Ernest stretched beside his golem and pressed his body into its. He kissed its face and mouth, lingering where he liked to be touched, teasing and playing the way he loved to be played with and watched in satisfaction as the effigy's body reacted as his own body would react to such ministrations.
Ernest kissed, licked, sucked and nuzzled the soft skin. He bit pinched slapped and grabbed, hurting the pliant flesh just enough, bring gasps of appreciation from the effigy. He licked the sweat from the hair under its arms, bit the hard blood infused nipples on its chest and felt the muscles of its abdomen ripple as he ran his tongue between the sharp bones of its hips. He took his effigy's hard throbbing cock into his mouth, tasting the hot flesh, feeling the ridges and ripples where the veins were obvious beneath the soft silken skin, so familiar to him, as familiar as his own erection. It practically was his own erection. How many times had he touched or stroked himself, knowing exactly what he liked exactly where it felt the best, what kind of pressure could be applied. Now he was sucking his own cock, as it were. He could take the full length of it into his mouth, tease it with his tongue and the sharpness of his teeth. True, he couldn't feel it personally but he knew what it would feel like and he had enough of an imagination to almost feel it on himself.
Since he was doing this to 'himself', Ernest could bring the effigy to, almost, the point of ejaculation, then ease off, allowing the orgasm to ebb, then he'd start again, bringing it to the point of pain, then backing off again. He wondered how much it could take before it finally exploded in his face. Not wanting to do that, Ernest raised himself above the effigy's hips and prepared to impale himself on its spit and pre-cum covered cock.
To his surprise, the effigy reached up its hands, grabbed Ernest's hips and pulling down hard, slammed its cock up into him. He thought he was going to be ripped open it hurt so much, the first dribble of cum slid down his penis. Still holding his hips the effigy sat up and pressing its face into his chest, bit into his left nipple. Ernest groaned in ecstasy, grabbed the back of the effigy's head and pressed it hard into himself. The effigy changed nipples and without withdrawing from Ernest's tight arse, it grabbed both his hands, pinned them behind his back and pushing forward, reversed their positions.
Ernest's arms were caught under him. The effigy was on top with its knees drawn up under his arse and most of its weight seemed to be behind its cock. It drove hard and fast into him but took long, slow, measured, torturous strokes out. Ernest hurt a lot. He hurt so much he thought he must bleed. He wanted to bleed. The effigy's mouth was alternating between each nipple, mauling them in turn. The pain felt so good, too much to cum and enough to keep him erect and drooling. He wondered how far he would want this to go, how much pain he would be able to stand. His double seemed to instinctively know how far to push him. His breathing started to come in short sharp gasps, so close to orgasm.
The effigy's mouth moved up to Ernest's throat and its hand reached for the athame. It sank its teeth into his throat and with inhuman effort it bit through his jugular, sucking hard. Ernest tried to scream and his whole body jerked in one huge last orgasm, the fluid of his life flowing into the effigy's mouth and flowing between them from his cock as the effigy came into him, their bodies absorbing the juices from the other.
The effigy used the athame, slicing open Ernest's chest and abdomen, and in ecstatic fever, it held Ernest's still beating heart in its hands, its mouth locked to his throat and Ernest's legs locked in the spasm of orgasm around its hips as he died.
As Ernest expelled his last breath, so did his creation, refusing to exist as its whole reason for being, its life, its universe, the one for whom it was created, the one it would never, and now could never, be parted, died in its arms. And as the hours went by, the effigy's form started to disintegrate, melting into Ernest's body. It's face melted into his throat and shoulder, its shoulders melted into his chest, its hands melted into his still, cold heart. The effigy's body, liquefying, seeped into Ernest's abdomen, seeking and finding its way into every nook and cranny, touching places that had never been touched, coming into contact with his inner most and most secret being. It was now a liquid sticky mass, covering Ernest like a sheet of ectoplasm and as the weeks and months went by, Ernest's body also disintegrated, even down to his bones. They lost their form and reverted to a gelatinous substance which further broke down to liquid, as if the effigy had literally sucked every drop of life from him and there was no thing to remember. So as Ernest's body rotted away to nothing, his essence and that of the effigy, the one being he had given life and then given his life to, mingled, coming as close as they could to being one.
And I'm sure that somewhere, Ernest was truly appreciating the sensuality of the moment as they rotted away, together.
