sexstories.com

Introduction:

This is something I wrote probably 2 years or so ago and only just rediscovered.

You awaken to the monotone clanking of metal wheels on a hard floor. Chill air surrounds you, and you feel as though your entire body were covered in goosebumps. It’s obvious you’re lying on your back, staring upward as florescent lights and beige polystyrene fly past. Where are you? You attempt to turn your head to the side, but to your surprise nothing happens. That’s strange? You try again with the same result. Why couldn’t you seem to move? Were you paralyzed? Was there some kind of accident? Why couldn’t you remember?

Your train of thought is interrupted as you feel whatever you’re lying on briefly jolt, and you see a pair of swinging doors closing on your periphery. Was this some kind of hospital? You then come to a stop. You hear the clicking of a pen and the flipping of paper. Oh good! Someone was here with you. A woman walks up to you and stands at your side. She’s white, average hight, and looks to be somewhere in her mid twenties. She has hazelnut brown hair reaching down to her shoulders done up in a ponytail. As for her clothing, all you can see right now is that she’s wearing a white lab coat and a basic pair of black rimmed glasses. In her hand is a clipboard and tape recorder. You see her turn the tape recorder on and place it on something beside her as she begins to speak.

“This is Doctor Nicole Wesson, I am now preforming an examination of Jane Doe 277-D.”

The shock hits you like a train. You’re Jane Doe. Your dead. You’re dead and in a morgue. Not only that, but they don’t even know who you are.

“Subject is a Female Caucasian. Height, approximately just under 5ft. Weight, around 140 lbs. Age is known to be 20 years old as of yesterday. Hair is light brown, straight, and extends down to the small of her back. Chest is a C-cup.”

So then, this is what death is like? Trapped in your body with no memory of your past. At least you knew what you look like now. You sound pretty.

“I will now take inventory of the subject’s possessions. Subject has no possessions other than her clothing and a card labeled Happy 20th! with yesterday’s date written on it. The subject is wearing a strapless black bodycon dress and a pair of black heels. God, that looks so trashy on her.”

That last remark startles you. Was it really that bad? And why was this woman saying that anyways!? From what you can see at least, she doesn’t look like some fashion expert herself, so who the hell is she to judge!?

“Dam… Yeah, that really is super trashy on her. The bust is only just high enough to cover her nipples, and I’m certain that you’ed be able to just see her pussy if she were walking around. Not to mention how tight it is. And her makeup is terrible! That bright red lipstick, the horrible blush, the black eyeliner, and the blue eyeshadow! She looks like she should be standing under a streetlight, turning tricks for a quick buck.”

Your anger quickly turned to sadness at this observation. Did you really look like that? If you were still alive, you would be blushing bright red with embarrassment. You had no idea you were so slutty looking. What had you been thinking dressing like that!? A shiver runs down your spine as the woman slips her cold, plastics gloved hand down your bust and feels up your bare breast.

“No bra either, and she’s definitely a c-cup. Also… is that? It is… take note, subject’s nipples are hard and erect. I suspect the cause may be either cold weather or arousal at time of death.”

The woman then removes her hand from your chest. She walks out of sight, but you feel her gently lift up the hem of your dress.

“No panties either.”

You must have been expecting a good time. Especially if you were going commando while dressed like some cheap skank. You feel the same hand from before start to poke and prod your pussy, and a wave of pleasure washes over you. Being dead must make you super sensitive, because this treatment shouldn’t be eliciting such a big response. You feel as her fingers spread you open, and delve deep into your depths.

“Lips appear to be engorged. Quick response test is coming up negative on semen. No abnormal tearing or bruising either. Subject was definitely aroused though. God she’s absolutely soaking! Is that blood? Doesn’t appear to be any source though. Subject was probably menstruating at time of death. But I don’t see any tampons, and she didn’t have any panties to put a pad on? I will now collect a urine sample for testing.”

You feel her hands leave your pussy, and move to right above your pelvis. A strange sensation begins as the woman begins pushing down on that part of your body like she’s doing cpr. A couple seconds latter, your feel a drizzle of liquid begin to escape from your crotch. That drizzle quickly turns into a stream, and that stream into a flood. Soon your peeing without the woman having to push down on you.

“Sample collected. Wow, that sure is a lot of urine. It should really have stoped by now? Take note, subject had consumed lost of liquids, died with full bladder, and most likely did not urinate upon death. It’s still going?”

You continue to pee for a another three whole minutes before the stream dries up.

“I’m attributing cause of death to a heart attack. No further investigation necessary.”

You hear the click of the recorder stopping. Was that all? A heart attack? How did she come to that conclusion? The woman once again is standing over you. She gently brushes a stray hair behind your ear.

“Poor, beautiful thing. Cut down so soon. Don’t worry, I’m going to make sure you have plenty of fun before the end.”

You hear the doors of the room clatter open, and a male voice begins to speak.

“I got your text honey. So, what’s the surprise?” Says the man.

“Come look at what the cat dragged in.” The woman responds.

The man joins her by your side. He is similarly dressed. He appears to be the same age, with curly brown hair, and the same white lab coat. Why was he so interested in her?

“Oh my!” The man exclaims, “you got yourself a tight little piece right here! What was she anyways? A hooker? Pole dancer?”

“Nope,” the woman responds, “in my opinion, she was a teasing little whore who was choked-out for not putting-out. So I think it’s only right we give this slut the send-off she deserves. Don’t you think so?”

“I couldn’t agree more!”

They lift you up and place you on the floor. You head is propped up on the woman’s lap, allowing for a much better look at your own body. You have to admit, the woman definitely had a point about how you dressed. You watch as the man plants himself between your legs and fishes his cock free from his fly. The woman, meanwhile, was gently stroking your hair and face. She gently traced a finger round the lips of your mouth, before pulling the bust of your dress down just far enough for your tits to pop free.

Your skirt, however, is short enough that the man doesn’t even need to lift it up. He Emmett lines himself up and thrusts into you as-is. You can’t help but become incredibly aroused at this sexy yet degrading treatment! To think these people are using your body as their own personal pleasure toy, perhaps that is what you deserved?

“Honey! She’s absolutely soaked!”

“That’s right darling. This little harlot was going around fully aroused, on her period, dressed like this! She was practically begging for someone to rape a baby into her!”

“Well, it looks like I’ll be the first. This bitch is tight as an ill-fitting glove! I think I’m going to nut already darling!”

“Do it! Cum inside her! Fill this undeserving waste of flesh with your precious baby-batter and claim her as your own!”

And with that, both the man and women came. You felt his hot, pulsing stream deposit itself in your cold womb.

After that, the couple resided to take you home instead of burying you. They smuggled you out in a cooler and kept you in their personal walk-in freezer at home. They would do all sorts of things to you. They’ed dress you up, put on makeup, fuck you, let guests fuck you, hang you, pretend to kill you. One of their favorites was to role play.

They might pretend that the woman had caught the man cheating with you, and act out her murdering you as revenge. Occasionally, they would put a chicken in a water balloon and shove it up inside you, and pretended you were pregnant. You’ed been their pregnant teen daughter, a knocked-up hooker, a pregnant wife beaten by her husband, you’ed been it all.

Regardless of what they did with you when “pregnant” it would alway end with either you “giving birth” by them pushing down on your bulge until the water ballon broke and the chicken was pushed out. Or they would give you an “abortion” which as essentially the same thing except they used a coat hanger to break to ballon and they pretended it was an actual abortion. You started to get the feeling that their obsession with this may come from them not being able to have kids.

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