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The Churchyard

As Anne opened the gate to the churchyard, the hinges creaked. They creaked again when she closed it behind her.

Why did churchyard gates always creak? It was such a cliché - and it almost felt like a deliberate attempt to make the churchyard experience even spookier. Fortunately, Anne wasn't easily spooked - especially not on a sunny summer day like this.

Clutching the bouquet in her hand, she walked briskly towards Scott's grave. The big, black granite headstone lay flat in the ground. Scott's name stood carved in gold letters with his dates underneath - and room enough to carve Anne's when that day came.

She stood for a few seconds, contemplating the gravestone. She was dressed in black, as she always was when visiting the churchyard. In fact, Anne secretly enjoyed dressing up in the classic widow's outfit - because she looked so damn good in it: A black dress and gloves, black stockings and high heels, her favourite little black handbag - even the traditional black hat with the black veil.

She put the bouquet on the ground and knelt down in front of the grave.

No, there was no doubt in her mind: Their marriage had been a mistake from the start.

They'd met at a party, where she'd gotten a bit drunk - and brought him home for some amazing sex. The next day they had more amazing sex, and the next, and the next... Three months later, they were married. And the sex was still great. But gradually, Anne discovered that Scott was a complete bore.

He had a nice job in a bank, with no ambition to be promoted. He dressed in dull grey suits - at least Anne tried to buy him more colourful shirts, the least colourful of which he sometimes wore. And every summer they went on vacation to the same, little sleepy village in the country. Sure, the nature was beautiful, but it was dull, dull, dull...

But still the sex was amazing. Anne and Scott went at it like rabbits whenever possible, his long, thick cock hammering into her moist pussy until she lost count of her violent orgasms. And then, after a little rest, they went at it again, sweaty, out of breath, climax after climax until they were utterly exhausted.

For two years, Anne considered the pros and cons of their marriage. Scott's dullness would drive her up the wall sometimes. But the next act of furious lovemaking would make her so delirious with pleasure, it made her think that maybe she loved him after all.

And so it went on, until the day she got a phone call saying that Scott had been found dead of a heart attack. In a hotel room. With a prostitute.

Of course she cried. For days and days. And she was shocked - Scott had only been in his early thirties like herself. But most of all she was angry.

Not so much that he'd been to see a prostitute - although it did surprise her that his libido had been so strong that even their intense sex life hadn't been enough to satisfy it. No, it was the deceit - the meaningless deceit: He must have known that Anne was open to anything. If he'd wanted to be with a prostitute, he could have just brought her home. And what man ever said no to a threesome? But no, for whatever reason, he had chosen to deceive her.

And what remained now - six months later - wasn't so much a feeling of sorrow or even loss. All through her marriage, she'd imagined life without Scott time and time again. No. Most of all she was horny.

Sex was very important to Anne, always had been. That was what made her put up with her husband's otherwise terminal dullness for two years.

She could still remember the sight and sensation of his cock - always hard, always ready. It never took much to get him excited: She'd show him her breasts, whisper some dirty words in his ear, or just give him a long wet kiss - and instantly she'd feel his long, thick cock swelling to full erection. What she wouldn't give right now to feel that hard piece of meat plunging into her slippery pussy...

Shivers ran down Anne's spine as she looked down at the gravestone. What if the dead could still see the living? What if Scott was looking up at her from six feet under? She looked around - the churchyard was empty. It usually was at this time of day.

Anne put down her handbag and lay on all fours over the headstone, her legs spread slightly.

"Can you see me?" she whispered at Scott's name.

She grabbed her breast with her gloved hand. The sensation made her shiver just a little.

"See my tits?" she whispered. "Do you wish you could grab them and give them a good, hard squeeze?"

She let her other gloved hand slip inside her panties and touch her pussy. God, she was wet!

"And what about my hot little cunt?" she whispered to the gravestone. "Doesn't that deserve a good hard fuck?"

She vividly remembered her late husband's long, swollen cock - what it had looked like, what it had felt like buried inside her sensitive flesh. Trembling with pleasure, Anne began masturbating, gasping excitedly on the shiny headstone.

"Oh Scott," she panted. "Oh, fuck me. Oh, yes."

-

I have an erection already. I feel my cock stretching inside my jeans, hot and stiff against my thigh. Staying in the shade of the trees, I carefully walk around the churchyard to see who's there.

"Oh... yes... ahhh..."

I turn my head at the sound. And I can't believe my eyes: This gorgeous babe in a black dress and hat is on all fours on top of a grave, masturbating like crazy.

If my cock wasn't hard before, it certainly is now: So hard, in fact, it's kind of painful. I zip down and pull it out. What a nice long, thick cock I have! That little slut in the black dress needs to see how hard I am. I grab my cock in my fist and step out of the shade. I walk towards her, stroking my shaft.

And when I'm only a few feet away, she looks up at me in surprise.

-

Anne just stared at the flasher. He seemed to have come from out of nowhere - and now he just stood there grinning, masturbating in front of her, dressed in jeans and t-shirt- He was about medium high, thin, almost gangly, with a dark mop of hair and stubble that looked scratchy. And she just froze.

They say that when your life passes before your eyes, it's not because you're at death's door. Your brain is trying to figure out a way to survive. And to do that it just fast-forwards through every experience you ever had, trying to find a match. And lying there on all fours on her husband's headstone, one hand on her breast and one on her pussy, a grinning flasher jerking off in front of her, Anne felt her brain doing exactly that. But nothing came up.

"Yeah, keep going," the flasher gasped. "Play with your cunt, you slut."

His words made her snap out of it. Well, sort of. At least she became acutely aware of the erect cock a few feet away from her face - and noticed that it wasn't at all unlike Scott's: Long and thick with a bulging reddish head.

Of course she knew it wasn't Scott's cock that had come back from the dead - but her mind couldn't quite tell them apart. She saw the clear liquid oozing from the tip of the flasher's cock like it had always done from Scott's. And now she felt the urge to taste it.

"Come here," she whispered. "Let me lick it."

She was surprised at the sound of her own voice - deep and husky, like a parody of a corny porn star. But oh, she was so incredibly horny now. Her gloved hand resumed the circular motions around her clit, and she felt pleasure rippling through her body.

"Yeah?!" the flasher said. "You like that? Okay - stick out your dirty little tongue."

He stepped closer, bringing his cock just within range of Anne's outstretched, pink tongue. She eagerly licked the head of his cock, tasting the clear liquid. Which didn't really taste like much. But what it did taste of was all sex.

She let her wet tongue tickle the underside of the head of the flasher's cock. It swelled and grew, and she heard his breathing become fast and hoarse.

"Yesss..." he whispered.

Suddenly, he pulled away. He stood there looking at her, clenching his throbbing, erect cock in his fist.

"Take your clothes off," he ordered.

With a sigh, Anne stood up, reached around the back of her dress, and slowly zipped it down. She let it fall to the ground and stepped out.

The flasher looked at her lasciviously: Anne stood there in black lingerie and stockings, heels, gloves and the black hat with the veil.

"That's it!" he gasped. "Keep the rest on..."

Anne smiled. Yeah, she knew: She looked pretty damn hot in that outfit.

The flasher stroked his cock, his eyes gleaming with lust.

"Yeah," he said. "Lie down. On your back."

And slowly, carefully, Anne lay down on the gravestone - her late husband's gravestone. The sensation of cold granite against her naked back made her shiver. The flasher stepped closer, still masturbating, showing off his erect cock to her.

"Spread your legs," he ordered.

And as Anne spread her thighs apart, he knelt down between them. With one hand, he pulled her panties to the side, with the other he guided his fat, throbbing cock towards her wet labia. Anne felt the swollen head against her flesh. He pushed forwards, forcing his cock into her, until she felt her pussy lips yielding, opening to his hard, prodding shaft. He held on to her ass cheeks with both hands and slowly let his hard cock sink deep into her slippery cunt.

"Oh, God," she gasped.

The flasher let go of her ass and instead grabbed her shoulders, pinning her down on the granite stone. She felt her sensitive cunt stretching around his cock, as he pulled out - and then began thrusting rhythmically into her.

"Yes," he whispered in time with his strokes. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

Her juices oozed abundantly around his cock, as it entered her again and again. She felt the wetness squirting from her cunt, dripping on to the black gravestone. Again, she imagined the spirit of Scott being somehow down there, his ghostly tongue reaching up to taste her juices one more time.

Gasping for air on the cold, hard gravestone, Anne looked up at the blue sky, at the trees, gently shaken by a mild breeze. With each thrust of the flasher's stiff cock, Anne's excitement grew. She grabbed her breasts hard, kneading them, massaging herself to even higher levels of intense sensual pleasure. She purred lasciviously.

The flasher thrust into her with all his strength, his face a grimace of determination. Almost utterly out of breath, he kept plunging into her sensitive cunt, burying his cock to the hilt with each stroke.

He was sweating now, drops of perspiration dripping on to Anne's veil. She pushed it aside and caught a few drops of his sweat on her tongue. Savouring the salty taste, she wondered whether his semen tasted anything like that. The thought made her gasp. She spread her legs wider, inviting him to thrust even deeper into her cunt, bringing her closer, ever closer to orgasm.

"Oh yes... " she whispered, "oh yes..."

"Ahhh!" the flasher yelled, his cock bulging and throbbing inside Anne's cunt. "I'm coming! I'm coming hard!"

"Yes!" Anne cried. "Go ahead! Come all over me!"

She couldn't believe the sound of her own voice - it was the voice of a madwoman, delirious with primal lust. The flasher thrust hard into her. And again. And again. And then Anne felt the orgasm surging through her body like a jolt of electricity, making her shiver and thrash about on the gravestone, hardly sensing that the flasher's cock kept plunging into her with even greater force, until finally...

"Aaah!" he yelled. "Aaah!"

He pulled out of her trembling cunt and grabbed his cock in his hand as he began to ejaculate. Long, powerful jets of white semen shot from his jerking cock, spattering Anne's black lingerie. She felt the white-hot spurts burning her skin, as she writhed in orgasmic pleasure on the black granite gravestone. The flasher masturbated, making his cock squirt again and again, forcing every drop of sticky semen from his pumping shaft.

But eventually, it was over. Breathing heavily, he squeezed the last, thick drops from his cock and saw them drip onto Anne's quivering thighs.

"Yeah..." he whispered. "Like that..."

He kept tugging at his cock, as if disappointed that his ejaculation didn't last.

-

I made the bitch come. I covered her in my cum. She was asking for it, the dirty slut. But I'm not done with her yet.

I pull the brown leather belt from my pants. I can see he's too exhausted to move. I bend down over her and quickly tie the belt around her wrists. She whimpers slightly as I pull it tight. But I know she loves it, the filthy little whore.

I step back to look at her. She's writhing on the gravestone, my sticky cum glistening all over her slutty lingerie.

There's a bouquet lying next to the stone. I pick it up and unwrap it. It's roses. Their stems are full of thorns, and as I hold them in my hand, one of the thorns prick my finger, drawing blood. Yeah, there's an idea.

I pick one flower from the bouquet and bend down next to the dirty little slut.

"Look at me," I say.

She looks at me nervously, biting her lip. I pull off her bra and throw it aside. What a nice pair of tits she has.

I lay the stem of the rose down across her skin, right above her breasts and press down. She shivers as she feels the thorns pricking.

"No..." she whispers, her bound hands tugging at the leather belt. "Please..."

"Shut up," I said. "You know you like it."

Pressing down on the stem, I roll it slowly down over her skin, up over her heaving tits. The thorns prick all over her skin - and my hands - leaving tiny little scars. She whimpers helplessly.

I roll the stem all the way down over her belly, then up again toward her tits. I'm pressing down harder this time, making the thorns pierce her skin, leaving little cuts, drawing a little blood.

"Aaah..." she cries.

-

Anne squirmed on the granite slab, as the flasher rolled the thorny stems up and down her naked torso. The thorns stung her like a thousand tiny needles, making her skin tingle. No one had ever done anything like this to her body. And no sensation had ever so exquisitely mixed pleasure and pain.

The flasher grinned.

"Yeah," he said. "You like that, don't you?"

Anne was about to say yes - but stopped herself with a gasp. No, she couldn't be enjoying this - it was too sick, too perverted. But then the flasher rolled the thorny stem up and down her skin again. And the tingling pain made her gasp out loud with pleasure.

"Oh yeees..." she sighed. "I love it. Don't stop."

And at that exact moment - he stopped. Frustrated, Anne squirmed on the gravestone, her bound hands struggling against the leather belt.

The flasher held the flower in his hands, plucking off one of the thorns. The he bent down next to her. He held her stiffened nipple with the thumb and forefinger of one hand and pressed the thorn into it from below with the other.

"Aaah!" she screamed.

The thorn pierced her nipple. The pain was violent, stinging - and amazing. Anne's head was spinning, her pussy wet with excitement.

"Oh yes," she whispered huskily. "Please - do the other one."

Chuckling fiendishly, the flasher broke another thorn from the stem and pulled at her other nipple. And again Anne felt the biting pain of the thorn piercing her sensitive skin.

"Aaah!"

The flasher was breathing heavily now.

"Yeah," he gasped, breaking another thorn off the stem. "Like that. You filthy little cunt. Stick out your tongue."

"No," Anne whispered. "Please..."

Why was she suddenly afraid of that? She didn't know. Maybe because she had absolutely no idea what it would feel like.

"Do as I say," the flasher ordered, raising his voice. "Stick it out!"

And obediently, Anne opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.

Gently, the flasher pulled out her tongue with one hand and stuck the thorn into it with the other. The hard thorn pierced her soft, wet flesh completely, and she could taste her own blood. It was the same kind of stinging pain, but somehow completely different.

"Nggg!" Anne protested.

"Yeah," he gasped. "You love that, don't you, you filthy little whore."

With a brisk motion, he pulled her panties off, exposing her neatly trimmed pussy. The sight made him grunt and swallow with lust. He broke another thorn off the stem.

-

I push her legs aside and kneel down between them, taking a good look at her cunt. That's a nice little pussy she's got. I wonder how many cocks have fucked that dirty little hole and pumped her full of burning hot cum? Hundreds of them, no doubt - maybe even thousands. What a filthy little whore.

I grab the folds of skin with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand. The tiny little pink clit peeks out from underneath its hood, hard and shiny. I bring my left hand closer - the hand holding the thorn.

She starts kicking and moaning:

"Nooo! Please!"

But she really wants it. They all do. Every dirty little slut I've ever tortured has loved every second, and I've always made them cum. That's just the way they are. Whores - all of them.

I press the thorn into the hood of her clit, piercing the skin.

"Aaah!" she cries. "Aaah!"

I push it in, drawing blood, leaving it there. Her pussy lips quiver and tremble.

-

The pain made Anne gasp. Again it was stinging and powerful - and again it was completely different. The juices flowed from her cunt, forming a tiny pool on the shiny black surface of the gravestone.

Soon she felt the skin around her clit swelling up, clenching and squeezing her hardened love button, making her flesh tingle with lust. Anne tugged at the leather belt, writhing and moaning on the gravestone.

The flasher stood up, pulled off his t-shirt and jeans, and stood naked in front of her. His cock had once again grown to a full, twitching erection.

He picked a thorn from the stem. Then, looking deep into Anne's eyes, he put out his tongue and stuck the thorn into it.

"Aaah!" he cried, wincing.

Anne stared at him in amazement. When he'd stuck the thorns into her flesh, it had turned her on. But watching him torture himself almost made her crazy with lust. She kicked her heels impatiently - she couldn't wait for that big pervert to get excited enough to fuck her again.

He pulled off another thorn and pierced the left side of his scrotum.

Again, he cried out with pain, and again he pulled off another thorn. This time piercing his scrotum on the right side.

"Aaah!" he cried. "Yeah!"

His cock twitched uncontrollably, the reddish head swelling and throbbing.

"Please..." Anne gasped, besides herself with lust. "Fuck me again..."

The naked man stroked his hard cock a few times, then assumed the position between her legs.

"Oh, I'm gonna fuck you all right..." he grunted.

He guided the head of his cock towards her pussy lips, then applied pressure, sinking the erect shaft into her soft, wet flesh. It felt even larger than before - obviously torturing her and himself with the thorns had turned him on in a big way.

Anne swallowed, spreading her legs as wide as she could to accommodate him. Finally, he buried the entire length of his cock inside her. And immediately he began thrusting in a hard, demanding rhythm.

"Aaah!" she cried. "Aaah, yes! Fuck me!"

Almost out of breath, the flasher plunged his hard tool into her pussy again and again. Anne felt her cunt overflowing with juices, lubricating his rigid shaft as it thrust into her relentlessly.

The flasher opened his mouth to kiss her. Surprised, Anne parted her lips and felt the wet tip of his tongue gently touching hers. As he let his tongue play around hers, she felt the thorn in his flicking against the thorn in hers. Every poke shifted the thorn around, triggering a new sting of pain, adding to the tingling sensation in her tongue.

"Nnng!" she moaned, licking at his tongue eagerly.
She couldn't get enough: The play of their excited tongues - the taste of the flasher's saliva - the sensation of his breathless gasps into her mouth - the sweet tingling pain every time their thorns scraped against each other. All this drove her into a sensual frenzy, bringing her closer, ever closer to another orgasm.

"Don't stop!" she gasped. "Please don't stop!"

Grunting like an animal, the flasher thrust harder and deeper into her. Anne felt her ass being pushed back and forth over the cold, hard gravestone, sliding in her own spicy juices. If Scott was watching from inside the grave, he would be shooting his load by now. In a flash, she imagined the familiar spurts of Scott's thick white semen spattering the inside of his coffin.

And then she came. Even harder than before, a violent orgasm surged through her entire body, making her thrash about on the gravestone. She shook so hard, the flasher had to grab both her arms to hold her down - while still vigorously plunging his cock deep into her tender cunt.

"Aaah!" she cried. "Aaah!"

"Yeah!" the flasher gasped. "That's it! You're gonna make me come. Aaah..."

He pulled out. Through the haze of her orgasm, Anne watched as the flasher picked up the rose once more. He broke one final thorn of the stem.

He hesitated slightly, his cock twitching, ready to come. Anne stared at him, her eyes now open wide.

"No..." she whispered quietly to herself.

But yes, he did. With a swift motion he stuck the pointy thorn deep into the swollen, red head of his cock.

"Aaah!" he yelled, quivering from the pain. "Aaah!"

And as a tiny drop of blood oozed from his tender flesh, he started ejaculating. Jerking wildly, his cock released a long, white jet of hot semen, shooting several feet across Anne's body, spattering her thighs, her belly, her breasts.

Immediately, his cock fired again, the thorn wriggling with every contraction. Jet after jet of piping hot sperm squirted from the pumping shaft, as the flasher cried out loud in ecstasy. He grabbed his cock in his fist, masturbating, emptying his tool of every last drop of creamy semen.

"Huhhh," he grunted, clutching his cock as his ejaculation finally subsided.

He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. And finally he reached over and untied the leather belt, freeing Anne's hands. She rubbed her aching wrist and just stared up at the sky. Lying there. she felt the final electric tingling of her last orgasm - and the heat of the flasher's semen on her skin.

Fluffy, white clouds blew across the sky. Birds flew from branch to branch, chirping and trilling. Anne couldn't imagine she was ever going to get up again.

Did she pass out - or fall asleep - for just a few seconds? She didn't think so - but the next time she looked up, the flasher was gone.

Breathing deeply, Anne sat up. She carefully removed the thorns from her clit, her breasts, her tongue. Then she found some tissues in her handbag to wipe the flasher's semen off her skin. And slowly, she got dressed.

Before she left, she placed the remainder of the roses in the little vase by the grave. Then she once again lay down on all fours and kissed the stone.

"Did you watch that?" she whispered huskily. "I hope you did. You'd have loved it."

And calmly, Anne stood up and walked away.

To any random observer, she would have been just another beautiful young widow - closing the creaking churchyard gate behind her as she left.

the   churchyard  

Mar 11, 2018 in bdsm

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