Fiction, Anal, Asian, Blowjob, Death, Group Sex, Male/Teen Female, Murder, Necrophilia, Non-consensual sex, Rape, Snuff, Teen, Virginity, Water Sports/Pissing, Written by women
I did my best to make the story as accurate as possible, I hope you forgive any mistakes or oversights on my part.
Your body was found in the early hours of the morning, hanging from a tree. Your young, slender, teenage body. A rough hemp rope tight around your neck, digging into your flesh at an angle, leaving a deep, purple mark. Your lips were dark blue, your face purple, tongue a mix of both colors and protruding from your mouth. Your eyes were red and bloodshot. Your hair was done-up in one long, thick, black braid that ended at your ass. Your tan skin was pale as the blood settled in your body. Pooling around your hands and feet, leaving them slightly swollen and red. Your neck was stretched out, unnaturally elongated. Your brown eyes bulged from your head, wide open and bloodshot. Your irises foggy and clouded over as you stared unblinking into nothing. Your green saree with golden yellow trim hugged your body, barely clinging onto you. Your small, dainty, bare feet were just visible from ground level.
The first person to find you was an old farmer. As he saw you hanging from the tree, he mistook you for a ghost or some kind of spirit, and fled in fear back to the village. He sought out a Pandit, and reluctantly dragged him back to the tree where he had seen you. The sight of your body gave the Pandit quite the shock too, before he realized you were no ghost or evil spirit, but a corpse. The police were contacted immediately, and word of you spread through the village like wildfire. The police arrived at the same time as the crowds and had to go about managing them before they could do anything with your body.
Luckily for the police, identifying you was quite easy. In fact, almost everyone in the village knew who you were. You were Shivi Dhobi, a 17 year old dalit girl. Despite your caste being untouchable, your name had become extremely well known in the village in the past few months, as the son of a prominent brahmin family had fallen madly in love with you and begged his parents to let him marry you. Despite the family's repeated rejections, and their best attempt to keep the whole thing under wraps, gossip in the village is an unstoppable force, and the story got out. Ever since the news broke, you'd been keeping to yourself in your parent's house, confining yourself to staying indoors. Protecting yourself from prying eyes, but also from those desperate for a taste of what the higher castes desired. Though from the few glimpses of you people were able to see, it was widely agreed you were quite attractive. A slender figure that still had nice hips and a well-sized bust. A full set of straight, white teeth. And skin with only a few minor blemishes. Were you born of a higher caste, you would have had your pick of suitors.
When your mother finally arrived at the scene of the crime, and saw your body dangling from the tree, she nearly fainted. Your aunt, who was accompanying her, did faint. Your mother broke down crying, wailing, sobbing. Between her passionate laments, those assembled could make out the same phrase repeated over and over.
"The Sharmas did it! The Sharmas did it!"
The Sharmas were the brahmin family who's son, Ramesh, had fallen deeply in love with you. The police, realizing they could have a riot on their hands, put their full effort into dispersing the crowd, ordering everyone home and threatening to arrest anyone who remained. Angrily, and reluctantly, the crowd dispersed. Your mother and family members were taken aside and interrogated by the police as the crime scene was meticulously photographed.
Your mother was the last person who had seen you. She said she heard someone leaving the house late last night. At the time, she had assumed it was just someone going to use the outhouse. She mentioned that she had also not seen your older sister, Kalpana, since last night either. She told the police that it was the Sharmas that killed you. She confessed to them that when the story of your entanglement with Ramesh first broke, the Sharmas had offered your family a large sum of money to leave the village and never return. When they refused, men started harassing them, following them, graffitiing their house, attacking their livestock, and even tried to set their house on fire. Though your mother had no proof of this, she swore to the police that the Sharmas were behind your death, and knew where your older sister was.
“I warned that girl,” your mother said, “no good would come of her relationship! No good at all!”
As the police were taking your mother’s statement, the other cops were trying to get you down from the tree. At first they tried to find where the rope was tied off, until they saw it tied way up in the branches. Then they tried lifting you up by your legs and pulling you out the noose, but it was too tight around your neck. Finally, they gave up, and used a ladder to get up high enough to cut the rope holding up the noose. Your body fell to the ground in a swift blur, thudding hard against the ground as the cops who were meant to catch you completely missed. Acting as though nothing had happened, they straightened out your body and waited for the medical unit to arrive.
It took 20 minutes for the CSI unit to arrive. The first thing they did was loudly complain to the cops for cutting you down without them, to which the cops fired back with CSI being late. They took scrapings from under your fingernails and toenail, as well as examining how dilated your eyes were. They swapped your mouth and tongue. They put your hands and feet into little plastic bags, and tied them closed with zip ties around your wrists and ankles. Then, two men grabbed you by your shoulders and ankles, and lifted you into a body bag. They zipped you up, lifted you onto a gurney, and wheeled you into the ambulance.
The ambulance ride was a long, bumpy, 20 minute ride down dirt roads. As the sun rose high in the sky, the ambulance grew warmer and warmer. Flies started finding their way in. The man in the back of the ambulance had to spend most of the ride swatting them away from your body. You eventually arrived at the village morgue. You were wheeled out, down the dirty white walls, fluorescent lights flickered overhead. It was a rundown little place, built in an era of ambition and modernization, but left to rot as that spirit faded. The air was stale and muggy, the central AC system long broken. The interior fixtures were the same ones from when the whole structure was first built in the 50s.
They pushed you into the main processing room. White tile walls tinted grey, a brown floor covered in decades of deep stains, flies swarming around the flickering light blue ceiling lights. In the morgue stood an older man. Bald, fat, and in his mid 40s. The village mortician, Dr. Tiwari, an overall unpleasant man, with all sorts of rumors swirling around him. though that was to be expected of a mere small town mortician who lived well above his means. He motioned the men pushing your gurney over to a tall steel table with a drain at one end and a water spout at the other. The men lined up the gurney with the morgue table, unzipped your body bag, and lifted you onto the table. Their job done, the men left, leaving you alone with Dr. Tiwari.
The doctor lazily walked over to your side, holding a clipboard in his hands. He looked your body up and down. He had to admit you were quite the looker. The doctor started taking down your details. Your age, height, weight, ect. Once he was finished he put down the clipboard, and put on his surgical gloves. He started by undressing you. First he removed the noose around your neck. Then he unwrapped your sari, then took off your blouse and petticoat. He was surprised to find a lack of panties beneath your petticoat. Finally, he reached round behind your back and undid your bra. As he pulled it free your breasts sagged a little, no longer constrained. Dr. Tiwari admired them, average size for a young woman like yourself, but perfectly round like two hills. Dark areolas the size of a quarter, and pointy nipples. He reached down and felt them, they seemed all-natural and soft like a pillow.
The doctor got started with his work. He scraped under your fingernails for DNA samples. He swabbed your small, petty mouth, admiring your perfect white teeth. He unbraided your long, straight, black hair. It was dry and a bit frayed, but could easily be made smooth and shiny like silk using the right soaps, and seemed quite well cared for. He combed your hair for samples. He shined a light into your bloodshot light brown eyes, lifting up your eyelids to check for dilation. He felt your jaw and throat for lumps, running his finger along the deep purple mark where the noose had dug into your flesh.
The doctor moved down your body, feeling your breasts for lumps, abnormalities, or implants. He found none, but kept feeling longer than necessary. He felt down the sides for any broken ribs or bruises. He continued downwards, feeling your thighs, legs and feet, giving your thighs a playful squeeze. Next came the doctor's favorite part. He grabbed you by the ankles and slided you down the table until your ass was at the very edge. He unfolded the stirrups, and slid your feet inside. Your groin was on full display, a black hairy bush hiding a black fuzz beneath. With your legs spread wide, your labia was already slightly parted. Your pale, light-brown skin gave way to a beautiful pink gash.
He combed your bush for samples. Then he gently parted your labia with his fingers. There were clear signs of sex as well as vaginal trauma. Your inner labia had a dry red substance on it, blood. He tried to spread you further but you were a bit too tight. So the doctor took out a speculum and inserted the cool metal device into your pussy. He didn't even lube it up, as there was no need to care about your comfort. He cranked the speculum open nice and wide, shining a flashlight into your womanhood with his other hand. He started to feel around inside you with his fingers. The funky smell of a dead cunt hit his nose, and he deeply inhaled in response. Your room temperature cunt was dry, aside from some discharge that clung to your vaginal wall alongside some more small traces of dried blood. He also found evidence of extensive and fresh vaginal scarring, long red cracks up and down the inside of your vagina. As he felt deeper inside you, he came upon what was once your cherry, now completely and utterly torn. He speculated that was the cause of the blood. He felt deeper and deeper inside you, going all the up to the knuckle on his thumb when he finally found what he had suspected. Deep inside your pussy, a nice big pool of gooey, white cum. He took a swap and collected a sample of it.
Wanting to go further, Dr. Tiwari then inserted a cervical speculum. He spread open your cervix, and more seed came pouring out. He set up a small camera on a stick used for probes and pushed it deep into your womb. He examined your puffy, wet, pink womb closely, but found no evidence of pregnancy or anything strange. Content with his examination, he removed himself from your pussy and took out both speculums. He finished filling out the medical report. then came back to your groin, a wicked smile on his face. He unzipped his fly and whipped out his semi hard cock. Not one to let such a beauty go to waist, he slipped his dick into your soft, young, yielding pussy. He grew even harder as he thrusted in and out. It wasn't every day a beautiful young woman in good condition came into his morgue, and Dr. Tiwari wasn't about to let that slide.
He fucked your dead cunt in complete silence, eventually blowing a load of his hot cum deep inside you. But his cock was still hard. So he fucked your ass too, pushing past your tight little sphincter and deposited another load deep in your shithole. Still not satisfied, he thought perhaps a tighter hole would do the trick, and fucked your urethra. As he thrusted inside your tightest hole, urine rushed out from your bladder to meet him. He enjoyed the feeling of lubrication, and started pushing down on your bladder to drain you even faster. Once again he deposited a load deep inside you. And yet again, he was still not satisfied. Finally, he went round to the front of you, and fucked your wet little mouth, blowing on final load straight down your throat. Finally satisfied, Dr. Tiwari gave your body a quick wash and put you into cold storage.
In the following days, the rumor mill kicked into high-gear. Your family, the Dhobis, accused the Sharmas of murdering you to prevent you from marrying their son. The Sharmas shot back with accusations, first saying that you had committed suicide out of sorrow, then insinuating you were honor-killed by your own family as they were also opposed to the marriage. Everyone in the village started taking sides. The story spread out, first to the whole province, then to the national level. Everyone waited with bated breath for the police report to come out. And when it was released, the results were shocking. Cause of death: suicide, no signs of foul play.
There was no investigation, no charges brought. Your death was swept under the rug by the authorities. At your funeral, large crowds of mourners gathered, demanding justice. But none ever came. The night you were buried, Ramesh snuck out and visited your grave. He tearfully confessed everything to you. That his parents had forged a fake letter from him, asking you to elope with him that night. That his father, brothers, and uncles had bound and imprisoned him inside his room, and ambushed you. That they raped you and your sister, and hung you from that tree. Ramesh apologized profusely for everything, and swore to find and free your sister, who he knew was being held captive somewhere by his family.