Every night for the past 6 years Angel Drena would walk home on the scenic route that took him past the Everwood cemetery. He was a man who truly appreciated the fine art of sculpture and the sweet scent of freshly dampened earth. They seemed to him to be the main reasons why he was so fascinated with graveyards. But it always seemed there was something else, some other deep, hard to find reason. Often times he'd try to think what that reason could be as he looked through the daily obituaries. Then, one day out of the blue, the picture of a beautiful young woman caught his eye. She was hovering above an extensive obituary that named everyone she loved. He read the entire thing and stopped at the bottom where it listed the cemetery at which she would be buried. To his astounded joy, she was going to be placed at Everwood. This, he decided, was that deep meaning to his love of cemeteries and basically all things dealing with death. Wondering about his sanity, he came to the conclusion after much mindful debate that he would attend her funeral.
Never having known the woman in the picture, he really considered how strange it would seem for him to appear at the funeral. Of course, he could always say that he saw what funeral home she would be at in the paper and that he regularly attended random funerals. It was a crazy idea, but Angel didn't want to dwell on how awkward it could turn out.
Friday, the day of the funeral, Angel had to work but asked to be let out early because his "friend" had passed away. On his way home to get ready, he once again walked by the Everwood cemetery. This time though, he walked through the gates and looked around a tad. It didn't take him long to happen upon a freshly dug hole. He knew it was her grave. Emily Daggart was engraved in formal Times New Roman font on the headstone. A flow of new thoughts flew into his mind. A craving to know exactly how she died and how she lived swept over him. He was fearful of this and quickly tried to think about other things. These thoughts weren't normal.
At the funeral he sat in the back row next to the door of the small chapel. On his way in he signed the guest book. Quite a few odd looks crossed over him as mourners poured in through the doors. He had been the 5th person there so he ended up enduring about 76 glaring gazes. All this made him uncomfortable but he was thankful that no one attempted to talk to him. After most of the people had quieted, a small man in black robes stood up at the podium. For what seemed like hours he rambled on about the life and times of Emily Daggart. Some of the talk Angel enjoyed, some of it he thought was rather pointless to bring up. During the more boring parts of the ongoing speech, Angel fantasized happily about doing naughty things to the recently deceased woman at the front of the chapel. At times he tried to push the thoughts away. He knew they were very horrible things to think, but he couldn't seem to make them leave.
Finally the rambling speech ended and it was time to leave. Again Angel got the funny looks but no one spoke to him. He made the decision to wait until nightfall to travel over to the cemetery. Now he was very determined to know Emily much much better.
Nightfall came, but it seemed to take an eternity to get there. Angel had mapped out his entire plan. First, he'd take a shovel to dig up the body and then when he arrived at the graveyard, he'd climb the gates, uproot the woman and finally, enjoy what he came to do. Again he thought his sanity was fading, but knew that he was indeed not insane, just overly horny. He hoped for the best and figured the cops wouldn't find him. They never patrolled the cemetery or the surrounding streets.
Out he ventured into the warm summer night air. He walked briskly carrying the shovel in his right hand. When he arrived at the cemetery gates, he threw the shovel over and quickly scaled them. He was in and no body had seen. Emily Daggart's name stared up at him from the headstone.
Angel dug her up pretty quick. It only took an hour and a half to fully uncover the casket. He opened it and stared at the beauty inside. She looked as though death had never touched her, like she was just sleeping instead. He bent down to touch her face. It was unusually warm, but he supposed being in the hot earth had elevated her temperature. It was summer after all.
Not wanting to reconsider the actions he was about to perform, he lifted Emily out of the casket without another thought. He closed the lid and laid her on top of it. She seemed so light. For a moment he just looked at her, marveling at her prettiness. He thought it was a shame she had died.
No longer hesitating, he pushed up the bottom of her black dress so that it covered her face. Angel didn't want to see it while he was screwing her. He didn't care for the way she looked, almost alive but really dead. It'd be easier if she looked completely gone.
Slowly he found his way into her. She seemed unusually warm inside. He shrugged it off as just summer heat again. He started pumping her good when he realized something was extremely odd and he couldn't blame it on the heat. She was wet inside, really wet, yet he hadn't cum.
It was too late to quit he was so close to orgasm. Emily stirred but he didn't care, he desperately needed to finish. Angel moved faster and faster with his eyes closed, deep in concentration, when he felt a hand on his leg. He quickly pulled out in a quick burst of realization. Emily's other hand pulled the dress from her head. For a moment she stared astonished and frightened at Angel. All he could do was stare at her with those exact same emotions screaming out of his eyes. Finally, she broke the silence and spoke.
"Who are you?" she asked in a heavenly, yet scared voice.
"I'm, um, Angel Drena." he stuttered out.
"What are you doing and where am I?" Emily asked baffled.
"Well, I...I found your obituary in the paper and thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen and I just couldn't resist you. I went to your funeral and then I came her when it got dark to, umm...make love to you."
Angel could barely stand to here all of that come out of his mouth. He sounded perverted and insane.
"Angel, that's seems sweet in a twisted way, but I'm not dead and I'd like to know why everyone thought I was. I know you probably don't know."
"Should I leave you alone now?" Angel asked timidly.
"Not yet Angel, you're not done." She smiled slightly but the grin seemed almost deranged.
Angel looked at her, very puzzled by what she just said. He thought maybe he should just leave and get away before Emily fully awoke to what had happened. Though, she seemed quite awake as it was.
Emily saw his confused and scared look and told him she was ok.
"Please Angel, finish what you started."
"I don't know if I can now." he stated.
She grabbed him around the neck and pulled him close to her and then kissed him right on the lips. He kissed her back. Strange as that all was, he decided to do as she wanted.
He put himself back inside her and completed what he originally wanted to do. Emily seemed pleased by this.
"I think I should go home now Emily." Angel said.
"Alright. Where do you live?" she asked brightly.
After a long bit of hesitation he told her the address and they said their goodbyes. The whole walk home for Angel was filled with terrifying thoughts of later being accused of rape and put in jail. Those thoughts drifted away as he slept that night.
The next day a huge article was in the paper about Emily Daggart. It stated how some strange person had known she wasn't dead and had dug her up. Apparently that was the story Emily had given. Angel was highly relieved to read all of that. The paper also reported that Emily's family were going to sue to the mortuary as well as the hospital she had been at. It seemed the doctors had given her a wrong diagnosis and the mortuary had never embalmed her.
A week later Angel was getting ready for work when he heard a knock at his door. He was shirtless when he opened it. Emily threw her arms around him and kissed him. Angel looked at her baffled but happy. She smiled, handed him a note and walked back down the path that led to the front door of his house.
He opened the note and found a question.
"Will you be mine forever?" it said.
Angel looked up from it to watch Emily walking down the street. He did want to be her's. It all seemed so strange and sudden though, but he supposed he could overlook the oddness of it.
He finished getting ready for work. As he was walking he passed the Everwood cemetery and considered the note he had gotten as he glanced at the headstones. Later in the day when he got home he found Emily sitting on his front steps.
"Well?" she asked.
Angel put his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
"Yeah." he said and then kissed her.
She smiled and he opened his front door. They both went inside.
------author's note-----
i absolutely hate this fucking story. it ended badly and just overall isn't well done. anyone with ideas for a better ending feel free to tell em. this, for now at least, is the last of the necro stories. i also hate the title, but it does have lovely shock value.
Author's Edit Note from May 2012: I'd like to know why people are reading this story, what led you to the story page and what were you looking for? I just wonder because this post seems to be getting legitimate hits from places all over the world. So how do you end up coming across it?
4/6/09
The Sick New Obsession (necro)
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.
------author's note--------
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.
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.
------author's note--------
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.
Sick Love (necro)
Day after day for 5 years Damon devoted time and patience to pursuing a quite lovely young lady with whom he had fallen into obsession with. Often times he'd daydream about how beautiful a time they could have if she would just give him a chance. Unfortunately, Rebecca was part of a completely different social level at school, which meant she was completely off-limits to the dark lad with the strange yet "pretty" eyes. True, she had given him a look over and found him attractive, but she came to the conclusion he wasn't her type. The young men with long black hair, blazingly cold blue eyes, and baggy black clothes were never looked at the way the ones with the blonde hair and khaki pants were. It was a hard fact, but a fact all the same and Damon took it well. "Someday," he would say to himself aloud at night, "she'll be with me." Quite a dream it was, but on one fine day a year after graduation, he would finally get to be with her.
In his head he had it all worked out, a nice little trip to the cemetery and then back again before mother could come home to find him gone. He thanked the gods that she worked third shift, otherwise this little jaunt would be impossible. Damon showered, shaved his whole body--something he did no matter what; body hair irritated him--and dressed himself in nice black leather pants and a tight black nylon shirt. Before leaving the house he took a long hard look at himself in the mirror. "Damn I'm hot!" he said to himself after a thorough inspection, then out the door he went.
Autumn was a lovely season he thought as he walked the mile and a half to the graveyard. Leaves cascaded down around him every time the cool breeze blew by. Each step he took made a rustic crackle sound as the ocean of colour below him crunched and broke into pieces. So brittle the foliage had become; so brittle had his mind as well.
About 1 am he reached the cemetery and hoped Rebecca would still be there. Really, where could she go? He thought with a small laugh escaping his mouth. Toward the back of the fenced yard of tombstones he saw the spot where she'd be. It was a mausoleum with a high roof and angel statues guarding the door. Damon walked back to it and found the door to be ajar. He walked inside. The place seemed cold, dismal, but this didn't phase him. The lad was on a mission and would not let gloomy gray stones and cold air ruin his enthusiasm.
Rebecca was there, no doubt about that, she couldn't really be anywhere else. She'd been in that little death home for 3 days and she'd been there for a very good reason. In the second week of October, the poor girl happened upon a terrible accident. Whether it was intentional or not wasn't clear, but the family declared it an accident so there would be no investigation (reputation was everything). It seemed that Rebecca had accidentally consumed a whole bottle of pills. Her sister had found her cold and with a nonexistent look to her eyes. Apparently it was the least traumatic event in the lives of the Embers. All they seemed concerned about was what was going to be published in the paper.
Her funeral came and went. Damon attended it, not because he was notified by the Embers, but because he had read the obituary. It was while the preacher was rambling on that he stumbled upon an absolutely wonderful, although illegal--not to mention immoral--idea. Oh yes, what a perfect thought that had been.
Damon moved his way to the back wall of the death house. There before him was her chestnut coloured casket resting on a shelf 3 feet off the ground. The way the sections of the mausoleum were made him think of the catacombs in Rome. He'd never been there but saw them on TV. Apparently all structures that held death were basically the same.
He carefully pulled the casket off the shelf and when one end of it hit the floor it made a loud thudding sound which made him want to jump about 10 feet into the air. There was an immense feeling in his mind that he would get caught and it made him jumpy. All he could do was push those thoughts away and focus on his growing anticipation to keep his nerves from going overboard. Slowly and cautiously he opened the casket's top. Inside there lay the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. She had soft brown eyes under a shade of disquieting milkiness. Upon seeing those overcast eyes he looked away for a moment but then regained confidence. Aside from milky eyes she was the picture of perfection. Blonde hair adorned her face, her skin was pale and slightly blue around the high points of her body. She was wearing a soft white cotton dress. The acrid, although not unpleasant, smell of formaldehyde floated up into his nostrils. This is it, he thought to himself. If I don't do this, then I'll never have peace of mind and she'll never know how much I loved her.
Damon slid Rebecca out of the casket and laid her on the floor. Damn she's beautiful, he thought. For a few seconds he just stood there, staring at her lying before him, waiting for him. Thoughts raced through his mind and he felt a slight tightening in his balls. Realizing that after that night he'd be deemed a pervert if anyone ever caught him, he almost lost the urge to push on. Almost.
He got down on his knees by her feet and gently pulled her legs apart. Before pulling up her dress to wonder at her body's beauty, he got to his feet again and walked to the door. He peeked out, saw that no one was around, and walked back to where Rebecca was waiting. Back to his knees, he lifted up her dress and discovered that they don't put bras and panties on the dead. Instantly he grew hard. This was the "hottest" woman he'd ever laid eyes on. It was a pity she died and would soon be decaying and stinking just awful. Her breasts were, he supposed, a size C, nice and full too. Her slit, although no longer pink, was still amazingly perfect. He groped her tit with his left hand and unzipped his pants with his right. Long enough to get his pants off, he let go of her breast. All his nerves were on edge, not just because of fear but because of sickeningly sweet horniness. In a quick move he was on top of her, kissing her lips, feeling the cold of her lower abdomen and legs against his skin. For the first time, he made love to a dead woman and it was the greatest love he ever had.
After finishishing what he had come to do, Damon placed Rebecca back in her final bed and heaved the casket back up onto the shelf. For a while he just stood there, staring at the chestnut finish, thinking about what he had just done, how much he loved her, and what he would think of himself in the morning after the high of dead sex had left his mind completely. Finally, he decided to leave the mausoleum, bidding his love a farewell and an "I love you" as he went out the door. Still no one was outside; he was lucky. As he glanced at his watch he started to wonder if he'd ever be found out. He assumed not and was a tad baffled to find it was only 2:30 am. It seemed like he'd been in there for an eternity. There was a slow walk home, taking him until 3:47 am when he finally opened the door to his house. Thankfully his mother hadn't come home early, explaining where he'd been would be excruciatingly difficult. He never did lie well. Damon walked upstairs to his room, he looked down to take his pants off and found them unzipped. "Holy shit, I walked all the way home like that," he said to himself with a laugh. He removed the pants, shirt, and shoes and went to sleep with sweet dreams of his one true love floating through his mind.
------author note------
This is © as mine and if stolen there will be lots of money lost by the plagiarist. Anywhoo...there's supposed to be italicized areas, however, i don't believe they came out, so please pardon the lack of italicizing.
In his head he had it all worked out, a nice little trip to the cemetery and then back again before mother could come home to find him gone. He thanked the gods that she worked third shift, otherwise this little jaunt would be impossible. Damon showered, shaved his whole body--something he did no matter what; body hair irritated him--and dressed himself in nice black leather pants and a tight black nylon shirt. Before leaving the house he took a long hard look at himself in the mirror. "Damn I'm hot!" he said to himself after a thorough inspection, then out the door he went.
Autumn was a lovely season he thought as he walked the mile and a half to the graveyard. Leaves cascaded down around him every time the cool breeze blew by. Each step he took made a rustic crackle sound as the ocean of colour below him crunched and broke into pieces. So brittle the foliage had become; so brittle had his mind as well.
About 1 am he reached the cemetery and hoped Rebecca would still be there. Really, where could she go? He thought with a small laugh escaping his mouth. Toward the back of the fenced yard of tombstones he saw the spot where she'd be. It was a mausoleum with a high roof and angel statues guarding the door. Damon walked back to it and found the door to be ajar. He walked inside. The place seemed cold, dismal, but this didn't phase him. The lad was on a mission and would not let gloomy gray stones and cold air ruin his enthusiasm.
Rebecca was there, no doubt about that, she couldn't really be anywhere else. She'd been in that little death home for 3 days and she'd been there for a very good reason. In the second week of October, the poor girl happened upon a terrible accident. Whether it was intentional or not wasn't clear, but the family declared it an accident so there would be no investigation (reputation was everything). It seemed that Rebecca had accidentally consumed a whole bottle of pills. Her sister had found her cold and with a nonexistent look to her eyes. Apparently it was the least traumatic event in the lives of the Embers. All they seemed concerned about was what was going to be published in the paper.
Her funeral came and went. Damon attended it, not because he was notified by the Embers, but because he had read the obituary. It was while the preacher was rambling on that he stumbled upon an absolutely wonderful, although illegal--not to mention immoral--idea. Oh yes, what a perfect thought that had been.
Damon moved his way to the back wall of the death house. There before him was her chestnut coloured casket resting on a shelf 3 feet off the ground. The way the sections of the mausoleum were made him think of the catacombs in Rome. He'd never been there but saw them on TV. Apparently all structures that held death were basically the same.
He carefully pulled the casket off the shelf and when one end of it hit the floor it made a loud thudding sound which made him want to jump about 10 feet into the air. There was an immense feeling in his mind that he would get caught and it made him jumpy. All he could do was push those thoughts away and focus on his growing anticipation to keep his nerves from going overboard. Slowly and cautiously he opened the casket's top. Inside there lay the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. She had soft brown eyes under a shade of disquieting milkiness. Upon seeing those overcast eyes he looked away for a moment but then regained confidence. Aside from milky eyes she was the picture of perfection. Blonde hair adorned her face, her skin was pale and slightly blue around the high points of her body. She was wearing a soft white cotton dress. The acrid, although not unpleasant, smell of formaldehyde floated up into his nostrils. This is it, he thought to himself. If I don't do this, then I'll never have peace of mind and she'll never know how much I loved her.
Damon slid Rebecca out of the casket and laid her on the floor. Damn she's beautiful, he thought. For a few seconds he just stood there, staring at her lying before him, waiting for him. Thoughts raced through his mind and he felt a slight tightening in his balls. Realizing that after that night he'd be deemed a pervert if anyone ever caught him, he almost lost the urge to push on. Almost.
He got down on his knees by her feet and gently pulled her legs apart. Before pulling up her dress to wonder at her body's beauty, he got to his feet again and walked to the door. He peeked out, saw that no one was around, and walked back to where Rebecca was waiting. Back to his knees, he lifted up her dress and discovered that they don't put bras and panties on the dead. Instantly he grew hard. This was the "hottest" woman he'd ever laid eyes on. It was a pity she died and would soon be decaying and stinking just awful. Her breasts were, he supposed, a size C, nice and full too. Her slit, although no longer pink, was still amazingly perfect. He groped her tit with his left hand and unzipped his pants with his right. Long enough to get his pants off, he let go of her breast. All his nerves were on edge, not just because of fear but because of sickeningly sweet horniness. In a quick move he was on top of her, kissing her lips, feeling the cold of her lower abdomen and legs against his skin. For the first time, he made love to a dead woman and it was the greatest love he ever had.
After finishishing what he had come to do, Damon placed Rebecca back in her final bed and heaved the casket back up onto the shelf. For a while he just stood there, staring at the chestnut finish, thinking about what he had just done, how much he loved her, and what he would think of himself in the morning after the high of dead sex had left his mind completely. Finally, he decided to leave the mausoleum, bidding his love a farewell and an "I love you" as he went out the door. Still no one was outside; he was lucky. As he glanced at his watch he started to wonder if he'd ever be found out. He assumed not and was a tad baffled to find it was only 2:30 am. It seemed like he'd been in there for an eternity. There was a slow walk home, taking him until 3:47 am when he finally opened the door to his house. Thankfully his mother hadn't come home early, explaining where he'd been would be excruciatingly difficult. He never did lie well. Damon walked upstairs to his room, he looked down to take his pants off and found them unzipped. "Holy shit, I walked all the way home like that," he said to himself with a laugh. He removed the pants, shirt, and shoes and went to sleep with sweet dreams of his one true love floating through his mind.
------author note------
This is © as mine and if stolen there will be lots of money lost by the plagiarist. Anywhoo...there's supposed to be italicized areas, however, i don't believe they came out, so please pardon the lack of italicizing.
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