Untitled
By Eris Vs. Eros
A Poor Porn  Production
June 24, 2000
Copyright 2000, All Rights Reserved.

"I saw a shadow touch a shadows hand." - Bleecker Street

In the dark, she sat there. Shivering in her sweat. She ran here, to the graveyard, to see her old boy friend. They said he was no longer on this earth. But she knew his touch still. He was here, she could feel him, and he always had his way with her.

There was his grave stone. "John M. Ray, died 1999, loved by all, now departed." She knelt at the base of the stone, pulling down her skirt. The soft breeze in the dark, blew over her pubic hairs. She shivered again thinking back.

At first, she had cried and cried, and cried. Suicide on her mind, how could she not exist without his touch. Then at night, he joined her. If she had told anyone, they would have only said they were dreams and dillusions. But she knew. They were too real, and the orgasms she had could only be from his touch. She knew those feelings well.

He told her to come to the grave yard. He said that before he departed the earthly shackles, he needed her one more time. Fear was in her. Fear from being here, fear that others would think she was crazy, fear of death, and the fear of life. She was vulnerable now. Her clothes now only barely on her body. Her hands moved, but they did not seem to be hers at the moment. They went down to her thighs. Brushing them, moving up them, towards her pussy. She had never liked that word, it sounded so dirty. But John had used it always. It turned him on.

Her hand as his always had done, moved to her mound. Tracing her outer lips, then moving the thumb under the hood, to touch the small nub. This was painful to her. But she knew he would have his way. He always had. So she rubbed, and with each jolt of pain, came the jolt of electricity, of hormones, shouting in her brain the pleasure of his control. Even in death, he controlled her actions.

Her face, was now down, bent over, she was licking herself. Never had she done this before, but here she was. Her mouth gulping her own juices, her finger still rubbing, her body afire, aflamed. She meekly tried to resist her need for herself, she had never had the urge to lick a woman before, not even herself, yet here she was. And her first orgasm ripped through her like death. And in her rebirth, she gasped for air, and her hands went for her breasts, as her legs wrapped around the cold stone that bit into her.

Her clit rubbing on that stone, aching, painfully, as her juices flowed. Her hips bucked, and her body arched, and her fingers twisted on her nipples, and then grabbed on to the large stone phallic, pumping her body into that cold, granite stone, that bore the name. That bore the name she was once to have had. Bore the soul that could of left her, but knew that she could not leave him.

She rubbed, and screamed with the second orgasm, the second rebirth. Nearly waking the dead. But none rose for her tonight. She felt strong although she knew her body was weak. Because while her body ached, and a small bit of blood ran down her leg, she felt like she had not before. She felt complete. More than complete. She knew that she would no longer need him. No, she would not need others. Others would need her. Women would need her. She would have her way with them, she would fill their gaping holes. Like he had done with her. In this sense, he had become part of her. But she knew he was gone. Later she didn't know for sure whether he was actually ever there in that cemetery, on that cold strange night. She only knew that she would not lie with a man again. She knew that there was not a shadow over her any longer, she now cast the shadows. And others would bend, bruise and scream from pleasure in its wake.