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A Promise

29 May, 2017 (11:53) | Gay Stories | By: Gay Adult Stories

by Francis address withheld)

***

The truth was, I just wanted to see him one last time.
(MM, nec, rom, suicide)

***

He was lying on the gurney, waiting for me. I’d lied to
the undertaker, I’d said I wanted a viewing, open
casket. I wanted him to look nice. I’d never seen him
in a suit before. The truth was I just wanted to see
him one last time.

It wasn’t as if I was planning this all along. All I
wanted was a few more hours with him, a few more hours
to only deepen the pain that filled me. I didn’t mean
it to end up happening the way it did, but he’d been in
my dreams and nightmares since that day I walked into
the mortuary and saw him lying there, and made love to
him. He was so beautiful, so young and innocent, still
scarred from the violence of his life, though he’d
never talked about it to me.

I’d laid him, dressed, on my bed, the curtains drawn,
the door locked. I restrained myself for a couple of
hours. But I loved him and I didn’t want to let him go.

I tried to explain myself to him as I undressed him,
gently unfastening each button, forcing myself to go
slowly, ignoring the urgency of my own frustrated
desires. I slowly slid the shirt off over his cold
shoulders and stood back to admire him. Now he was
half-naked, I could see the wounds the coroner had
left, the incision where he’d cut into the dead flesh,
looking for something I could never understand. Thank
god for the abbreviated autopsy.

They’d found him – the police – slumped on a bed in a
cheap flat on the bad side of town, dead. Overdose,
they’d said, and the coroner had agreed. Heroin.
Suicide. There had been a broken syringe lying beside
the bed, but they didn’t know where he’d got the drugs
from. There had been no note, but the door and windows
were closed and it was impossible that it had been
murder.

Neil had a vaguely crescent-shaped scar on his shoulder
from an old love-bite. I don’t know what kind of things
he’d been forced to do when he was alive. I know that
he’d hated the thought of sex. He would have resisted
me when he was alive. I bent low over him and opened
his mouth with a gentle kiss.

His cold lips were firm against mine, and I pushed my
tongue past, into his dry mouth, rubbing myself up
against his tongue, plunging into the depths of him,
moving more passionately as my desire flamed inside me.
He didn’t react, but as I carried on kissing him, I
only felt the urge even more than before. I reached
down and rubbed my swollen cock through my trousers.

I broke off the kiss, and, moving quickly, dragged off
my clothes until I stood naked and trembling beside the
bed. It took me ten minutes to finish undressing him,
ten minutes which only made me madder with lust.
Tearing off the last few vestiges of his clothing, I
grabbed a pot from the bedside table and smeared
Vaseline over my rock-hard cock, massaging my balls as
I stood over him, desperate to consummate my love one
last time.

I got on top of him, like I had before, and, hooking my
hands under his cold thighs, lifted his legs so that I
could press the head of my cock to his opening. I
pushed myself into him much easier this time, though my
cock was so hard that the head was swollen far beyond
normal, bloated and purple, dribbling thick pre-cum. I
sighed as I pushed myself in as far as I could then
stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, forcing
myself to take it slow.

‘I love you, Neil,’ I panted.

I began to push in and out of him, as gently as if I
was making love to a woman, my lust turning me into a
barely-controlled monster. I chewed at his shoulder,
his nipples, his lips, tongue-fucking him as my cock
slid slowly backwards and forwards inside his tight
bowels. Pushing myself in as far as I could, I made
humping motions to force every last inch of my cock
into him.

It didn’t last very long. I couldn’t help myself, but I
started bucking violently into his body. It didn’t
matter that I was fucking a corpse, it didn’t matter
that this was wrong. All that mattered was that I was
with Neil again, in every way I’d ever wanted to be. He
was mine. With a groan of mingled pleasure and despair,
I thrust deeply into him, shuddering as my pent-up
semen flooded out of me.

I lay beside him for the next hour or so, not caring
for the time that slipped slowly past us, just enjoying
his company. I played with my cock, already slippery
with a mixture of my orgasm and Vaseline, until it
began to harden again beneath my fingers. I slipped a
rubber cock ring down over the swelling head, threading
it down to the thick base.

The rubber pulled back my foreskin. I was about seven
inches long, and a couple thick at the base, so the
ring was biting quite tightly into my skin already. As
I stroked myself, a drop of cum oozed out of my slit
and I rubbed it over my head with the palm of my hands,
bucking my hips up to meet my own caresses.

I knelt between his legs and lifted them until I could
get his knees over my shoulders. I could enter him
easily and deeply like this, leaning against the dead
weight of his body. I played with his limp cock,
squeezed his cold balls, wondering whether there was
still a spark of life trapped in there. I locked my
arms around his soft thighs and started slowly pumping
in and out of his loose bowels. My own semen churned
around my cock, oozing out of him, cementing us
together in our embrace.

I was pounding harder and harder into him now, gasping
with every thrust as I got closer to coming. His body
shuddered against me as my balls tightened. I fucked
him violently. I screamed out his name again and again,
wanting him to feel my heat deep inside him, as I
jerked for the second time that day, jetting my life
into his cold, dead bowels.

As soon as my orgasm had subsided, I turned him over
and entered him again. My semen was already beginning
to trickle down over his balls and onto the sheets and
he was so relaxed now that I could push my full length
in with one easy thrust. My cock was still erect, but
only because of the ring. I moved in and out until the
sensation became too much for me. Then, with one final
push, I sheathed myself in him up to my balls and
kissed his neck and cheek.

There was only way I could ever truly have him now.

‘Why couldn’t you have taken me with you?’ I whispered
into his ear. ‘Why did you leave me?’

He didn’t answer. I sighed and pressed my cheek to the
side of his head. I hadn’t felt the tears start, but my
eyes were burning now. I tried to hold back the choke
of a sob, but I couldn’t.

I reached out to the gun, lying on the bedside table.
It felt heavy in my hand. I was exhausted and
trembling. Gently, I pressed the muzzle of the gun to
his cold lips. His teeth scraped along the barrel as I
forced it deeper in, until the muzzle pressed against
the side of his cheek, pointing straight upwards.

I had said I’d never leave him, that I’d always be by
his side. I had to keep my promise to him, even if he
wouldn’t see it honored. I would never leave him. I
took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes closed. My
finger tightened on the trigger.

‘Goodbye, Neil,’ I murmured, tears filling my eyes at
this last moment. My last moment with him. I pulled the
trigger.

I just couldn’t live without him.

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