Daphne crouched on the mortuary table next to where her sister Laura lay dead, pegging the man who had embalmed her with the magic strap-on the demon had given her. The toy glided in and out of the man's rectum. The room was sterile and white-washed like a hospital building. There were florescent lights overhead, and they reminded her vaguely of the high school she had attended before her diagnosis. The fan creaked a little as it circulated the air. It smelt like death and wet pussy.
Daphne groaned; there was still blood running down her thigh from where the double-ended device had pierced her hymen, just thirty minutes ago. The wound stung like a bruised knee. Daphne bit her lip for composure and tried to work through the pain.
"A little more, a little more, you've got to keep going girl," she groaned under her breath. Her face glistened with perspiration. Her little pink nipples were standing erect.
She reached around to grasp her target's rock hard cock. She wondered what sort of sicko the man must be, to be fucked up the ass by a woman identical in every way to the one whose blood he had drained from her body, the pure innocent virgin Daphne had loved so much, whose breathless body lay naked so close to her, waiting to be made up for her funeral, like a perverse game of dress-up.
It was enough to make her shudder. Daphne took a deep breath. Juices were pooling down her leg, almost as though this whole act of perversion had been a personal kink of hers and she liked nothing more than anally penetrating a perfect stranger while the dead watched on.
The mortician was reasonably attractive; Daphne had to admit she recognized that much. He looked a bit like an adult version of the boy who had taken her to her eight grade class. He too had a nice firm butt and a stylish haircut. He too looked at her with lust in his eyes.
Ten minutes before, the head of Daphne's strap-on had weaseled its way into him, with just a little saliva for lubricant. It was so easy, so simple, so natural. And if she had been willing to be honest with herself, Daphne would have noticed what her body had been screaming at her for the last ten minutes. It felt fucking amazing!
Having the demon's way with this handsome, overly willing man was so little to do to save her skin. Such a little thing. Not a big deal at all. There was no need to think of things like Hell and sin. The sex was becoming more and more familiar as the minutes passed. She was already learning exactly at what angle and what frequency to thrust to make him make the best noises, the ones that made Daphne smile.
But she couldn't devote herself completely to the sex she was having. The sound of the man's moans unsettled Daphne, and he smelled like death and disinfectant. She turned her head in disgust.
Her eyes paused on her poor sister. The sunny blond hair they both shared looked like painted wax. Laura's eyes were too vacant to somehow pretend she was only resting. A cold shiver coursed though Daphne, leaving a terrible, morbid trembling. Her thoughts curled back inside herself.
What exactly was happening here? Was it displaced necrophilia? Daphne wasn't experienced enough to know. All she knew, with every fiber of her young frightened body, was that if she had not obeyed the demon's text message and brutally pounded this sicko, she would be lying naked and bloodless on this table herself, felled by the same illness that had taken her sister. It was a matter of life or death. She need not think about the demon, or the strange and terrible thing she was doing. She could rise above it, even take a savage pride in the way she made the man writhe. Her lost virginity was nothing. Neither was the gentle sting the strap-on produced with every stroke. She was far too young to die.
Daphne noticed that for almost a minute she had been too self-absorbed to concentrate on thrusting, and blushed in embarrassment. Her very first day as the new whore of Babylon, and she was already falling asleep at the job.
She thrust ruthlessly to make up for lost time. The mortician whined, his fingers clutching uselessly at the metal table. He sounded like a puppy that needed to be scratched behind the ears, then taken outside before he wet himself. That thought made Daphne smile.
If she was a different woman, a more worldly, experienced woman, she might have found ways to have more fun with him. Perhaps he liked spanking, perhaps her hard nipples would have enjoyed the feel of the smooth skin on his back. If she had asked, would the man be willing to take the whole toy into his mouth so his movie-star nose teased her little button? There were so many possibilities, and Daphne felt them all like a cold wind on her bare skin. It tantalized and confused her.
She flicked her hair out of her face. Her breath was ragged. She was wild with lust. Her blood was flooding her swollen cunt and leaving her light-headed and drugged. It was like something from another world, another life. She felt like a ghost or a dream creature, something eerie, a child crying about in the dark. Or maybe an angel floating up to heaven.
She was having trouble catching her breath. Every stroke was becoming more and more intense. Her cunt was a pit of fire. Her brain was foggy. The length of the toy disappearing between the cheeks that muscular little ass was intoxicating. Her heart raced, knocking against her rib cage with so much force she half expected it to kill her.
Her hips rolled back and forth with earnest, the tempo this dance of sex, death and survival reaching an entirely new level. Daphne moaned and licked her licks hungrily.
"Oh God oh God, oh God in heaven forgive me! Fuck!"
Daphne nearly fell over sideways off the stainless steel table as her first-ever orgasm crashed ruthlessly over her unsuspecting yet eager body. It was so ungodly delicious, so sweet and high and intoxicating. She moaned in delight.
The girl bent over the back of the man she was fucking, trembling a little. She smiled guiltily at herself. Her strap-on quivered, and she felt a load of sinister demon cum shoot up Bob's ass. Daphne pulled his head back and kissed him roughly on the lips. He tasted bitter. Her breasts felt heavy and tender, and she found herself groping and clutching at them, despite herself.
Daphne bit her lip. She felt a wave of shame and guilt coursing through her, every bit as strong and sinister as the climax that had just overcome her. She didn't know what to think, and in fact didn't want to think of it at all. After all, it was the demon's idea to fuck the guy. It was his responsibility.
