Freak

I’d be fascinated by those blue lips of hers, running hesitant fingers over her cold, dead skin — the tinge if her lips would be a permanent stain on her deceased figure, the color perhaps eliciting a bittersweet memory of when my leather belt had choked the life out of her already limp and drugged body. Of course her neck was bound to be damaged, the skin red, raw, and bruised from the metal of the buckle that had so strangled her throat. It suited her — those bruises; her skin had once been so bare… so perfect…

And it was I who ruined it.

I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from straddling her corpse, the blanching of her skin on the places where my thighs lay would be a gorgeous sight. Almost like… seeing ocean water spread along the beach. Listen, I know it’s wrong to make something like this seem beautiful… to make death seem so alive. But her limp body just feels sooooo right against mine. How smart I was to already have removed her jeans and those pretty pink panties before the rigor set in — she wouldn’t be needing them.

And God, with her so exposed? Well, I wouldn’t be able to prevent myself from acting upon an almost carnal urge within me, an urge that was begging me to cool the warmth building between my legs by placing my dripping arousal right on top of her cold, cold cunt.

God, it makes me shiver just thinking about it… a plump, dead, and freezing clit…