She was taken in a car crash.
Today is the first anniversary of her death. I thought the pain was supposed to recede, gradually being replaced by a dull ache.
But that hadn’t happened for me. The agony of losing her is still as sharp as ever, like an icy blade in my heart that refuses to stop cutting.
Did I expect to find answers here? I ask myself that question over and over as I stumble through the mist that settles on the cemetery ground. The darkness of this starless night is thick and, having left my phone in the car, I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. Eventually, I manage to find her gravestone and collapse on top of it.
I don’t hold back the sobs. Maybe that’s why I came here. I knew this place would be deserted in the middle of the night and no one would see me abandoning myself to to my despair. Her body is underground, mere feet away from where I whimper, but it might as well be a million miles. She’s gone.
“She’s safe.”
I’m not sure I really heard the whisper and assume my mind is playing tricks on me. That’s what grief does: I want her to be safe so I tell myself she is. It’s all in my head.
“Let her go.”
Now I am less sure. That could be a voice, albeit a mere whisper. I try to quiet my emotions enough to listen closely. I look around. The mist and my tears combine to turn the world into a blur.
But I see something. I stand and wipe my eyes to make sure it’s not another trick of my mind. It’s not.
Near my beloved’s grave stands a mausoleum, supposedly hundreds of years old. I have only ever seen its large iron doors bolted and chained shut. But tonight, unless I am mistaken, one of them is open just a crack. A dull, gray light peeks out from inside. Mildly pleased by the distraction from my self-pity, I step closer to investigate.
I open the door and peer in. The white light is not bright by any means, but compared to the pitch blackness outside it takes my eyes some moments to adjust. I step into the chamber. The door shuts behind me of its own accord.
The chamber is empty except for two items. The first is a stone coffin, elegantly carved with inscriptions that I can’t begin to understand.
The second thing I see is a woman.
She is the source of the dim light. She sits atop the coffin with her slender legs crossed. My gaze, working from her toes up, takes in her black, toeless high heels, the thigh-high stockings that hug her long legs, the black panties, the black corset that pushes up her delicate breasts and contrasts beautifully with her pale skin, the large precious white gem that hangs from her feminine neck.
Then I see her eyes. They’re almond-shaped, dark, and strangely kind. Her black-painted lips curve at the corners to give a smile that’s both mischievous and welcoming. Her hair, not quite long enough to touch her shoulders, frames her lovely narrow face. Its strands are dark at the roots but gradually lighten until it’s white at the tips.
Without a word, she beckons me forward. In fact, she doesn’t do anything. But I feel compelled and I obey.
She spreads her legs for me to stand between and holds my face with her cold, soft hands. She whispers, almost without moving her lips, “She’s safe. She’s with me.” She pulls me closer. Our noses almost touch and I can feel her breath against my lips.
“She’s in a world of pleasure you can’t possibly imagine,” she says. “And she wants you to be free.”
As she utters her last word she kisses me. Her lips are cold, but her touch isn’t painful or uncomfortable. It’s more refreshing than anything I have ever felt.
She runs her long fingers through my hair and, breaking our kiss, pushes me to my knees. A sweet scent emanates from between her legs, the black fabric barely covering her pussy lips. She pulls me into her and as my lips meet her mound I am overtaken by ravenous hunger.
Something animalistic takes over. I rip the fabric to the side and my tongue slides eagerly between her labia. Even her wetness is refreshingly cool. She’s sweet and tangy in a way no mortal woman could be. My tastebuds tingle as if they were being electrocuted. Her clit is hard against my lips as I suck. She pulls me into her by my hair so hard that I feel my nose might shatter against her pelvis. And I don’t care.
“Yes,” she encourages me as I wrap my arms around her legs to pull myself deeper into her. “Give yourself to me!”
As she speaks those words, the animal in me grows even more enraged. My body is no longer my own. My anger, my despair, and my lust, all have dominated my reason and now control my actions.
I leap to my feet and jerk her off the coffin. As I spin her around, yank her thong down to her ankles, and violently bend her over the cold stone, the white light shifts to a dull, blood-red.
I waste no time in dropping my pants and shoving my cock deep into her pussy. It contracts around me, refusing to let me pull out even if I wanted to. Gradually, she releases me just enough for me to piston my hips, sliding in and out of her cool, slick wetness. My pelvis slaps her asscheeks. Her flesh ripples and glows red in the light. Her winking asshole is a deep purple.
She half moans, half chants, “Kalimae enzayo…kalimae enzayo…” With each utterance, I pick up the pace, almost as if her pussy is pulling me into her. I grab her hair with both hands and pull, yanking her head back. She gurgles, “Kalimae enzayo!”
My sweat pours onto her back as my anger reaches its peak. I growl, I scream, I pull, I fuck.
She whips her head around to stare at me, ripping her hair free from my grasp. She no longer has pupils or irises. Her eyes are glowing orbs of red fire. With a final, unearthly shriek that shakes the ground I stand on, she cries, “KALIMAE ENZAYO!”
This is no mere orgasm. My ejaculate is more than my seed. It is my pain, frustration, anger, and despair, gushing out of me to spill into her receptive womb. I feel as if it will never end, as if this climax will carry me through the next million years.
Finally, it does end. I slowly open my eyes. My fingertips bleed where they grip the stone coffin. My knees shake, but there is no one between them.
She’s gone.
I turn to face the entrance. The door to the chamber is open again. And I am, in every sense of the word, free.
