Nyx had always been a loner. All through his middle school and up to almost his senior year, he rarely talked to anyone, even his teachers. Nyx knew why he was a loner, for he was lusting after something society would label as a taboo: to make passionate, lusty love to a deceased body. He cared not for the gender they were in life, he realized that even though society would reject him, the corpses would not. So, gay or straight, he would accept either.
He had his sights set on a beautiful young lady named Quintessa. She was truly the epitome of dark, gothic beauty. He never cared for those rich, preppy or stuck up girls, no. The dark lifestyle was sexy and fascinating.
But, Quintessa was perfect, with her long, dark hair; her silver-gray eyes full of life; small, but curvy build; and tan skin. He could hardly wait to finally experience the true meaning of his lust.
And now, two weeks from graduation, he had set his plan in motion. All he needed was to execute it. He had his knife to slit her throat, he would not make her suffer, no. He wanted her pure, he would have strangled her but found, to his amusement really, he always had a bit of a bloodlust, but for her, he will hold back. He will not mutilate her if he can help it. He hoped for little or no struggle this night.
He entered her house without much struggle, taking care to not make much noise. He wasn't sure which room was hers, he'd have to be extremely careful, and once he reached it, he would have to crawl out a window, as going back the way he came was too risky.
It didn't take long to find her, as there were only 3 rooms in the house, one being a bathroom. He snuck carefully around her bed, positioning himself behind her, and, with one swift but careful movement, made a small incision in her neck. Her jugular would cause too much blood, and too much of a mess. He then tied a small cloth around her mouth and nose, leaving about a 1/4 of an inch of space between the cloth and her face. Quickly but quietly, he heaved her soon-to-be lifeless body over his shoulder, searching for a window.
Suddenly, he felt a small kick, hitting his leg. Another one. Another one. His victim was struggling. She knew. He would have to hurry.
He felt among the dark walls, searching for a window, and finally finding one. He carefully lifted it, knowing the slightest squeak might shatter his plans. Her body was heavier then he thought, but it didn't matter. The blast of cold, night air from the open window suddenly chilled him, bringing him back to reality. Slowly, he lifted one leg out of the window, touched ground, and then lifted his other leg, touched ground, and made a small jump, being careful not to lose his precious-if not twisted-prize he had been so careful to win.
He ran home, not too much of a distance, winding through woods to disguise his deed. He couldn't wait, and despite the cold air, he began to get hard.
"Only a few more blocks, only a few more blocks" he told himself. He did not want to ruin this night by defiling his victim in the woods-no, he would wait.
At last, he arrived at home. Wasting no time, he put her down on his bed, stripped her, put on a condom-who knew what kind of diseases she had-and entered her.
Her pussy was soft and warm, and he almost exploded upon entry. But he did not go through all this to ruin it this soon. He arched his back up, spread his legs, and twisted himself around so he was still inside her, but from the side. From this position he had almost a perfect view of her pussy. There was a strip of hair, but other then that, it was better then he thought. Way better. He would definitely be keeping her for future uses.
He pulled out of her sometime later, laid her down flat on her back, and lifted one leg over his head. He then put his hands under her hips, lifted her up, and began to lick her clit. "Quintessa..." he whispered. He had to enter her again soon, he was on the edge.
After a few more licks and strokes, he began to fuck her hard. He wanted to lose all control. And soon he did.
With one final act of necrophilia before he completely passed out, he bit her neck, letting her bleed as much as she could. He got up from her, dragged her to his closet, and shut the door.
Quite nice story, though very short one.
A bit disappointed how little you described the act of necrophilia, but I guess the post-mortem scene wasn't the main theme in your story? Also, I'm having hard time picturing the killing scene: how did the victim not struggle more?
Yeah, to be honest I'm a little disappointed with how little description there is in the story. I wrote it way back in the late 2000s, when I was just experimenting (or trying to) with writing smut, so this is a very beginner type of story.
I tried to convey that the victim was kicking and struggling, while dying of her throat wound, but it didn't seem to come across as well.
I thank you kindly for your constructive comments and criticisms. Thank you.
Yeah to me it seemed like the victim lay silent (as in sleep?) as the killer cuts her neck and prepares to carry her away.
But I like the theme a lot and overall enjoyed the story, despite the little flaws. Would definitely enjoy reading more from you.