85 - Corpsefuckers

Anya balanced her candle on one knee, then drew up her skirt. Tattooed on her shin were three female faces, the left sides corpse-like and decayed.

"Teen sex comedies lie to you. Casual sex on television and in movies lies to you. Getting laid isn't that easy, or that hard. Lots of people are down to fuck, if you lower your standards and can overcome your shyness. For a couple of my friends...well, they had another way. This story I call

CORPSEFUCKERS

Picture four 19-year-old women. Not the rich, athletic goths. These were the ugly ducklings that would never grow to be swans. Tania, the brunette, came from a family of big women, and was self-conscious about her wide hips and the way her thighs rubbed together. Karen, thin and tall and very blonde, had hoped the dark tattoos on her arms would make up for her lack of tits. Michelle, frizzy hair and acne scars. They had been friends since grade school, took to dark dresses and Wicca, and unlike most of the goths in high school, had kept with it as they were coming to the end of their first semester at Dagon's Hollow University.

Four virgins, **** to punch their v-cards.

"I found something," Tania said. "In the library."

The book was old. A journal from Salem. Handwritten. Symbols that they didn't recognize, words spelled out phonetically from a language they didn't know. But the illustrations, the titles...

"The Rite of Osiris, or How Isis Raised the Corpse of Her Lover," Karen read. "I remember reading something about that from Egyptian mythology. Osiris had died, he was in pieces, but Isis, goddess of magic, reassembled him. Some of these words...they could be ancient Egyptian."

Michelle sucked her teeth. "I know where we can get a body."

The other girls looked at her. Michelle's scarred face burned. Slowly, they talked out the plan. Disbelieving at first, then swiftly becoming more serious. Testing out each step of the plan, pointing out problems, uncovering every potential problem.

Which is how they found themselves, ten minutes after midnight, using Michelle's key from her volunteer job to unlock that cabinet that held the University's mummy. Donated by some forgotten alumnus, the shriveled brown thing was of unknown provenance, all paperwork lost, no mummies remained. Its pecker was a dried, leathery strip.

The young women carried it out of the case and laid it on the floor. Moonlight streamed in through a window. Michelle passed out the sheets where she had copied the incantation. Together, the women took off their clothes. Nothing they hadn't seen before. Many of their Wiccan celebrations were skyclad. Tania's eyes looked away, not wanting to stare. Karen tried to ignore how hard her nipples were. Maybe if those women had sought satisfaction with each other, they wouldn't have been there, clad only in moonlight and midnight.

They read. It was like their rituals. All those times they had tried to raise a cone of power, or call down the moon, or contact the Mother Goddess or the Horned God. They were the only constants in the little coven, the other people always falling out of interest. The only ones who really believed—or perhaps, who needed to believe.

In that moment, their voices synchronized. Their hearts beat as one. Their need, their desires, were at their peak. Everything they had felt in their life seemed to pour out of them as they said the strange words that they did not understand. Every wish, every guilty touch and dirty thought. I like to think that even if they had been silent, something would have heard them. Something would have listened, and acted.

Between those withered, stick-like legs, the dry strip began to soften and swell. Tania and Michelle and Karen could not see it. They were locked in a kind of trance now, feeling something pouring out of or through them. Conduits to something far greater than they had ever imagined, part of a circuit that stretched out into eternity and called back something, or someone.

There was a soft pop as testicles that had long withered away suddenly regained their fleshy substance. Sperm that had long ago died began to swim again. There was no heart left in that dried breast, the veins were full of dust, yet something filled the withered veins of that member. The skin cracked as it expanded, and what rose, tall and brown, larger perhaps in **** than it had been in life, was the last and most potent erection of he who in some distant time may have been some minor functionary in an Egyptian temple, or some rogue priest of a forgotten sect, or simply a merchant with wealth enough to emulate royalty.

As the women's eyes fluttered and they came back to themselves, they saw it standing, tall and amazingly real, a living prick attached to a dead thing.

Tania nodded her head to Karen. "You go first."

The others looked at her. Tania sighed. "I'm a fat ass, okay? I might break him. Karen's the lightest, she goes first. Then we take turns. Just be gentle."

Tania bit her lip. "Help me?"

So they did. They stood on either side of her, each holding one of Karen's arms as she lowered herself down. The brown prick seemed to flex slightly as it pressed against the tight cunny. Karen gave a little whimper. Tania and Michelle looked at each other, and by mutual agreement, they grabbed Karen's shoulders and pressed down. The blonde gasped in shock as her hymen tore. Blood smeared the brown dick. Karen stayed in a squat for a long moment, panting, getting used to the sensation. Yet it was everything she had ever imagined. A hot, hard thing up inside of her, deep enough to shock, thick enough to stretch. Pulsing, though there was no heart to beat.

Then she began to move.

They took their turns. Joined in a darker, more sinister sisterhood than they had ever imagined. Assisting each other as they finally transitioned, in one sense, from girls to women. The dark cock seemed to drink in their blood, to fill out and stand as polished and hard as ever. Even though their cunts burned, the naked women laughed and cried and hugged each other.

Which left just one question:

"What do we do now?" Michelle said.

Tania, who had gone last, chewed her lower lip. Then she reached out, took hold of the cock, and gave it a short, sharp tug.

The living prick broke cleanly away from the mummy, leaving only a dark hole.

"We'll put the rest of him back in the case," she said, as she nestled the warm, throbbing cock and balls between her breasts. "And take turns."

It was a few months before anyone noticed that the university's mummy had begun to decay. The witchcraft practice that the women had enjoyed took on a distinctly Egyptian flavor, focused on Isis and the Rite of Osiris.

"There was a price, though it wasn't evident until sometime later," Anya said. "And the women never did manage to explain how to the campus health authorities exactly why all of them were infested with a breed of pubic lice that were believed extinct."

Anya let the skirt fall, hiding her leg and the three faces. She snuffed the candle...and the listeners realized that Anya had never spoken the name of the fourth corpsefucker.