I wear nothing beneath the pantyhose; shorn even of my strawberry bush by morticians you realize likely took liberties with me already. Your hand slip... underneath the waist of the nylons, and you marvel at the smoothness of my mound. No matter the fucking the morticians may have given me, they at least cleaned me up well.You fingers play for a moment at my lips--one on each side, with your middle finger rubbing at their slightly parted opening. Gently, as you did when I was once alive, your. ’ Rosie was astraddle me, pinning me down again and positioning herself over my erection. Fuck, she was actually coming on to me. She moved ever so slightly, knowing full well her covered up pussy was moving against my covered up hardness. ‘So, wrestle me Ben, while you’re thinking about it.’ Her grip on my wrists slackened and she was no longer pressing my hands fully against the carpet. For once in a very long time we wrestled like it was for fun, no bad mood, no PMS, no argument. Rosie. More

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