After a very frustrated husband slays his wife she returns from the dead to haunt him. It turns out that attacking a Supernatural fan is a poor idea.
This story was written after a conversation with my girlfriend about our shared love for informative murder porn. She is aware and has consented to my writing of this and knows that I wouldn't actually want to harm her in real life. The initial segment is based off an actual conversation we had.
Fiora lay on the soft springy bed, her brown arms wrapped around her boyfriend's head. She'd just come back from her work trip to Spain and she was completely exhausted. Her plane had come back very late the previous day and she'd had to wake up early when the new builders came in and she'd had dozens of emails sent to her to catch up on, on the weekend no less. They really didn't respect her personal time.
She ran her fingers through her brown hair. It felt thick and luscious at the base, thin and threadlike at the bottom. She was going natural soon. For most of her life she'd had chemically and heat straightened hair and that had really damaged it. She was starting to grow it out and the differences were obvious. Her mother had never really-
Oh, he was shifting. She lifted her breast out of the way and her boyfriend snuggled into a better position.
- cared enough to let her have natural hair. She'd gotten so mad at this. It was just hair. She didn't even know how it would look. She'd seen enough youtube videos. Would he like it? Would he hate it? It was permanent, black women didn't grow hair at any reasonable rate, what if he hated her when she cut it. She'd have to stop him.
“I think I too would have to use poison to kill you if I had to do it for some reason.”
Her boyfriend peered up at her., his face confused
“Sorry? Could you repeat that?”
“I said, If I was going to kill you, then I'd use poison. You know, like in the movie.” In Spain at the hotel there'd been an English movie TV channel which showed a movie, This is Forty. The wife had discussed how to kill her partner with her partner.
“What sort of poison?”
“Ricin maybe. Then I could take care of you and you'd be all sweet and grateful till the end that I was helping you with it all.” Her boyfriend shook his head.
“Ricin has a pretty fast action. It messes up your immune system and you die from opportunistic infections. You'd be taking care of me for just a few days. I'd recommend the old favorite, arsenic. At the right dose you could keep me alive for months before my death.”
“Yeah, but it's pretty detectable. In the hair, urine and such, especially with chronic exposure.”
“That's a problem, yeah. How would you want me to take you out if I had to kill you?”
She glanced down at her grinning boyfriend. He looked very nice. He had very shapely shoulders and well cut short brown hair that she adored. But she wasn't going to help him kill her. She ran her hands down his hairy chest, feeling the muscle beneath.
“I'd prefer if you didn't kill me.”
“Well, yes, that would be better, but suppose I just had to take you out.”
“Just leave. If you feel that way, just go. I won't stop you.”
“Come now, be fair. Yes, I agree, talking it out is better, but suppose we couldn't do that anymore. What then?”
“I'd probably prefer a quick death. Make it quick. My hell would be like, a muscle relaxant that meant you couldn't do anything and you just felt yourself die.”
“Maybe an opium overdose would work well?”
“Doesn't that leave you in the same state?”
“Not if you take enough. A sword might work too.”
“I heard people can remain conscious for a while after decapitation. Like, in the french revolution decapitees would blink after you said their name .”
Her boyfriend nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Maybe a combination of the two? Or a few good stabs.”
“I'd so haunt you if you killed me though.”
“Haunt my penis?”
“No, you. I'd make sure you stayed safe. I'd deflect the police from you, I wouldn't want you jailed or dead, joining me forever. I'd want your suffering to be long. Every night you'd wake up knowing how bad your actions were. If you tried to kill yourself I'd let the police know. I'd never leave you.”
“Why not, err, forgive and move on? That's the Christian thing to do isn't it? Go to better things.
“Because life isn't about forgiving. It's about mercilessly pursuing and hurting those who did you wrong. Life is a competition, and I intend to win it.”
Charles gave me a wink, shook his head and spoke again. “Good luck.”
She felt her boyfriend's hands reach to her panties, his fingers circling around the area just above her clit. She hurriedly pushed him away.
“Really, Charles? You're doing this now?”
He pressed his fingers to his nose.
“You smell wet, my dear Fiora.”
“No I don't.”
He held her fingers up to her nose. She could smell her pussy on them. It was a pretty strong scent.
Charles spoke again, looking up at her with his warm green eyes, a look of lust clearly visible across his face, hand running around her thighs. “Mind if I help you along? You don't have to have sex. I just want to make you horny.”
That old trick. Still, he did look good. She really liked the way he looked in his new shirt. He looked hot.
“Sure.”
After some awkward tugging and twisting she took her lacey thong off. Then he lifted up her legs and pressed his mouth to her pussy. He began doing long, slow licks. Her toes flicked up as pulses of pleasure ran through her. She let out a moan.
“That feels good.”
“Mmm, mm”
He continued that, long slow laps up her pussy, his big tongue sliding over her. It felt so good, she felt so good. He started flicking his tongue from side to side, and she felt a sudden burst of pleasure, to the point of being mildly uncomfortable.
“Too much.”
He stopped, and went back to licking her pussy up and down. She pressed her hand to his head, stroking his soft brown hair. He looked really cute. He started licking harder and faster and gently rubbing the outside of her pussy with a finger and she started bucking into his mouth, grinding against him. He knew just how to please her.
“I'm close.”
“Come my love. I want to feel your wet juices in my mouth.”
A mind wrenching pulse of pleasure ran through her. Her thighs clenched up, pushing against Charles' muscles, her toes rolled down, and her vision went blurry.
“Ah ahh hahh. That was a good one.”
Charles slowly got up, and kissed her, his lips still stained with her juices. She tasted good. He started to grind his cock against her wet slit, sending fresh pulses of pleasure through her still tingling body.
“Stick your tongue out.” He ordered her.
She stuck her tongue out and he started to suck on it. It felt so wow when he did that, made her mind all fuzzy.
Then he got up, and pressed his cock to her lips.
“Taste your cunt. Taste your cunt on my cock.”
She obliged (as you do, it's hard to say no to a cock in your face) and started to run her tongue around the tip while she pumped the shaft with her hand. Her boyfriend smiled down at her and his cock pulsed in her mouth.
“You feel good.”
She smiled and swished her head from side to side.
“Mmm mmm mmm.” It was hard to speak with a penis filling your mouth.
He then pulled out of her mouth and reached to the drawer there. From there he drew her small purple vibrator and some lube. She could have sex without lube, but it was a lot less pleasurable.
He poured out some lube in his hand, and rubbed it over his crotch and cock. She liked him really really wet.
“Get on your knees.”
She turned round, and pushed her rear up in the air. Then he pressed his cock to her pussy and started rubbing the outside, covering her with his wetness. He handed her the vibrator, which she soon put to use pleasuring her clit.
They soon settled into a routine, him fucking her from behind while her pussy shook with the vibrations running through it. She let out little moans of pleasure, and soon, still riding on the pleasure from her last orgasm, came again.
“Did you come?”
“Yeah, I did. That feels great.” She said, swaying with happiness.
Charles went around her and sat down on the bed.
“Sit on me.” He liked this position. He could get very deep in her, and she could slide her clit across his wet crotch.
She sat on him, easily sliding his cock inside her, and began bucking against him.
“I want to make you come. How can I help?”
“You could tell me about the time you had lesbian sex with your step sister again.” Him and his obsession with lesbians. It totally didn't count as making her lesbian anyway, she'd been young. But it made him happy.
“It's been half an hour. We're already late for the Avengers!”
The eyebrows were the most important thing. If she left them as they were now she'd look constantly surprised through the movie. She just needed a few more tweaks.
“Fiora!”
“Just a minute!”
“Fuck this.” Charles came into their room, a long silver katana in his hand, part of his sword collection.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm getting real tired of your shit. This is the last straw.”
And, with a swipe of his blade, her head was cut clean off. A stab or two later and her vision went dark.
She looked around. There was a trail of blood leading to the fridge.
She waved her hand through the handle. It went through with only mild resistance. She waved her hand through a few times. She was apparently intangible.
She took a few breathes, though she likely didn't need them. Focusing, she reached her hand to the handle again. Her hand slowly became solid and she got a grip. She opened it.
Inside were brown limbs, hands, breasts, a head. All neatly cut apart. And there in the middle was her head.
She screamed, flitting around from side to side.
“That fucker. Charles killed me? That fucker!”
She slammed her fist into the counter, smashing a hole in it. Then she reached into her cupboard and drew out a lighter. She then flew up through the ceiling with it into their room.
She threw open the closet. All their clothes were there, all the sexy ones she'd bought specially for him. She yanked them out, tossed them on the counter and set them on fire. The flame smelt beautiful.
Screaming with rage she yanked open closets, short circuited wires, and smashed up the room as much as she could. She yanked down the red curtains, smashed every photo of them- at the theme park, in her beautiful vera wang wedding dress, standing amidst the flowers.
Someone opened a door behind her. She span round, a shard of glass in her hand. It was him. Charles.
“You're a ghost.”
She flew at him, hands outstretched. She'd hurt him.
He dived around her, into the room, whisps of ectoplasm splattering across his face. She span around and slashed at him with the glass. He pulled an arm up, and took a bloody slash across his arm.
“We can talk.” He said, holding his blood red arm in front of him.
She slammed past his arm, intangible again, and punched him in the face. He fell onto his back and slammed into the floor.
“You want to talk?” She stabbed down at him with the glass shard. He rolled around, just taking a deep slash on his side.
She continued, her voice filled with rage. “See, we're talking!”
Charles rolled to the side and backed away towards the bed. She charged towards him again.
He stabbed his hands into his pockets and then, somehow, grabbed her. She couldn't go intangible. With a twist he tossed her into the bed. She felt resistance from it. She couldn't move. She was stuck in it, her rear sticking out the top, her head sticking out halfway down the bed.
“Iron springs. They bind ghosts.”
She struggled and struggled, and almost got free, till suddenly she felt a resistance. Charles had a salt shaker and was drawing a circle around her, pouring the white powder down around her.
“Salt too. Thank you, Supernatural.”
She felt the energy drain from her. She stopped fighting and hung loose.
“Today I died. You killed me, you ended it. I've lost the house, my job, you.” She sobbed. “All of it. It's gone.”
Charles studied her for a little while, lifted up her ghostly skirt and unzipped his pants, drawing out his long, hard cock.
“Well then, I guess today is really not your lucky day.”