12. Lace & Strawberries

It"s completely dark behind the funeral home. It"s as if the street lights think it"s too harrowing of a place to illuminate. There"s a motion detector near the front doors, but it"s not hard to avoid. There"s no way Monica will see me if she looks out her window. I also took an extra precaution and wore a ski mask to hide my face. I didn"t think I would need it, but I enjoy the anonymity in case of a chance sighting. However, the idea of her spotting me and not knowing who I am sends a shiver through my body that pours into my groin. To witness raw terror on her beautiful porcelain face almost makes me come for the third time today.

The knit material of the mask is irritating my face due to the humidity of this June night. Still, I forge ahead with my devious plan. Edging along the back of the building, I wade through the knee-high grass. She really needs to mow this shit. There"s no telling what could be hiding in this yard, although I have a feeling I"m the worst predator out here.

A faint glow of fluorescent light emits from a small square window. I assume that"s either the morgue or a bathroom. I stretch both arms above my head to press my gloved fingers along the lip of the ledge, looking for the best handhold. I jump, pulling myself up so I can get a peek. I"m able to catch a glimpse of the top third of the sterile white walls before the muscles in my upper arms burn from the strain. My feet land with a soft thump when I drop to the ground. I"m not nearly tall enough to make this method worthwhile.

"Shit," I grumble, scratching my head and scanning the area. "I need something to stand on."I"ll require that added boost if I want to spy on my girl and see if she"s being good. The idea of her not following my orders has my heart racing and my palms itching with excitement. Excitement at enacting punishment for her disobedience.

I shuffle my feet around, attempting to find something hiding in the grass that would give me a leg up. When the toe of my boot hits something hard, I bend to examine it.

"A brick." I realize I"m talking out loud to no one, but fuck if I care. I hold the item up for a better look and determine it is a brick. "Surely there"s something better out here." Tossing it toward the window, I continue my search but only find a couple more loose bricks. If I don"t see anything soon, I"m going to resort to stacking them up. That sounds too much like work.

The crickets play their symphony around me, showering me with their good fortune as I proceed to the opposite side of the building. I"ve always been told that if they ever stop their melodic concert, they have revoked the good luck they bestowed upon you. Thankfully, they continue to play as I search for something to help me see my girl again. I"m not one to believe in such fairytales, but if free luck is given, I"ll take it.

My leather-gloved-covered hand runs over the rough brick of the wall, softly scraping against the small, jagged edges. It helps to guide me through the dark until my knee cracks with a sharp burst of pain.

"Ugghhh," I groan through gritted teeth, "Fuck." Breathing through it and rubbing the area, the ache eventually subsides. With my hands out in front of me, I grasp the two wooden arms of a wheelbarrow. "Finally, something I can use."

I push it through the tall grass back the way I came from, leaving a flattened trail in my wake. Once I"ve positioned it beneath the glowing window, I carefully step into the slightly wobbling barrel. Perfect. I have a clear, unencumbered view of my girl"s workspace. I"m hoping she"s here so my efforts aren"t wasted. The room is sparse and as clinical as I suspected, with a desk, metal gurney-type tables, and medical instruments.

My living dead girl is sitting in the lone chair, hunched over a book. Her long ponytail lays like a rope down her back. She looks invested in her reading material and, sadly, isn"t fucking a corpse. I guess she really is taking my advice to heart.

Stop fucking the dead.

It"s about the only thing you can do for a dead man"s rash. Well, that and some cortisone cream, but I wasn"t going to tell her that. It"s nice seeing her following directions. A grin spreads across my face in satisfaction with only a slight twinge of disappointment. What I really wanted was to mark her pale skin with my palm, but I"ll wait till the time is right.

I step down from the wheelbarrow and walk to the attached mother-in-law suite-style apartment. This has to be her living quarters. I pull out my key ring with the attached lock pick. You never know when you might require one of those. They always come in handy when you need to do skeevy things like break into the house of a girl you just met. Then, you decide to stalk her the same day you meet. You know, your typical How I met your mother.

The lock clicks, opening easily. She doesn"t have an added deadbolt, which is good for me and bad for her. For me, it"s less work. For her, it"s less work for me. When I open the door, and the hinges don"t squeak, I swear fate has been on my side lately with how everything is falling into place. Maybe I should play the lottery?

I quietly step inside. I"m hit with the scent of warm cinnamon apples and ice cream, and now, from this day forward, whenever I dig into a piece of apple pie, I"m going to picture her cunt. My mouth pools with saliva at the thought.

Looking around the kitchen I stepped into, I locate the source of the aroma. It"s coming from a candle flickering on the kitchen table. Its orange light dances over the stove and appliances. I make a mental reminder to blow that out before I leave. Doesn"t my little girl know she shouldn"t play with fire? But I do have to admit, I love a woman who keeps a good smelling home. That, added to her freakiness in the morgue, equals a winning combo.

The jingle of a metal chime resonates alongside the clacking of footsteps against the hardwood floors heading my way. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Not yet. I back away, finding a pantry. Swiftly, I open the slim door and ease myself into it, barely fitting inside. I don"t close it all the way and peer through the crack. A deformed, fluffy white cloud floats through, sniffing its way over the floor.

It"s just a dog. He finds me right away, tail wagging. I"m not a big fan of pets, but he seems okay. At least he"s not the barking type, or I"d have to change my plans.

"You"re an ugly thing." As I step from the cupboard, I pat the odd-looking creature on the head. He sits back on his haunches, looking up at me expectantly. I"m not sure what he wants from me. A treat, maybe? The only snacks I carry are ones for good girls when I can spill my load down their throats, and I"m not into that bestiality shit. He doesn"t seem aggressive in any way. When I feel he won"t alert anyone to my presence, I give him a hitchhiker"s thumb. "Now beat it. I have to see what your master keeps around here."

The weird-looking furball trots over to a black fluffy dog bed on the floor and circles it a few hundred times before finally lying down. "Good, dog. I didn"t want to have to get rid of you." That"s not to say I wouldn"t do it if it came down to it because I will if I need to. Also, I don"t want Monica to know anyone has been here just yet.

Leaving the kitchen, I enter a narrow hallway with two doors on either side before it veers off to the left. The end of it must lead to the funeral home. I check the first room, but the knob is locked. There must be something in there she doesn"t want to be touched. I"m not gonna lie. It piques my interest, and I"m curious about what my freaky girl is hiding. I doubt it"s a sex dungeon, but then again, I never would've pegged her for fucking a corpse. I wish I had more time to investigate it. Maybe next time.

Moving on, I silently stroll to the two open doors on either side at the end of the hall. One is a storage room with stacks of boxes and miscellaneous furniture. I turn my head and peer into the other one, which is her bathroom. That leaves one room I still need to check. By process of elimination, it"s easy to determine it"s her room.

I"m hell-bent on knowing where my living dead girl lays her head during the day since she clearly spends her nights in the morgue. I want to see what she chooses to surround herself with. There"s something about intruding into a person"s private space, unbeknownst to them, that gives you insight into a person"s life like no other. I turn the brass knob. The anticipation is zipping through me like a current in a live wire. I"m greeted with darkness and more of that cinnamon apple and vanilla mixed with a scent that is uniquely hers. I inhale a gulp of it, savoring every morsel. My chest expands and deflates several times before I finally flick on the light.

If I thought she slept in a coffin, I would be wrong. However, I would be correct with the morbidity aspect. Her bedroom is an overabundance of black as if Hot Topic threw up in here. In the middle of the medium-sized room is a canopy bed with a sheer onyx curtain hanging off a metal frame. The satin sheets on her bed follow the same color scheme. This room is like a scene from a goth boudoir photoshoot. My goth pillow princess is what she is.

My gaze falls on the black dresser. The need to investigate what"s in her drawers is overwhelmingly strong. I didn"t get to see what she wears underneath her clothing in my office, but I"ll discover everything about her without her ever suspecting I was here.

I start at the top, pulling out drawers until I find the one I"m looking for. Her primarily black panties are thrown in haphazardly, covering her array of vibrators. A red, lacy pair sticks out like a sore thumb. A visual can only do so much. Sometimes, you have to touch it to believe it"s real. I remove my right glove one digit at a time, never taking my eyes off my soon-to-be keepsake. Once my hand is bare, I extract that one crimson pair from the monotone sea of darkness. It"s flimsy and small in my grasp as I run my fingers over the soft material. The urge to take advantage of this moment and make it even more debauched is strong. It"s amazing how I never have to talk myself into doing something terrible, but it"s the act of doing good that requires convincing. Unbuttoning my jeans, I shove them to my knees. I free my straining cock from my black boxer briefs. It"s been rock-hard since I stepped inside her domain. Then I wrap her sexy as fuck underwear around my shaft and begin pumping harder than an oil drill in Texas. The image of her on her knees for me, with her mouth open wide, to take my load on her face, fills my mind. I stroke the soft lace, paying special attention to my head, wiping away my precum.

"You"ll take Daddy"s cream for a facial, won"t you?" I mutter and jerk myself faster.

I groan, imagining her shamefully sneaking around the morgue to find secretive and secluded spots so she can touch herself without being caught. Her fight and defiance lie just below the surface. I know if I stoke those flames and push her, she will be a lovely plaything.

I wonder if she"s ever been fucked in one of those coffins she keeps on display?

My imagination is racing with so many possibilities and opportunities to show her my version of corruption. She could hide in the coffin while I seek her out. Then, when I find her, I could close us inside and stuff my cock in her. She wouldn't be able to move so I'd get to rut into her all night long.

Or maybe a freshly dug grave? Instead of filling it with a corpse, I could play grave robber with my living dead girl. She'd fight me while I covered her pale skin in the dirt. The dark earth would pepper her flesh, leaving it stained a ghastly shade of black beneath the moonlight. She"d struggle to get free but secretly loved every minute of it, I"d take her hard, and I'd fuck her into the loose soil as if I was burying her like a corpse.

A low pressure builds in my lower back, and my abs tense, ready to unload my cum. Then there"s a soft snick of a door clicking.

"Fuck," I whisper.

Leaving her panties wrapped around me, I delicately close her drawer and yank up my jeans, careful not to get the family jewels caught in the snare of my zipper. Then, I swiftly exit her room. The door connecting the funeral home to her residence is right around the corner. It could be so easy to grab her now, throw her on her bed, and tear her clothes off. I"ll take what I want, and she couldn"t say one word about it. All I"d have to do is threaten to go to the authorities about her corpse fucking habit. She"d lose her business and be blacklisted from the industry. Not to mention the prison time. I could make her my fuck toy and all she could say in return is Yes, King.

I pause momentarily, contemplating this option, but then disregard it. I may do it in the future, but I"m not ready for it now. My heart pumps furiously at that newly formed possibility as I hastily sprint for the back door. The candle"s flickering welcomes me into the kitchen with its ghostly shadows. I blow it out, washing myself in darkness. With the grace of a dancer, I silently glide on the balls of my feet as I approach my exit. The hard rod between my legs slightly hinders my movement as the adrenaline rush and the excitement makes my dick throb even more.

I"m resting my hand on the knob when her timid voice floats on the air like the smoke from the recently snuffed-out candle. "Egor?"

The dog looks more like a deformed cotton ball as he gets up from his bed. He leisurely stretches, then immediately wags his tail in excitement for attention. Trotting past me, he takes a moment to sniff my pant leg before shuffling past, eager to greet his owner.

My balls ache with the need to fucking explode. The only problem is I don"t want to get caught. This game I"m playing is way too thrilling to stop just yet, so I slip out the back door, returning to the cloak of darkness. Her lace panties wrapped around my cock are a crude reminder I"m still hard as a rock while I trudge through the tall grass in the backyard. It"s like wading through water, noisy and annoying with how drastically it slows me down.

With my focus solely on getting somewhere I can relieve this stress in my sack, I don"t realize the brightness I"m stepping into. Thankfully, I"ve only placed one foot past the building, and I"m able to slink back around the corner. The darkness that once covered the front yard is now illuminated by the motion sensor light. The problem is, I"m not the one who set it off.

Peering around the brick building to investigate the cause, I spot a young man knocking on the door with a plastic container topped with a black bow. Is this an admirer? Does my filthy little slut have a boyfriend? Does he fuck the dead bodies with her?

All these thoughts cultivate in my mind as time passes, and it doesn"t seem as if she"s heard his knocking. She must still be across the building in her connected house. He places his cell to his ear, possibly trying to call her. I grit my teeth in anticipation of her answering the door for this guy. I"ve only met her this morning, but I already feel like I own her. She is mine. Once I"ve taken my fill of her oddities, he can have her.

Maybe.

I haven"t decided yet, but as of now, I"m not sharing. That much I do know. This woman is too unique to get rid of after only a few romps.

I take a closer look at the guy. He"s an average, everyday kid. Stress on the word: kid. He is not someone my girl would be into and definitely not someone who would approve of her extracurricular activities. He looks too straight-laced for the likes of her, like someone who would shame my dirty girl for seeking her pleasure in the most depraved and immoral ways.

My back molars ache with how hard I"m grinding them, but the pain quickly subsides when the guy looks down at his phone, disappointment blatant on his features. His head hangs low as if crestfallen, and his shoulders slump with dejection. Ah, the poor baby didn"t get what he wanted. Good. The fucker doesn"t deserve my perverted filthy slut. She"s mine. Kneeling, he places the container on the concrete step in front of the door and shuffles off chin to chest in what I"d assume is rejection. Something akin to glee burns bright in my chest, and I can"t keep the shit-eating grin from my face. Get the fuck away, little boy, no one wants you around.

Once his ass is in his car and he has driven off, I tiptoe to the front porch beneath the brilliant glow of the motion sensor. My cock was losing its blood flow from the thought of her having a boyfriend. Now that I know it"s just an admirer who can"t seem to garner her attention and the fact that she"ll be all mine soon enough, my shaft springs back to life. It"s hard enough to punch through concrete.

My baby needs a gift from me, not that fucking dweeb.

Pushing my pants down to my thighs, I fist my shaft, which still has her lacy panties wrapped around it. I have to make this quick, or one of the neighbors might alert the authorities to my presence. Thankfully, that build-up of pleasure and the aching need from earlier is like a tank nearly overflowing. I give myself a few rough strokes, the lingerie snagging on my piercings a few times. The sting only provokes me to go faster as I imagine my release coating my dead girl"s chest while tears brim her eyes. I get to my knees in front of the ornate wood doors. The smell of her clings to me from being in her room. It sends a powerful wave of ecstasy in my lower back. Before I know it, I"m grunting like a wild animal, spilling my release. I finish off in the plastic container of ruby red strawberries that fuckwad left. It looks like they were drizzled with white chocolate. My girl is going to love this.

I wait until the very last drop adorns the fruit, then close the top and peel her red lacy panties from my shaft. The slinky material is now a trophy. The keepsake of our time together that I gained unbeknownst to her is now stowed safely away in my jeans pocket. It will be so satisfying watching her consume my sweet nectar and love it. No resisting. None of that fake show of disgust like she did in the office. No, I"ll give her an appetizer before she gets the main course of my footlong down her tight throat. Then, the next time she decides to spit on me, even she will know it"s all a lie. Oh, I"m vile, but only the best kind of vermin crawl into your bed and sleep like a purring predator, I think as I rub my palms together.

After rapping my knuckles against the heavy wood door, I hurriedly creep along the side of the building and wait for my living dead beauty to see her treat. I don"t have to wait long. My knocking didn"t go unheeded, unlike Mr. Goody Two Shoes, who looks like he takes his grand folks to Sunday dinners.

The doors open slowly, and it"s not long before a gleaming head of platinum hair sticks out. She turns her gaze left and right, searching for the reason behind the knocking. When she finds nothing in sight, her body disappears back into the safety of her domain. I"m assuming she catches sight of her little gift on the ground because the door she was closing freezes midway shut. She opens it once again. Her voluptuous form is highlighted by the motion light as she picks up the container. That"s it, baby. Get your dessert that"s made with all of my creamy love.

I march back along the tall grass to where the wheelbarrow is still stationed beneath her workroom window and climb on. The brick digs into the tips of my fingers on my ungloved hand. The calluses help to pad against it slightly, and I pull myself up to see my girl.

She"s carrying an orange blanket that reminds me of autumn leaves and the container of freshly cum dipped strawberries. There"s a glow to her face now that wasn"t there before, and my body hums with anticipation. She opens the box and pops a plump, red fruit between her sexy lips. Her eyes close as she tastes it. Tastes me. And I can almost hear her moan. The same moan she did when my fingers were pressed inside her. I close my own lids at that memory and breathe in deeply.

Soon, living dead girl, you"ll have to beg for my cum. Next time, I won"t give it away so freely.