd seek help from a psychologist, but he had to give this a shot.
Knowing that if he were to be caught, he'd surely end up in jail, he planned very carefully. He'd need a shovel, a crowbar, and would wear black clothing so as not to be seen in the night. The plan seemed perfect. It would be a crime that didn't hurt anyone and that would hopefully rid Peter of his sexual anguish.
On a Tuesday night Peter set out for a vast local cemetery. He figured Greengrove would be the best one because it wasn't bordered by any houses or businesses. It was a large and pleasant wooded lot that reminded him of a park he used to take his old girlfriend so long ago. He brushed the past from his mind and focused on the immediate future. In the trunk of his car there was the shovel and the crowbar. Peter got out of the car and searched through the cemetery for a freshly dug grave. He found one close to the back surrounded by large trees. A quick glance at the tombstone gave him the information he needed to know. This one was female, 23 years old and had died a week before. Not a bad find on the first try he thought. On the way back to his car, he wondered if perhaps he should just drive back home and forget the whole thing. Maybe I should go back to the porn shop and buy the damn magazine then call a psychologist on Thursday. The drive to fuck was stronger than his logical thinking so once he reached the car, he popped the trunk and withdrew the rusted shovel and crowbar. Walking back to the grave he once again considered going back home but again his hormones told him no.
Unburying the casket took a little over two hours. Jesus, I hope no one sees this. How would I explain this to the cops? Damn fucking mind! I should have just shot myself after Elle died and then this whole thing could have been avoided. Though his mind was beating him up, Peter continued onward, driven by an internal need that no logical thought could thwart. He threw the shovel down and picked up the crowbar. The casket he was about to open had a cherry finish. Or at least that's what he thought, it was dark and the box was very dirty. Not wanting to waste time, he immediately started prying open the lid of the coffin. Loud creaking noises pierced the still night air as he finally unlatched and opened the top. The whole damn world probably heard that. Next I'll hear sirens and then I'll be screwed. He paused for a moment and stared at the body below him. She wasn't as attractive as the woman in the magazine, but would do he supposed.
Maybe I should quit now, something doesn't seem right, but damn I need this so badly. If I'm fast. Yes, if I'm fast I'll be fine.
For a little longer he considered his soon to be lover. She had decent dark brown hair, her eyes had been stitched closed. Her face was highlighted with tinges of purple instead of blue. Even in death she was tan from what he could tell in the darkness. She didn't yet smell of death and for that he was glad. (Peter would have left had she been stinking and very decomposed.) Her funeral dress was dark blue which he decided was alright; it didn't matter anyway. All in all he was relatively pleased and had grown very hard.
Well dear, lets get you out of that box he mentally told the woman's corpse. After a bit of difficulty, he was finally able to throw her over his shoulder and then he quickly closed the lid of the casket. Gently, he laid her down on the casket top and once more took the time to take in her simple dead beauty. All the images from the necro porno mag jumped into his mind, even the once repulsive cover page. Peter's mind became clouded with a dirty, horrible lust. His hard-on throbbed in his pants. Now or never.
Slowly he unzipped his pants and then let them fall to his knees. Glancing down at his member he was quite surprised to learn that it was the biggest it had ever been. Even larger than any time he ever screwed Elle. For a brief second he contemplated his sanity, but threw the thoughts away when he looked back at the dead body. It's wrong, so damn wrong, but I don't care.
Peter flipped up the body's funeral dress so that it covered her face. He didn't think he could look at her face while fucking her. The body had no bra or panties and it almost sent Peter over the edge when there was nothing but the small perky tits (cold with nipples erect) and the shaved grayish pink pussy displayed before him. He had to look away for a minute to keep from orgasming.
He regained his composeur and turned back to the naked glory beneath him. Falling to his knees he scooted closer to the edge of the casket so he was directly between the corpse's legs and his cock was lightly touching her pussy. He haulted for a moment, remembering that dead bodies don't produce natural lubrication. He spat into his hands and rubbed the slippery wetness on his member. After assuring himself he was good and ready he plunged himself into the cool dry tightness of the corpse's vagina. As he was trying to relish the feeling he was desperately holding back memories of Elle. In and out he worked the body until finally he let go of all thoughts and gave in to complete orgasm. He sent deep moans into the air as his cum filled the dead hole he had been fucking. All at once he felt rational and logical thought returning to his brain and immediately pulled out of the corpse.
Oh shit, what have I done? Regretful thoughts instantly flew through him. All he could do for a good 5 minutes was stare, horrified at what he had just done. A partially nude dead woman was below him, leaking his sperm out of her lowers. A good deal of dirt was piled a few inches above his head in the grass. He'd gotten himself into a fine mess that would take a long time to try to fix. He pulled up his pants and zipped them. Not wanting to just leave the body where she was, he pulled her dress down and put her back into her coffin. Soon after that he climbed out of the grave and attempted to fill in the grave. There, however, wasn't enough dirt in the pile to fill it back in completely; too much of it had been scattered around. Not completely satisfied with the work but supposing it would do, he treked back to his car carrying with him the shovel and crowbar.
To his horror there was a police car parked behind his and an officer was standing next to the driver side door writing something. Probably (hopefully) a ticket, he thought. Realizing he had little time to save his ass before the cop looked over and saw him, he dropped the tools from his hands and ducked behind a large grave stone. Waiting and watching from his hiding place, Peter observed the officer put a piece of paper under his windshield wiper and get back into the squad car. What he judged as roughly 10 minutes later, the cop drove off. Jesus, that was close! Peter came out from hiding and picked up the shovel and crowbar, then walked the rest of the way to his car and threw the tools into the trunk.
On the drive home he made the decision to call a shrink as soon as he woke up the next day. He could already feel the urge to go after another dead body building in his mind. In a sick, sad way he liked his necrophilic thoughts yet knew they were completely wrong and would eventually damn him. They already got him a $100 ticket and probably a suspicious cop who may start looking for his car at the cemetery every night. Definitely tomorrow. I can't let myself do this ever again. Tomorrow I'll call a shrink and then I'll be fine.
The parts that appear in the first person are thoughts of the character. They should be italicized. If they're not then well...damn. Anywhoo...this is part of the necrophilic tales (of which i have many). There will be a few of these coming along here. So if you see this and "like" it, stay tuned. Most however, are (thankfully) less obscene than this.