Chapter 49: The Funeral of Derek Sullivan

Derek Sullivan has died. 

He had a heart attack when he saw photos of three boys gang banging his wife, Valerie, around the back of the local Kebab shop.

Valerie lives at number 28 Red Lion Street. You can read all of her stories here.

Valerie is 51, I'm 41. She has teased me for half her life. She's wanked me. She's blown me. She's let me do everything.

But we've never fucked. She says she will one day. I don't believe her.

A month ago Valerie asked me to find three boys to fuck her in a back alley. She asked me to take photos. Things got out of hand.

Valerie gave her husband the photos. And then he died.

I love weddings. People dress sexy at weddings.

Some people dress even sexier at funerals. Wrong people.

I walked into the Church. Funerals are a place for dark nylon and tasteful high heels. 

I saw Tessa, who lives at number 13, sitting on a pew at the back of the church. 

We sometimes flirted. We both knew we’d never fuck. That made the flirting better. 

She wore a see through blouse and tight a tight vest top that revealed the shape of her heavy breasts. Her pillarbox red lips matched her flame red hair.  Her face was covered by a black net widows veil. 

I bet those pouty lips sucked like a Dyson. 

Underneath she wore a too tight black pencil skirt, a deep split ran up the thigh of her right leg, revealing the red top of her black opaque stockings. Underneath all of this she sported the most ridiculous shoes, all shiny, black and patent with ruffles on the front and 5.5” heels that could kill. 

Tessa is real. She writes erotic fiction. You can read it here.

My dick grew hard. 

'I hardly think that is appropriate for a funeral do you?' said Tessa looking at the bulge in my trousers. 

'Well what the fuck do you expect looking like that? It’s a provocative way to dress for a funeral.'

'I’m being respectful, I’ve made a real effort today, Derek was a really special person and always appreciated my sense of dress. I haven’t really changed what I usually wear, this is pretty standard fare for me, a girl has to feel presentable.' 

Taking out a pocket mirror, she twisted her lipstick up and re-applied the red tint to her lips. 

'Nobody wears this kind of thing all the time. That’s just a wank fantasy. It doesn’t happen' I said. 

'I beg to differ good Captain. Just because you happen to get... hard... because of what I wear, doesn’t mean that’s why I do it. Has it ever occurred to you that I wear what I like because I like it? 

I like nice things, I like quality materials against my skin, I have very soft, sensitive skin, and well, the softer the material, the better I feel. There’s just something so... sensual, about the feeling of soft satin or silk against the naked flesh.' 

Her eyes went distant as she was obviously thinking very hard about it. 

'Satin and lace panties, soft nylon sizzling as I pull them slowly over my calves and thighs, why suffocate the flash of colour of expensive panties by encasing them in tights? It just wouldn’t be right. Besides, sometimes, panties are simply not necessary.' 

Narrowing her eyes at my bulging cock she sighed. 'But of course, explaining this doesn’t assist with that does it?' and gestured at my throbbing dick. 

I shook my head and walked on.

The church was getting full. At the front by the altar I saw Lois. Lois lives at number 9. Lois was kneeling, praying with some rosary beads in her hand. 

Lois is a sweet young religious girl. She goes to church every Saturday with her family, it's a tradition. 

Lois is a tiny thing. Only 5 feet tall but but a perfect compact shape. This perfect little girl has beautiful, heavy natural tits and long black hair. She's 22. She looks even younger.

Lois is real. You can find her on Twitter here.

'Are you ok Lois?' I asked. She looked upset.

'Captain, do I look like a prostitute to you?'

Lois was dressed in a smart black satin dress. In truth it was probably a little too short.

She wore smart, black, high heels. She did look a little like a prostitute, but one that I couldn't afford.

'No, not at all,' I lied.

'A man came up to me,' said Lois. 'He asked if I was Derek's prostitute. I said, no. He said he would be happy to take up my services.'

'Take no notice, Lois. Men are brutes.'

'I try to be good, Captain but sometimes I need to do bad things.'

'Like what?'

'I'm not wearing panties. I like wearing no panties to church.'

'Do you believe in God, Lois?'

'Very much,' said Lois. 'But sometimes when I dress for church I just leave my panties off. I want to be available. I want my cunt out.'

'Bless you,' I said.

'It is a blessing,' said Lois. 'I see my cunt very much as a blessing. So why do I feel so bad?'

'You should go to confession,' I said.

'I have already,' said Lois. 'I got here early to speak to Father.'

'You confessed?'

'I have a lot to confess,' said Lois. 'and I love the confession booth.'

'Why?' 

'I can feel God when I'm in there. He knows what I am. I can let out my sins and I have so very, many sins. Nasty secrets. When I'm there alone, with the voice behind the screen. The voice of a man of God. I can be who I am. A whore. God knows I'm a whore.'

'What did you tell the priest?'

'When I was young I would go to the Church when no-one was there. I would take boys to the church and fool with them. I would blow them in the belfry. I would screw on the grass in the cloister. I would spread my legs and lie back on the altar. 

I fancied the boys but I fancied my priest even more. Me and this guy found the room where the priest kept his robes. I made him dress as the priest. He fucked me in holy robes. It was the worst I've ever been.'

'And you told the father this today? In confession?'

'I told him,' said Lois. 'I told him with my legs open whilst I played with myself.'

'What did the priest say?' 

'He said he could smell me,' said Lois. 'The priest said he could smell my cunt.'

'Jesus Christ.'

'He said that too. He said I was the devil's whore. He said he had to beat the devil out of me.'

'How did that make you feel?'

'It made my nasty, whore cunt even wetter, Captain. He took me to his room. He gripped my hand so tightly.

He made me bend over his knee. He pulled my dress up.

He saw I was wearing no panties.

He called me a whore.

He called me devil.

He spanked me.

He hit me hard.

Really hard.

My heart raced.

My cunt tingled.

He called me a slattern.

He called me a witch's imp.

He called me a tramp.

He hit so hard.

He spanked with anger.

But my bad nasty cunt just got wetter.

Fuck, it feels so good to be punished.

So fucking good.

He really hurt me.

He really spanked me.

And whilst I was over his knee.

I could feel his cock grow.

Pushing into my belly.

He was old enough to be my grandfather.

I could feel his old man cock stiffen into my belly.

And that just made him madder.

Made him spank harder.

Made my cunt wetter.

It stung, it really stung.

But it was so sweet, I knew I was being used. I knew loved it.

I wanted to be used.

It was heaven.

We're all going to hell, Captain.'

'I don't believe in any of that, Lois,' I said.

'I wish I didn't,' said Lois.

I left Lois alone with her prayers and sat down in the pews.

It was a lovely service.

Afterwards every one left but Valerie stayed at the front, staring at the casket.

I walked up to her.

'Do you want to be alone?' I asked.

'No stay,' said Valerie.

Valerie was dressed to please as always: strappy black heels, tight black dress and sheer, black hold ups.

'What happened?' I asked.

'After those three guys fucked me in the alley I presented your photos to my husband as a present.'

'They didn't just fuck you Valerie, they raped you.'

'It all went too far. Perhaps some fantasies are meant to come true, but I wanted me husband to see. I wanted him to see his fifty year old wife get fucked by three teenagers.'

'Did he like the photos?'

'He couldn't speak. He just held them in his hands and trembled. I knelt down in from of him and unwrapped his cock. He was fully hard and erect. I took him in my mouth. I sucked him off. I wanked him. And he came. I swallowed my husbands junk and it tasted beautiful.

When I looked up he was dead. Stone cold dead.

He'd had a heart attack as he came in my mouth.

You see I can't ever really be sad.

It was a perfect death.

If I close my eyes I can still taste him.'

'Fucking shit,' I said.

'They were his last words, funnily enough.'

We stood there in silence for a while. It was an awkward situation what with everything that had passed between us.

'Captain?' said Valerie.

'Yes?' 

'Fuck me.'

'Where?'

'In my cunt.'

'No where?'

'Here on top of my dead husbands coffin. In the church.'

'Finally,' I said.

Valerie turned around. I unzipped her dress. Pulled it down to her waist. 

She turned back to face me. She wore no bra. She didn't need to. Valerie had amazing tits. She was proud of them.

She pushed them out.

She pulled her dress up. 

She wore no knickers.

She was old, but her cunt was still perfect.

She got up on Derek's coffin. She lay back. She spread her legs.

'The coffin is fucking height,' said Valerie. 'I made sure.'

Valerie lay back and opened her legs.

I got my hard dick out and eased it inside her.

I can't lie, she wasn't the tightest fuck. Or the youngest. Or even the best.

But I had been masturbating about this woman for thirty years.

For almost every day of my life I had watched this temptress clip, clop down my street.

In her tight skirts, skimpy blouses and impractical heels.

Don't you have someone like that in your life?

The forbidden fuck?

The wife's friend?

The work colleague?

The neighbour?

This was the fuck I'd wanted all my life.

Valerie from across the road. I was fucking her on top of her dead husband's coffin. She moved her hips with me. She arched her back. She pushed her tits up. She gasped. I threw my full length into her. My full fucking length.

I fucked her hard.

I fucked her rough.

Valerie said very little. She just stared me straight into the eye and said, 'Fuck me, fuck me hard. Fuck me hard on my dead husband's coffin.'

'Fuck, you delicious whore. Why did you make me wait so long,' I asked.

'You weren't ready,' she said. 'Come out.'

'Why?' I said.

'Turn me round,' she said. 'Fuck my shit hole.'

'Really?' I asked.

'I want something that big, up my anus. Now.'

I pulled out. We got off the casket. Valerie leant against it.

She pulled her arse cheeks apart. She made her arsehole gape.

She turned around, looked at me and said, 'please?'

I entered her. I went in easily.

I fucked my dream woman.

I fucked her hard up the arse.

I fucked her in a church next to her husband's corpse.

She turned and looked at me.

She said, 'Some women can't come through anal, but I can.'

'Really?' I said.

'You have to fuck me, fast for a long time, when I say stop, you mustn't. You have to send me over the brink.'

Older people fuck better than young people. We fuck longer and harder.

I fucked Valerie and looked up at the ceiling of the church. We were out of control.

We were losing our minds.

All semblance of reason was reason was leaving our shallow minds.

We were demented fuck robots.

We didn't care who we hurt, who saw or what happened.

We were just programmed to rut and fuck and buck and moan.

Valerie did say stop. Several times.

She cried out stop.

She cried, 'Jesus please stop.'

She howled, 'I've changed my mind, I really, really can't take it anymore. Please stop.'

Then she whined, 'Holy fuck, so close, so close, so close, so close, so close, so close, so close, so close, so close, so close, so close!'

I said, 'Come, whore.'

'I am! I am! I am! I am! I am! I am! I am! I am! I am!'

Valerie came hard. Her arsehole clenched tight. I shot a bucket of spunk up her contracting back hole.

I fell out of her and onto the stone floor exhausted.

But Valerie climbed up onto the coffin.

She squatted on it in her heels.

She pulled her arse cheeks open and let the jizz dribble out of her spent arsehole.

My cum fell out of her arse onto the wood.

Valerie got on her knees and started licking up my cum off her husbands casket.

I love living on this street.

But something has to stop.