Once upon a time, two lovers met for the first time. It was young and fresh and innocent and unstoppable, until she stopped it. She saw more, knowing that if she ever slept with him, he would own her. She made her exit in a panic. Years went by, and they never thought of each other except as occasional happy memories of youth.
The first time she reached out for him, he replied. They chatted, but never met.
Years later, she did it again. This time they met. They did not become friends. He terrified her in the only way that matters. In the only way she wanted. He was still white hot with life, and she suddenly realised she had been sleeping. In a flash, he was gone, leaving her with a smile on her face.
She reached out again, this time knowing fully what she was asking, but his silence gave her the answer. One she didn’t want. In her heart, she knew it wasn’t over, but she moved on with her life anyway; mainly because she had juicy tits and he only liked petite ones.
After a lifetime (and then some) of fucking the life out of and into everything, his old age rendered him unable to fuck at will. He had started using a cane to walk and struggled to get out of bed in the morning, but insisted on dressing up regardless of whether he left the house. Then, one day, he remembered her. He wondered what she was up to. He came across the details of her wake, and decided to go pay his respects.
He arrived as the centre was closing. Approaching her open coffin, he saw her lifeless body lying there, pale and haunting. He touched her face to say goodbye and found himself getting really hard, really fast. This hadn’t happened in a long time without Mr Blue, and suddenly he found himself climbing on top of her body and unbuttoning her dress. He kissed her face, felt her cold taut stomach; he pressed his hands along where her tits used to be (at last small, non-existent; simply scars). The pressure of his body on top of hers caused the juices within to pool inside her frozen cunt, convincing him that he had made her wet from beyond the dead, which excited him even more. Just before he entered her, he wanted to get a taste, a reminder of their early encounter. He lowered himself and remembered the concept of munting, punching her stomach to suck the juices from between her legs, licking as ferociously as he could – his tongue, while still young and pink, sadly moved at a far slower pace, but it didn’t matter. The pleasure was the same. Now he was ready to finish, so he pulled himself up and rubbed his cock along her grey creamy crack before entering her, slowly at first – for her pleasure. He edged in deeper and deeper and it turned into it’s own music, with a smooth yet rhythmic pace. Eventually he crescendoed in both speed and vigour, despite her stillness and his ageing body. He pulled out just in time to spray all over her. He collapsed, at last truly happy, and quite proud of the fact that she would be buried in his cum.
As she gazed at them from the beyond, at his body breathing heavily on top of hers, she smiled to herself and thought lovingly: “That was definitely worth the wait.”