Filthy logo

Dead Cam

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

By Davi MaiPublished 5 months ago 8 min read
1

The leggy blonde’s white dress billowed around her. For a moment her clasped hands held it down, revealing only pale skinny legs. But her fingers loosened, and hands fell limply away to the sides. Unimpeded, the dress flew up and covered her face, offering protection from any embarrassment that full frontal exposure might cause. Below, a dark triangle of pubic hair contrasted starkly with lily-white skin.

“Cut!” Carl shouted from behind the handy cam. He jumped off the steel examination table and stomped on the leaf blower’s power switch. Three cubic meters of air a minute became none. Soft cotton floated down and covered the offending genitalia.

“The hands won’t stay together. Maybe you have to glue them?” Daphne offered, leaning against the doorway in her white lab coat.

“No shit, Sherlock!” Carl shouted, forgetting that the noise of the blower had abated. His shrill voice echoed around the deathly quiet morgue. “And I thought I asked you to put some panties on her? Just in case we caught a glimpse. I’m making a respectful Marilyn tribute here. I can’t have a face full of hairy pussy!”

“Why not? It was good enough for JFK.”

“Well, yes, but not on film. At least not that I know of. Celebrities weren’t exactly getting their iPhones hacked back then.”

“More’s the pity. Come on, Carl. I’m getting horny after seeing that. When are we going to shoot the damn porno? Marilyn will turn blue soon, the same colour as your balls, maybe.”

Daphne pushed her glasses up the slope of her nose and herself off the door frame and sidled up to Carl. A full head shorter than the budding young movie director, and a few inches wider. She squashed her boobs up against him and reached down to caress the front of his jeans.

“Harden up, dude. Literally. You can edit the pubes out of your masterpiece. Let’s film the porno now. I wanna see you fuck Marilyn.”

Carl sighed. His dick responded to both the rubbing and Daphne’s dirty demands. He supposed the porno flicks were the ones that brought in the cash. Well, bitcoin anyway. His art could wait.

“Okay, okay. But hold the camera steady this time. Your last film of me looked like the Blair Witch Project. Some of our subscribers in the chat room complained of nausea. Ironically.”

Daphne wasn’t listening. She unbuckled her junior colleague’s belt and dragged both jeans and boxers down his legs, before squealing in the high-pitched tone that women reserved only for greeting babies. And in this case, penises.

“There he his! My lovely little sausage. But you want to be a bigger sausage, don’t you? Yes, you do! Let’s get you nice and lubed up so you can fuck the dead girl. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Say ‘yes I would Auntie Daphne.’” And with that, she grabbed Carl’s dick at the base and waggled it up and down in agreement.

“You’re a nutter, you know that don’t you?” Carl said from above, but couldn’t help hardening in Daphne’s soft, pudgy fingers. He looked over her head to confirm the double doors were locked and the blinds drawn tight. With the time now 2am, it was unlikely they’d be disturbed. No, it was just the two of them and the corpse. A young overdose victim that bore an unfortunate resemblance to Miss Monroe. Or a fortunate resemblance, depending on your point of view.

Daphne retrieved a tube of KY jelly from her lab coat pocket and coated the length of Carl’s erection. She shoved her glasses up her nose again and looked to the other participant. The Hollywood stand-in, balanced by a broom wedged between her back and the wall. Rigour helped the cause.

They’d done their best to add some bounce to the dirty dishwater blonde hair, but it still hung against a tired drawn-in face. Daphne was right, a blue tinge tainted the complexion.

With Carl somewhat encumbered by his protruding penis, they both struggled to get the corpse back onto the examination table. Daphne leaned over and pushed the Marilyn dress all the way up over the waist and spread the legs before applying a liberal amount of lube between the corpse’s labia and up into her vagina. Daphne’s own vagina moistened itself, and a familiar warmth spread from her crotch into her chubby belly.

“No name yet, I suppose?” She knew it was asking a lot when the body belonged to a user.

Carl inspected the tag hanging from a big blue toe. “Nope, another Jane Doe, sorry. Twenty-something. That’s all the cops knew.”

“Okay, Jane it is then.” Daphne stroked the dead girl’s hair, flattening it against a pallid cheek. “Well Jane, just one more little ride. You’re a lucky girl. This will be the nicest dick you’ve ever had. Trust me.” Jane’s stare remained fixated on the ceiling, her cloudy eyes betraying not even a slight hint of appreciation.

“When you’re done communing with the dead, can you film? I can’t maintain this all night, you know. I’ll get lightheaded.” Carl, now nude, climbed onto the table. His thin, muscular body served only to highlight a proudly erect penis, pointing towards its target as he propped himself above the vee of wide-open legs.

“We need a tripod,” Daphne said, retrieving the camera and flicking it back on. “Apart from you, I mean! I wanna play while I watch, but it’s hard when I have to keep so still.” She reached under her lab coat and pulled damp underwear down. “Hang on, lemme get a chair this time”.

Daphne wheeled a chair over from their shared desk and plonked herself on it. A front-row seat to the main attraction on the exam table. With heels up, a well-practiced hand jammed between her chunky thighs and the other resting the camera on one knee, she shouted, “Action, Mister Sausage! Out of the frying pan and into the fire!”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Carl groaned. He lowered himself onto Jane Doe and pushed the head of his dick between her dead lips, his tight balls tingling against the cold.

Daphne, already fingering herself, somehow maintained the presence of mind to zoom in and preserve the penetration in pure 1080p.

Much like a restaurant table falls quiet when the food arrives, the banter in the morgue now ceased. The movie’s audio track would comprise soft squelching sounds as Carl fucked Jane Doe towards climax. His at least. Not hers. Daphne provided an accompanying moaning sound as she filled herself with two fat fingers and rubbed her clitoris with the pad of a thumb.

“Zoom in for the money shot!” Carl interrupted the squelching and moaning and looked towards his one-woman camera crew. “Eh, where are you going?”

The motion of Daphne’s masturbating had her rolling away from the table and towards the far wall. Oblivious, her eyes now squeezed closed and her hips rocking against her fingers, she came as she went, until the chair hit the wall.

“Arghhh! Carl, I’m coming. Sweet Jesus, yes!” Her orgasm shivered from the core of her sodden pussy, through the undulating cellulite of her thighs and throughout the rest of her ample frame. The wobbling camera captured a close up of the ceiling fan for posterity.

Daphne found some composure and remembered her duties. She could redeem herself by filming the last moments. Rocking her bottom and using her feet as oars, she sailed back across the room and smacked into the table with a thump.

“Come on her face Carl. That would be super-hot!”

Carl could only grunt. He hadn’t stopped his thrusting during Daphne’s antics, and he was close. Withdrawing himself from the cold confines of the corpse’s cunt, he re-positioned over her face. Daphne grabbed his shaft to ensure accurate targeting.

“God, your hand’s so warm!” Carl moaned.

“Well, it should be, compared to the inside of Miss Ice Queen here. Plus, it’s just been up my hot pussy.” She laughed and rubbed Carl’s swollen head with her thumb. “Come on Mr Sausage, let’s make some lovely sauce. There’s a good boy.”

Mister Sausage obliged her, spitting hot, white sauce all over Jane Doe’s blank expression. Most of it pooled onto one eyeball.

Carl shuddered as he emptied himself, bare backside humping as he fucked Daphne’s hand with a final few thrusts. “Please tell me you got that centered and focused!” he gasped.

“Of course! I’m a consummate professional, I’ll have you know, young man.”

“Well, you’re a consummate something, that’s for sure.”

The duo spent the next half hour cleaning up after themselves. Daphne had ruined the office chair, the damp stain of her carnal juices almost impossible to scrub out. They’d swap it later with one from the admin office upstairs. She wiped Jane Doe clean as best she could and returned her to the freezer drawer. Carl bundled the Marilyn dress into his bag. It would need a good wash before being hung back in his costume closet.

By 3am the morgue and its attendants looked as normal as they could manage. And another movie was in the can.

Roll credits.

fetishestabooeroticCONTENT WARNING
1

About the Creator

Davi Mai

Short story writer. Fantasy, sci-fi, transgressive. I lack a filter but try to make stuff fun.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.