Necromantic (11 page)

Why then? I closed my eyes, letting my fingers explore my now overly-sensitive vulva. Within seconds, though, they opened wide as a word - no, a
memory
- popped into my head:
impotent
.

* * *

I dropped to my knees. An incredible orgasm rippled through my body just as the memory erupted through my brain. It was both heavenly and torturous at once. I quivered from head to toe, my body convulsing, as the scene replayed itself in my head.

That last argument. It too had been about sex, like so many of the others. This time, though, it was different. Harold hadn’t been the aggressor;
I
had. It had been weeks since we had last been intimate...an eternity by our standards. Frustrated at his sudden lack of bedtime interest, I had badgered him. I’d accused him of having an affair, of being bored with me, of anything that came to mind.

At last, he had confessed. His penis, the marvelous weapon which had been my undoing over the years, was no longer able to perform. He didn’t know the reason. He had been too embarrassed to seek help or let me know. Unfortunately, my dander was already up. I had been in a mood that day for some reason. Rather than giving comfort, I had lashed out at him. I’d been cruel, calling him less than a man...telling him that he was useless to me now.

I had gone on and on for some reason. Maybe it was years of anger boiling over or just a spur of the moment thing, but I just couldn’t let it go. He told me he was working on something to fix it, but I scoffed at him. I continued to berate him, seeing the shame in his eyes gradually give way to blunt anger...and...

That was it. My body stopped spasming, which coincided with the end of the memory. It was the very last thing I remembered in life. After that, it was a blank.

I sat there gasping for a few minutes, feeling I was close to a breakthrough - the last few pieces that would finally tell me what was going on. Unfortunately, whatever was in my system still wasn’t through with me. Need burned through my physical being, making rational thought difficult. My focus was drawn to the upstairs. I could sit there on the kitchen floor and diddle myself until I passed out, or I could make good use of my remaining time.

* * *

“Ouch!” Harold protested as I bit down on his still soft shaft. If he had anything else to add, though, it was drowned out as I pushed my mound onto his face.

“Shut the fuck up and eat me!” I commanded from atop, where I straddled him in a sixty-nine position. I didn’t wait for his response. Unnatural desire coursed through my body and I heeded its call. Taking him into my mouth, I closed my lips around him and sucked with everything I had. The effect was nearly immediate. I could feel him growing in my mouth, but that wasn’t all. He had taken his cue and I could feel his tongue going to work.

I ground my hips harder into his face, at that moment not caring one bit if I smothered him. I needed to feel release again and he was going to give it to me whether he liked it or not. His tongue entered and expertly worked me. Harold might be an asshole, but he knew how to please.

In the meantime, I continued to engulf him with my mouth. If he wanted to make it a race, so be it. I sucked on the head of his cock, using my tongue to tease him. As I did so, I grasped the base of his shaft with my hands and began jerking him off. I knew my time was short. I had minutes at best. The heat inside of my body insisted, though, that I could not leave until we were both finished.

It was insane. A part of me knew I should really be wondering what the hell had been in that stuff in the kitchen. The rest of me didn’t give a shit. I started to move that much faster, adding my teeth to the torture that I was inflicting upon him. In turn, he closed his lips around my clit and began to suck.

Oh God! I began to shake all over. Whether it was from his touch or the spell wearing off, I didn’t know.

Who was I kidding? I didn’t care either, especially the way it felt. The world began to grey out around me as another spasm hit. I could feel myself dripping with wetness. It would be a small miracle if Harold didn’t drown down there.

Correction, make that both of us.

Just as I felt myself begin to recede from this body, he erupted in my mouth. I struggled to swallow it all, needing to taste him. My gag reflex kicked in, but I ignored it.

I redoubled my efforts, slurping him greedily, unwilling to let anything go...and then I was gone.

Chapter 16

One moment, I felt Harold’s cock filling my mouth as he continued to suck on me from below, the next there was nothing. I didn’t even have a mouth anymore. Fortunately, along with the sensations went that insatiable need. The chemicals were no longer affecting my mind, thus the feelings they induced evaporated like smoke.

For a moment, I found myself wondering if the juice’s effect would persist once that body’s true owner reestablished dominance. A part of me hoped it would. Harold had spent his seed, but hopefully she wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

Just like that, though, the thought of Harold - combined with the clarity of being back in the beyond - hit me like a freight train. It was so obvious. How did I not see it before?

The stuff in the refrigerator hadn’t been for Harold’s dates. It had been for him. Hadn’t I been marveling at his stamina for months now? He had been good for at least three, and oftentimes more, goes each time I was back...almost like clockwork. Most men his age would have run through the streets, their arms raised in victory, for being able to go twice in one evening. Sure, he needed to rest. That stuff apparently gave one’s loins unnatural stamina, but that didn’t mean it did the same to the rest of his body.

Still, that didn’t answer...or maybe it did. Was this the solution that he had claimed to be working on? If so, it did the trick...more so. If only he’d figured it out sooner...

While I had still been alive.

If I had a mouth, it would have dropped open. Had I a voice, surely I would have cried out.

He didn’t!

He couldn’t have!

As much as I tried to rationalize it, though, I kept coming to the same conclusion. It all added up: my disappearance, my final memories, the anger I had seen in his eyes.

Harold had killed me.

* * *

For once, I was glad to be disembodied. Had I been back on earth, such a revelation would have caused me to break down completely. Lies were one thing. Even the concept of adultery seemed minor in comparison. Murder, though, was the ultimate betrayal. The irony was that the victim did not get a chance to rue the treachery. Perhaps that was for the best. What response could possibly satisfy that level of crime? There weren’t enough tears to be cried, curses to be uttered, or possessions to be thrown that could make up for having one’s life ended prematurely.

The worst part for me was being denied the details. Damn the rules of death! Wasn’t there supposed to be some clause for people wronged in life that allowed them to remember these things so as to become poltergeists or vengeful spirits?

Speaking of which, my first thoughts were toward revenge. It would be a minor matter to return next time and bash his brains out while he slept. Hell, depending on the body, I could probably gouge out his eyes while he was right in the middle of screwing me. Better yet, I could find the garden shears and snip off his balls...let him live the remainder of his pathetic life as a eunuch.

I won’t lie; these thoughts made me feel better. Even disembodied, I guess we still somehow have access to that primal reptilian part of our minds.

They didn’t last long, however. I didn’t intend to let him off the hook, mind you, but anything done in haste would only result in more victims. Harold might wind up dead or mutilated, but whoever I was possessing at the time would take the blame for it. Could I really allow that? Though their actions with my husband (
ex
-husband I reminded myself. Til death do us part and all that) were obviously not innocent, that didn’t mean it would be right to set them up for a fall.

I’m not ashamed to admit that there was also a selfish element to my thoughts. With Harold dead, I’d be stuck here with no conduit back to the living. My sensation addiction - for that’s what it was - didn’t like that conclusion. Even worse, there was the possibility that he’d find me here and we’d spend the rest of eternity in a cosmic screaming match.

No. Whatever course of action I took, it would have to be well thought out. I needed to continue along the path I’d been following, using my extra time to learn more. Knowledge was power, after all.

I knew what it meant. I’d have to continue letting him use me. In this, I was split. Part of me didn’t want his murdering hands touching my body, whoever it may be. At the same time, I yearned for the pleasure of the flesh. Fortunately, there was a compromise.

I would have to separate my emotions from the equation, treat each visit with Harold like a one-night stand with a stranger. Though I had been faithful to him, I had experienced a few such meaningless trysts before we had met. Chalk it up to the daringness - and stupidity - of youth. I was way out of practice doing such, but I could still remember the thrill of being pinned to the bed by a man whose name I barely knew.

If anything, I would now be using him much like he was using me...only this time the advantage would be mine. I just had to make good use of it.

Chapter 17

The next time I was summoned, I appeared in the body of a brunette with an average build and a pixie haircut. Amusingly enough, it was nice for a change not to be constantly brushing hair out of my face in the middle of love making...no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t making love; it was
fucking
, plain and simple. Harold was undeserving of anything that had to do with my love.

Not that it really mattered in this case. My face was pressed firmly to the bed as he took me doggie-style from behind. The curve of his cock pressed roughly against my insides, just the way I had always liked it. This body was different from the redhead’s. I was going to have no problem cumming. I could already feel it building up inside of me.

That was good. It would feel nice to climax while Harold fucked me. It would feel even better when the time was right and I eventually fucked him, albeit in a completely different way.

* * *

My first stop that night was to check on the supply of mandrake. It wouldn’t do me any good if I made a breakthrough, only to go back to being Harold’s three hour whore. I needn’t have worried, though. There was still almost half the original amount in the belladonna jar. Even if that ran low, there was still some left in the unmarked mandrake container. I had plenty of extended visits ahead of me. That didn’t mean I could slack off, though. What if he grew tired and stopped summoning me? Fortunately, I didn’t think that scenario likely. He didn't seem to be growing particularly disinterested. Still, it was stupid to assume.

A new thought crossed my mind. Harold had killed me for doubting his manhood. Perhaps he was using my afterlife for the dual purposes of living out every fantasy he ever desired out of me as well as continually proving his masculinity in doing so. I actually chuckled at that last part, knowing that he was chugging his supernatural dick juice to do so. If I wasn’t certain he would be able to make more, I might’ve poured it all down the drain just to spite him.

I quickly pushed that from my head. While amusing, such thoughts were just a distraction. At the most, each visit left me with three hours to myself. Oftentimes, though, especially when Harold was in a particularly randy mood, it would be less. I needed to be continually conscious of time management.

I glanced at the watch on my wrist and grinned. After Harold had finally passed out, I had crawled under the bed. Sure enough, it was exactly where I had dropped it weeks before. I made it a point not to lose it again. It was my lifeline, my sanity check against the clock. With that thought, it was time to get to work.

* * *

That night was mostly spent at Harold's laptop again. I found it hard to believe that he was meeting (and picking up) so many different women via conventional means. I decided his email was as good a place as any to see if I could find a pattern.

I couldn’t have gotten a bulls-eye any quicker had I been a championship darts player. A page full of emails stared back at me from a variety of sources: Harmony Online, cupidsarrow.com, this one service called Local Fuck Finder, and a half-dozen other such places. I used to surf the web during my life and had even started to grow fond of online shopping, but I had no idea the digital world could be such a meat market.

I opened a few of the emails and read them. The messages from the girls themselves ranged from the demure to the outright blatant (“I can’t wait to taste your cock”). Harold’s, on the other hand, were almost all the same. Like I said, he was a creature of habit. Once he found something that worked, he kept using it over and over. It didn’t seal the deal every time - there were rejection messages strewn throughout his inbox. It didn’t need to, though. It worked enough to make sure Harold had an ample supply of Saturday night pussy into which to summon me.

A few very discrete emails from a place called Confidential Escorts confirmed to me that, in those few instances where he couldn’t score, he wasn’t above paying for it. Pathetic, Harold, really pathetic.

Just out of curiosity, I scrolled through some recent messages to find the girl that I inhabited that night. It only took me a couple of seconds. An email from her confirming their date was near the top of the list. I clicked through to her profile. The web browser opened up and I saw that her name was Candace. She claimed to be a college student who had transferred here from out of state and was looking to explore the night life...

I turned it off. It wasn’t particularly useful anyway. I mean it’s not like I was going to call her up and ask if she wanted to grab some lunch while we discussed the finer points of her screwing my murdering prick of a husband.