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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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The Hangman's Wife
by Slim n' Dusty (slimndusty@yahoo.co.uk)
***
Learning the tools of the trade, a deprived hangman's
wife finds the utmost in pleasure with the men she has
freshly executed. (MF, hanging, nec)
***
It was later on when she would count the days before he
would leave the house and get out of town. At night, on
her own, she would wait for the next crime. Sometimes
it would take weeks, even months before something
occurred. And when it did, she would then hope for a
hurried investigation before he would return and become
involved.
A small township only ever had a small number of people
skilled in dealing with criminals, and then the bodies
of criminals, and she (along with some assistance of
the Sheriff) would have to supervise each step
thoroughly. Making sure that every stage, from the
hanging to the burial, was executed in a professional
manner.
She was the hangman’s wife, and over time had gained
professional skills as the hangman’s wife, so much so
that the local authorities were eventually quite happy
for her to deal with some of the dirty work. For most
of the time, it was dirty work. For those few other
moments the work was dirty in a good way! And then she
found it a reward for her!
Her love and hasty marriage to the town hangman had
been borne through a necessity to survive. It had ended
the minute her honeymoon had ended - so many years ago.
It was after then that she found herself with a man who
could not give himself to her. Often he would return
from a day and fall asleep on the couch. She tried
different things to entice him, but it rarely lasted.
She was on an island all to herself.
She overcame her fear quite early on and would visit a
body in the cool cellar. It started off through sheer
curiosity. Of wanting to know things. And the earliest
of these that she could recall was the body of a dead
old man, left in storage. He was being kept for an
overnight stay before burial the next morning. There
was only one thing she felt at the time – peace!
Stillness! There was no fear.
Her husband had noticed her curiosity and was happy for
her to become involved in his business. But it wasn’t
until her second wedding anniversary, that she began to
grow more frustrated. As usual, her husband was away
for several weeks and she had taken up some of the
things that he had instructed her. But it was only at
this time when, just after dark, she first witnessed
the body of a young man who had been freshly hung. His
young head hunched on one side of the table.
She moved a little closer, stroking his sandy-coloured
hair. Her fingers brushed over his forehead and cheeks,
before touching his lips. Beneath his jaw line, she
gently traced the rope mark caused by the very rope
that she herself had ordered around him only an hour
before. Beside him now, she let the candlelight flicker
down to his hairless chest. He looked but a boy. His
stomach muscles showed just beneath his skin. His arms
were inert on the table. Hands flat against the
surface. He’d been caught horse-stealing.
The candlelight hovered over his belly and in the
peripheral light she could make out the hasty shape of
a loincloth one of the attendants had covered his groin
with. Curious as to why the loincloth had been so
hurriedly thrown over him, she gradually pulled it away
and quickly learned what the term ‘well hung’ really
meant. She put a finger to her lips and stared at it in
surprise. ‘You’re not a boy,’ she whispered softly.
Amongst the pubic patch his specimen lay on its side
with hood attentively rolled back, thick and still
engorged with blood. Primed for a good time! She’d
never heard of a postmortem erection before, her
husband never told her anything when it came to certain
areas of the body. The private witnessing of it awed
her. Hanging just beneath, in the shadows, was his sack
– soft yet full. His wild seed now cut and cold, still
showing the full, ripe promise of a man who’d just left
his youth.
Only on looking back later, did she realise what was
happening to her when she first looked at this young
man’s body. It was something that happens with many who
subconsciously adore beauty in the dead and have just
discovered their adoration float into a conscious
object of desire – it was her hands that made the first
announcement – their shaking was uncontrollable as she
tried to come to terms with her feelings.
The shaking spread to her torso and this continued for
some time. She moved the candelabra carefully to a
nearby cabinet, anxious that with any loss of light she
would lose forever a man perpetually caught in her most
lustful and darkest of dreams. Dark dreams where she
would awaken alone, hot, enriched with her own wetness,
and with nobody whom she could share herself with. She
waited to still her quivering and, while waiting,
committed his vulnerable, naked body in all its tasty
detail to her memory!
***
Could he see himself now? She thought as her teeth
began to chatter. Could he see the state of his body
mocking her? His engorged penis, thick, as if still
seeking urgent fulfillment from the physical world he
no longer had any need for? Could he see what his body
was now doing to her body? Cajoling her, teasing her,
making fun of her frustrations.
Her warm body, still caught in the physical world,
still chained with needs, lusts and desires. Chained
without ways to sate them. Could he sense her heart now
racing? Could he feel her eyes on him, eyes dark -
large as a fawn’s in lonely winter?
She reached for self-discipline but her lips had
already grown moist and slightly parted? She reached
for self-control but her nipples were already erect and
pressed firm against her top? Her one last stand was
simply to walk out but her sex stopped her. Her hot
vulva, rubbery-soft, was already yawning with the
overpowering, yet forbidden, thought of touching him,
caressing his cool manhood, smearing him with her
sticky nectar – a nectar bubbling deep from within her
well of love!
An urgent desperation surfaced in her throat, a
desperation little different from the way the man had
acted before she had him dropped. She moaned with the
deepest primal urge, desperately freeing herself from
the chains of her clothing. Semi-naked, she leaned over
his face, kissing his forehead and cheeks. Her hands
stretched out over his chest.
Slowly she traced the hard nipple of her nearest warm
breast across his cool lips and felt his exquisite
delicate contact. She pressed him firmly against it.
Her nerves tingled with the sensation. Her pulse raced
from forehead to thigh.
She removed him and, squeezing, she forced part of his
tongue from out of its shelter and directed his
attention to both her soft breasts. She closed her eyes
and felt his dead tongue attend to both, making contact
with each firm nipple. ‘Suck’, she gave him the command
in a slow, drawn-out hiss as she opened his eyes, half
expecting him to obey her. She wondered if there was
ever a way to make a dead man’s mouth suck on her, the
way she needed him to suck right now, to suck
attentively while she invaded his mouth with lonely
warm breast.
Her mind raced while she resisted the overwhelming
desire to rub her clit. Dizzied with this new and
sudden opportunity, confused with this sudden herd of
fantasies galloping out from her subconscious, a
foremost fantasy sprang ahead of the herd – to mount
him on all fours: a tigress playing a dirty game with
her freshly-killed prey!
She wanted to play with his body, to frolic with him,
and she made her move and lay down close to one side,
right breast against his. Her hand traced the contour
of his left shoulder down to his still hand and back,
before descending to his chest and stomach.
She began to kiss his cheek and mouth while her hand
descended further, relishing the indecency. Her knee
crossed his groin, brushing against the dead, hard
prick. She reached down and straightened his taut pole,
pinning the glans to his navel with her finger, before
she straddled him from above, rubbing against his
deliciously hard contour while caressing him from chest
to groin. And how she rubbed! She rubbed slow, hard,
gently, viciously, begging him not to go soft, to
remain like that forever. A statue for her to mount
whenever her warm cunt begged for company.
By now the quiet do-good female had left the cool-room.
Nothing mattered. She was just a tigress, a ravishing
predator with hot cream filling her panties! She turned
and leaned forward between his knees. Her smooth white
buttocks upraised, her head lowered to catch his scent.
She sniffed his still thighs and licked her lips,
before nuzzling against his groin. She could no longer
contain her hunger and society no longer had its eye on
what she did or how she behaved. The Sheriff may have
been in town but he was asleep. No outsider could point
to her or judge her from a narrow mind.
With eyes closed, her warm tongue flickered as she slid
his purple head between her arced lips into her hungry
mouth. She relished his smooth texture and sucked
firmly on his attentive sex, while reaching down to
grip his loaded scrotum fastened beneath. Thrilled with
his enforced compliance, she wanted to suck the still
juices from out of him via his tube-like pleasure-
giving cock! To keep sucking until he was just an
infertile wrinkled sack of skin on the table. A large
prune!
Her thighs trembled as she raised her butt in the air,
weakened with the burden of her long-unsated groin. Her
self-discipline was defeated in life by witnessing his
in death. Two fingers from her right hand began to
parade inside her panties, pressing firm against her
swollen clit. The gorgeous noise her cunt made as she
rubbed herself was too much.
She slowly lowered herself trembling onto his still
face, the thin material covering her sex did little to
hide his contours, she wriggled her pelvis in wide
circles, feeling the tip of his nose rubbing against
her soft, damp curls. Eventually she honed in, circles
growing narrower, and made sweet contact. She never
felt contact so intimate and private. A contact just
for her own body to enjoy and experience at her own
leisure. Something for her to remember in times of
loneliness.
Closing her eyes to explore his features with just her
thinly-veiled sex sent pulses through her back. This
lifeless young man wordlessly giving her pleasure and
no longer capable of demanding it in return. But now
she wanted more of him, her hunger was stretching
outwards.
One hand reached behind to pull her panties to the side
as she pressed him firmly, directly to her slit. The
insides of her sex felt fiery hot with his contact as
she slipped across his mouth and nose. She could tell
by the sound her sex made he was most welcome there.
She urgently needed to be cooled down. She left his
well-attended face and stood up carefully to remove her
panties, with a quick twist she turned her body around.
Sliding down his torso, she reached for the main meal
to fill her insides. Her sex fluttered into life as she
felt the head of his dick entering her quickly followed
by the remainder of his thick, cold length.
His sudden invited presence made her gasp. Each
movement she made with him soothed her hot vagina, but
it was temporary. She knew the heat would return once
more to her core and invade her guest. His coolness a
momentary respite for her.
She leaned over his hairless chest and gripped him
tight from the inside, her complex sex muscles so
delicately interwoven, experienced in testing him,
measuring him up, something she’d learned to do after
long nights of being alone. Her sex muscle would
tighten, tug on the loose skin of his cock, and then
relax. Tighten, tug and relax. She would have loved her
sex to have milked him dry but the milk stayed put.
She relaxed her grip and began long hard strokes
followed by short shallow ones to butter her lips, she
rotated, twisted, rocked, until every inch of her niche
had caressed a part of him in some place or another. He
was still hard, but she knew that he wouldn’t last like
that for much longer; a guy without a heartbeat could
not keep that up.
She began to lengthen her strokes and pump him harder,
the sound of her sex gulping him filled the cooling
room and her body began to shiver with the sound,
something her husband would have told her to stop
enjoying, to stop entirely. She let the sound continue,
she amplified the sound by taking him on odd angles,
filling the small room with the din of her primal
feast. Releasing him briefly to occupy her front, she
rubbed against his thickness harder and harder until
she felt the rocking ferocity of her first, long-
awaited orgasm with a dead man...
END
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 36