Nurse Wendy wheeled the gurney into the ward. He had been the only man left in there. She drew the partitions around for privacy anyway. The life support machine had been wheeled away and she had been asked by the young man's doctor to wheel him down to the morgue as the other assistants were busy or had left the hospital, but she stood there for a while. Was it his silence that made her stay and draw the partitions? Was it him not knowing of her presence anymore? She could not wheel him away just yet.

She gazed at his still face and the eyes that the doctor had closed. She noticed bodily contours from beneath the sheet and her heart was beating fast. She occasionally made nocturnal visits of this kind, but most of the deceased patients she attended to were much older. He was young, early twenties and the admin staff were having difficulty locating relatives. The life support was needed elsewhere.

She moved around to the side of the bed and paused. She sat beside him and looked at his pale face. His eyes were closed. He no longer breathed. She removed the covers that kept her image of him imaginary. Peeling the layers back gave her a brief twinge of excitement. This was not a work act, a 'clean him up' act. This was something else. Something exciting,something naughty.

She moved closer to him and felt herself tremble. A slight scuffling could be heard as her shoes found a resting place beneath the bed. Her hands began to unbutton his cotton top. The top button first, of course. The one nearest his pale neck. She unbuttoned it and hesitated, before leaning forward to kiss the area of exposed skin. Did her lips detect a lingering remnant of body heat? Her heart began to pound. He had expired only recently.

The next button revealed his upper chest. She kissed the small patch of hair over his sternum. Her hands paid a visit to each of his nipples and pinched them in turn. They had been warm once but now they were cool. Her pinching made the tiny nipples hard.

Nurse Wendy looked at his unmoving chest. His ribs were now locked and silent. She knew death would start work on him shortly. To her, a good-looking man when alive is considered handsome. A good-looking man when dead is beautiful. She knew that his beauty was now limited before it would be torn apart in a furnace or by worms...

The young man had an entire temporary landscape that demanded exploration, a landscape that would soon be deforested and destroyed by impending erosion. She stroked his face and the small patches of stubble that signified early manhood. Unbuttoning the rest of his top, she traced the fine hairs downwards from his chest to his navel and kissed his smooth, flat belly.

Whilst attending to his belly, one of her hands strayed, grew adventurous, and followed the path of increasingly dark hair southwards. It was brought to a halt by the cord that kept his pants close to his waist. Her hand hesitated at the silly obstruction, and then began to work its own way past the now loosened cord towards his lower torso and into the patch of fur that lay concealed beneath.

She lay her head on his flat belly while her hand played amongst the soft curls. The palm of her hand brushing across the patch, her fingers isolating some of his hairs, twisting them around and around. One finger stretched out and brushed the padded base of his cock, slowly tracking its contour and flaccid length until arriving at his exposed tip.

Nurse Wendy stood up and moved around to the foot of the bed. She reached out and pulled his pajama trousers down to his upper thighs. In the semi-darkness his shy manhood lay foundering on its side, and like its owner — both were caught in a slumber of no return. She shivered at the sight and felt the beginning of a slow, deep, delicious ache between her legs. An ache she'd only felt with men in this state and in no other - the unending silence and stillness.

The perfect juxtaposition that made her few moments with them delicious: her self-awareness, her body warm and receptive to touch, their loss of awareness, their bodies cold and numb, her body capable of movement and manipulation, their bodies compliant, immobile and vulnerable. Vulnerable as calves caught in deep mud.

She learned from their bodies and explored their bodies, grew familiar, kissing them, handling and playing with them, toying with them, pleasuring herself with them. She imagined herself as their goddess, their creator and that she created them for her pleasure. She wanted to spend hours with many male bodies without being labelled or criminalised or deprived of them in a cell.

She knew the dead would never share her secrets with the living. It was the living she had to worry about. She knew that dead men would never betray her, never talk behind her back. They would silently obey her, fulfill her wish and carry her sweet secrets away with them before they could grow bitter on the wagging tongues of the living.

Dead men would not remember what she said or did to them. They faithfully held on to secrets. Dead men selflessly gave their bodies to her without judgment or expectation or demand. Their staring eyes were incapable of recording image or curve. Their mouths would not utter insult or biting sarcasm, instead they would provide her with a receptacle for her kisses. Her memories and moments of passion would remain safe with her. And this newly deceased man before her would respect her wish and follow those who obeyed her before him...

Thoughts aside, she now let her lust rise uncontrollably upwards into her warm throat as she climbed onto the bed. Her heart pounding as she slowly moved on all fours over his restful torso. Her breasts beneath her uniform touched the young man's unmoving belly as she moved up to his still face. Gently she sat herself onto his groin. She felt the small, soft, seemingly insignificant lump of his endowment between her legs, but that part of him would willingly come to her later.

The first act - a slow pelvic rub against him. Leaning forward with her hands resting on each side of his head, she kissed his chin and mouth. First, she gave him soft kisses on the lips, while her uniform rubbed against his naked chest. Her large nipples, restrained inside her bra, pressed against her clothing and came into a vague teasing contact with his upper body.

Rhythmic movements from her hips and thighs swayed her body with his. Slowly, her tongue pressed itself against his lips, flicking both of them slowly before inviting itself into his oral chamber, slowly exploring his mouth until it reached its still, cool counterpart and turned playful.

Whilst wrestling inside his mouth, Nurse Wendy reached down beneath her skirt to give her pleasure some needed focus. There was a brief tearing sound of Velcro parting, as she made a convenient swift entry to her front. Knowing that she could be sought after at any time, her Velcro underwear always came in handy for such moments. Lifting his limp penis, she gave it a necessary task to service her most tender region.

While she made vital contact, she wondered if her act betrayed a boyish virginity and whether his cock had seen any significant action before falling silent for eternity. She had read once, in a paper, where a young virgin man was dying of cancer and his last wish was to be with a woman. His doctor arranged it for him before he had gone to his grave.

Nurse Wendy smiled at this young man's innocent face and convinced herself of his purity. She felt a privilege in tarnishing his boyish innocence. Each slow, self-guided, rhythmic brush against him, sharpened her aching need. Whilst directing her movements below, she freed one arm to explore his face. Her fingertips sought desperately for his attention.

'Where is my perfect dead man?' she whispered between breaths.

One at a time, she unfastened his eyelids so that she could stare into her young lover's eyes. A moan escaped her as she saw the undivided attention he now gave her.

Her freed hand dipped toward the moistening groove between her legs. She ran her fingers through several times and held it there before imploringly reaching for his mouth. Her fingertips moistened his dry lips with her sticky lust, before they slipped past and brushed his virgin tongue. Naturally, his lips closed over her fingers as she slowly withdrew them. She leaned forward once more and kissed him. The shifting of her weight made him groan. Her delicious scent escaped his lips and greeted her.

Nurse Wendy moaned. She released his pale, glistening cock and moved herself up to his head, regretting that she hadn't been to witness his passing on.

On one lucky occasion she had been a witness to a man dying and she waited as he neared death before grasping the opportunity. The ward was full of other men but she, again, drew the partition for the private encounter. Aside from the front entry, she remained fully clothed. He was made hard and kept hard with the assistance of a pump and a small tourniquet around the base of his penis.

She slipped a condom on his member before intercourse and made the intercourse slow and silent, driven solely by the musculature of her vagina. She bade a slow gradual entry, an inch at a time, as he fell in and out of consciousness.

At one point he awoke, looked vaguely at her body mounted on him and smiled without uttering a word. Not long after, she felt his slow departure as his flagging hardness left her hungry body, the last vestige of his bagged life slipped out into the cool air.

She now stared longingly into her new dead lover's eyes while welcoming him to her sex, shivering as his nose made contact. Her rhythmic movements began once more as she sought the contours of his face that gave her the most pleasure. Holding his head firmly to her body, she arched her back and closed her eyes. Her vulva, loosened with this new arousal, made delicious sounds as it caressed his dead mouth and nose. Her lips parted whenever his nose came into more intimate contact.

She straightened her back to get a look at him and directed his gaze. His eyes held no cunning or anger. Unfocused he stared through her into the distance. His mouth and tongue held no venom or spite - that had all been taken away from him when he died. Now it was her sex relishing his obedient presence, savouring his quiet beauty, generously imparting its own sticky language to his still lips. She loved to look deep into the eyes of her dead lovers as she felt them obediently nudging her closer to orgasm.

* *

He did not feel her pelvic rhythm speed up, he did not feel the airspace between her legs turn subtropical, he did not feel her perineum swell against his chin, he did not hear her whispering her lust to him over and over while her teeth clenched in orgasm...


Nobody has left a comment on this story, yet.