Chapter 13 Ethan #2
The thought smacks me around the head like a brick and I stumble back, forcing myself to collect my thoughts.
I’m toeing a very dangerous line here, if anyone finds out about what I’m wanting to do to my sister, I’ll no doubt find myself back in prison, permanently this time.
But do I even care? There’s nothing left in the outside world for me.
Would it be so wrong for me to indulge in the pleasures of life this job is handing over to me on a silver platter? I don’t think so.
Alina was always meant for me and now she’s here, to do whatever I want with. I can create the perfect living dead doll, just for me. I can give her a new look, polish her skin until she’s gleaming. There’s plenty of bodies at my disposal to get crafty with.
No one would notice.
No one would know, but me.
It’s all too perfect.
Just as the ideas bloom in my mind, a dark grin tugs at my lips and I close the gap between me and the box until I’m toe to toe with the table.
I make a start on pulling the corners of the box apart to spread it open across the top of the table, leaving Alina in the middle but now, I’ve got more access to her.
There’s purple bruising underneath her body where blood has pooled, settling heavy.
It won’t be long before that blood is warming to room temperature.
I walk to the end of the table to where her feet lie, there’s a small toe tag hanging off her big toe and I take it in my hands. I already know the details that are written on it, but I’m a glutton for punishment.
Alina Ashcroft.
Seventeen years old.
Blonde hair, blue/grey eyes.
Suicide.
I trace the words written across the paper in Mr Wilson’s neat, script handwriting.
Hurt and anger blooms in my chest like a poisonous flower.
It sinks its sharp claws into my skin, and with force I yank at the tag to rip it off of my sister but I pull too hard.
There, hanging in my grasp is the toe tag, with Alina’s toe attached to it.
“Fuck, no! What have I done?” I mumble to myself in a panic, then I try to stick the toe back on but it’s no use. Every time I press the fleshy nub back onto her foot, it falls back into my hand.
I won’t let her fall apart in front of me. I can’t allow it.
She needs to be fixed.
Placing the toe on the table, I scour the dimly lit room for some kind of medical box.
Various shelves line the walls with all kinds of boxes sitting on them.
My gaze trails over the boxes until I find a white plastic box with the words ‘first aid’ printed on the front, on the top shelf.
With determination, I stride over to the box and yank it from the shelf then slam it down onto the table before flicking open the lid to find all sorts of bandages, alcohol wipes and fabric scissors.
Rifling through the box, I dump out the contents until I find a small needle wrapped in plastic and black thread.
Taking the items I need, I shove the rest of the box onto the floor and make quick work of unwrapping the sterile needle and feeding the black thread through the small hoop, then making a small knot at the end.
It only takes me a couple of seconds to have the needle perfect, then I grab Alina’s toe that’s now growing warm and squishy, and place it onto the hole I created when I yanked it off.
Inside, I can see the tiny bones and tendons that have been snapped clean in half.
Dark, almost pitch black blood has coagulated around the rim of the wound and I use that now, soft substance as glue to squish her toe back on.
The chunky blood squelches as I squish the two parts together, then with my opposite hand I push the needle through the tough skin to gather the toe and foot nub back together.
The black thread slips easily through the skin until the knot catches on the end, then I repeat the process of pushing the needle through the two folds of skin, gathering them together in a perfect stitch.
It only takes a couple of minutes for me to create a circle around the toe and tie it off with a small knot, then I lean down over Alina’s foot and grab the thread in between my teeth to snap it off.
I place the needle down onto the table then brush over the stitches with my fingers to admire my handiwork. “Perfect.”
Alina’s foot grows warm under my touch and I use my thumb to massage the sole, feeling the skin ripple like a leather jacket.
It slips over her flesh like an ill-fitted suit but it doesn’t deter me from running both of my hands over her ankles, brushing over the patches of flaking skin on her knees then towards her cold thighs.
My hands slip easily in between the thick flesh and with a bit of force, I manage to pry her open like a forbidden gift.
Bones crack and skin tears like thin paper at the crease of her frozen pussy. The sight should have me turning back from this sickening act, I should walk away now and forget it all, I should put a bullet in my brain to end everything, instead it has the opposite effect on me.
I’m fucking starving for her. I want to taste what’s hidden in between her cold slabs of meat.
My mouth practically waters at the sight of my sister’s frozen cunt.
Water droplets like shining diamonds gather on her raw chicken-like lips, getting lost inside the smattering of dark hair she has there.
Moving like a rabid dog, I grip the flesh of her thighs and drag her body to the edge of the table.
The seam between her pussy and thigh tears even more, thin strings of sinew and flesh stretch between the gap but I can’t stop.
I won’t. I’ll fix her later, give her a new leg or something, I just need to taste her.
Alina’s leg hangs on by a literal thread but I’m already pulling her pussy lips apart now.
The meaty flesh cracks as I spread her open like a book to reveal her pearly clit.
Wetness gathers under her marbled hood from her body temperature warming up, and I use it to lubricate her opening.
She’s a tight squeeze but with a gentle probe, the tip of my finger slips inside easily and I swear I can feel her gripping me.
It may be the body's natural reaction but my brain is telling me, convincing me even, that she wants this.
I allow my eyes to close for a moment, savouring the feel of her luke-warm pussy around my finger. The pad of my finger traces the ridges of her walls, just like if I ran my tongue across the roof of my mouth. It’s exactly the same. Soft and spongy, ribbed for my pleasure.
A shudder wracks through my body as I try for another finger, I know my sister can take it.
Her cunt was made for me and like the good little dead girl she is, she pulls me in.
With my index and middle finger snug inside her, I use my other hand to make quick work of my belt and zipper, yanking them open in desperation to free my rock hard cock.
Blood boils in my veins like lava as I palm my cock, stroking in long languid strokes until pre-cum gathers at the tip between the barbell.
I brush my thumb over the barbell to gather the milky liquid then spread it over the sensitive skin, causing shudders to ripple through my body, heavy breaths forcing their way between my gritted teeth with every stroke.
I moan heavily. “Alina. Fuck, you’re so tight.”
My fingers slip in and out of her pussy with ease from the warmth and with every stroke of her walls, I fuck my hand.
Imagining myself sliding inside of her. Fucking my sister until she comes all over me.
She’d moan my name and I’d slam into her harder until she bruises, I’d fuck her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk the day after.
She’d feel me deep inside her marrow, right down into her soul.
Just like I feel for her.
Glitter begins to form behind my eyelids, bursting in bright colours as my orgasm claws at the base of my spine.
It tangles around my limbs like veins, holding me hostage until hot ropes of cum splatter across my sister's blue skin.
My cum rains over her thighs, seeping into the dry cracks that cover her dead skin.
My knees threaten to give way from beneath me and I let my head fall onto her legs as I come down from my orgasm. “Shit.” I grunt into her flesh and allow my erratic heart rate to calm down before I have a heart attack.
There’s no way I’m dying with my dick in my hand and my fingers stuffed deep inside my dead sister.
Once I’ve calmed my breathing down, I lift my head and take a good look at the mess I’ve made.
Slimy cum begins to seep down into the middle of Alina’s thighs like the runny glue I used at primary school.
It gathers into a small puddle on the cardboard box and before anymore can soak in, I slip my fingers out of her pussy and scoop up the remnants and push it inside of her.
Alina never got to experience this when she was alive, but I’ll make damn sure she gets to experience it now.
I watch with intent and lust clouding my senses as my cum pools in her opening like sweet icing on top of a cupcake. The urge to taste myself on her skin is strong but when I hear the doors of the mortuary unlocking, I’m thrown viciously into the present.
Mr Wilson told me he’d be back in a couple of days, there’s no way he’s back so soon.
In a rush, I carefully close Alina’s legs, attempting not to tear the skin anymore on her loose leg and fold up the sides of the boxes before placing the lid back on, then I shove my dick back in my pants and push her back into the freezer before sealing the door behind her, then move in a haze to tidy up the medical box and place it back onto the shelf where I found it.
My heart hammers in my chest at the thought of getting caught in this inappropriate act as I rush to leave the basement and head back up the stairs, just in time to catch Mr Wilson wheeling in a trolley with a covered corpse lying on top.
His gaze flicks to mine as I stand in the doorway.
“There you are, Ethan. Where have you been?” I swallow harshly and slip back into the dark demeanour I wear so well.
“Cleaning up loose ends and visiting relatives. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be having some time off? ” I ask, diverting the conversation.
Mr Wilson looks at me like he can see straight through me, like he can see the shameful act I’ve just performed downstairs but if he does, he doesn’t say anything about it.
Instead, he gives me a small smile then speaks.
“Ah well, you know what I’m like, I can’t sit down for too long.
Plus I think the wife was getting a bit fed up with me hovering around her all day.
” He chuckles at his own words and a snigger tugs at my lips.
“I see. Back to work it is then?” I gesture towards the trolley he’s holding. “Who have we got?”
He releases his grip on the trolley and picks up the clipboard that’s resting on the white sheet, his eyes roam over the information as he speaks. “Young woman, Melissa Hartford. Nineteen years old, gunshot wound to the chest.”
Mr Wilson’s words wash over me because all I can hear is that a nineteen year old woman is lying underneath that sheet.
Melissa might just have the perfect limbs to fix my little dead doll.
I couldn’t give a shit how she died, I just wanna take a look at her leg.
I need to make sure that it’ll fit Alina perfectly.
With confident strides, I meet Mr Wilson at the trolley and lift up the sheet. Immediately I’m met with a pretty girl, freckles cover her small button nose and plump lips sit perfectly on her round face.
She’s nice to look at, but not as nice as Alina.
Keeping the sheet lifted, I make it look like I’m examining the gunshot wound in the middle of her chest when really I’m mentally taking measurements of her limbs. Melissa looks roughly around the same height as Alina, same full hips and perky tits.
This corpse will do perfectly.
Clearing my throat, I place the sheet back down and push open the doors of the autopsy room to allow Mr Wilson to push the trolley inside, once he manoeuvres it into the middle of the room I go through my usual routine of scrubbing then gloving up.
Everything is falling into place as it should be. I’ve been given the perfect opportunity to make Alina my little dead doll. To bring her back to life, to make her better than she ever was before.
To make her perfect once again.