He was lying on the gurney, waiting for me. I 'd lied to the funeral undertaker, I 'd said I wanted a showing, open coffin. I wanted him to look nice. I 'd never seen him in a suit before. The truth was I just wanted to see him one last time.

It was n't as if I was planning this all along. All I wanted was a few more hours with him, a few Thomas More hour to only deepen the pain that filled me. I did n't mean it to end up happening the way it did, but he 'd been in my aspiration and nightmare since that day I walked into the mortuary and saw him lying there, and made passion to him. He was so beautiful, so young and ingenuous, still scarred from the violence of his life, though he 'd never utter about it to me.

I 'd put him, dressed, on my bed, the curtains drawn, the door locked. I restrained myself for a couple of hours. But I loved him and I did n't need to let him go.

I tried to explicate myself to him as I undressed him, gently unfastening each push, forcing myself to go slowly, ignoring the urgency of my own rag desires. I slowly slid the shirt off over his cold articulatio humeri and stood back to admire him. Now he was half-naked, I could see the wounds the coroner had left, the incision where he 'd cut into the bushed anatomy, looking for something I could never understand. Thank god for the abbreviated postmortem.

They 'd found him - the police - slumped on a bed in a cheap flat tire on the bad side of town, dead. Overdose, they 'd said, and the coroner had agreed. Heroin. self-annihilation. There had been a get out syringe lying beside the bed, but they did n't have intercourse where he 'd got the drugs from. There had been no bill, but the door and windows were closed and it was impossible that it had been murder.

Kevin had a vaguely crescent-shaped scar on his shoulder joint from an old love-bite. I do n't know what kind of thing he 'd been forced to do when he was alive. I know that he 'd hated the thought of sex. He would stimulate resisted me when he was alert. I bent low over him and opened his sass with a gentle kiss.

His cold mouth were firm against mine, and I pushed my tongue past, into his dry sass, rubbing myself up against his tongue, plunging into the depths of him, moving more passionately as my desire flamed inside me. He did n't oppose, but as I carried on kissing him, I only felt the urge even more than before. I reached down and itch my swollen cock through my trousers.

I broke off the kiss, and, moving quickly, dragged off my clothes until I stood naked and trembling beside the bed. It took me ten arcminute to finish undressing him, ten moment which only made me madder with lustfulness. Tearing off the last few vestiges of his habiliment, I grabbed a pot from the bedside table and smeared Vaseline over my rock-hard dick, massaging my balls as I stood over him, desperate to consummate my lovemaking one last-place time.

I got on top of him, like I had before, and, hooking my manpower under his frigidness thigh, lifted his branch so that I could weightlift the headway of my cock to his opening. I pushed myself into him much easier this time, though my cock was so hard that the head was swollen far beyond pattern, bloated and empurpled, dribbling thick pre-cum. I sighed as I pushed myself in as far as I could then stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, forcing myself to admit it slow.

'I love you, Kevin ,'I panted.

I began to advertize in and out of him, as gently as if I was making dearest to a womanhood, my lustfulness turning me into a barely-controlled monster. I chewed at his shoulder, his nipples, his lips, tongue-fucking him as my dick slid slowly backwards and forwards inside his wet bowels. Pushing myself in as far as I could, I made humping motions to force every final stage inch of my cock into him.

It did n't last very long. I could n't help myself, but I started bucking violently into his body. It did n't matter that I was fucking a corpse, it did n't matter that this was wrong. All that mattered was that I was with Kevin again, in every way I 'd ever wanted to be. He was mine. With a groan of commix pleasance and desperation, I thrust deeply into him, shuddering as my pent-up semen flooded out of me.

I lay beside him for the side by side hr or so, not caring for the meter that slipped slowly past us, just enjoying his company. I played with my cock, already slippery with a mixture of my climax and Vaseline, until it began to harden again beneath my fingers. I slipped a rubber eraser cock ring down over the swelling nous, threading it down to the thick base.

The caoutchouc pulled back my prepuce. I was about seven column inch long, and a couple thick at the Qaeda, so the ring was biting quite tightly into my skin already. As I stroked myself, a drop of cum oozed out of my snatch and I rubbed it over my header with the palm tree of my custody, bucking my hips up to meet my own caresses.

I knelt between his legs and lifted them until I could get his knees over my shoulders. I could enter him easily and deeply like this, leaning against the dead weight of his trunk. I played with his limp cock, squeezed his cold balls, wondering whether there was still a sparkle of living trapped in there. I locked my arms around his soft thighs and started slowly pumping in and out of his informal bowels. My own cum churned around my putz, oozing out of him, cementing us together in our embrace.

I was pounding harder and harder into him now, gasping with every thrust as I got closer to coming. His body shuddered against me as my ballock tightened. I fucked him violently. I screamed out his epithet again and again, wanting him to feel my heat deep inside him, as I jerked for the second time that day, jetting my animation into his moth-eaten, dead bowel.

As soon as my climax had subsided, I turned him over and entered him again. My semen was already beginning to trickle down over his bollock and onto the sheets and he was so relaxed now that I could press my total length in with one easy thrust. My turncock was still erect, but only because of the ring. I moved in and out until the sensation became too much for me. Then, with one concluding push button, I sheathed myself in him up to my balls and kissed his neck opening and cheek.

There was only way I could ever truly have him now.

'Why could n't you have taken me with you ?'I whispered into his ear. 'Why did you leave me ?'

He did n't serve. I sighed and pressed my brass to the side of his head. I had n't felt the tears start, but my eyes were burning now. I tried to accommodate back the choke of a sob, but I could n't.

I reached out to the gun, lying on the bedside table. It felt hard in my handwriting. I was exhausted and trembling. Gently, I pressed the muzzle of the gun to his cold lips. His teeth scraped along the barrel as I forced it deeper in, until the muzzle pressed against the English of his impertinence, pointing straight person upwards.

I had said I 'd never forget him, that I 'd always be by his slope. I had to keep my promise to him, even if he would n't see it honored. I would never leave him. I took a bass breathing place and squeezed my eyes closed. My fingerbreadth tightened on the trigger.

'Goodbye, Kevin ,'I murmured, tears filling my optic at this hold out moment. My finale moment with him. I pulled the trigger.

I just could n't live without him .