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The man is worried about the girl next door, and not without reason.

Marielle was my neighbor in this small apartment building in a suburb near the city center. A little twenty-something nice-looking woman. She had shortish red hair, happy freckles, and small breasts. I often dreamed of having sex with her, but I never dared to ask, afraid it would ruin our friendship. We occasionally sit for an evening, chatting about everyday things, and helping each other out when help was needed.

But Marielle had problems. She didn't have a job, and she drank a lot. With congenital diabetes, that's not a good combination, and I often warned her about the dangers. But she was a bit of a hippy by nature and didn't care in the least.

One evening we were once again sitting in my flat watching films, and enjoying wine. It had been a nice evening, and we had a good time. Marielle knew how to be sociable and keep a good mood going.

Perhaps I would have liked more from her. I don't mean just sex, but something deeper and more lasting, but that never happened, which I am depressed about.

Our evening went nicely, but as so often happens, Marielle got so drunk again that I had to walk her home. I carried her to bed and tucked her under the covers. I also fetched a bucket for her next to the bed in case she needed to throw up. When I got home, I noticed that her keys were still in my hand. I put them on the table and decided to return them the next day.

I had a slight headache in the morning, which often happens after drinking too much white wine. I’m more of a beer drinker, but with Marielle, I always drank wine. I had a coffee and read the paper of the day. I did some surfing online until I remembered I had Marielle's keys, so I called her to tell her she could pick up her keys from me if she got somewhere.

I called three times in a short time, but she didn't answer her phone. It was strange because that had never happened before. I waited another couple of hours, but as he still didn't answer my calls I started to get worried. Marielle was Marielle, though, and I thought she had gone off to continue drinking.

The next day I couldn’t reach her by phone. I had her home keys, and she was somewhere, I didn't know where. I left her a voicemail and a text message to call me when she’s coming home so she could pick up her keys. I slept through the night, but in the morning I was getting really worried. I hadn't heard from her for thirty hours, so I decided to go and see if everything was okay.

I stood outside her door and rang the bell, but nothing happened. I rang again, but there was only silence. I pressed my ear against the door, but still, I heard no sound. I wondered if it would be polite to go in with her keys, but decided to go anyway, fearing that she might be in trouble.

I called at the door, but there was no answer. After a short hallway, the living room opened, followed by the bedroom where I had taken her. I peeked through the door. She was lying on her side under the blanket, her leg slightly peeking out from underneath. I sat on the headboard and squeezed her leg to wake her, but quickly pulled my hand away. Her leg felt cold and lifeless.

I leaned into her face and felt for a pulse. There was no pulse on the cold neck. Her lips were bluish and her skin was almost snow-white. I was shocked. My friend was dead and had been dead for several hours since the stiffness of death had passed. I don't know what happened to me, but I half pulled her into my arms and stroked her hair. Her head was against my chest and the coldness of her cheek radiated through my shirt. I laid her back on the bed.

She looked so beautiful despite her paleness, her pale skin blending well with her red hair. I felt dizzy, so I leaned against the wall with my hand. It slipped and I fell over my dead friend. I would have thought it would feel terrible, but to my surprise, I felt a strange sense of closeness. I lifted the blanket a little. She was wearing white panties and only a sleeveless t-shirt on top. I felt an irresistible urge to get down next to her, so I lay down under the blanket behind her.

We slept on a spoon. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my head against her head. She felt strange because she wasn't breathing, just lying limp and cold. My hips were against her bottom. I had always admired her small round buttocks, and now they were there in front of me. I pressed myself slightly against her butt and found that I started getting an erection.

I moved myself a little against her and my cock was already hard as a rock. I thought that what I was doing now was the greatest sin, and wouldn't be right and acceptable under any circumstances. Nevertheless, I felt my arousal growing. I slid my hand between her legs. Under the thin fabric, I felt a soft pussy that no one would ever fuck again. It felt so wrong.

I put my hand inside her panties and felt her pussy. It was dry, of course. On the nightstand, I noticed the face cream and put it on my hand. I slid it into her cold hole and started to move my fingers inside her. The room was silent. It felt strange that she didn't moan at all as I fingered her cunt. Well, actually it felt really arousing.

I threw the blanket on the floor and turned Marielle to lie on her back. Her eyelids were half-open, and her blurry eyes were looking somewhere in the distance. Her cute little breasts popped out as I lifted her shirt. They were beautiful, even if the nipples had already lost all their color. I bent down to kiss them. I sucked her nipples and with my hand, I moved my fingers inside her. As I told you, I'd always wanted to have sex with her, and now there was no one stopping me.

I got on top of her and spread her legs, which flopped down to the sides. The face cream had already slicked her cunt, so I squirted it liberally onto my cock. Finally, my rock-hard cock was on her labia and I began to push myself in. It felt weird. The coldness surrounded my cock, actually squeezed around it. However, with slow movements, I began to fuck her. Even cold, her pussy felt wonderful.

Marielle swayed wildly as I increased the speed and force of my thrusts. Her hand dropped to the floor and her head swayed limply from side to side. I lowered my hands to her breasts and pressed my hips forcefully against her. I leaned down and kissed her lips. They were dry and cold. I sucked her bottom lip into my mouth and fucked that dead woman with a passion.

I piled the pillows in the middle of the bed and turned Marielle to lie on her stomach. Her ass welcomed me, downright tempting to fuck. I greased my cock again and pressed it with one thrust into her asshole. I had done it before, of course, but then the women had screamed, not this time. My death mistress took my cock inside her without protest.

I lowered my full weight on top of her and fucked her fiercely in the ass. Coldness surrounded my cock all the time, but I was beginning to enjoy it more and more. I kissed her neck and bit it. I put my hand under her armpit and pulled her against me while I pressed my body against hers. A living woman would have cried out in pain, but Marielle didn't complain.

I was more horny than ever. No sexual experience could match the level I experienced with Marielle. I felt an orgasm start to surge from somewhere deep beneath the surface until my consciousness exploded. My cock spewed hot cum into a dead ass. I squeezed her tighter against me, and my hips pounded against her cold buttocks as I came, and came, and came.

The orgasm was knocking me unconscious, it was something I had never experienced before. I lay on top of her cold body with my limp cock in her ass. I figured I had a few more hours to do all the fun stuff with Marielle before I called 911.

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