5 comments/ 31891 views/ 0 favorites The Undertaker... By: RedVixen It was the Undertaker!!! She stood frozen in place behind the security wall. No picture or tv appearance could make justice on how powerful this man was. She watched him fight, win, walk away with no remorse. Her body shook from the impact of the dominance of the man. The lights came on and the show ended and Mya felt sadness. That her desire was unfulfilled. She headed out to the parking lot, once again facing a lonely night home. Her coal black hair hung to her hips, gently moving in the night's breeze. She looked up at the sky, hidden by all the lights and knew that she had a destiny to fulfill, just wished she knew what it was. As she searched for her keys in the pocket of her tight black jeans that outlined her hourglass figure she had a moment's awareness that someone was behind her before her mouth was covered in a soaked cloth. She didn't even have time to be afraid that arms had grabbed her and were pulling her away from her car before she slid into unconsciousness... Mya woke sometime later, her mouth sticky and a slight headache. She sat up to find herself on a bed covered in a midnight blue silk coverlet. She looked down at herself. Her clothes were gone, replaced by a see through babydoll nightgown. As she moved to get off the bed, she was jerked by a chain and collar that were fastened around her neck. The chain was braced into the wall above her head. She looked around wildly but all she could see were candles everywhere, giving a soft light to the huge cavernous room with dark shadows beyond it. Someone had kidnaped her, dressed her and chained her. Fury rose up in her and she yanked on the chain, trying to pull it out of the wall. "Enough," a voice said behind the candles. Mya stopped and looked around for the source. "What gives you the right to take me against my will, you fucking bastard!" She yelled. "I give myself the right," a voice said and a huge figure walked into the candle light. Mya gasped and crawled backwards, bracing herself against the headboard. He was dressed in his performance gear. It was the Undertaker! "Holy hell," she muttered. She didn't know at this point whether she should be angry or flattered. Here was the famous wrestler standing before her. He walked slowly over to a chair by the bed. He unzipped his sleeves, slowly removing his coat as he did in the ring. Mya watched as his tattooed muscles rippled. He also removed his gloves. He removed his hat as he would but only flipped is eyes up for a moment before settling them on her. She pulled herself tighter against the wood. What the hell was going on? "I am The Undertaker. Those who fear me may be spared for my pleasure, but those who fight me learn to fear me," he said as he slowly walked to the end of the bed. "Come." Something inside her moved. She no longer felt afraid or confused even though she had every reason. She shook her head to clear it but still felt something crawling through her, making her want to go to him. Desire perhaps? She stood up and walked to face him. She stood a few inches from him, but enough to keep a distance. Making it known that she was not going to give in but was coming to him on her own terms. It was low enough that she didn't tower over him. "Good," he said. She looked boldly into his eyes, daring him. Her 42DD breasts stood out through the translucent fabric of the gown. Her body visible to his eyes which raked over her frame. Hourglass figure, soft white skin, flowing black hair to her hips. He groaned in appreciation. His fingers threaded through her long lustrous black hair. He leaned in to taste her lips but she pulled her head back. He slid a hand under her neck to the collar and jerked it tight. She made a soft choking sound and pulled her against him. He kissed her hard, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She tried to pull back only to be flattened up against him by strong hands pressed to her back and buttocks. She only fought for a moment then rubbed her hands against his chest. She gave willingly and took him in. He tasted so damn good. He groaned and rubbed his hands down her ass. He pulled away, surprising her. "What are you going to do with me?" His eyes glittered with lust and power. "Whatever I chose and you will enjoy it. Take her," he commanded and two cloaked figures moved from the shadows and grabbed her arms. They unchained her from the wall and forced her down on the bed, dragging her arms over her head to be chained to the headboard. She was trapped and anger tore through her. "No! You can't do this, I won't be raped!" She yelled as they pushed her onto the bed. Before she could take a breath, he was above her, pinning her to the bed with his hips, pressing his covered cock into her bare sex. His body tight with anger, lust, and power. She went still underneath him, unable to believe this was happening. "I will NOT be spoken to that way!" He growled, and forced her to look at him with his fingertips. His green eyes glittered with rage. He was angry at her and fear spread through her at what this man could do and there was absolutely no escape. "Please!" Mya pleaded. "Mya," he breathed over her. "You are here for my pleasure." His lips grazed hers softly, the hairs of his goatee tickling her skin. He moved down her throat and kissed the tender spot of her neck, causing her to shudder under his touch. She felt teeth grazing her skin and it raised goose bumps. Undertaker groaned in approval. Mya could smell leather, skin, and the scent of a man, or beast, aroused. She shifted her right leg just a bit and opened herself more to him. She could feel her sex dampening, and it made her dizzy. Undertaker lifted his head at this and stared into her eyes. He kissed her hard, forcing her lips open. She opened willingly, wondering in the back of her mind why she wasn't scared anymore. Maybe it was the fact that he was on top of her, pushing away any thought other than lust and pleasure. Undertaker drove his tongue into her mouth, taking her moan into his soul. He could feel his beast feed off her desire, and moved his legs between hers, making her open up to him. She didn't fight him. His hand raked down her side to capture a breast, squeezing to the point of pain but still making it swell in his hand. His hand moved down to her sex, sliding the palm roughly across her clit, making her hips jerk in reaction and a groan escaped from her and slid into him. She was caught between fear and desire and it only made her want him more. Mya whimpered in pain and tried to pull her hands free of the restraints. He reached up and grabbed her hands in one of his and slid his mouth down to her ear. "No escape till I am done," he whispered and slid his mouth down to her neck and bit into her flesh. She cried out in pain and stiffened underneath him. Tears slid down her face, into her hair. Taker raised himself up off her to hover over her and wiped away her tears. "You are mine, Mya," he murmured. His voice sliding over her skin, making her sex quiver despite the fear. "Yes," she whispered softly. "Do what you wish, I cannot stop you," she whispered to him. His mouth barely an inch above her. "You will beg for me before the night is over, my pet," his lips whispering against hers. "Yes," was the only thing she could manage to say. He groaned but didn't kiss her again. She opened her eyes to find him staring into her eyes, her soul, the core of her womanhood. He sat up, spreading her legs further apart in the process. He knelt over her and ripped off the flimsy gown. He slowly let his hands slide down from her shoulders to her hips, touching every place he wanted. Soft white skin, red swollen lips, full breasts and the smell of her sex made his groin ache. She was naked, exposed and only for him. Undertaker moved off the bed and stood back. The cloaked figures came forward and bent to untie his boots. He never took his eyes off Mya. Mya, on the other hand, watched everything. She watched as his servants, for lack of a better word, undressed him. They slowly revealed dark skin to her eyes and she had to admit he was gorgeous. His chest, arms, the muscled physique made her groan. She glanced over the myriad of tattoos, wondering what the words meant. The prospect of letting this man, this beast enjoy her sent a dark spiral of lust through her so strong that she gasped. He stepped away from them and stripped his leather down and stepped out of them. "Oh shit," she mumbled. He was built! Black hair covering the edges of his shoulders. His chest was rock solid, a six pack on his abdomen, narrow hips, and strong muscled legs. But what got her attention was the massive cock standing straight out before him! It must have been nine inches or more and as thick as her arm! Mya gasped at the mere thought of having that buried inside her. Undertaker walked slowly over to the bed, and Mya realized that even nude he was more intimidating than in the ring. It made her sex tighten to watch him walk over to her. He leaned over the bed and released her bonds, her arms aching from the strain and rubbed her shoulders. "Stand," he commanded. She stood up on the bed, her naked body exposed to his eyes and even though he was bare as she was, she was the one that felt vulnerable. She rubbed her hand over the bite he left on her skin and watched as his eyes glittered. He enjoyed it. It wasn't going to bleed but would leave a hell of a mark in the morning. "Please me." He commanded in a deep gentle drawl that made her shiver. Mya slid to her knees and found herself face to cock. She reached out with a hand and touched him gently. He inhaled sharply but never took those green piercing eyes from her. She moved in a bit closer and tenderly stroked him with both hands. She ran her thumbs over the massive, spongy tip and felt him shiver just a bit. She stopped for a moment and looked up at him. His only reply was to run his fingers through the back of her hair and gently pull her forward. Mya pressed her tongue against the tip. She let one hand slide gently back and forth, caressing the massive erection while the other hand slid up his thigh, tenderly touching his flesh. Undertaker's hand pushed her forward a bit and the tip of his cock popped into her mouth. He was huge! Her mouth was full with just the tip! She wrapped her lips around him as best she could and brought her hand up to cup his balls. He groaned and his hands tightened in his hair and she slowly worked her mouth down his cock and sucked on him greedily. He tasted good. Her hands roamed his hips as her mouth pleased his body. She caressed tight muscles under his skin, sliding her hands up his stomach then back down and moved around to his ass, gently palming the rock solidness she found. Her own lust grew and she tightened her legs. She didn't want to take her hands off him. In the back of her mind she wondered why she was doing this when she should be afraid but he tasted too damned good to stop. Mya was really getting into sucking on him when he pulled her off of him suddenly and shoved her to the bed. Her mouth still pulsed to him and she looked up in confusion. His breathing was heavy, and he paused for a minute to stare at her. She must have taken him to the brink. She smiled at him. Undertaker couldn't believe how hot her mouth was and how eager she was to please him. He thought she would fight him but once she started sucking on him she was so eager to please him that he almost came in her mouth. His eyes narrowed. She will not be allowed such pleasure till he took what he wanted. He backed away from the bed and the servants came out of the shadows. Mya looked around wildly and started fighting them when they flipped her over onto her stomach and chained her hands about her head. She couldn't see anything and started whimpering in fear. The lust that had been built up, slowly started edging away. She felt the bed move and two hands grab her legs, forcing them apart. She fought back, trying desperately to close them when she felt a hand slap one cheek. "Ow!" She squealed in pain. She stopped moving and felt her legs open. Her ass stung from the slap and knew she would have a huge handprint on it in the morning. Undertaker kneeled between her legs, leaning down to run his tongue along her spine, sending shivers over her skin. He tasted skin, could feel the blood pulsing underneath it. He licked up her spine to the back of her neck, gently moving her hair aside. Such lustrous hair, thick and soft. He moved up to her neck and kissed her softly. He growled softly into her ear and moved himself behind her. Mya shivered as he tongued her back. No one had ever done that before. He kissed her neck, the side that hadn't been bitten. She felt him move behind her and she instinctively raised her hips for him. He growled again, obviously pleased with her move. The tip of his cock rubbed over her ass, sliding down to her sex and pushed at the opening. Mya whimpered in response and raised her hips for him just a bit. Taker growled and sunk his teeth into her shoulder as he slammed his cock inside her, buried to the hilt. Mya screamed in pain and lust and froze underneath him. Dear God, he was huge! She felt as if she was split apart and his mouth clamped on her skin, marking her as his. Forever. She gasped in pain and shivered uncontrollably. Undertaker lifted his mouth from her skin, leaving a shiny mark of teeth on her shoulder. "Mine," he whispered roughly into her ear and pulled back, leaving just the tip inside her. He pushed in again and Mya felt herself tense up. She needed to relax to get through this so she buried her face into the coverlet and forced her body to relax. He felt her soften underneath him and smiled to himself. He reached up and let her hands go of the bonds. His own hands slid under her to cup her breasts and gently pinch her nipples. Mya pulled her hands down and braced them on the bed to keep her from moving forward. He moved again, a slow pushing into her as if he was savoring every bit of her flesh. Her hand moved to the new bite mark and came back with blood on her fingertips. She raised her head to find him just above hers and rubbed a blood soaked finger across his lips. Taker groaned in satisfaction and licked his lips. She belonged to him now. He caught her finger and sucked the blood into his mouth, swallowing eagerly. She looked up at him in the dark candlelight and felt herself slide into the passion he was giving her and groaned as his cock continued to slide slowly into her. "Harder, please," she whispered. He kissed her roughly, their tongues intertwining as he fucked her harder. Not because she asked, but because he could. He felt his own satisfaction rising, and he began hammering into her. His hands held her breasts gently but he groaned over her as his hips pounded into her swollen, wet sex. He could feel her breathing become ragged and her sex tighten around his cock. He knew she was ready and moved his hands up to hold her shoulders as he unleashed the beast inside him and yelled as he shoved every bit of himself into her, hammering as hard as he could. And Mya took it. Her back arched as her body tightened around him and she groaned her own release, her orgasm ripping through her body, her soul and shook as he fucked her as hard as his beast wanted. They both lost themselves in the shared climax as their beasts rose up, mated and slid back into their bodies. Mya heard in the back of her mind as he growled and shook above her. She felt him come inside her, filling her with the seed of his beast. It was almost scalding to her and she instinctively gripped him tighter than she thought she could. He collapsed on top of her, panting into her ear. Neither one of them moved. At last Undertaker lifted his head and kissed her neck gently. "Mine, for eternity," he murmured, still not moving. "Yes, my lord," was her only reply. There was no way she could leave even if she wanted to. Not now. Why would she? The Undertaker Here we explore the subculture of "sleepy sex," where one or more participants assume the role of a cadaver. This fetish may range from benign to murderous. Our tale, however, relies on liquor, licentiousness and latex. I take the liberty of setting the story in a funeral home. In reality, the cemetery or mortuary would be far too perilous an arena. Anonymity and privacy are sought, not the demise of a business or reputations. Scat scenes, unresponsive sex, masturbation and BBQ chicken wings abound. For the darker aspects, one must read between the lines. This is a work of fiction. * Early one Wednesday morning, popularly called 'hump day,' Penny Handy was interrupted from writing her lab notes to answer the phone in Dr. Hull's office. To her surprise, Ellen's calm voice informed her doctoral candidate assistant she'd be absent for the day. "Everything all right?" Penny asked. "All's fine, I just need a day off to reorganize. I made up my mind that today had to be the day. You two will be OK, won't you?" "Absolutely, Dr. Hull. Want a run-down on what Joe and I are doing today?" "Nope, I'm cool with you guys. By the way, I promise not to turn you into a secretary!" "Go feel better, have fun. Yup . . . see you tomorrow, bye." Penny lightly put the phone in the cradle, then did a little boogie. She didn't realize her boss was doing the very same thing. Her belly tingled with sexual excitement as she made her way into the darkroom unbuttoning her lab coat. "Good morning, sweet man," she whispered hugging him firmly around the middle, "cat's away so let's play." She deftly undid Joe's belt sliding her hands over the familiar topography of her lover's body. Joe pushed his bottom against her midriff while reaching around, sliding his hand between her smooth buttocks. "Where's the cat, playing with John's Sparr?" "Tsk, tsk, don't begrudge their extracurricular fun -- Aaah!" Penny gasped as Joe's cold hand suddenly darted under her leg band. "Whoo, you're cold . . .! Did you realize your fingers were freezing?" "No, maybe it's because you're so damn hot down there. Don't you like cold hands?" "It made me squeeze out wicked hot pee!" "So." "Don't start. I am not peeing at work. I have post-doc plans here so I don't want that on my résumé, or you getting caught all messed up either. Very unprofessional." "Okay, understood. I guess I feel frustrated we don't have the time to get to my apartment where you can pee your pants to your heart's delight, make love, get back here . . ." "Where do you get that peeing my pants stuff? I went once in the sink 'cause I didn't want to get dressed to go to the ladies' room. Why, do you like me to wet myself?" She gave him a sideways glance. "Well, not here, but I wouldn't mind . . ." "If you do it first, I'll do it too. But only in your apartment wearing play clothes," she said. "Yeah, we can have special mornings during the week every now and then . . ." "Like our boss has "special days," finished Penny. "You mean Dr. Hull wets her pants?" "Uh huh. That, or very dirty. But she isn't a dirty person, just the opposite. Can't hide that smell though." "Well, surprise surprise. But aside from doing stuff like that, I'd love to take you dancing, go out to parties, you know, show you off. Would you like going out?" "Yeah, but I haven't gone out since university, no one has invited me lately." She said archly. "Do you?" "I haven't partied since college either. But I know Maloney, Paul Maloney, I knew him in school, we used to deliver new hearses to funeral parlors . . ." "Isn't he the son in Michael Maloney & Son? The undertakers?" asked Penny. "That's him. They throw a party every few weeks. Big house, very sociable, but I've only seen Anna once or twice. They're about two years older but let me see what I can do; sounds like it could be fun." "Certainly different, let's go for it. A party in a funeral home, well well, should I buy a black dress and a string of pearls fit for a wake?" Joe suddenly realized that Penny's eyes were sparkling, her right hand fluttered over her tummy. * Paul and Anna Maloney practiced the art of mortuary. He was born into the business, excellent with financial planning along with wonderful people skills. Before he married Anna, Paul and Joe had ferried ornate, baroque hearses to new owners along the east coast. They fed on pizzas, slept in a wooden coffin affixed to the floor of the grotto. Meat wagons, those imposing black ironmongeries intriguingly designed to transport chemically stuffed, coiffed mortal coils to their unheated marble bronze mansions were also a fine gathering space for an evening of enchantingly macabre fucking. Theater plus the Fine Arts were Anna's bailiwick; she was one of three artists who prepared the bodies for showing. In addition, she kept the household and provided a loving, lively family environment. Their temperaments were suited for the popularly perceived gruesome business of the Sanitary Arts, being both well-balanced as well as blessed with a pitch-black sense of humor. Wednesday evening Joe called the funeral home, left a message about needing six hearses delivered next week to up-state Maine then hung up. A little after ten o'clock Paul returned his call. "Well hello young man, still have your fingers in other people's brains?" Paul asked his old friend, "or are you more enlightened and stick them into pussies." "Hey buddy, how's it going? Yeah, I'm engaged to Penny Handy from the lab." "Very good. Why not bring her over some evening; Anna and I haven't seen you for almost half a year, man." "How about Friday, I'll make a batch of Buffalo wings with the magic sauce." "Got an idea, Joe, we're having some friends over Saturday for a small party. This would be a way to widen your rep as a cook. Can you come over about eight?" "No problem, that would be great. Should we wear anything special? 'Cause when I told Penny about your parties, she started fantasizing about buying a little black dress and pearls for a wake. The idea got her hot!" "Oh really?" Paul asked. "Really." Joe said smiling. "Look, come over around seven thirty; get her a flirty black dress with all the toys. We're gonna invite some folks who play that quiet-fucking fantasy game, does that turn your crank?" "Absolutely, but I'm not sure exactly what turns her on." "Leave that to Anna. She'll take her as far as she wants to go and leave her wanting more. She is really into dark theater and knows how to make a newbie comfortable. I guarantee Penny will be peeling her shorts off at the end of the night, Dude." "Damn, man, this is going to be one interesting Saturday night. Okay, Buffalo wings it is. I leave Penny in Anna's hands. See you then Paul. If you want me to bring anything else, let me know. Good night, buddy." "Night, dude." Paul took the stairs two at a time and burst in on Anna reading in bed. "New players' baby, Joe's girl friend Penny sounds very curious about screwing around with dead people. Think you could spark her libido without freaking her out?" Anna spread her knees apart, letting her nightgown slide down her long thighs, forming a silky canopy over her dark, lush plumage. "Humm, I know the Olivers' are good at introducing couples to chilly sex, maybe the Kellaways' can come over on Saturday too, Nora could pose in the small showing parlor as well. Does she want to see any prepped bodies?" "Joe doesn't know what she likes except that dead, creepy sex is interesting. But Penny isn't a Tantric devotee or anything . . . just attracted erotically." "Okay," said Anna, "Let's start with drinks then a tour of the prep room so we can see where her head is. Go out to the antique hearse, muck around in its grotto, show her some quality jigger rigor. Then get ready for showing the piece d' resistance, Nora." * Plump satin pillows sitting atop extravagantly finished Egyptian cotton sheets greeted Penny's astonished eyes as she entered their bedroom at Joe's apartment. Three elegantly wrapped presents awaited her pleasure at the foot of the bed. In the muted funeral atmosphere, Joe assumed the demeanor of a mourner crushed by grief. He suddenly unzipped her coat, liberated her breasts and nibbled her hardening crimson nipples. "Joseph, you nut, what are you playing at?" she laughed, pressing his hands harder to her breasts. "It's party time, you yummy little girl, and this is to get us in the mood for the big leagues." "You are very bad . . . when's the party?" Sandalwood, anise, and lavender scents filled the small bedroom. Gifts arranged on the bed waited for her fingers to unwrap them. Penny opened the smallest to find a ruby and yellow diamond ring proclaiming his intentions of marriage. It fit. The future Mrs. Penelope Benton, pear shaped breasts peeking from her unbuttoned blouse, hugged Joe to her and kissed him passionately. In silence, they gently shed each other's clothes except for their stockings. Penny backed him into his reading chair then clambered onto his lap. She squatted over him as he rubbed his cock along her smooth labia while sucking on her dark red nipples. He pushed the opening of his penis over her protruding clitoris, making minute fucking motions until she guided him into her with shaking fingers. Hovering over his lap, bent knees pressed against him, Penny pushed down on Joe's cockstand until their pubic hair crushed together. His lingam mirrored the shape of her vagina, engulfing her so completely, so tightly, that his surges of cum filled her to overflowing. The walls of Penny's tight quim squeezed his penis, garnered his seed; her arms curling tightly about him. Joe's cock was held captive as he soaked in her reeking cunt. After some moments of bliss, he lifted her from his chest and cradled her on his lap. Penny lolled her head against his torso, unfathomable, lost in the blood-hot cream seeping from her sex. Joe found her panties on the arm of the chair, slipped her feet through the leg openings, then drew them up to her thighs. "Honey, lift your bottom, there, good . . ." Penny helped adjust the elastic around her waist then settled back in his lap, languidly arranging herself into a comfortable spot. She nestled, resting her head on his chest feeling the warmth of his breath through her hair. "I can feel you running out of me. It's like I'm sitting here wetting my pants -- God, it feels wonderful." Glancing past her ruffled hair Joe focused on their intertwined fingers gliding his pendulous cock over her slick panties. "Love, will you sleep in these tonight?" "Yes, baby." Penny said, cradling his soft lingam."You too. I want us to be wet, wet, wet . . ." "Does this party bother you, like being around dead people, watching people get off touching cold bodies?" "No, I don't mind playing. I'll do everything with you, but I want to play with you alive!" * Anna Maloney, mistress of ceremonies, put her cell phone down and brushed her hands together. "Hey hon, it's all set up. Kellie hasn't been out and about since Ray had that blood pressure problem. They're both excited about playing in public again." "Anyone else coming?" "Kellaways' can, though they play rough. I talked to Cynthia about it. She understands Penny and Joe are new to the game; besides, they're good friends of Nora and wouldn't hurt her." Ray and Kellie Oliver were older devotees of "dead sex," as they called it. Tall, aristocratic, well dressed, they now enjoyed kinky, messier deeds. Mutual masturbation, urination, plus all aspects of scat play highlighted their sexual adventures now that Ray's ability to achieve a hard-on had declined. Kellie, 64, thin and well-toned, enjoyed a randy fuck as much if not more than any thirty year old. Ray, an understanding husband, abetted her search for cock. Still mightily aroused when Kellie reddened his bottom with a birch, he inundated her pussy as well as her pungent, rearward channel to their joint satisfaction. Happily married for 31 years, they ascribed their good health to a filthy libertine lifestyle. In deference to Penny and Joe, they elected to wear Depends over their cotton underwear. They could always remove them if invited to do so. The Kellaway's on the other hand, preferred make-up, slime, smells, plastic wrap and some breathless CO2 enhanced couplings. Sean, an insurance analyst in his thirties was two years younger than Cynthia, a chubby 37 year old overly-imaginative hospital administrator. Their letches included latex cat suits to realistic (and expensive) dolls who endured adventures that would drive any submissive to insanity or the grave. Very few people took part in their murky games; those who did exercised watchful prudence. For this light-hearted party, Anna had stressed to one and all, ". . . tonight is amateur night boys and girls, no sense scaring 'em off. We're all for new blood, new ideas, new playmates, but let's be very sure they are discrete before they see us fucking a stiff in a coffin. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but it's our reputations at stake here. So, let's have a jolly safe evening of jizz and jam . . . hey Paul, where's the Frigid Fluid catalogue?" The stage for this singular wake, a small chapel, resided at the end of a hall barely wide enough to accommodate a gurney. Two old caskets laminated with wood-grain linoleum and white Bakelite handles were arranged side by side in the middle of the room. Both were set low enough to facilitate a mourner or two from joining a loved one in their oil-based sarcophagus. Against the walls were settees along with comfortable chairs suitable for foreplay or to observe a bereaved mourner fuck a dearly departed to death. Off to the right were two separate bathrooms marked male and female but were connected inside by a mirrored door. Each washroom had a stall, sinks with mirrored walls along with small comfortable chairs. Sponge baths had to do when purifying themselves and were in frequent use. * Joe and Penny arrived at the Maloney Funeral Home at dusk. A chilly breeze riffled the hem of Penny's 'off the knee' black dress as the heavy oak door swung open. Penny took a deep breath then stepped over the threshold into a modern, gracious home. She noted Anna's dress, a soft blue diaphanous sheath, that complimented her eyes. Then, with prescience unique to her sex, knew Anna's underthings were robin's egg blue, a color that displays moily areas to best advantage. Their bras were soft push-ups --showcasing the nipple's state of attention. Their eyes met for an instant: they knew, soulmates. Introductions were gracefully accomplished and with drink in hand, Anna proposed a quick walk around the home to acquaint everyone with the facility. Most funeral homes present a welcoming area leading down an intimate corridor, debouching into a large dimly lit room with the focal point on the deceased in the formally lit, beflowered niche. Anna led her coterie of guests through the large viewing room, then upstairs to their receiving suite for hors d'oeuvres, Buffalo wings and martinis. Joe stayed close to Penny, fingers lightly touching the cove of her spine above her panty waistband. These couples made a rum bunch. Cynthia and Kellie, old hands at this curious letch, were dressed in vintage but well-cut clothes. Kellie wore an ivory blouse showing an impish amount of lightly freckled décolletage with a gray full skirt over a half slip. Light gray nylon hose sheathed her coltish legs to mid- thigh; further up, bikini cotton panties. Cynthia, a creature from the harem, poured herself into an emerald green cashmere sweater that buttoned up the front with no brassiere to fetter her luscious breasts. A berylline wrap-around skirt freely draped her voluptuous body with no cloying underwear to conceal her beautifully shaven cunt. Each woman emanated a bouquet of rut, not unlike the smell of warm musk, or a lingering fart; a frank invitation for lasciviousness. Their husbands, Ray and Sean, were sybarites able to gratify, even astonish their wives. Aside from eschewing zippers on their trousers, their dress styles were as common as canned corn. Not surprisingly, they shared most aspects of their sexual lives with each other. Although the Olivers' and Kellaways' realized that Penny and Joe were innocent of the indignities about to be wreaked upon their attire, they understood these new players had quirky passions equally salacious as their own. Penny's ensemble was black, sleek and sexy; her single string of pearls elegantly seductive. Any movement could show as much or as little of herself as she wished to display. Anna knew this (thanks to Joe), hence, she dressed accordingly so Penny would not feel overdressed. Here, clothes were merely objects to inflame lust, be defiled, infused with the perfumes and stink of fucking and defecation. Paul and Anna surveyed their players over dirty vodka martinis and knew everything was "gonna be all right." "Well, I suppose you're wondering what lurks behind the scenes of a funeral home, so if you wish to satisfy your curiosity, let's descend into the world beyond the no admittance signs and locked doors," said Paul. Penny was acutely aware of her hands and elbows as they stood in the prep room surrounded by glass-fronted wall cabinets filled with various poisons along with stainless steel tables used to reconstruct cadavers. A middle-aged woman lay on a steel slab, hair yanked over her crumpled face, exposing her gleaming white cranium supported by a stained block of wood. The skull was prepared to be sawn open and her brain cut out. Afterward, the cranium was glued to the base of the brain pan. The scalp would be stretched over the head to be fixed firmly in back of the neck, just out of sight. The stench of a rotting organ would never do in the viewing area. A 'Y' shaped, roughly stitched slash ran from each shoulder to the centerline over her sternum then down below the tits to lower belly. The organs had been scooped out and the body cavity filled with bulky fiber. No one had shaved the luxuriant mons. Yellow-brown slime dribbled from her sex, which had yet to be sealed with super glue. A trickle of cold water cascading under the cadaver noisily dripped into a basin. Hanks of the dark material escaped between the widely spaced stitches holding her torso together leaving little humanity left. Joe glanced at Penny who stood aghast by the devastation death reaps upon our bodies; noticed her masturbating to keep a grip on her emotions. Her eyes flickered over the large blue-green bruises where the decomposed blood settled. She clenched her buttocks together for the running water urged a pee. Others, she hoped, shared the need for relief as well. Cynthia ran her fingertips along the jagged cut, cupped a whorl of pubic hair and squeezed two fingers into the cold, stiff gash. Sean pulled out his bulky affair to urinate forcefully on his wife's hand wetting the belly as well. Joe and Penny's eyes widened as Ray added his yellow stream to flush the putrid tissue away from the swollen vulva. Penny stood with her arms tightly around the waists of Anna and Kellie, swaying together like Hamlet's witches. Paul and Joe aimed their streams over the body's chest, while Cynthia rubbed and smeared their piss over the corpse. This excess left them breathing hard after their orgasms subsided. Kellie pressed Penny to her to gently rub her stomach until the spasms subsided. No one mentioned their splattered shoes or the splash of vomit between her feet. As Anna plunged the room into darkness, they heard the forlorn plink, plink of the icy rivulet falling into the drain along with a prolonged melancholy fart from a lady so grossly betrayed. Anna gently closed the lab door while Paul led the party down the dimly lit corridor to the freight elevator. The others diddled each other, fumbling under their clothes to enjoy the feel of a different cunt or stiffened cock. Joe and Penny were left to wind down on their own. As yet self-conscious, they pleasured only themselves, albeit publically. The Undertaker As the elevator door clanged shut, a light appeared under the prep room door. A diminutive brown haired woman swung her legs off the table then pulled the latex skull and wig from her head. Toweling herself off, Nora slipped into a robe. Walking around to work the stiffness out of her body, she began removing the grotesque molded latex incision. The realistic make-up had to be carefully washed, dried, then nested in its case. The "squirrel," or wig that simulated the scalp pushed forward off the skull was carefully brushed and placed in its box. These skimpy articles of illusion would blow the average family's monthly budget into cardiac arrest. She made herself a cup of coffee then began the alteration from autopsied corpse into a princess awaiting her first kiss. Washing off their pee never crossed her mind. * Upstairs, the randy cluster snacked on salad, Buffalo wings and assorted finger foods while discussing the technical details of why hot pee on cold skin burned to the touch. Penny specifically wanted to know how dangerous sex with a corpse really was. Only Anna herself suspected the repressed animus behind the innocent sounding question, for Penny showed an inclination toward scatological sex play, far beyond the envelope of imaginative sensual women. Anna doubted if she realized her own predilections. Joe certainly didn't; she lovingly saw him as a gangling Newfoundland puppy playing with a case of dynamite in a room full of blasting caps. Anna strongly recommended she shy away from intercourse with corpses; Sean trumpeted the ecstatic feeling of a boiling prick sheathed to the balls in a cold cunt. "Remember," he said, "I said cold, not some waterlogged pussy you just dragged out of a fuckin' grave." He went on to praise the smaller rearward passage. "Once you shoot your jizz up the ass, it'll seep out like an enema, sometimes bringing along shit. When I've squashed that mix around, I've cum so hard I fainted." "Joe has never put more than two fingers up there. When I squeeze, I push them out," said Penny. "Take a look at how thick your turds are. Most likely it's fatter than his prick. If you can shit it out, Joe can stick his in," explained Kellie. "But there's a technique of getting a prick in you beyond being well fucked, slippery and relaxed. You've got to push as though you were taking a massive shit. That will make it easier for Joe to get in and give you less pain." "Pain isn't on my menu, Kellie." "Penny, it's your menu, your restaurant, you're the cook and you own the joint. You make the rules. You're the dom." "If you do it right, it will only be uncomfortable the first time," said Anna. The others nodded. I felt so full of Paul's dick I couldn't breathe. We had to stop until the feeling went away, then when he started fucking me and I got comfortable up there, just fantastic! "Why's that?" asked Penny. "It doesn't feel sexy when I have shit in my ass, I just feel like pushing it out." "'Cause when you're full of cock the membrane between your rectum and cunt stimulates the nerves under your clit. If either of you are rubbing it at the same time, oh my god, it's unbelievably fucking wonderful," added Cynthia "Two cocks at the same time . . ." whispered Kellie. Both hands in her panties, fingers fucking both holes simultaneously in and out, in and out, she mesmerized Cynthia, Penny and Anna into a group spend. As they recovered from their onanistic delights, they realized that four pair of masculine eyes was appraising their performance. Four upright cocks attested to their successes. Paul suggested they retire to the antique hearse housed in the heated garage. Its grotto assured propinquity as well as comfort for the shedding of spunk. Drinks refreshed, they made their way in a bawdy assemblage to the theatrically lit dungeon. Crawling into the enormous, dimly lit grotto of the Rolls Royce hearse, they sprawled collectively on the upholstered floor. Dresses rumpled about their thighs showed their mesmeric panty clad Mons (with the exception of Cynthia), woman's divine chasm to ecstasy; pricks were stroked and sucked by solicitous fingers and tongues. Further lubricated by potent martinis along with licentious conversation, the tipsy voluptuaries dallied together while Paul and Anna regaled them with tales of outrageous couplings that had taken place in their infamous eight-foot bungalow. Paul's storytelling, while entertaining, had competition. Penny and Joe were engrossed in the sexual adventures displayed in front of them. Cynthia brought Ray off so violently his spunk dampened his wife's skirt. Not noticing, Kellie held Sean's finger firmly in her asshole pushing and straining to satisfy their letch. Soon, a sticky grape-sized morsel of poop peeked out. He spread it around her asshole and cheeks to their enjoyment. Ray and Cynthia wiped their hands on each other's clothes then happily nestled together. Kellie scrubbed her panties over the mess in her ass. The colorful muddle felt better to her touch, so the pull-up was promptly pulled off. After Anna's second fuck of the evening, her shimmering panties caught Penny's eye. She wondered if her black bikinis and wet thighs were as exciting to her when she noticed a small orange light blinking on the desk across the room. A customer! God, doing business looking and smelling like this? Out of the question. * Nora finished her mug of java and looked critically around the room. She studied her face in the mirror; stiff, styled hair, orangey beige skin with lighter highlights around her eyes plus vibrant red lipstick outlining a voluptuous mouth. Nora looked very dead. A great chef or blackjack dealer can take a pedestrian experience then turn it into a memorable one. Anyone can be a corpse, but Nora was a master at the craft of deadweight, a balance of stiffness and flaccidity. Furthermore, she knew how to make skin feel lifeless: embalmer's foundation unguent, giving a stable, dry surface to mold and paint. Depending on the level of realism, the stage setting for a "dead sex" scene may cost thousands of dollars (not including an actual cadaver), at the same time creating a hazardous environment for all who participate. Tonight, though, just a free fuck for old friends to initiate a new couple to the game; Nora could handle them all with aplomb. Just before climbing into the coffin, she clystered a tube of brown emulsion up her ass and squeezed a small cylinder of yellow-green paste into her vagina. Then, she pressed the intercom button. Anna left Paul's embrace to walk over to the console. She listened for a moment then returned to the hearse and announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, please make yourselves presentable, we have business to attend to." Even after their rumpled clothes were tucked in and smoothed, the word 'presentable' didn't come to mind. Nevertheless, Anna hustled her brood away from their untidy nest into the real world. Penny realized how disheveled she looked, but really didn't care. Joe had never been as horny and turned on by her as he was tonight. Kellie Oliver, with her aristocratic mien, had spread her long legs grunting and straining like a constipated horse. Everyone's crotch was stained and damp, the miasma of the toilet hung around them like a pall. Penny wondered if their visit to Never-Never Land could last forever, never thinking of her boss, Dr. Hull, at all. On the walk to the viewing room, Paul, Ray and Sean discussed Penny's acceptance of the mutilated corpse in the prep room. "Theater, I think she knew it from the get go," Ray opined. "Agreed, Joe probably told her what to expect," added Sean. "Hell, if he's into it, he wants her into it," said Ray. "Shit, even after puking the chicken wings on her shoes, she had her tits hanging right out there . . . nothing shy about that little bitch." "I know Joe from way back," said Paul. "Actually, he isn't into dead sex like you guys. He wants Penny to be as comfortable with her kinks as she is with her brains. Works both ways for them. It's all good, man." "Think he'll end up fuckin' Nora like the rest of us?" asked Ray. "I'm going to let those two call that one, dude. But from the way this introduction is going, I wouldn't be surprised. Penny realizes Vegas is like a party line compared to how private this shit is. I'm not concerned about her at all." "I hope she at least plays with Nora. Will her snatch be cold tonight?" asked Sean. "Well, chilly anyhow. No dry ice for a freebee, who knows with Nora? But if she squeezes her tits or even better, gropes her, uh, uh, uh." Anna walked beside Penny and Joe on their way to the showing room wondering how much she should give away about the despoiling of a prepared corpse. "Are you ready to get randy, Penny?" "Yeah, I'll be with Joe. You know babe, deep down you're so conservative it's unbelievable." "Stand back when you turn me on, little girl," he grinned. "A lot like Paul and me. If we do any fucking, it's because those crazy bastards are doing such outrageous shit. They are so slimed up you can't tell what is make-up and what's them." "I really like Kellie and Ray," I wonder what ever got them into this stuff?" asked Joe. "A cheap apartment with thin walls," laughed Anna. Anyway, they learned to make out quietly, then expanded into every silent kink they could come up with. Oh, by the way Joe, Cynthia might give you and Penny a fumble, you guys okay with that?" "Not a problem with me. How about you, hon?" "Already happened, I grabbed right back. Where did those two go?" "Don't know if you saw, but Sean got her ass shitty. Cynthia might be giving her a wash." "I'm pretty messy too Joe, how 'bout you?" "I'm just sticky with cum, but I really have to pee. Let's stop in the bathroom and get comfortable." Inside the bathroom, each purified the other with chilly water, then urinated together into a commode. Penny leaned back against the toilet, then opened her legs for Joe to diddle her clitoris until she spent into his mouth. Only then did he lift her up, drew her black panties over her foaming cunt and smoothed her dress over her hips to cover her legs. They rejoined the mourners inside the small, dimly lit viewing room. Everyone caught their breath as they saw the impeccably arranged body of Nora lying in state. Her eyes were sealed shut, the mouth set in a little smile, a joke only she understood but gave a healthy aspect to her face. Breasts had been shaped into alluring orbs barely covered by a blouse. Her whole body was visible as she reposed on a linen covered mattress; a mien of exaggerated death bounded her. Penny and Joe stood aside to watch the ragged procession file around the coffins. In another age, torches and votive candles would have provided the muted light, with devotees in cowled robes skulking about the crypt. They felt intimidated by the sinister ritual as the others, even gentle Anna, became rapacious with lust, leaning over the body to root under the clothes, fiercely dragging its plump tits from their resting place. Sean roughly dug between its legs, stuffing the dress into the flaccid sex. Ray ran his hands up each leg, pulling the elastic stocking down the thigh. In less than a minute, the cadaver was violently pushed up on a hip. The interment garments hung from her stiffened frame like tattered flags. Perhaps this exhibition of helplessness and degradation inspired them to humiliate the body further by inundating it with urine. Anna hiked her dress and clambered onto the coffin to relieve herself on Nora's hair. She balanced herself on Penny's shoulder while Joe's bride-to-be shampooed each tress of hair with Anna's piss. She was peed on as much as Nora's hair, as she held the brown locks beneath Anna's cascade. The pair looked so winsome that Cynthia and Kellie straddled the casket as well. Face to face, each supported themselves with a hand on the other's shoulder, held out their skirts to piss forcefully over Nora's midriff and thighs. Because of Sean's earlier bowel stimulation, Kellie amazed herself by producing a squishy load mid-piss. Her ensuing orgasm made her weak; moreover, as she sagged to her knees the yielding mess pulped forward and roofed her cunt. Ray helped her down, led her to a chair and guided her onto his lap. Kellie pulled the panty crotch aside to slide her husband's member into the carpet of shit. Their furious squirming covered his ass and balls in that most voluptuous of lubricants. Shitty thighs encased in underwear now became the predilection of this dignified elderly couple. Joe realized he smelled and tasted Anna's pee on Penny's neck, cheeks, and breasts. Before she knew it, Joe laid her back in the empty coffin with his cock dancing from hole to hole until Penny crammed it into her cunt. Twenty ferocious seconds of fucking produced an astounding amount of cum, eventually puddling and drying in her black dress. She never washed that article again; Anna treated it as a shrine. As the corpse despoilers shot their fuck into and over each other, Nora, Sean and Cynthia enjoyed a three-way as old friends may. Sean climbed into the sodden casket and lay on his back while Nora rode him, spraying slime and goop from her asshole and cunt as he pistoned into her. Cynthia straddled his face, guiding her husband's prick into Nora's slimy holes, fingering any unused aperture; Sean sucked his wife's juicy naked cunt grinding into his face. Then they switched positions, Sean into his wife while Nora plunged her fingers into their fundaments. Paul and Anna, always the observers and guides, took stock of the writhing couples. Opening the Velcro slit in Anna's long damp dress, he entered her gaping pussy from the rear while reaching around her slender waist, teasing her nipples and clit. Each couple regained their breath, soaked in spunk, enjoying the beautiful death that only great excess brings. After an hour of fondling and murmuring, they carefully removed their dirty, cooling clothes and hung them on a rack to set aside as souvenirs of this initiation. Nakedness is the perfect clothing for lovers. Penises and boobs jiggled together as they made their way to the prep room shower. The area was thoughtfully equipped with six nozzles so all could wash the drying effluvia of sex off their bodies at once. They dried each other off in the most lascivious ways possible then retired to the living room for drinks, eventually dressing. Seeing each other in respectable attire was shocking. Nora, a bit sore in spots, formally renewed her acquaintanceship with her old friends off-stage, as it were. Paul knelt in front of Anna, then opened her robe to gaze at her clean skivvy underpants. It took some time before the erotic visions faded and the players assumed the manners of gracious gentry. At one o'clock in the morning Joe and Penny unlocked his apartment door and sagged inside. They were drained emotionally as well as physically. He undressed and tucked her into bed as though she were a little girl. Through an alcoholic buzz, Penny gave him a look that bode only good things for their future erotic adventures, then succumbed to sleep. They slept like spoons, her bottom pressed into his crotch. One plastic candle watched over them, flickering through their dreams. Come morning, its battery was exhausted.