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Deathbed	By : MadameManga Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 2323 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
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

“I’m goin’,” said Aitch, releasing me and putting up his hands. “I’m not interfering with your woman, OK?”
The rider came straight at him until they stood chest to chest. “Like hell you’re not. I know you.” He overtopped Aitch by half a head, and they stared at each other, Aitch with malicious innocence, Deadman with bald hostility. “Known you for way too hell of a long time, you snake in the woodpile!”
“I’m not afraid of you, ‘Taker. It’s what my wife would do to me if I dipped my wick anywhere else, right? I’d be more afraid of an angry woman than of any man, if I was you.” Aitch smiled at me with a hint of cruel glee, which reminded me of his wife. “See ya.”
He sidestepped the rider and left. I recalled hearing the roused dogs a few minutes before and realized Aitch had meant to let Deadman find me in a clinch with him; he was hoping to precipitate a confrontation between us and provoke me to use my gun.
To my surprise, Deadman turned on me with undiminished fury. “You let him kiss you.”
“Let him? About as much as I let you!”
“Yeah, and you like it that way. Don’t ya?” He grabbed the front of my shirt. “You like getting forced? You oughta like this, then.” Deadman yanked me against him, seized my hair and slammed his mouth down on mine.
My lips throbbed with the fierce pressure of his kiss; a tickle began between my legs. Though I pushed against his chest, my head whirled and the pit of my stomach felt hollow with appetite. The rider grabbed my buttocks and I bit the corner of his mouth and tasted blood. His head jerked back, but his teeth were set in an avid smile.
“You little bitch!” Deadman growled, bending to kiss me again. He wrenched my lips open with his and his tongue surged into my mouth. I let out a moan of longing and began to breathe like a furnace bellows, my body going hot, twisting around his. Lacing my hands in his hair, I pulled it out of its braid and took it in both fists.
The rider grabbed the battery lantern, seized me around the waist and lifted me, carrying me into one of the stalls. Hanging the lantern on a nail, he sat me on a covered feed bin and leaned into me, kissing me savagely as my legs went around his waist.
Grinding his hips into my crotch, he dry-humped me until my back hit the wall, then nipped my throat and pulled me back against him. “Baby…” he muttered. He kneaded my breasts and kissed the underside of my jaw, then stood back, shed his coat and unbuckled his belt. “Strip, girl.”
I slid off the feed bin and watched him unsnap his leather vest and open his fly, his cock surging upwards when he freed it from his clothing. I did nothing until he started to speak again, then began to open the buttons of my shirt. He paused to watch, his face changing to keen attentiveness as he followed my fingers with his eyes.
I exposed my bra and slowly shrugged the shirt off, dropping it on his coat. Unhooking my bra, I dropped it as well and felt my breasts relax slightly to their natural contour.
Deadman wet his lips with a slow caress of his tongue, and when I unsnapped my jeans he put a hand on his erection and stroked it. I kept my eyes on his cock as I wriggled my hips out of the jeans and pushed them down my legs.
The tickling sensation between my legs intensified; I bent over and stepped out of the jeans, then put my thumbs into my panties and pulled them off. I stood naked in front of him, the harsh light of the lantern streaming across my skin and throwing my breasts and the inward curve of my groin into deep, shadowed relief. Drawing my long hair over my shoulders, I let it fall down like a cape, veiling my body in its darkness.
For a few moments Deadman’s chest rose and fell under his open vest, his gaze roaming over my body. I put my hands on my breasts and lifted them under the curtain of hair, squeezing the nipples forward and brushing them with my thumbs. His whole body vibrated. “Yeah. Touch yourself,” he said low.
I kept one hand on my breasts and gradually slid the other down my torso, stopping to circle a fingertip in my navel as if I had misunderstood him. Deadman smiled crookedly and met my eyes, then looked at my groin. I let the hand continue to its destination, stroked the hair up and down, brushing it away from the lips of my vulva, dampened my forefinger with saliva and slipped it into the narrow slit.
He snarled silently, eyes following my every move. As I stroked my moistening folds and parted the lips to let him see what I was doing, he slowly jerked off in the same rhythm, the skin tightening and relaxing over the shaft and head of his cock.
With a fingernail I scratched hard across the upper curve of one of my breasts and drew blood; the rider’s eyes widened as I smeared the blood across my chest and stroked the stained tips of my fingers over my nipples. His fist clenched on his penis and he let out a gasp. I was so wet by now that my fingers made a sloshing sound in my vulva.
Suddenly he grabbed both my hands, his face reddening, and plunged my sticky fingers into his mouth. He sucked them clean of both blood and juices, licked the stinging scratch on my breast and pushed on my shoulders to force me down.
Kicking the clothes into a pile, I knelt on them and looked up. The rider shoved his jeans down past his buttocks and took my chin in one hand. I opened my mouth and let him impel his cock inside, the head so large it strained my lips. He tasted sharp and salty, with a hint of semen from the droplet that had formed at the tip of his penis. With only a few strokes in the wet interior of my mouth he was groaning out loud, his hands in my hair and his hips pumping.
I put my hands on his bared buttocks and smoothed the velvet fuzz, opening my throat as much as I could. Although I could take only the first six inches or so of his cock, I knew he was going to come quickly; he was so hard there was almost no give to his skin.
Glancing up along his body, I saw his face contorting and his eyes squeezing shut. He stumbled a step backwards against the stall divider and leaned there, taking strangled breaths and shaking. I laid my hands on his lower abdomen just above the hair at his groin and felt the deep contractions in his stomach muscles.
“Unngghh…” the rider moaned as I withdrew him slightly from my mouth and swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. “God…woman…” I stroked his slippery shaft, then scraped the thin, taut skin with my teeth, watching the little beads of red well up. “UH!”
His moans only accelerated as I plunged him back into my mouth and tasted blood mingling with the sharpness, a strong metallic tang like the scent of burnt gunpowder. I felt the surge of his orgasm beginning. “Uhh! Unnhh… uhh…NNGGHH!” he yelled.
The first spurt hit the roof of my mouth and I drove him deeper, swallowing rapidly to take all of his ejaculation. Some of it dribbled from the corners of my wide-open mouth despite my efforts.
He kept shooting down my throat for several moments, his face expressing near-transfiguration. When it ceased his body jackknifed and he slid down to the floor, taking me with him. I lay with my face pressed against his stomach and watched his penis subside, his sweat springing out under my cheek.
After a minute, he began to stroke my hair. “Baby…you got a helluva fire in you.”
“I’ll burn you to ashes,” I replied, sitting up with my hair over my face and baring my teeth at him through the dark curtain.
Deadman smiled similarly and gathered up a good handful of my hair near my scalp, lifting me up as he rose. “Let’s see about that.” He pushed me to the feed bin, turned me around and bent me over it, bumping my buttocks with his hips. His erection had renewed already—his body obviously recovered quickly from any kind of fatigue as well as injury. “Spread yer legs, baby.”
Forcing a hand between my thighs, he shoved them apart and leaned against my back. My hair tangled around my neck and into my mouth; the rider held his cock, guided it to my sopping entrance and rammed it hard into my vagina.
I howled, rolling my hips up to meet him. Deadman held my head down, pumping rapidly into me, and locked his hands around my throat. His thick cock pulled and tugged my swelling tissues, stretching me to the limit, and his strokes were so long that I screamed an entire breath on every one.
The rider squeezed, his hands cutting off some of the blood flow to my brain, and the intensity of feeling increased tenfold. I tossed my head wildly within the confines of his grip and bucked my hips to the excruciating rapture of his fucking, my vision going dark and dizzy.
Half throttled, my brain starving for oxygen, I felt as if all the nerves and veins in my body were in my pelvis, all engorged with electricity and with blood. I could barely scream with his hands around my throat, but gasped out a violent orgasm and slumped, barely conscious.
I came to a moment later as Deadman eased his grip and let go of my throat. He lay on my back and kissed my face and forehead. When he slid a hand around my hip to clasp my vulva I reared up and ground my buttocks into him, and when he rubbed my clit with a roughened forefinger I climaxed again in two thrusts.
The rider threw both arms around me to keep me upright as I writhed and gasped, turned my face to kiss me, then returned to tormenting my clit with his fingers. My body undulated and rolled against him as he settled down to a steady rhythm, taking me over and over with vigorous thrusts.
The feelings spread through my entire body, from sex to thighs to stomach and outwards, my heart pounding so hard I could feel my breasts quivering. I burned with wantonness for him, for his penis and hands and lips, and I gave him nothing but what I truly felt.
It was a novel and terrible feeling, like my skin peeling back to reveal my secret underpinnings, and no man had ever provoked me to it before. My moans seemed to come from the deepest core of myself: sobbing, howling, crying out to him to rip me open and tear the heart from my breast.
The rider kept fucking me. I could feel him beginning to shake again, one palm moist and rough on my back. While still stroking my vulva, he slid the free hand down and over my buttocks, searching between them and pressing a thumb on my anus.
I took a deep breath and bore down to let it inside, the sharpness of the penetration blending into the almost unbearable arousal I felt and pushing me over the edge again. Screaming, I climaxed a third time and a fourth without interruption.
Deadman let out a choking moan and rammed faster with trembling legs, and shot into me, his cock pulsing. Both of us collapsed on the feed bin and fell to our knees on the rough board floor, bodies running with sweat. His face dropped to my hair and I felt his hot breath just above my ear.
“Irene,” Deadman said in a rasping tone, folding me in his arms. “Irene…” He kissed me and for a few minutes held me cradled back to belly while our bodies gradually cooled.
I shivered in his arms, though the parts of my skin touching him were hot as fire. Reaching for his coat, he wrapped it around me, rose and straightened his clothing and handed me mine in a bundle.
When I stood, still a little shaky, he put one arm around my back and the other under my knees and lifted me, hoisted high against his chest. I looked into his face, illuminated by the white light of the battery lamp, and saw something there that made me tremble. I hid my face against his throat and he carried me out of the barn.
When we passed the now-darkened garage I heard a repeated buckling-metal sound and a high-pitched gasp, and looked up to see Aitch industriously humping his wife on the hood of the Firebird, pants around his ankles. He briefly raised his head and gave me a salacious grin as Deadman carried me to the house.
The rider took me up the veranda steps and into the house, up the stairs and into the bedroom and put me down on the bed. He lit the lamp with a match and replaced the chimney. Taking the coat and clothing from me, he tossed it all on the floor and stripped himself.
I reclined in a dream-like state while he lay with me and entered me once more, slowly rocking me and caressing me, soothing my body and somehow my tormented soul, taking again and again what had always belonged to him.
***
By all rights, the sun should have come up. I was sure that I had lain for hours in this bed with Deadman beside me, making love at wakeful intervals, sleeping now and then with his heavy body half atop mine as it was now. A long time had passed since I had realized what was happening, and in that time, I believed, I had embraced my doom.
I had been right about the implications of sex with this man—I had passed to another state of being, utterly transformed from what I had been, and in attaching my fate to his I had crossed a barrier that kept the world of the living separate from that of the dead. Never again, though he was undead and half demon, would I have the power to part from him.
My heart, unerringly guarded and cold, had opened to him as it never had to any man, and either I was a different person, or I had discovered who I truly was. I had entered into this state of my own free will, but in another sense I had been compelled, because it seemed that everything that had ever happened in my life had pointed me to this night, this bed, this feeling that burned within me and seemed to sear clean all the guilt and foulness of my soul.
Free will and destiny intertwined nearly indistinguishably like the bodies of lovers; the night had passed in the ecstasy of existence made meaningful for the first time.
But the room was still dark. I still saw the glow of the lamp on the window that showed the blackness outside. I turned my head, my chin brushing the rider’s left forearm which lay across my neck, and looked right into the tattooed eyes of a skull cradled in a wizard’s hand. Just above the rider’s elbow, a spectral death’s-head figure crouched, its long dark hair trailing as it looked over a precipice.
I turned my head farther to the left. My cheek came up against Deadman’s ear and sideburn, for his face was pressed into the pillow above my shoulder, possibly in an effort to muffle his deep, resonant snoring.
His left leg lay relaxed over both of my thighs, pinning me down with its weight alone, and his loose hair was tangled with mine. Warm in my nostrils, his scent enfolded me, and I closed my eyes for a moment and kissed his arm on the bony lips of the eyed skull.
The rider muttered something in his sleep and turned his face out of the pillow towards me. When his eyes opened inches from mine, he regarded me solemnly for a minute. Strange, acid green; no trick of the light, but a constant reminder of his unhuman nature.
The musky, dreaming fancies of sleep began to dissolve, but one thought remained; what was I, that I lay entwined in sensual langour with the dark angel of death?
“Evenin’,” he said.
“Uh…hello.” Evening? My eyebrows went up.
“You’ve been asleep for quite a while, girl. All day, matter of fact.”
“Oh. That’s why it’s dark.” Something sprang awake in my mind, and I tried to sit up. “The police! I’ve been lying here all day? They’ll have—”
Deadman pulled me down again. “Ain’t seen no cops today. And if I did, you wouldn’t see ‘em for long.” I looked at him, and he smiled sideways with a click of his tongue. “Don’t you worry none about them, darlin’.”
He leaned forward and kissed me briefly, then rolled over and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor.
“My Papa never got here?”
“Nope. Probably driving in circles and turnin’ his road map inside out. Not like the locals are gonna show him the way to this hacienda.” He chuckled.
“Um…Deadman?”
“Yeah?” he replied, pulling on a pair of jeans.
“What’s your name? Your real name?”
“What?”
“Will you tell me your name?”
He looked at me in some amusement, standing and zipping his fly. “What for…Irene?”
“Well…I mean, we’ve been doing, um, rather intimate things—”
“Don’t like fucking a guy when you don’t know his name? You ain’t generally so particular, darlin’. Least not from what I’ve been hearin’.”
With that shot he opened the bathroom door and went in, leaving me bewildered. I thought I knew how he felt about me; he had expressed it over and over with every touch on my skin, every look in his strange eyes. Did he doubt how I felt about him, or how I could feel about any man?
I had to admit he had reason to do so—I began to doubt it myself. So unfamiliar a feeling, so novel and terrible. I confided and did strange things during sex—might that incredible emotion have been only a queer impostor? It still lingered as a burn in my breast, but perhaps I had imagined it into being.
I had never outright told a man I wanted him or that I loved him. I teased, I glanced, I provoked, and I let myself be taken, but never gave anything back. I liked to pretend I was being forced, because then I expressed nothing of my own desires. I only took a man’s desire, played with it, and threw it back in his face.
Could I really have changed so much in one night? Had I really given Deadman my heart and soul? Did I have a heart and soul to give? In this small, shabby bedroom, the events of the night seemed like a dream. I was no authority on emotional attachment, having used physical connection as a substitute for it my entire life. Perhaps Deadman’s face and touch had expressed nothing more than his carnal desires.
I sat up and looked for my clothes. They weren’t on the floor, but they had been washed and lay folded on a chair at the side of the bed. Knowing that Stephanie had unwillingly done the work, I felt a pang while dressing. She hadn’t asked for her fate. She’d been an ordinary farm girl once, and her brand-new husband had gone into a ditch and taken her and her whole family with him.
What had she thought in the last moments of her life? Had she panicked or prayed? Had she felt pain? And what had she thought when her ruined body had been reconstituted and she and all the people she loved most had stood lost and wondering at the side of the road, waiting for the reason for their continued existence to arrive? When had it sunk in that this was all there was?
Never to have a child while she longed for one, embracing her husband night after sterile night; all the potential life in a young woman’s body cut off at the source. No wonder she had soured like curdled milk. It wasn’t right that they should linger here neither alive nor truly dead, taking out their pain on each other, but what could be done about it? How could they fight the forces of Hell, and did they even want to?
Hearing a splash of water in the bathroom I rose and walked to the open door. Deadman was shaving his throat and cheeks with an old-fashioned straight razor, the strop hanging down next to the sink.
He raised his brows at me for a moment when he saw me in the mirror and wiped soap from the blade. “Yeah?” he said, drawing the blade along his skin.
“You have to shave?”
“Yep. And eat, and take a crap. Might as well be alive, hey?” He grinned at me.
“Why were you made that way when you were raised from the dead? Um…Aitch told me how it happened. The race.”
“Aitch,” he said, expression darkening, “has got a big damn mouth. And a wandering eye, you may have noticed.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s such a sweet-talkin’, good-lookin’ son of a bitch.” He wiped his gleaming blade again and gave it a few strokes on the strop. “He was a hired hand on this place after he got out’ve the Marines, just no-account scum on a dollar a day, and he got the boss’s daughter tumbled out behind the barn, and took her off and married her quick before she could think it over. In a week even Daddy was singin’ his praises.”
He inspected the edge of the blade. “He’s got himself a lot more practice with that kinda thing under his belt in fifty years, I’ll tell ya, an’ you shoved him off you like he was a dead skunk. Didn’t quite see it that way at the time, but I guess that’s what you did.”
I smiled a little into the mirror over his shoulder; he was almost apologizing for saying that I wasn’t particular. And asking a question at the same time. “I could see what he wanted the moment he came into the barn. He took me by surprise, though, because he’d been…helpful. Up until that moment. Will you tell me why you’re so human? Why do you feel pain and have emotions? When you’re the Undertaker? The Hellrider?”
His face disappeared under a towel as he wiped off all the soap. “Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
Deadman swirled his shaving brush in the mug and applied a new coat of soap around his goatee; apparently his beard was dense or he was taking special care with the task. “You want to know what makes me tick, hey? Last night I was a ‘disgustin’ hoodlum’ or some such, and you even put a couple bullets through me.”
“But—”
“And then you fucked me like nothin’ I’ve ever had, darlin’.” He looked as if he was trying to cover his expression with the soap. “Nothin’ I ever dreamed about. And it got me wonderin’ why, at least in the cold light of day. I went and sat by the crick a spell while you were sleepin’, and I thought it over, and I couldn’t see any reason why that would be so. Why a lady like you would just turn to fire under my hands.”
The blade scraped down his throat. “I saw that house of yours when I went to look for your husband. I went through all the rooms searching for him, and I saw that fancy carpet, and the windows, and the furniture, and all the clothes and geegaws you had in the bedroom.”
He flung soap and bristles off the end of the razor. “I’ve seen every kind of place where people live, naturally. I’ve seen palaces. But this was the place you lived, so I kind of paid attention. That was a fine house, and it cost plenty of money. I gather he got his money dishonest, and he sure was a waste of valuable space and drinkin’ water. But you married the man for his money anyhow.”
“I was sorry for it.”
“You cheated on the guy.” He tested the smoothness of his jawline with a finger drawn through the soap. “You said the vows, and you broke ‘em. Killed him dead to top it off. And then you came to these parts and looked at me the way you did, like, ‘c’mon there, you big dumbass, get yer hands on me right smart or you’ll be regrettin’ it the rest of your days’, which in my case is a hell of a long time. I guess I don’t regret it, because I’ll remember last night for that same hell of a long time. But, dammit, woman—”
He finished shaving and scrubbed off all the remnants of soap. “When that Papa of yours comes to get you, or when I let you persuade me to take you into town to call him, I’m gonna regret that I ever had a feeling bone in my body. Why I had to find a woman like you, of all people, at this time of all times…”
He broke off and resumed in a harder voice, splashing his face from the sink with both hands and with his head lowered so that I could not see his expression in the mirror. “Reckon Aitch blabbed about how I’m bound to find a faithful woman if I’m ever to be free. I’ve longed for that, because I want to be released. I want to lie down and never open my eyes again. She would have brought me rest, I guess. But I don’t suppose she’d ever have brought me a night like that, Irene.”
He dried his face and turned to look at me; the burn in my breast had become a full conflagration, and I had no way to hide the glow from him.
Deadman slowly shook his head. “You’re a coy, fickle bitch. You ain’t quite sure what you want, or you’d rather you were made to take what you want without ever having to say you want it. You’ve killed and you’ve lied and you’re the opposite of true. But I wouldn’t have passed up that one night for all the faithfulness in the world. I guess I’m a goddamn fool, but that’s the gospel truth.”
Tossing down the towel, he brushed past me into the bedroom and rummaged in his motorcycle saddlebags, which were lying on the floor near the bed.
“Deadman,” I said through blurring eyes. “I won’t forget it either. I know I’m not the kind of woman you were looking for. I wasn’t looking for you either. But for some reason we did find each other, and I…I think I was meant to be here.”
“Don’t be crazy,” he said, pulling a black T-shirt over his head. “Yer pop will get here or we’ll go find him. I’ll give you a lift into town after dinner. You’ll go on home tonight one way or another.”
“Don’t…don’t you want me to stay?”
“What the hell for? This joint? You don’t like it any here, girl, and don’t go telling me different.”
“Not the place, no. Of course not,” I said with a slightly teary laugh. “The food’s bad and the people aren’t friendly. Or too friendly. But that’s got nothing to do with you. It’s you I was meant to be with. Don’t you understand…what I mean?”
The rider pulled his hair out of the neckline of the shirt and looked skeptically at me; obviously the thought had never yet crossed his mind and was having a tough time making it from one side of his brain to another. “You sound like you need a little food in ya, girl. Come on downstairs.” He put an arm around my waist and urged me along.
I sighed through a smile. Of course this sounded strange to him—it sounded strange to me. I could not come right out and say the words—‘I want you…I need you…I’m yours and somehow I always have been…’ And so all I could do was show him in any way I could. “All right.”
Going downstairs with him, I noticed that the bloodstains from the previous night had been scrubbed away, though not entirely. The bullet holes were still there, ragged and dark around the edges. The rider noticed my furtive examination of the wall and laughed. “I ain’t holdin’ a grudge, darlin’. How about you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” He stopped and let go of me at the base of the stairs. “As I recall, you told me to knock it off, and I didn’t do that. That’s why you used the gun, right?”
“Well…I was afraid the police would catch up with me if I stayed much longer. Obviously I shouldn’t have worried—”
“That wasn’t the only reason you shot me, darlin’. You figure I done you wrong?” I hesitated in answering and he bent down to look in my face, putting a hand on the wall. “Tell me, Irene. I thought you wanted it and I was right, but I guess that ain’t the same as sayin’ yes. Did I do you wrong?”
“You…said you know I wanted you.” I looked up at him; his expression was stern and serious. I wondered why this meant anything to him—it hadn’t the night before.
“Sure I do, but like I say, that ain’t the whole story. If a judge was to ask you in a court of law, official like, what would you say? I was kinda forward and I didn’t quit when you said to stop. Or suppose you were tellin’ someone—one of yer girlfriends, say? Would you tell her I treated you bad?”
I couldn’t imagine discussing him with any woman I knew. “I’d never accuse you of a crime for taking me last night.”
“All right, I’ll take that as a no.” He nodded gravely, apparently satisfied, then smiled with his mouth closed and leaned forward to kiss me; again a brief, dry contact, but I put my hands around his neck and opened my lips against his.
Deadman took a deep breath through his nose and let me stroke his tongue with mine. His arms went around me and our bodies began to fit together as we stood at the foot of the stairs.
I combed my fingers into his long hair, cupping his face in my palms and humming softly into his mouth. The rider’s hands slid down my back and curled around my buttocks, lifting me to tiptoes and massaging in slow circles.
His lips were warm and wet, his mustache tickled under my nose, and he let out a soft groan, hips rotating into mine. Through his jeans I could feel his penis hardening against my stomach and pressing a groove into my flesh.
I put an arm around his waist—it didn’t reach all the way around—and placed the heel of the other hand against his groin. Under his clothing, the firm ridge of his erection shifted into my palm.
I began to curve my fingers around it and Deadman stood back with a gasp, removing my hand and adjusting himself through his jeans. “Whoa there, girl. If you want anything to eat before morning, you better slow down.”
Continued...
- 6
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- 8
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Deathbed