The Hangman's Wife
Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Necrophilia,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Learning the tools of the trade, a deprived hangman's wife finds the utmost in pleasure with the men she has freshly executed.

It was later on when she would count the days before he would leave the house and get out of town. At night, on her own, she would wait for the next crime. Sometimes it would take weeks, even months before something occurred. And when it did, she would then hope for a hurried investigation before he would return and become involved.

A small township only ever had a small number of people skilled in dealing with criminals, and then the bodies of criminals, and she (along with some assistance of the Sheriff) would have to supervise each step thoroughly. Making sure that every stage, from the hanging to the burial, was executed in a professional manner.

She was the hangman's wife, and over time had gained professional skills as the hangman's wife, so much so that the local authorities were eventually quite happy for her to deal with some of the dirty work. For most of the time, it was dirty work. For those few other moments the work was dirty in a good way! And then she found it a reward for her!

Her love and hasty marriage to the town hangman had been borne through a necessity to survive. It had ended the minute her honeymoon had ended - so many years ago. It was after then that she found herself with a man who could not give himself to her. Often he would return from a day and fall asleep on the couch. She tried different things to entice him, but it rarely lasted. She was on an island all to herself.

She overcame her fear quite early on and would visit a body in the cool cellar. It started off through sheer curiosity. Of wanting to know things. And the earliest of these that she could recall was the body of a dead old man, left in storage. He was being kept for an overnight stay before burial the next morning. There was only one thing she felt at the time - Peace! Stillness! No fear.

Her husband had noticed her curiosity and was happy for her to become involved in his business.

But it wasn't until her second wedding anniversary, that she began to grow more frustrated. As usual, her husband was away for several weeks and she had taken up some of the things that he had instructed her. But it was only at this time when, just after dark, she first witnessed the body of a young man who had been freshly hung. His young head hunched on one side of the table.

She moved a little closer, stroking his sandy-coloured hair. Her fingers brushed over his forehead and cheeks, before touching his lips. Beneath his jawline, she gently traced the ropemark caused by the very rope that she herself had ordered around him only an hour before. Beside him now, she let the candlelight flicker down to his hairless chest. He looked but a boy. His stomach muscles showed just beneath his skin. His arms were inert on the table. Hands flat against the surface. He'd been caught horse-stealing.

The candlelight hovered over his belly and in the peripheral light she could make out the hasty shape of a loincloth one of the attendants had covered his groin with. Curious as to why the loincloth had been so hurriedly thrown over him, she gradually pulled it away and quickly learned what the term 'well hung' really meant. She put a finger to her lips and stared at it in surprise. 'You're not a boy!' she whispered softly.

Amongst the pubic patch his specimen lay on its side with hood attentively rolled back, thick and still engorged with blood. Primed for a good time! She'd never heard of a postmortem erection before, her husband never told her anything when it came to certain areas of the body. The private witnessing of it awed her. Hanging just beneath, in the shadows, was his sack - soft yet full. His wild seed now cut and cold, still showing the full, ripe promise of a man who'd just left his youth.

Only on looking back later, did she realise what was happening to her when she first looked at this young man's body. It was something that happens with many who subconsciously adore beauty in the dead and have just discovered their adoration float into a conscious object of desire - it was her hands that made the first announcement - their shaking was uncontrollable as she tried to come to terms with her feelings.

The shaking spread to her torso and continued for some time. She moved the candelabra carefully to a nearby cabinet, anxious that with any loss of light she would lose forever a man perpetually caught in her most lustful and darkest of dreams. Dark dreams where she would awaken alone, hot, enriched with her own wetness, and with nobody whom she could share herself with. She waited to still her quivering and, while waiting, committed his vulnerable, naked body (in all its tasty detail) to her memory!

Could he see himself now? She thought as her teeth began to chatter. Could he see the state of his body mocking her? His engorged penis, thick, as if still seeking urgent fulfillment from the physical world he no longer had any need for? Could he see what his body was now doing to her body? Cajoling her, teasing her, making fun of her frustrations.

Her warm body, still caught in the physical world, still chained with needs, lusts and desires. Chained without ways to sate them. Could he sense her heart now racing? Could he feel her eyes on him, eyes dark - large as a fawn's in lonely winter?

She reached for self-discipline but her lips had already grown moist and slightly parted? She reached for self-control but her nipples were already erect and pressed firm against her top? Her one last stand was simply to walk out but her sex stopped her. Her hot vulva, rubbery-soft, was already yawning with the overpowering, yet forbidden, thought of touching him, caressing his cool manhood, smearing him with her sticky nectar - a nectar bubbling deep from within her well of love!

An urgent desperation surfaced in her throat, a desperation little different from the way the man had acted before she had him dropped. She moaned with the deepest primal urge, desperately freeing herself from the chains of her clothing. Semi-naked, she leaned over his face, kissing his forehead and cheeks. Her hands stretched out over his chest.

Slowly she traced the hard nipple of her nearest warm breast across his cool lips and felt his exquisite delicate contact. She pressed him firmly against it. Her nerves tingled with the sensation. Her pulse raced from forehead to thigh.

She removed him and, squeezing, she forced part of his tongue from out of its shelter and directed his attention to both her soft breasts. She closed her eyes and felt his dead tongue attend to both, making contact with each firm nipple. 'Suck', she gave him the command in a slow, drawn-out hiss as she opened his eyes, half expecting him to obey her. She wondered if there was ever a way to make a dead man's mouth suck on her, the way she needed him to suck right now, to suck attentively while she invaded his mouth with lonely warm breast.

Her mind raced while she resisted the overwhelming desire to rub her clit. Dizzied with this new and sudden opportunity, confused with this sudden herd of fantasies galloping out from her subconscious, a foremost fantasy sprang ahead of the herd - to mount him on all fours: a tigress playing a dirty game with her freshly-killed prey!

She wanted to play with his body, to frolick with him, and she made her move and lay down close to one side, right breast against his. Her hand traced the contour of his left shoulder down to his still hand and back, before descending to his chest and stomach.

She began to kiss his cheek and mouth while her hand descended further, relishing the indecency. Her knee crossed his groin, brushing against the dead, hard prick. She reached down and straightened his taut pole, pinning the glans to his navel with her finger, before she straddled him from above, rubbing against his deliciously hard contour while caressing him from chest to groin. And how she rubbed! She rubbed slow, hard, gently, viciously, begging him not to go soft, to remain like that forever. A statue for her to mount whenever her warm cunt begged for company.

By now the quiet do-good female had left the coolroom. Nothing mattered. She was just a tigress, a ravishing predator with hot cream filling up her panties! She turned and leaned forward between his knees. Her smooth white buttocks upraised, her head lowered to catch his scent.

She sniffed his still thighs and licked her lips, before nuzzling against his groin. She could no longer contain her hunger and society no longer had its eye on what she did or how she behaved. The Sheriff may have been in town but he was asleep. No outsider could point to her or judge her from a narrow mind.

With eyes closed, her warm tongue flickered as she slid his purple head between her arced lips into her hungry mouth. She relished his smooth texture and sucked firmly on his attentive sex, while reaching down to grip his loaded scrotum fastened beneath. Thrilled with his enforced compliance, she wanted to suck the still juices from out of him via his tube-like pleasure-giving cock! To keep sucking until he was just an infertile, wrinkled sack of skin on the table. A large prune!

Her thighs trembled as she raised her butt in the air, weakened with the burden of her long-unsated groin. Her self-discipline was defeated in life by witnessing his in death. Two fingers from her right hand began to parade inside her panties, pressing firm against her swollen clit. The gorgeous noise her cunt made as she rubbed herself was too much.

She slowly lowered herself trembling onto his still face, the thin material covering her sex did little to hide his contours, she wriggled her pelvis in wide circles, feeling the tip of his nose rubbing against her soft, damp curls. Eventually she honed in, circles growing narrower, and made sweet contact. She never felt contact so intimate and private. A contact just for her own body to enjoy and experience at her own leisure. Something for her to remember in times of loneliness.

Closing her eyes to explore his features with just her thinly-veiled sex sent pulses through her back. This lifeless young man wordlessly giving her pleasure and no longer capable of demanding it in return. But now she wanted more of him, her hunger was stretching outwards. One hand reached behind to pull her panties to the side as she pressed him firmly, directly to her slit. The insides of her sex felt fiery hot with his contact as she slipped across his mouth and nose. She could tell by the sound her sex made he was most welcome there.

She urgently needed to be cooled down. She left his well-attended face and stood up carefully to remove her panties, with a quick twist she turned her body around. Sliding down his torso, she reached for the main meal and filled her insides. Her sex fluttered into life as it hungrily devoured his thick, hearty, cold length.

His sudden invited presence made her gasp. Each movement she made with him soothed her hot vagina, but it was temporary. She knew the heat would return once more to her core and invade her guest. His coolness a momentary respite for her.

She leaned over his hairless chest and gripped him tight from the inside, her complex sex muscles so delicately interwoven, experienced in testing him, measuring him up, something she'd learned to do after long nights of being alone. Her sex muscle would tighten, tug on the loose skin of his cock, and then relax. Tighten, tug and relax. She would have loved her sex to have milked him dry but the milk stayed put.

She relaxed her grip and began long hard strokes followed by short shallow ones to butter her lips, she rotated, twisted, rocked, until every inch of her niche had caressed a part of him in some place or another. He was still hard, but she knew that he wouldn't last like that for much longer, a guy without a heartbeat could not keep that up.

She began to lengthen her strokes and pump him harder, the sound of her sex gulping him filled the cooling room and her body began to shiver with the sound, something her husband would have told her to stop enjoying, to stop entirely.

She let the sound continue, she amplified the sound by taking him on odd angles, filling the small room with the din of a primal feast. Releasing him briefly to occupy her front, she rubbed against his thickness harder and harder until she felt the rocking ferocity of her first, long-awaited orgasm with a dead man...

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Story tagged with:
Necrophilia /