(m/f, consensual, suicide, necrophilia, gore)
Edgar was having a terrible birthday. He kicked rocks with the toe of his boot as he trudged home but these small acts of violence did little to cheer him up. He was twenty nine years old that day and, as he reflected on his current situation, he was not pleased with where his life was.
The day actually hadn’t been that much worse than normal but since moving to the small farming town of Shadyvale, all of his days seemed terrible. Edgar was a cleric and served as a healer and spiritual guide to the people of Shadyvale. But it was always “Praise Pelor” this and “Blessings to Pelor” that whenever he mended a broken leg or cured a minor illness. The stupid bumpkins never acknowledged that fact that it was Edgar who actually worked all of this magic. No, there was never a “Praise Edgar” or even so much as a “Thank you Edgar” to be heard. He was a faithful servant of the sun god and he supposed that the dirt-farming simpletons thought that that meant that he wasn’t even a person in his own right.
The kicker to all of this was that Edgar wasn’t really a cleric of Pelor at all. His magic was granted to him by Hextor, the ruthless god of war and slaughter. And for a good number of years, he had been a model follower of this tyrannical god--he served his kingdom in times of war as a combat medic and, when that war was over, he lived as a mercenary adventurer doing any odd jobs that required his skills in tortuous pain-giving or mending of wounded flesh.
But he was forced to give all of that up when he had a falling out with the city’s local Adventurer’s Guild. He and a group of fellow “adventurers” had cleaned out a tomb just outside of town that had become infested with undead. Edgar had taken it for granted that any treasure in the possession of these monsters was part of the reward for their destruction but his partners had balked at this, claiming that it was “grave robbing”. What use does the ruined corpse of a long-dead noblewoman have for a wedding ring anyway? He had thought they had reached an agreement but one of his teammates had ratted him out to the guild. He barely escaped the city with his life but managed to stumble upon the small community of Shadyvale soon thereafter.
Which brought him to his current situation of patching up the boo boos suffered by the ignorant locals. At least the job came with a small cottage, although it had lain abandoned for several years and was basically falling apart. It was on the outskirts of town, which meant privacy but also meant a long walk between home and the “temple”, which was basically just a small room dedicated to that purpose on the ground floor of the inn.
The sun had almost completely set when he arrived at his dilapidated cottage. As he approached, he sensed that something was wrong. There was something odd in the air that was difficult to define. His reflections had reminded him that he was still technically a wanted man and this had put him on edge. He paused and looked around, peering into the bushes and trees that surrounded the house.
His bout of paranoia passed but he was still especially cautious as he unlocked his front door and stepped inside. The building was simple enough--a dirt-floored one-room cabin with a lumpy bed, a wood-burning stove and a rickety table with two chairs.
Once inside, it was immediately apparent that something was amiss: there was a raven-haired woman asleep in his bed, on top of the covers, arms flung out haphazardly. As he approached her, he quickly recognized her as Amariel.
Edgar and Amariel went way back, to his early days of mercenary work. She was a bit of a smartass and, like most half-elves, seemed to have something to prove to the world. The two of them had never seriously courted but certainly had an on-again-off-again relationship of steamy trysts. Amariel was into some kinky shit--light bondage and exhibitionism mostly. Edgar went along with this well enough. His own tastes were significantly darker but she would only ever allow him the barest of S&M or torture play. Their relationship, as it were, had never formally ended. They has just gone their separate ways in the mercenary world. Edgar has last seen her (and fucked her in the master bedroom of a baron whose mansion they had snuck into--during a dinner party he was hosting) almost three years ago.
She wasn’t dressed in her normal gear of black leather armor, although Edgar should see the pieces of this outfit next to a backpack beside the bed. She was wearing a short negligee--black, of course--that left her smooth pale legs bare up to the thigh. Her body type could best be described as “athletic”, so there wasn’t much cleavage to be shown but the simple garment did leave a generous amount of her chest between her breasts exposed.
As his eyes worked their way up to her face, it was clear that something was out of the ordinary. He first thought her to be asleep, but he could now see that her eyes were open and glazed over as they stared blankly at the ceiling. As he cautiously approached the bed, he could see a thin line of dried drool that ran from the side of her mouth. She did not seem to be breathing.
Edgar’s first thought was that he was being framed for murder. His frantically searching eyes quickly noticed a letter on the bed, beside her right arm. It was penned in a neat, flowing script that didn’t seem at all appropriate for a blackmail note.
“Dearest Edgar,” it began. Amariel had never been particularly romantic and he could sense the sarcasm in her formal introduction.
“I heard about what the Adventurer’s Guild did to you early last year and how you were run out of town.” The woman didn’t mince words. But it didn’t sound gloating either.
“I want to let you know that I’m on your side with this one. I probably could have ‘persuaded’ them to acquit you, had I found out earlier and I just feel so bad that you have had to live they way you have for the last year.” She did have a way for “persuading” people, although Edgar would have never asked for her help, even if she had been available at the time. He had too much pride to do such a thing. It still feel good to know that someone was with him on the issue.
“Since it’s your birthday, I decided to make it up to you some Sawleaf poison (that was for me) and a big pouch of diamonds (they’re on the nightstand).”
Edgar was no stranger to poisons. Sawleaf poison was an incredibly deadly and fast-acting poison. Its downside was its highly noticeable taste and smell. These traits made it a poor choice of poison for an assassination but an ideal poison for suicide. A glance down at the bed revealed a small glass vial, empty, resting next to her left hand.
The significance of the diamonds was also clear to him. They were used as a material component in a Raise Dead spell and had to be worth thousands of gold coins. Hefting the small leather pouch on the nightstand assured him that the quantity would be sufficient.
“Have fun and ‘wake me up’ when you’ve been satisfied,” the letter concluded. It was signed, “Am”.
Edgar was stunned. He had not been expecting anything like this at all. Plus, the expense of the diamonds was incredibly generous. It was a lot to take in. He was trying to comprehend it all when he glanced down and noticed his powerful erection pushing out against his robe. He then knew exactly what to do.
Although his cabin was quite remote from the village, he rushed to the front door and secured its lock. The last light of day was dying and so he lit every candle he owned, positioning them throughout the room as secured the drapes on the cottage’s two small windows.
In a single fluid motion, he removed his robe from over his head and hungrily approached the bed. He started with her feet, rubbing at the implausibly uncalloused soles. Owing to her half-elf nature, her toes were long and thin. She had recently painted the nails black.
His hands worked their way up her long hairless leg. He squeezed her thighs much harder than he normally would, feeling the relaxed muscle beneath the skin.
He made his way to her crotch, bare beneath the fabric of the negligee. Rubbing a finger at her lips, he felt a definite wetness down there. He smiled to himself as he raised her right hand to his nose. It bore the unmistakable scent of womanhood. She had been playing with herself before--and probably during--her death. What a kinky slut!
The negligee had been titillating at first but now it was in the way. Edgar roughly pulled it off over her head, exposing her body in total. He continued to rub at the opening to her vagina until he realized that it was not going to get any wetter. But that was okay, he had a way to deal with that--later.
He continued upward, past her hairless pubis and then over the pale smoothness of her belly. Her muscular body normally had a tight set of abs but, in her current state of relaxation, she was softer than she had ever been.
Edgar had always been a little disappointed in the size of her breasts but it was inevitable, given the trimness of the rest of her body. He gently squeezed one, which didn’t come close to filling his hand. He pushed down and grabbed harder, his fingernails digging into her flesh. This let him get a little bit more flesh in his grasp, although it still left something to be desired.
Moving on, he finally made his way to her thin, delicate neck and head. Standing at the side of the bed, he grabbed her dark tresses and brought her lifeless lips to his penis, already dripping with pre-cum. He worked her lips up and down his shaft but there was precious little moisture there. He set her down and dug into her mouth, pulling out her tongue, which was still fairly wet. Without any muscles actively holding it in, it seemed quite long and drooped to the side, out of her mouth. Holding her head, he ran her tongue along the length of his penis. At the top, he popped the head inside of her mouth and let go, letting her head rest against him, his penis poking at the side of her cheek. He tried to penetrate more deeply but his penis had a slight curve to it and he couldn’t get very deep without encountering teeth.
He would have loved to remove her teeth or even her entire head but any kind of dismemberment would not be repaired by the spell he was set to cast. Instead, he withdrew himself and repositioned her on the bed, on her back with her head hanging off of the foot of the bed. Standing above her head, he was now able to insert himself fully into her throat. He positioned her tongue to protect the top of his shaft from her teeth and was able to pump without reservation.
Her throat bugled whenever his thrusts reached their deepest. Holding her head in position with one hand, he used the other to squeeze her throat. He felt this from the inside--it was like masturbating as he was able to control the tightness of her throat’s grip by choking her harder or softer.
As unique of a feeling as this was, Edgar was eager to move on. He pulled out and released her neck, revealing deep purple bruises where he had choked her. For what he wanted next, he had to reposition his lover’s lifeless body. He unceremoniously picked her up (she was always very lightweight) and turned her 180 degrees. Her legs lay spread open at the edge of the bed.
Her body was in place but he needed a few things before he resumed his play. From a wooden chest against the wall, he retrieved a Potion of Endue Elements. He wasn’t going to be braving a blizzard any time soon but it was widely known that these potions doubled as an excellent sexual lubricant. He also retrieved a thin, long dagger from this chest. He carefully unsheathed this and set it on the bed, within arm's reach. He uncorked the potion and poured it liberally over his penis and her crotch. Keeping one hand free of the slippery lubricant, he used the other to smear the stuff along his shaft. He also rubbed it over the outside of her vagina and probed a finger (and then two) inside of her to wet that as well. While he was down there, he also worked his fingers in between the crack of her ass, lubricating the outside and then the inside of her anus.
He wiped what he could of the remaining lubricant potion on the bedsheet (which was soon to be ruined anyway) and assumed his position between her legs. He used one hand to guide himself into her. She was surprisingly tight, given the circumstances, and he slowly began to work up speed, pumping in and out. One of the advantages of her slim frame was that he was able to reach down and grab her waist with both hands and have the tips of his fingers touch one another. She was lightweight enough such that he could work her entire body back and forth over his penis.
But all of this was something he could do (and had done) while she was alive. Now was his chance to really get a handful of her petite breasts. He paused and grabbed the dagger with his clean hand. Reminding himself that dismemberment of any kind could not be repaired, he carefully cut a slit underneath her left breast. Blood welled up but without a heartbeat to move it, it came slowly. Supporting his weight with one arm, he climbed onto the bed, on top of her. With his free hand, he worked his way underneath her skin, feeling for the soft fatty tissue within. At first, he softly caressed this breast from the inside. But then he tightened his grip. Blood and fat slipped through his fingers and his fist clenched tight. At some point during this, he had started humping at her again. One breast was thoroughly destroyed but he decided to leave the other intact. He once again paused and withdrew from her.
Not bothering to wash the gore from his hand, he roughly flipped her over onto her stomach, leaving streaks of red on her pale skin where his hand had touched her. Her legs hung off the foot of the bed and Edgar stood squarely between them. He now guided his penis into her anus, which offered little resistance but felt tighter than her vagina nonetheless. After a minute or so of enjoying her from this angle, he once again proceeded to something that he could never do with a living partner. He planted one hand squarely at her lower back and rested all of his bodyweight on her. With his other hand, he grabbed her hair at the roots and pulled her head toward his face. He heard faint popping sounds as her spine was curved sharply backwards. He resumed his pumping but he now had her face close to his own. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the exotic spices that she always used to perfume her hair. Turning her head to the side slightly he exposed her pointed half-elven ears. She always tried to keep him away from these ears, claiming that they were too sensitive and that she was ticklish there. With no such complaints at the moment, he ran his tongue around the outside of one ear, starting at the lobe and working up to the tip. It felt cartilaginous and much harder than the rest of the ear. He bit down on it savagely and confirmed its durability.
Pulling his head back from hers, he was able to get a perfect view of her profile. Her eyes were still open and glassed over. Her tongue hung out of her mouth to one side and wiggled slightly with each thrust he made into her.
He then realized that he was coming close to climax and slowed down as he released his grip on her hair and let her drop back to the bed, facedown. There was one more thing he wanted to do before finishing.
He pulled out and repositioned her back to where she was before, on her back with her legs hanging off of the foot of the bed. Before re-entering her, he once again grabbed his dagger and made a careful incision, this time just above the pubic bone. He wanted to cut deeply enough to open up the vaginal canal but didn’t want to cut it all the way through. He had to cut past the bladder and was thankful that this didn’t liberate any urine--she must have relieved herself before taking the poison. He had tried this before with a human woman but it had been a failure. He hoped that the combination of her trim figure and half-elf physiology would make it possible.
It was bloody work but after a few minutes of careful cutting, he was able to insert one hand into the incision and touch the head of his penis, pushed into her as deeply as he possibly could. It took some shuffling around of her internal organs but he was eventually able to fully see the head of his penis when his thrusts into her were at their deepest.
He had started to lose his erection during the operation but the success of being able to see himself move in and out quickly brought him back. She was obviously not as tight down there anymore but he was able to grind against her pubic bone, achieving a similar effect. It wasn’t long before he felt his body begin to reach climax. With both hands pressing down on her stomach, he was able to achieve the perfect angle. As he orgasmed, his cum shot out of her body and landed on her bloody chest. One glob even reached as far as her cheek.
Satisfied with his achievement and exhausted from the effort, he released her from his grip and stumbled over to the wash basin in the corner. The water was cold to the touch but a side-effect of the Endure Elements lubricant was that it didn’t bother him as he wiped away the blood and semen from his penis using a wet rag. He also washed his hands and the sat heavily into a chair across from the bed.
The scene was gruesome indeed but he admired the way his white semen was scattered across the blood-streaked red of her skin. Her legs hung limply off of the bed. Blood was dripping from one big toe onto the earthen floor. The mattress and sheets were unquestionably ruined but he couldn’t care less about that.
Edgar paused and began to plan his next move. Amariel had seen his cast the Raise Dead spell before on several occasions, which must have been how she knew what the expensive material component was. This probably also meant that she remembered that there was a strict timeframe for the resurrection--the spell wouldn’t work if more than a week or so passed. Combined with the fact that simple decomposition would soon make her body unpalatable, he figured that when she had written her note, instructing him resurrect her “when you’ve been satisfied”, she had expected that this would be after a day or two.
But there was a related spell that he was betting she didn’t know about. She would have never seen him cast it before because he hadn’t started using it until he moved to Shadyvale. The superstitious yokels of the village insisted that he bless every stiff who kicked the bucket with a spell called Gentle Repose. They cared about it because it prevented their dearly departeds from being raised from the dead as zombies--as if that would ever happen in a town this small. But it also had the benefit of slowing the decay of the corpse and--here’s the important part--it extended the window of time in which a Raise Dead spell could be performed.
Edgar retrieved his holy symbol from his discarded robe and stood over Amariel’s body. With a light touch to her forehead and a few muttered words, the spell was cast. This would buy him another week and a half. But he could recast this spell every single day, effectively halting her decomposition indefinitely.
He had made a right proper mess of her vagina but her mouth and ass were still completely intact. He would be a little more careful with her now from here on out. He grinned to himself and hoped that she hadn’t made any plans for the next few months.
and that's it for this one. as always, i appreciate any comments, feedback or whatever.
Raise dead repairs any damamge to the body, including dismemberment.
Not usually into straight necro, but this was hot. Great work!
You may be thinking of Resurrection?
Sounds like the kind of spell our protagonist ought to learn to cast.
Wow! What a well written piece! Excellent work on the details. It's refreshing to see a story that pays attention to things like realistic breast size, blood streaks, cum spray, etc. This story also has really good pacing, flows well, and is nearly typo free.
The D&D setting caught me by surprise the moment I read "Praise Pelor". I'm sitting somewhere where I have to be very quiet so laughing out loud is problematic. :-D Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm surprised that more stories don't use this setting.
I'm looking forward to reading more.
Good story, with an imaginative premise. Don’t be afraid to say cock and cunt though. Reading penis and vagina repeatedly was not all that hot.