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From The Grave

by Mercury The Scribe 28 days ago in fiction

A Dark Erotica

There is a way to give back life to the dead. In my pain, I had discovered and learned of witchcraft. I took up necromancy. Amidst the mockery and shame, I studied magick—to right what was wrong. And now the night had come for me to finally act.

Twenty minutes before midnight, I travelled in secret to Brownson’s Cemetery; a graveyard for fallen soldiers. While the whole town slept, I sought my vengeance for what they had done. Among the broken tombstones was the marked grave of a “conspirator.” The whole town turned against him. No one sought to prove My husband’s innocence despite his testimony. Even his friends had testified against him. Then, he was found guilty

Afterward, they took our home, our children, money, and dignity; then, they put my dear Jacobeth, the one they called a spy, to death. All for treason! What treason?! My husband had done nothing. In fact, he was a victim, played by the enemy. For all Jacobeth had done, this is how he was repaid; with scornful looks, doubt, lies, and cowardice.

So, I went to his grave, which was nothing but a forgotten hole in the ground. No one but I was allowed to attend his funeral, not even his children were allowed to witness the burying of a “traitor.” Only I had saw his final resting place. I entered the graveyard, barefoot and wrapped in nothing but a silk gown. It was cold out and the ground was moist and rich. I went to an unmarked grave, the soil still freshly disturbed, and disrobed.

I slipped my gown off and bore myself to the night, naked as I had come into the world. The chilly wind howled and I begged the unholy forces of Dis to except my soul eternally.

“Let me be damned for what I am about to do, but allow me to have my revenge!”

No answer came but my body grew warmer. I dropped to the ground and got on my back, spreading my legs.

I had to close my eyes to keep the feelings of dread from distracting me from my purpose. I had drunk a tonic to make sure I would be ready. My private areas were swollen with lust, aching to be touched. I let my fingers brush against me. My tender lips were covered by thin, curling hair. I squirmed on the ground, readjusting and trying to relax my muscles as I touched the wetness at my center. I groped my thighs with my other hand, running the tips of my fingers along my inner thigh as I teased at my blushing lips. I touched my index over my erect clitoris and shuddered.

I breathed in, slow and long then exhaled, gently pushing past the labia with one finger and grazing the entrance to my canal. I was so very hot down there, warm and slippery, I explored the places between my legs, encouraging my fluids to flow from my body. I bit my lower lip and began to plunge another finger in, using them together to move in an out.

I no longer noticed the breeze, if there was any at all.

Few things could entice the dead. Blood could, but there would have to be lots of it. In my studies of witchcraft, I learned you could use another type of life fluid to call forth a dead lover.

One hand began to wander down to my buttocks. I prostrated my lower half up and touched the tip of my finger against the hole I found there. I bit my lower lip and shuddered as I played with the tightness of my anus while my fingers moved to please me. It was hard using both hands and I strained to reach my rear, but the result was satisfying.

I let out a small groan and tried to add a third finger into my vagina but felt something wet touch the back of my exposed thighs. I opened my eyes and gazed down my body to see the dirt had begun to roil and churn as rotting, boney hands jutted up from the dirt. I tried not to startle. I removed my fingers from myself and rubbed the liquid between my fingers.

“Jacobeth,” I said softly.

The partially rotted hand grabbed at my thighs, cold and sticky. I nearly yelped but remained laying down, legs open in an offering. I watched as more of the body rose up. Soon, a head appeared. It was the decomposing face of my late husband. His brown eyes, once rich like fresh hazelnut, were faded and glassy. His thick, braided hair was once long and healthy, was now stringy, matted, and missing in patches.

The lower half of his jaw was missing. Only his thick, dark tongue was still in place. The zombie groaned, sniffed audibly and lunged for my sensitive bits. It used both its hands, like iron grips on my thighs, to spread me further. It held me down in place as its bloated tongue began to lap at me from anus to clitoris. I expected the tongue to be freezing, but instead, it was hot like wax. I threw my head back as the heat reached my clitoris and nearly screamed in pleasure.

The undead’s slimy muscle was rough and bumpy, leaving a sticky, wet trail over my vagina and clit. I did not stop it nor could I stop it now. I panted and let it eagerly and hungrily eat me. Then, it rose very slowly, its torso growing flesh down its spine and hips as it continued to suck, lick, and feed from me. I shivered and moaned, letting it have every bit.

Its hot tongue pushed at the lips of my vagina and its grazed teeth against something tender, making me shiver. I looked down my body at him. There was more color to his eyes now and more flesh to his hands. The zombie wiggled its thick tongue into my opening.

“Jacobeth…Oh!”

I moaned as it slipped past the sensitive entrance to explore the inside of me. Its tongue felt fatter and hotter than before; I could feel every part of it inside of me, reaching depths no living man could ever get to as he reached inside me with no jaw to stop it.

The thing was pouring its juices onto me. The thick slime smelled, but the pleasure it gave kept me from turning away. I watched as a jaw began to form, hair grew and its face began to reform. My husband raised up from me and from the dirt, dragging his legs and feet from the moist mud.

His eyes had regained color but still looked lost. He was completely naked and his manhood had regained its full stature, standing erect and full of blood. I felt a lot weaker but got to my hands and knees and turned around, lowering my torso and raising my hips. I presented myself to the undead man.

It only took a second for him to take hold of my hips. He spread my cheeks and began to try to enter me; first pressing against my anus and then slipping down to graze my wet vagina. I let out a cry as the hard tip of him prodded my ass then my vagina, not knowing where to enter.

He tried, but my anus was too tight and denied him. I clawed at the soil under me as the pressure of him trying to force his entrance sent waves of heat through my body. I was dripping and aching to be filled. The zombie groaned and finally found himself against my vaginal opening. His thick erection was throbbing and just as hot as his tongue was.

My dead husband shoved himself inside without any warning. If I hadn’t been at the mercy of his tongue before, it might have hurt. Now, it just felt amazing. The undead man began to thrust, burying every inch of himself till I slapped against the top of his legs and hips with my ass. I could smell the sickly-sweet aroma of his recent decomposition and felt parts of his still forming body drip onto my back as he began to pound himself into my body.

My life force and energy were being drained. Every moment made him strong and warm, more alive with blood and flesh while I became limp and helpless. I couldn’t stop him; he could fuck me till he broke me if wanted. The only thing keeping my body from collapsing was his grip on me now.

The tip of him brushed my g-spot, the bundle of nerves I couldn’t reach with my fingers. I found myself helplessly crying out as an unstoppable pleasure built within me. I could hear him now, sounding human and alive, grunting and panting as he rhythmically went in an out of me. Had it been our marriage bed, I would have told him to slow down. It was too much, it felt too amazing, too good. I was clawing and digging at the dirt, biting myself as a torrent of heat and pleasure tore through my body, seizing me and causing me to buck and squirm involuntarily.

I let out a shaky breath but my husband did not stop. He kept going, pulling out and slamming himself into my anus with enough force to enter me. I let out a choked cry, my energy was almost gone, I was a rag doll in his hands as I embraced my pain. This too, I let him have all of. My body hung in the big arms that wrapped around my waist. He felt very warm and I realized I had become so cold.

I knew now what the price of my vengeance would be. I had no strength to regret my choice. My husband shuddered and roared inhumanly above me, shoving his erection the farthest it could reach inside of me. He did this till he reached his climax and stole the very last of my energy.

The zombie pulled out and turned me over. I laid in his hands, naked and too weak to move. I stared up at the sky, the sound of my heart in my ears. I saw the same strong, handsome face and brown eyes that I was familiar with. My husband smiled woefully, recognition in his eyes.

“Evania,” he whispered.

He embraced me, wrapped me in his arms safely, but I only had so few words left.

“My last wish…my only command…,” I whispered. “Kill them all.”

Jacob gave a grim frown and a nod. Then, I saw his eyes go ablaze with an odd crimson light. He nodded, my orders embedding into his very soul.

“I shall join you among the fires of Dis once my task is done, my love.”

Then he kissed me gently and I died, my last breath leaving my lips in a satisfied sigh.

fiction

Mercury The Scribe

Hi i'm Mercury, a Black American, dark fiction writer in Southern California. I narrate and produce my own audio stories.

I have been in the anthology Blood in the Rain 3, published by JitterPress and in Gypsum Sound Tales’s Colp Magazine.

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