The bedroom was cool and quiet--a soft breeze blew through the open window ruffling the curtains and the sheet covering the body.
I took my position on a chair in the corner and absorbed the surroundings. Three days ago she had been murdered here, and now it was time to lay her to rest. She needed to find peace, and only I could reach out to her--to comfort her, by reliving her horror, and perhaps, allowing her to experience pleasure once more.
I looked at the body on the bed, draped in a sheet, onbly her bare feet were visible. I knew beneath she wore only a negligee--the same one she was raped and murdered in. It had been the ultimate violation, and I needed to experience that pain to take it away from her.
The First Man entered once I signalled I was settled. With great care he removed the sheet, and we both gazed on the dead woman.
She was small--only about five feet had she been standing--and young, her face framed by long blond hair. Through the light pink of her clothing I could see a well-trimmed golden bush crowning her abused womanhood. He reached out and with a gloved hand touched her erect nipples, and I felt the first stirrings of the ghost. He squeezed her dead breast and I felt her take me with a scream.
"No!" She/I wailed, "Not again!"
It was dim, and she/I had falled alseep with the window open. My/Her hand lay gently on our moist mound, still wet from the evening's masturbation. That's how He found us.
A gloved hand was over my mouth and she couldn't scream. His weight was on us, hands groping my breasts and thighs--pushing them apart and forcing his fingers inside her. I screamed, I thrashed, but only seemed to implae herself more fully on his fingers--and horrors, I could feel my arousal growing.
She/I tried to scramble out from under him, but he was too large, his musk as overwhelming as his fatness. In the scuffle I felt the rasp of metal on our legs, and knew he was removing his pants. The fingers were gone now, replaced with...
I gasped as he penetrated her. His cock was larger than anything I had ever felt, and I could feel my body responding to his thrusts without volition. Suddenly she seemed to accept him, almost willingly as he pounded his massive member into my vagina.
But no! The fingers weren't gone, and I wasn't being compliant! They were around my throat, and I could feel him squeezing. Her struggles were weakening--no air to support them. Lungs burning. Loins burning.
I was dying, and there was no light.
He had forced my legs apart and was deep inside me now. Limp as a rag-doll I felt him thrash me in his manic desire to fuck. I couldn't breath, I couldn't see, and yet, I didn't want to live--my only desire suddenly was to die and escape this.
Please, oh please, I begged in the cold darkness of my mind, let me die.
And it began. Trembling and thrashing, as my body tried desperately to find air--to live. I struggled weakly, vainly to breath. his hands were like a vice, crushing me. His cock like a sword, impaling me.
Then the explosion. Deeper and deeper he penetrated as he came, harder and harder, and I felt like a leaf blown in the wind. I shuddered, the pain receding.
I trembled, my bladder no longer able to hold its contents, piss gushed out, mixing with his semen and my own cum.
I trembled, and whimpered, and died.
I opened my eyes.
The Second Man was there, watching me. I could see in his eyes he would have offered help if he could, but none could touch me while I was in communion.
I had fallen off the chair, crumpled in the corner in a pool of my own piss and excrement.
"Love me." I whispered. The Second Man nodded and approached the bed.
I could feel her ghost shift. She was rootless now that I had experienced--and accepted the burden of her death. She was a blank slate, ready for her final experience. Like all dead, she gravitated towards her once mortal remains, and as the Second Man composed her body on the bed I could feel her settle once more.
His touch was as gentle as a lover's as he lifted her/me up and removed the torn and stained night gown. He plucked a sponge from a nearby bowl of warm water, and starting with her face, he began to bath her.
Gentle fingers played down my cheeks, wiping away cum stains, and dry tears. My tongue, swollen and purple from her strangulation protruded from between crimson lips. Gently he opened our mouth and kissed it, taking its swollen grossness into his nown mouth, and somehow making it seem less onerous in the doing. Again, with infinite care, he cleaned the dried semen from my mouth and pushed the tongue back inside, planting a passionate kiss on her lips one last time.
As he continued down her body with the sponge, he fondled and suckled my breasts--not the crude crushing of the rapist, but a touch so light and gentle I gasped and tingled with the delight of it.
The warm wetness once again touched my cunt, but now not a rapist's seed or my own urine, but the gentle bath of this man--my last lover.
I luxuriated in it, my desire rising, my blood pounding. This was lovemaking.
Then his tongue touched my clit and I exploded. My mind shattered by the orgasm I could only lay limply as he gathered me in his arms and gently entered me. His every thrust elicted moans from my dead lips and I wished I could have held him with the same tenderness he held my corpse. Alas, she/I was dead, and beyond sensual movement, but not beyond sensuousness.
Again and again he penetrated me, slowly but strongly, and again and again waves of pleasure washed over me, until exhausted, I found myself again curled in the corner.
She was gone, her ghost laid to rest. The Second Man lay panting atop her corpse, his semen leaking from her dead cunt, his love having sent her home.
Trembling I stood, my tights wet and sticky. I stumbled from the dead woman's bedroom, knowing only two things.
First I needed a long hot shower.
Then I needed a long hard fuck.
