Ashes to Ashes "Mmm, beautiful, beautiful, isn't she?" Darrell unzips the green bag, his eyes taking in the sweet face underneath as he peels the plastic back. Lifting, he lays the girl's still body on the raised bench, carefully arranging her white lace dress, crossing her slender arms under her large breasts. "So sad, so very unfortunate." He brushes her black curls from her pale face, gazes into her wide, unblinking blue eyes. "What happened to her?" Tim's eyes are bright, his hands trembling as he takes in her still form, her delicious, round breasts. "Ahhh, drug overdose-the young, so eager to die anymore, it breaks the heart, doesn't it?" Tim nods, swallows hard, sickened by his own thoughts. "How-how old is . . . was she?" "Only 16-lovely, lovely, yes?" Darrell smiles knowingly, nods at the young new janitor. "I must prepare her, you will help." "I-" "You will help me." Darrell's voice is firm as he begins unbuttoning the girl's dress. Lisa screams, no sound escaping from her throat. Her eyes stare, wide, dilated, her body straining to move. "no, please!" her mind cries, "please, i'm not dead, i'm not dead, please!" Cool air on her breasts as her bra is cut away, firm hands pulling at the waist of her panties, neatly snipping them away from her still hips. Her body is motionless, unresisting her struggles unseen, cries unheard. Tim exhales shakily, unable to take his eyes off her bare body. Her sweet, long legs, soft, milky thighs. Her breasts, firm, large, her soft, slightly parted red lips. And her eyes-still damp, wide, a glassy confused look. His cock is rigid, pressing painfully against his trousers. He takes another breath, turns away. "You want her?" Darrell's voice is smooth, calming, his eyes mirthful. "I-I . . ." Tim stares, shaking his head, "she's dead!" "Yes, yes she is." Darrell laughs, his voice echoing in the large room. "So she won't mind." Tim's hands cover her pale, sweet globes, his fingers digging into the compliant flesh. "She-she's still warm!" His eyes are wide, worried, but his hands continue massaging, kneading, mauling. "Yes, it's the drugs, the flesh stays warm for hours." Darrell watches Tim closely, looking for signs that his off-the-cuff lie has been caught. He needn't worry-the young man is totally engrossed in his ministrations. Tim leans, his tongue flicking across her nipples, his mouth sucking hard, raising blood into the already dark flesh of her areolas. He begins to moan, climbing onto the bench, pushing her legs apart, kneeling between them as his hand tears at his zipper, releasing his cock, huge, swollen. Lisa whines, sobs inwardly, her skin crawling at his touch. She concentrates, concentrates on moving, her whole body tingles, aches with the effort. How did she get here, why can't she move? Is she dead? Can she possibly, really be dead? Her mind races, horrified, as Tim's trembling fingers begin roughly exploring her pussy. She remembers the party, her brother's birthday--she'd felt strange, disoriented, a heaviness settling into her limbs. Trying to tell her father that she was okay, that she was just tired, but her lips wouldn't move, her voice came out in weak, trembling whines. Her mind returns to the present as Tim's cock, stiff, huge, begins pushing relentlessly into her dry, virgin hole. Her eyes flinch slightly, her shrieks trapped within her. She thinks perhaps she IS dead, and this is hell. Darrell watches closely, steps up to Lisa's head as her eyes twitch slightly. "Let me pull her up here, I find myself strangely aroused." Grasping her limp arms, he tugs her back, her head falling bonelessly over the hard edge of the bench, her face now hidden from Tim. Her eyes blink again, staring as he unzips his pants, pulls his erect tool out. Pushing past her parted lips, he shoves his tool into her throat, moaning at the warm, wet constriction. He begins thrusting, his balls slapping her nose as he plunges again and again into her open, compliant throat. Tim thrusts viciously, his eyes fixed on Lisa's jouncing, dancing breasts. She is so tight, he fights to hold out, to not pop off instantly. He looks down, sees a sheen of blood on his tool, glistening as he pulls out, slams in again. Were she alive, she would be screaming, struggling under him. He finds the thought incredibly exciting, begins moaning as his strokes become uneven, jerking. He shouts, collapses on her as his cock explodes, filling her bleeding hole with his cum, thick, hot. Darrell thrusts hard, his eyes narrowing as he hears the clicking, feels the muscles in her throat contract. He begins to groan loudly, drowning out any sound she might make. "Get my kit, son," he gasps, his balls pulling up tight as his cock swells in her face, "it's a grey case in the hall cabinet, near the embalming room." He smiles grimly as Tim nods, pulls himself off her to wander from the room. Reaching into his pocket, Darrell pulls out a hypodermic needle, plunges it into her neck as his cock jerks, spits, spewing his thick, sour spunk into her mouth, her throat. He nods at the strained swallowing, his hands stroking her face tenderly as she her throat works sickly again, again, her fingers tapping haltingly on the bench. Her eyes meet his as he pulls out, she whines, her lips move weakly for just a moment-and then fall still again as the drug takes hold. He zips his fly, crouches next to her head, whispers, "I know, I know-but it's not my fault. Your dad wanted you here." He rises, his hands moving to her bruised breasts. "He's got a hefty insurance police on you, the money's run out." He squeezes, then pinches viciously, pleased at her lack of response. "Did you think your mom was really dead when they brought her here?" He laughs, shakes his head. "She laid on this very bench, felt everything you're feeling now." "We buried her alive, too." Lisa is sick, her terror at a fever pitch now. She's NOT dead, she knows that now, she's not dead and her daddy has done something to her, he's somehow put her in this place, convinced people she's dead. Buried alive? No, no, that can't happen, please! She imagines her mother, sees her still in her coffin at the funeral. She was dead! Oh, please, she had to have been dead! She remembers, remembers . . . a sheet? The cold metal under her, the slab rolled out, her daddy, in his uniform, his green scrubs. She quails in horrified realization-her daddy is the coroner, he . . . she screams silently, comprehension crashing. He declares people dead. He declares people dead. Her dull, dilated eyes stare helplessly, her pretty body lays still, pink-tinged cum trickling across her asshole as she struggles to grasp exactly what has happened, what is to come. Darrell nods, takes the kit from Tim's trembling hands. "Hurry, hurry-if there's anything else you want to do with her, now's the time, I need to get her makeup done, the viewing is at three." He begins mixing colors, only vaguely aware of Tim's labored breathing, his yanking of Lisa's limp form back to the edge. He looks up, smiles distractedly as Tim lifts Lisa's helpless legs over his shoulders, his hips jerking as he pushes, prods, his cock seeking her tight asshole. Tim groans, pushing mercilessly into her small, tight hole. He sinks his fingers into her smooth, lovely thighs, yanking her back with a sharp grunt as he slams his full length into her, tearing her. Tim gasps as the air is forced from her lungs with a raspy squeak. He stops, eyes huge, horrified. "She's-oh, Jesus, she's alive!" "Calm down, calm down," Darrell's voice is soothing, firm, "You think there's not going to be some noise when you're slamming the air out of a corpse like that?" Tim sighs, nods shakily, his hips resuming their cruel ramming. He concentrates on her bobbing breasts, trying to ignore the hissing gasps forced out of her with each stroke. Lisa screams inside, trapped in her frozen body. She has never even imagined such agony, her bowels burn, hips feel as though they will break. She can't die, she can't, she feels everything, hears everything! Her belly is on fire, her legs bobbing limply over his shoulders as he tears her apart. Someone will find her, she has to believe, she has to-the alternative is too terrible. She thinks of her bedroom, her soft, safe bed. Warmth explodes inside her ruined ass as the torturing cock explodes, fills her. Tim looks down at his cock, shining with blood. Her ass is running with it, warm, bright red. He shakes his head, tucks his bloodied tool back in his pants as he stares at her. He screams, jumps back as he sees her chest rise shallowly. "Fuck, FUCK!" He scrambles away, trembling violently. "She's fucking breathing, I TOLD you she wasn't dead, shit, shit, SHIT!" "Shut up, you're distracting me." Darrell straightens Lisa's head, carefully placing the foam form around her neck to keep her face upward. "It's just spasming, post-mortem. Happens all the time." "No, bullshit, bullshit!" Tim's voice is high, quavering, "She fucking breathed, she's breathing, she's not fucking dead!" Darrell sighs, rises, shaking his head. "Does it matter?" He steps toward Tim menacingly. "She's dead enough for our purposes, no? Or would you like to call the police, tell them that you THOUGHT you were fucking on a girl's corpse at the mortuary, but it turns out she's really alive?" Tim stares, eyes wide, horrified. "But-but . . ." "But nothing-either we both go to prison for a very long time, and she probably dies anyway, or we continue as we are, pretend you never saw a thing amiss." Lisa's mind jolts violently, sudden, sick relief replaced by growing horror as Tim's resistance is worn away. "no, no, no," she begs silently, struggling, willing her body to move, "please, please save me, please stop him!" Darrell looms before her fixed gaze, smiling as he begins applying her makeup. She is devastated, knows that Tim has decided to go along. If only she could speak, she would beg, tell him that she would never tell another soul, that she would do anything, anything. But she cannot, her dull stare betrays nothing. Darrell smiles, fluffing the gentle curls around Lisa's sweet face as he glances at the clock. Forty-five minutes before the visitors begin moving through. He looks over at Lisa's father, nods, smiles slightly. Her father returns the smile, walks to the coffin. "Is she still-" "Yes, she is." Darrell looks around, walks to the door, locks it. "Do you want a few minutes with her before the well-wishers arrive?" His voice is soothing, seemingly sympathetic, in keeping with his dark suit, flower at his lapel. "Why-why are her eyes closed?" "A couple of well placed stitches," Darrell laughs low, "It would hardly do for her eyes to be wide open, don't you think?" Turning, he ducks out the back, "Don't take long, you have about 40 minutes!" "Come here, baby," Lisa's father lifts her from the coffin, marveling at how light her limp form is, "let daddy see you one last time." He lays her across the receiving table, breath coming in sharp moans as his hands push her dress up, fingers pushing into her bruised pussy. He unbuttons the bodice, notes the bite marks. Gaze shifting, he sees her bruised, red cunt lips, the absorbent cloth jammed up her ass. "I'm glad you've been having a good time," he murmurs, his zipper dropping, hand grasping his rigid tool, "your mom, she did, too, you know." He yanks her back, ass to the edge of the table, shoving his cock into her swollen hole. Lisa's thoughts are slow, stunned, her mind crying out as her dad rams into her, shakes her violently on the hard table. This can't be happening, this can't be happening she keeps telling herself, sobbing sickly inside as her father's hands maul her, his cock rips into her. "I did this with your mom, too," he gasps, his thrusts cruel, ripping, "I had more time with her, though, filled all her dirty holes before we put her in the ground." He begins panting, his breath harsh, hot on her skin. "She was a whore, you know, a cheap, unfaithful whore," he slams with all his might, watches her large breasts bounce under him, "an unfaithful whore, she deserved to die." He stiffens, trembling, gasping as his cock jerks, twitches inside her, flooding her sore, aching pussy with his cum. "You look just like her," he pushes up, tucks his cock back into his trousers, zips them as he looks at her, "legs spread, cum running out of your used cooz, stupid, slack jaw-a whore." He leans, begins buttoning her dress, his hands still shaking as he lifts her, places her back in the casket. "She was worth more to me dead than alive--just like you." Lisa's torn mind screams, begs as her friends sob, walking by the coffin, gazing sadly at her small, still form. They talk about her, how beautiful she looks, how peaceful, how much they'll miss her. Her brother sobbing, hands clasped on the side of the casket as he tells her how sorry he is, how he loves her so much. She prays, begs God to release her from this paralysis, to give her the strength to sit up, to scream. She strains, struggles, hope sparking in her crazed brain as her fingers wiggle just slightly under the flowers, her toes jerk under the folded down lower lid. Her lips twitch imperceptibly, but wild hope races through her-it's wearing off, the drug, whatever it is, is wearing off! Darrell lowers the upper lid of the casket, inspiring a fresh spate of sobs from her friends, her family. He looks at her father, sobbing, arm around her brother's shoulders. He turns his head, nodding at just how good an actor the man is. Her father, brother, uncles approach, each taking a handle as they bear her coffin to the hearse. Lisa moans low, raspily, her hands jerking, spasming, lips moving in wordless pleas. A car. She's in a car, she knows this, can feel the bumping of the potholes. Time, there is still time she tells herself, her toes bending, flexing haltingly. She struggles to move her limbs but cannot, they are still frozen, leaden. The car rumbles to a halt, she begins to whine breathily. Time, please, time, she prays, tears rolling down her cheeks. The priest reaches, takes a handful of dirt, throwing it down atop the coffin. Darrell nods, placing a hand on her father's trembling arm, guiding him away from the grave. The mourners begin to walk slowly away, crying, comforting each other. Only her brother remains, eyes fixed on the coffin below him. Lisa whines frantically, her hands scrabbling weakly along the satin walls of the casket. She sobs, whimpering, mouthing her desperate pleas. Her trembling arms rise, she pushes helplessly against the coffin lid, her heavy legs pulling up, knees pressing against satin covered wood. She is panting, hyperventilating, breath coming in hoarse, hysterical squeals, her voice muffled, unhearable through the thickly insulated coffin. Darrell walks back to the grave, puts his arms around her brother, squeezes as he turns him toward the car. "Let's go, son-your father needs you." The boy nods sadly, then stops, his head jerking back toward the grave, a low thump audible. "I heard something!" "Shhh," Darrell shakes his head, pulling the boy away, "it's the ground settling, son-happens all the time." "But-" "No, son-she's dead, I promise you, we-we embalmed her, she is dead." He pulls the boy close, strokes his hair as he sobs, desolate. Lisa screams, her throat ripping with the effort, her hands clawing frantically at the satin, nails torn, fingers bleeding. Her feet drum desperately against the wooden box, her mouth pulled back in a mindless mask of horror. She hears them, hears the dirt hitting the coffin, spade full after spade full. She writhes, thrashing within the tight confines of the casket, her mind totally sundered. Coughing, retching dryly, she shrieks, lungs burning with the effort, blood rising in her mouth. She digs at the wood, hands trembling, head shaking in sick, horrified denial. Gagging, sobbing, her screams trail into whimpers, whispered pleas, mumbled prayers as shock sets in, a lethargic weight settling into her trembling limbs. Luis pulls his headset off, taps Todd on the shoulder, "Hey, dude, did you hear something?" Todd pushes his headphones back, "What?" "I thought I heard something." Luis's eyes dart to the grave, the outline of the coffin barely visible under the fresh dirt. "Ohhh, spooookyyy," Todd laughs, shakes his head, "you've been reading too many Stephen King books, bud. Luis nods, puts his headphones aright , sets back to work filling the new grave. He hates this job, it always gives him the willies.
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