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Deathbed	By : MadameManga Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 2322 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrities of WWE/WWF. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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This story is very loosely inspired by the plot of the opera “The Flying Dutchman”. I’ve cast a number of familiar people in the roles; they are not intended to be seen as their real selves, but as actors playing parts. All recognizable characters are the property of WWE, and no infringement is intended. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only.
Written in 2001.
Deathbed

by Madame Manga

“Come back in the house, Irene.” Deadman’s amused voice came from the veranda behind me. “Walk slow and they won’t bother you.”
“I…hate…you,” I got out, still holding the revolver inside the purse. “You…son of a bitch.”
“Just come back in and sit down, OK? She’s cooking up some dinner.” I had six shots and there were five dogs facing me. Not enough, if I had to take on the rider and perhaps the family as well. I wasn’t a bad shot, but I wasn’t so certain of my ability that I would show all my cards when the odds were so against me. I let go of the gun and withdrew my hand from my purse.
“Good girl,” said Deadman as I passed him on the way back to the kitchen. I wanted to belt him. But I went inside and sat down hard at the small table, purse clutched on my lap.
Stephanie stood at the stove with a hot pan of what smelled like old bacon fat, a few uneven slices of potato floating in it. An opened can of Spam sat on the counter. She didn’t look particularly angry or put out, as if altercations like the one that had left her husband a bloody wreck happened every day.
When the food was ready, she put two plates on the table and scraped the contents of the pan into them, then dumped the pan in the sink and walked out without a word. I looked at the greasy mess in front of me and felt my stomach turn over.
“You used to high-toned grub?” said the rider with a smile, shoveling burnt Spam and potatoes into his mouth with a fork and one thumb. “I read a newspaper once said city folks eat their fish raw and pay stiff money for it. You eat your fish raw?”
“I don’t like fish.”
“Kind of fond of it myself,” he said, still smiling. “But if I ever catch any trout out of the crick, I sure don’t let that slut do the cooking. You going to eat that?”
I put a forkful in my mouth, chewed and barely managed to swallow. “No.” I put the fork down.
“Suit yourself.” He emptied my plate into his own and began to eat the rest. I got up to look out the kitchen window. “Might as well make the best of it, Irene.”
“Make the best of it?”
“Oh, I ain’t been walking in your shoes today, is that it? Nobody knows the trouble you’ve seen? Tell me about it, then.”
I remained silent, back to him as I looked out into the lit driveway.
“Come on, girl. I want to know. Tell me about you.” I gave him an angry, impatient look. “OK, let’s run it down, then. What do I know about you? You might be about thirty, I figure, though you’re so little you could pass for younger. You had a husband and a kid once, but you don’t have ‘em any more. Dumped the wedding ring a real short while ago. You were in an all-fired hurry to get somewhere today and you still are. Papa’s gonna make it all better, you think, and what the hell it is that he needs to make better looks like something nasty, because when I mention the police, you jump. You got a look about you…like death.”
His eyes were burning into mine, and he got up and began to walk towards me. “You were drivin’ too damn fast and you damn near killed yourself. Was that what you were aiming to do? I smelled death on you. Confused me for a few minutes, because it wasn’t your death I was smelling.”
The rider had approached close enough to make me sidestep to avoid being backed against the cupboards. “So you smell of death, but you aren’t dead. That would mean…maybe you meant to die. Maybe someone died right next to you. Maybe…you killed someone just a little while ago.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Could be.” He smirked. “How would a little thing like you have the means, or the guts, to kill someone? Must be my imagination.” I clutched the purse with the gun more tightly. “So how’d you get rid of that husband of yours? You didn’t like him much, I guess.”
“I…no. He had a lot of money.”
“Married him for his dough, hey? You screwed around some, right?”
“What?”
Deadman smiled none too pleasantly. “You fucked around with other guys. While you were married and had a little kid.”
My face burned. “Yes.”
“What kind of guys? Suits with cell phones? I saw that damn krautwagon you were drivin’.”
“That was my husband’s BMW. He wore a suit and had a cell phone.”
“So the other guys were like that too? Or not?”
“Not like that, no.”
“Guys like…me?” He smiled sarcastically. “You’re such a high-class lady and all. I know your kind. Married to a guy who earns a living pushing paper around? Lot’sa you get a yen for a man who really knows he’s a man.”
“That must be so nice for you,” I said icily. I was furious at his insinuations, but since he seemed to have my number, it wasn’t justified anger. I didn’t have much defense against a recital of my sins other than resentment, and I didn’t have much defense against Deadman’s now-obvious interest in me other than coldness. Showing him the gun wouldn’t accomplish a thing. If I brought it out, I had to be prepared to use it immediately.
“So come sit a while.” He wagged a thumb at the front room. “Have a drink. Tell me some more about you.”
“No, thank you. I don’t want a drink, and I’m not interested in talking.”
“That’s not my favorite thing to do with a woman either,” the rider said. His smile set off alarm bells. What if he simply decided to take me, if that was his intention? Was there a thing I could do about it if he did?
Although the thought of being forced terrified me, it also gave me such a strange thrill that I lowered my gaze in an attempt to avoid letting him see it in my eyes.
For a long moment Deadman was silent, my own breathing the only sound I could hear. “You still hungry?” he asked at last.
“…Yes.”
Reaching over my head, he took a bottle of rye whiskey and a glass from a cupboard behind me. “Think there’s a loaf of bread in the pantry.” Taking a swig from the half-full bottle, he brushed past me to enter the front room and recline on the sagging bedspread-covered sofa.
The springs let out an overstrained sigh, and so did I. So he didn’t mean to try anything after all, thank God…and perhaps I could leave soon.
I turned back into the kitchen and searched all the cupboards, finding the bread and eventually assembling a couple of sandwiches with a can of tuna and the mayonnaise. I located some instant coffee and put a kettle on the stove to heat water. In the front room I heard a clink of glass and a belch.
When I had eaten and finished my coffee, I checked the yard and drive again. The dogs lay here and there, but nothing disturbed the night other than the slow screech of crickets. I saw no movement in the garage; the battered Firebird and the tractor were still parked in front of it.
If Papa had received my message, which was a big if, he couldn’t reach this place in less than three hours, assuming he could get directions or even find it in the dark. I might not see him until morning, and it was nearly certain that the police would beat him to it. I’d eaten and drunk; I felt better, and I’d stayed long enough. I had to go.
If I couldn’t walk out, perhaps I could take the car keys from the hall tree and borrow the Firebird—the family probably wouldn’t stop me. I heard a snore from the sofa as I peered into the front room to check, which heartened me. I could see the bottle lying nearly empty on the floor, so it was obvious Deadman had drunk quite a bit.
Perhaps he had passed out for the night. I was familiar with the habits of a hard drinker—my grandfather had frequently spent his evenings in such a manner throughout my childhood. Gran’pa had been a sleepy drunk, not a dangerous one, except when he decided to do a little target shooting.
Taking off my boots and leaving them by the kitchen door, I walked quietly past the sofa, aiming for the car keys.
The rider suddenly sat up, and I jumped. “All set?” he said, not sounding particularly drunk.
“Uh…all set for what?”
“Bed, naturally.” He got up, yawned and stretched to his full height. “Reckon I am too.”
“Oh.” I began to double back to the kitchen. “Well, I’ll just—” The rider followed.
“Not there, girl,” he said, clamping me to his side with a long arm and turning around. “Upstairs.”
“Why?” I jogged alongside him as he walked; I had little choice in the matter.
“Bedrooms are up there, that’s why. ‘Less you prefer the sofa or something.”
“Prefer the sofa?” We were almost to the stairs by now. “For sleeping?”
“Sleeping? I’m intending to tire you out, sure,” he replied. “I don’t imagine there’s going to be a lot of actual sleeping tonight.” My stomach gave a great wrench of excitement and fear. Stopping at the base of the steps, Deadman turned me to face him, cupped one hand under my chin, tilted my face and leaned down. I gasped, my lips opening, and his mouth crushed down on mine.
“Ohh!” Writhing, I tried to escape, but he was so much stronger than I that all I managed to do was rub my breasts against his ribs. His kiss pressed harder, his lips warming and parting mine while I let out little sobs of terror. The sharp stubble on his cheeks pricked my face, but his mouth felt smooth and sensuous and wet, coaxing me to respond.
Dread and desire roiled deep in my belly. I did want him, or my body wanted him—he could surely tell that, but at the same time I quivered all over with fear. I had the strange thought that sex with this man would be some kind of passage from one state of being to another—the orgasm a little death, a barricade hurdled with a strong arm to help me over.
The rider backed me up against the wall next to the stairs and slid his tongue into my mouth. Hot and salty and dizzying, his lips and tongue took mine and wrested all physical control from me; I responded involuntarily, sagging in his embrace. Deadman pulled me up with a hand under my bottom and pushed my hips up into his groin, spreading his legs. His erection bulged his fly and pulsed against my soft flesh.
Did he think I was willing to be seduced, or did he mean to rape me? Was it possible for the act to be rape when I wanted him the way I did? My mind went dark with confused, tumultuous emotions as Deadman kissed me and ground his crotch against my stomach.
“I’ve been needing you so bad, baby,” he muttered when he came up for air. “Moment I got that scent of you, bang, I was so hard I couldn’t barely walk straight…” One hand seized my left breast and squeezed it; the other ran down over my stomach and thighs and forced its way between my legs.
I jumped and shook, jerking from side to side as Deadman rubbed my sex through my jeans. He pressed his face into the junction of my neck and shoulder, buried his nose in my loose hair and fastened his lips to my throat. “Oh yeah—I’m gonna take you ‘til the damn sun comes up!”
I gasped in panic—I had to leave the house! If he took me upstairs, he wouldn’t let me go for hours, and by then it would be too late—the police would catch up with me. In another sense it was already too late, because I’d kissed him back. It wasn’t just my body he wanted, though he had complimented my looks; he wanted me.
I’d let him know my darkest desires without meaning to give myself away, let him look for a moment into the cryptic, guarded recesses of my soul and find something kindred there. Both of us recognized our affinity, though I was fighting it. He would never stop of his own accord, and I had only one sure-fire way to stop him myself—if I chose to use it. “NO!” I half-screamed. “Stop—please—I don’t want—!”
“Oh, you want it, baby,” growled Deadman. I felt him smile against my throat, his teeth brushing my skin. “You’ve been checking me out since I pulled up to your car. Don’t lie to me.”
“I have to leave! Please let me go!”
“Don’t go trying to run away from me, Irene. You ain’t going nowhere but upstairs. Damn, you taste good!” He licked the pit of my throat. I tried to push away the hand on my breast, but the rider grabbed my wrist and pinned my arm to the wall behind me, pulling off the glove on his other hand with his teeth.
Was he going to knock me out again in that strange way? I hadn’t recovered from the lethargic spell for some time—the situation was growing desperate, because if he rendered me helpless I would never escape. I had the feeling that once he had taken me, I would never again have the power to part from him.
“No…please don’t hurt me!” I gasped, back arching as my arm twisted almost to the point of pain. “I’ll do what you want—don’t hurt me!”
“Not unless you like it that way, baby!” Deadman released my wrist and kissed me again, his tongue pushing past my lips. “I’m not out to bruise your pretty face. All I want is your sweet little ass!”
“Ohh…” I sagged and wriggled again, turning in his arms until his back was against the wall instead of mine. Telling him I would cooperate had had the desired effect—he loosened his grip and let me move more freely. Disentangling my purse strap, I finally got my hand on the flap. While the rider distracted himself with massaging my breasts and devouring my lips as if he were starving, I opened the purse and put my hand inside.
The revolver’s stock immediately bumped against my fingers and I drew the gun out and pressed it against his side. He started in surprise and began to break the kiss; before he could react any further I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
The rider yelled, rearing back from me and clutching his wound. The bullet had passed clean through his body a few inches below the ribs, hitting the wall behind him in a red spray. Blood spurted and bubbled between his fingers as he doubled over and fell to his knees.
I had inflicted a stomach wound, hellishly painful; the spilled digestive acids burning his guts as he slowly bled to death.
“You…BITCH!” he wheezed. “Where the hell…did you get that piece?”
“I had it all along,” I said, holding the revolver’s muzzle steady a few inches from his forehead. “I know all about men like you!”
A stream of blood began to run from the corner of the rider’s mouth. “Do…ya?” His eyes rolled up to keep me in focus, but they were glazing over in agony. I decided to be merciful. Or merciless: they amounted to the same thing.
“Yes, I do. And I know all about guns, too.” I thumbed the hammer, pulled the trigger again and saw a star-shaped hole appear in the middle of his forehead. His eyes rolled back all the way, showing only the whites, and he tilted slowly back on his haunches and slumped against the wall.
A broad smear of blood, hair and gray matter followed his head down the wallpaper. When he collapsed at my feet, I saw the huge exit wound in the back of his skull, the pale ruins of brains pulsing in the ragged, bone-edged cavity.
The rider was dead, though his eyes still gleamed open and white in the light of the kerosene lamps. So big, so forceful, but even he could do nothing to fight a little slug of lead. His long red hair had fallen partly over his face and his big tattooed arms lay slack on the floor.
I felt a dreadful pang of regret; if it hadn’t been essential that I leave, I knew I would have submitted to his lust. He had been the sort of man to treat me the way I wanted to be treated. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I couldn’t let you keep me here.”
I put the gun back in my purse and went to the hall tree, picking up the car keys and considering my escape route. The people in the garage would have heard the shots—I had four bullets left, and there were the dogs—
Someone grabbed me from behind, one hand around my wrist and one around my waist. “Aaahhh!” I screamed. He tore the purse off my shoulder and flung it into a far corner.
It was the rider, impossibly alive, his face working with demonic fury. Although his shirt had a huge bloom of blood on the front and his face was streaked red, I could see no wounds. Paralyzed with horror, I nearly fainted. His grip was the only reason I didn’t fall.
“I wasn’t gonna hurt you, Irene,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I think I changed my mind.” His open palm connected with my jaw. “You thought you were gonna kill me, huh? Little bitch!”
“I—I SHOT you!” I screamed, my face stinging from the slap. He could have taken my head off if he had closed his fist. “You were—”
“Dead?” He grinned banefully into my face. “Sorry. You can’t kill me that way, because you can’t kill what’s already dead!” The whole surface of my skin prickled, every hair standing on end. “That’s who I am. The Dead Man. Fifty years dead!”
“Wh-what? Dead? You’re crazy!”
“It’s black sorcery, Irene. A mockery of life.” The rider’s hands tightened on my arms. “I feel desire and hunger and pain, but there’s no escape and no rest in this world or the next! Undead until I’m finally condemned!”
“Why?” I asked faintly. “Who…?”
“I challenged the Devil and forfeited my soul—I’m his creature until I meet the conditions of my contract, and I know what the Devil’s promises are worth! Fifty years I’ve existed in this torment! It’s my curse from Hell!”
“Oh…my…God…” I closed my eyes. What was happening to me? Unbelievable, impossible, but I had put two bullets through him and the effects had vanished in moments. I had to believe him; there was no other explanation. He was a demon! Undead and unkillable!
I was positive he was going to do away with me for shooting him, and a wave of heat went over me like a baptism of warm blood. He was going to kill me, and I welcomed my fate. If the accident that had seemed meant to end my life hadn’t done the job, death at the rider’s hands would be just as quick.
His fingers brushed my throat. I waited for them to close their grip around my windpipe, perhaps break my neck with one squeeze. With his hideous strength, I knew he could kill me as easily as a gesture. A minute ticked by, and still I waited while the rider did nothing but hold me, hand poised at my throat.
“Getting shot hurts like a sonofabitch!” he growled. “I swear, I can still feel it—I may be dead, but I got all my nerve endings! Makes me mad!”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered through my clenched teeth, my eyes still shut. “Just kill me!”
I felt him laugh softly, and his lips covered mine in a harsh kiss. “I got better things to do first!” He bent and threw an arm around my thighs, then stood and hoisted me against his chest.
Up the stairs he went, three at a time, kicking a bedroom door open. “You’re going to taste even sweeter now, you feisty little bitch! Get those clothes off!” He dumped me on a quilt-spread double bed and began to take off his shirt, exposing another large tattoo on his stomach.
“I…I…” I scrambled backwards on the bed. “No! Please don’t do this to me! I don’t want to—”
“Too late now.” Deadman threw the shirt on the floor. “You owe me—and you said yes anyway!” He jumped on the bed and grabbed me, dragging my body under his. He did mean to rape me, then—which I realized was exactly what I had wanted him to do all along. And then he would kill me…
“What?! No—please!” I tossed my head back and forth as Deadman tried to kiss me, my legs pinned under his heavy knees and my hands twined with his hands, my arms flung straight out to each side. His lips fastened on the sensitive spot behind my ear. “Don’t force me!” I begged, arousal flaring white-hot in my belly.
“I won’t have to if ya calm down, girl,” he said in my ear. I thrashed harder and he held me down more firmly. “Whoa there! I’m not going to hurt you!”
“What?”
“I said, I got better things to do! All I’m gonna do is make you mine. Sweet little red-head Irene, with her eyes to match.” His mouth came down on mine again for a long moment. “Kisses me one minute and puts a goddamn bullet through my head the next. My kind of woman!”
“You’re crazy!”
“You think yer too damn high-class for me?” Deadman grinned at me and settled between my legs. “I’m just some damn dirty biker who picked you up on the road?” He laughed in a way that frightened me even more. “You know I’m a lot more than that, Irene. Let’s see if you still think you’re too good for me after I’m in you.”
He inserted a hand between us and began to unzip my jeans. “I’m interested to know, so you’ll have to tell me. How high-class are you gonna feel when yer flat on your back gettin’ fucked? It’s an equalizer in more ways than one. A little short of the ultimate equalizer, but it’ll do.” With a heave, he pulled my jeans down and past my hips.
“No!”
He dragged my jeans all the way off and tickled my pantied crotch with his fingertips. “I can smell you. You’re wet for me, ain’t ya?” Deadman sat up and pulled my legs around his waist. One of his thumbs inserted under the elastic of my underwear and moved through the hair and down. “Yeah, all slick and soft…mmm.” He worked the thumb up and down in my vulva, stroking my clit. “Feels damn good.”
“Ohh…oh…” I moaned, shaking with the sensations. “N-no…”
“Pretty lady.” With the other hand he smoothed the skin of my hips and thighs. “Can’t really tell you’ve had a kid—you’re not stretched much. Just a few marks…I bet you’re tight around a man’s cock, huh?” He roughly sank a finger into me and rapidly worked it in and out, keeping the thumb on my clit.
I began to moan more loudly, my hips shuddering in little circles as the excruciating pleasure shot up and down my legs and into my chest. Deadman pulled the crotch of my panties aside, hissing on an intake of breath when he exposed my vulva, and kept stroking me.
Pushing back from me and half lying down, he brought his face closer to my groin, nostrils flaring. He added another finger to the one already in my vagina and breathed on my clit from an inch away, then licked it and sucked it between his lips.
My moans reached a crescendo of sensuality while Deadman pressed his face between my thighs and engulfed my sex with his mouth. Fingers thrusting and stretching me, he teased my tender flesh with intense wet lips, pulling on my clit and working his head around and around.
Softer than his stubble, his beard and mustache brushed my inner thighs and my buttocks. His tongue darted back and forth, flickering; I felt something roaring inside me, centering in my thighs and groin, and I screamed.
“Ahhh…ahhh…OHHH!” I climaxed, my legs shaking.
Deadman reared up again, licking his lips. His eyes had gone fiery and hooded, his mouth open with panting breaths. “Damn, you are one hot lady. You need that cock now, baby!” He unbuckled his belt and kicked his jeans off.
When he was naked, his erect penis rose up before my eyes, nearly reaching his navel; it looked bigger around than my wrist. Sinuous with muscle and velveted with light hair, his whole body was pale with the exception of his sex, which was dusky purple nested in red-gold curls. I couldn’t close my eyes, couldn’t stop staring at him. Deadman noticed my gaze and looked amused. “I reckon you’ve seen a cock or two before, Irene. You’re no tremblin’ virgin!”
“No…” But my lover Tony’s penis was half the size of his, and nothing larger than Tony’s had ever gone into me. Only my daughter had come out, four years before, and my body had already forgotten her birth. Only her death remained with me. I kept looking at Deadman’s penis; I didn’t think it would hurt me in and of itself, but the mere thought of such an instrument in me made me shake.
Deadman opened my shirt and pushed my bra up to my collarbone to expose my breasts, pulled me around until my head rested on the pillows under the patchwork quilt that covered the bed, and began to work my panties off.
“No,” I repeated automatically, my will to struggle almost entirely gone. Even if I broke away from him I wouldn’t take two steps before he would have me pinned again. I reveled in the knowledge that he would forcibly take me in a few moments—there was nothing I could do.
“That’s right, there’s nothin’ you can do,” said Deadman, stripping off my panties, sniffing them voluptuously and dropping them on the bed. He smiled at my startlement. “I know what yer thinkin’, girl. It reads plain in those pretty eyes of yours.”
Arranging my legs, he lunged forward and lay on me, the firm head of his penis digging into my stomach. The weight of his huge body felt so erotic that I began to breathe hard again. “You don’t want to do anything about it anyhow. You want me to take you. Don’t ya?”
I shook my head, and kept shaking it as he raised his hips and used one hand to spread a little spit over the head of his penis before settling it at my entrance. When he closed his teeth and curled his lips in a sensual snarl, driving his cock into me with a few hard thrusts, I was still shaking my head in denial of the only thing I knew was true right now. I knew I was a liar.
“Uhhh!” Deadman let out a long grunt as he entered me, panting in my face with his teeth locked, his eyes closing for a moment. “Damn…good…”
I felt my body let him in and ease around him, closing its soft grip on his cock. His size was too much for my small body, but too much was what I wanted. He sighed in pleasure, his long hair falling forward over his shoulders as he began to move.
Despite myself, I arched my whole body in a slow rolling bridge to feel him penetrate me to my deepest recesses, the thickness of his cock stretching my entrance until my clit throbbed. Deadman lowered his head to my breasts and licked them, teasing the nipples with the tip of his tongue and bathing my skin in cool moisture. His damp hair trailed after his mouth. Continuing the tongue bath up my neck and across my shoulders, he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew.
Returning to my breasts, he covered them again with wide strokes of his tongue, seeming to savor the taste of my skin. I moaned, wondering at his gentleness. I had nearly forgotten why I had shot him and why I had to escape the house—his heavy body on mine and in me crowded out all other thoughts and sensations.
I began to give myself over to the pleasure that rippled out from my sex and my breasts, urged along by Deadman’s touch. I couldn’t pretend for one moment longer that I didn’t want it. He raised his head and slowed his strokes, barely moving. Forcing my eyes open, I watched him consciously restrain himself with some effort. He smiled, looking at my breasts.
“Whose blood is it, girl?”
“What?”
“You must have washed the blood away, but I can still taste it. All over you, Irene. It’s in the pores of your skin.” He licked the underside of my right breast. “You taste of someone’s blood. And you smell of it…” Opening his mouth wide, he engulfed the nipple and areola, tugging and sucking. His hips rotated and he thrust deep and held his cock inside me.
“You’re crazy!”
He lifted his head and looked me straight in the eyes. “I know blood when I taste it. I could smell it the moment you got close to me. I thought it was yours, but I know it’s not. Whose blood is it?”
His cock grew even harder, taking me slowly, so big it reminded me of childbirth. Every thrust, every slow excavation of my aching depths left me limp and panting like the aftermath to labor pains. Acid green, his gaze bored into my eyes; his upper lip curled to show his teeth. “Tell me whose blood is on your skin, Irene.”
I began to hyperventilate, my breasts and stomach heaving into his chest. I had a strange feeling that he already knew the answers to the questions he asked, but was testing me to see if I would tell the truth. “It’s…it’s…my husband’s. And my lover’s.”
Deadman nodded slowly, his body still possessing mine, and began to thrust faster.
I moaned with the extremity of the pleasure, rolling my head around on the quilt. “I shot them. This morning. They were going to kill me together. They didn’t know I had the gun, but my Papa taught me to shoot and gave me that revolver when I left home and I’ve kept it ever since. I emptied the revolver into both of them and I reloaded to make sure they were dead. There was blood everywhere. I had to take off all my clothes because of the blood.”
Deadman lowered his head and began to trail his tongue along the line of my jaw, sliding his cock in and out of my body with a deliberate, accelerating rhythm.
“It splashed on my face and throat and chest,” I said, “and it was on my thighs and my shoes. I stripped naked and I took two showers to wash it off. I had to burn everything I was wearing. It was all soaked in blood.”
“I can taste it,” he said, lapping the side of my neck. “You taste so good, baby...” He was fucking me hard now, pounding my body into the mattress with his hands imprisoning mine above my head, and I cried out. “Yeah, baby, scream for me!” Deadman growled into my throat. “I’m gonna take you ‘til you know who I am!”
“W-what?” I gasped.
“Who am I, Irene? Who’s fucking the life out of you?”
I felt an orgasm approaching and moaned incoherently. “D-Deadman…’Taker…”
“I’m the Dead Man, and you’re mine now. Aren’t you?”
“Ahh…ahh…ohh…OHHH!” I screamed, my hips slamming up and down as I came. “OHHH! Ohhh…” He rode me to the conclusion, his teeth set in a grim smile.
“You’re a woman of blood,” he said. “Shot three men today, and you meant to kill them all! Those two aren’t the only ones who’ve died at your hand, are they?”
“No…”
“Like I said…my kind of woman.” Deadman kissed me with such passion I moaned, and began to move inside me again. “You turn me on so damn much…” I felt his penis swell inside me, the beginnings of his orgasm pulsing at the base. “Been so long, Irene. I haven’t had a woman for so long, and I found you waitin’ for me by the road.”
His face began to twitch, his mouth snarling with lips drawn back from his teeth. Ferocious, baneful, the most compelling masculine face I had ever seen. Beautiful, as his green eyes closed and he thrust hard and fast into my accepting body. The violent roar of his climax reminded me of his savagery in battle.
When he collapsed full length on me, covering my entire body with his hot, sweaty limbs, I sank into the mattress beneath him and imagined that we would lie this way for eternity. Always joined, always buried, alive in death.
The heaviness of dead earth on both of us, but the heat of our lust melting us together in an eternal embrace. Fading into exhausted sleep, I barely felt him leave me, dreaming of his body crushing mine like the weight of mortal sin.
Continued...
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Deathbed