A literotic sexstories: Rape In A Cemetery by AnneDrown ,
A woman searches for a grave stone but finds a rapist.
It was a bleak day. A gray sheet obscured the sky.
Rain drizzled. She could have waited until a better day, but she wanted to have pictures of John Blackthorne’s grave site to show her students on Monday. That was when she was going to introduce them to the poetry of that obscure, eighteenth century American poet. She felt her introduction would be more interesting to them once they knew Blackthorne had been a local and was buried in nearby Iron Gate Cemetery.
She glanced at the engagement ring on her finger and smiled. Her boyfriend, Brad, had proposed to her last night. He had asked her to set the day. She thought early spring would be nice. Just when everything was coming into bloom. When all was fresh and new.
She was twenty-five and into her third year of teaching. The most attractive and popular female teacher, by far, at Crockett High. What her students would call a knockout. She usually wore her straw-colored hair pulled back into a bun to give herself a more mature, sophisticated look. Without makeup, she could have easily passed as one of her students. The face was sensitive and intelligent with blue, sparkling eyes.
As she drove through the iron-gated entrance of the cemetery, she hummed along to a bouncy, little tune playing on the radio and waved cheerily to the guard standing in the doorway of the keep.
He must think it strange for someone to visit on a day like today, she thought, for it certainly was gloomy. The grey tombs and monuments, streaked with centuries of lichen, were depressing to look at.
She knew that in the springtime the cemetery became a favourite trysting place for lovers. But in the middle of November there wasn’t likely to be many about.
The cemetery was huge, almost four thousand acres. She remembered reading about it, once, in the Sunday supplement. There were trees of all kinds, but mostly oaks and maples. The newer section of the cemetery was on the other side, where there were only bronze plaques sunk into the ground to commemorate the dearly departed. Here, in the old section, towering obelisks, gothic and neoclassical monuments, tombstones and huge Ionian and Corinthian columns competed with sphinxes, cupids, and simpering angels to form a virtual maze around her as she drove deeper down one winding lane after another.
She had called the cemetery office the day before to get the location of the gravesite, and they had faxed her a map. But many of the lane signs were so badly faded with age that she couldn’t read them. Some were missing entirely.
She was beginning to think she might never find it, when, suddenly, she recognized the name of a sign that was within a stones throw of the site, at least, according to the map.
She pulled her car over to the side of the lane and got out, after picking up her camera case. Nearby, between two gothic tombs, with snarling gargoyles on their corners, was an old, red brick path that descended down a terraced slope. Towering oaks shrouded it, their bare branches dripping clear, crystal drops from the rain.
Marie popped open her black umbrella and started down the path cautiously, for the bricks were slippery from being worn smooth over the ages. She regretted having worn her high-heeled sandals instead of her joggers, but then it hadn’t been raining when she’d left the house. At least she’d had enough sense to put on her grey raincoat, she told herself.
Marie wasn’t a superstitious person, but as she passed close by a life-sized stone angel, she could not help feeling that its stone eyes were watching her and that its stone arms were reaching out to her.
The dead were everywhere, and she felt their presence. An unpleasant thought crossed her mind, for a moment, that someday she, too, would be lying under her own press of earth. It was a horrible thought. She tried to think of something more pleasant, like her wedding in the spring. But the gloom of the surroundings settled upon her like an ill omen, and she determined to get her pictures as soon as possible and leave this sullen place.
Chapter 2
The Watcher
Tom Logan sat in the entrance way of one of the numerous, grey tombs, where he was sheltered from the drizzle, and took an occasional, sparing, sip of Heaven Hill. It would have to last, he thought dolefully, for he didn’t have anymore money. Flat broke, busted, nada zip zap.
He dreaded the thought of having to go back out on the street and hustle for money. It was too much work. And he wasn’t as young as he used to be.
He sighed, then farted loudly and stared down at his fat coarsely hairy belly, where it stuck out from the hem of his dirty, grey T-shirt. Once when he was younger, his belly had been rock hard, but that had been a lot of years ago. Too much booze and too much junk food.
But he no longer cared about his figure. He stroked the stubble of wiry beard along his jaw. He would be perfectly happy to set here in the goddamned cemetery for the rest of his life if…if only he had enough whiskey to keep a permanent buzz going.
But that wasn’t going to happen in the real world. In the real fucking world you had to get off your real fucking ass and hustle, and most of the time you didn’t get Jack Shit for it! Fuck it all anyway.
He was just another tomb rat. One of the many dispossessed, the homeless who hung out in the cemetery for shelter when they weren’t bumming from strangers on the streets or eating out of filthy dumpsters.
It was good to have a bottle of whiskey on a rainy day.
A little pussy wouldn’t be bad either.
As he tilted his head back for another, he caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, like the flash that a camera makes.
Chapter 3
The Lovers
” Why don’t we go to the cemetery,” Brad suggested.
” You mean and fuck like last time?” Liza smiled.
” That’s exactly what I mean,” Brad replied.
Liza was sitting on the sofa in a pair of white short shorts and a blue halter top. She lay down the romance novel she’d been reading and gave him a conspiratorial look.
” What would Marie think,” she said, after a moment of contemplation, ” if she knew you were fucking me?”
” What Marie doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Brad said, leaning over and playfully tweaking her slightly up-turned nose.
” But didn’t you just propose to her last night?” she continued, batting her long, dark eyelashes exaggeratedly with a look of mock hurt.
Brad grunted. ” You know what I like about you, Liza? You’re just like me.”
” Then why aren’t you proposing to me?” She said with pretend hurt, but the gay gleam in her eyes gave her away.
” Because you are just like me!”
She laughed sensuously at this and nodded in agreement. ” But we are good in bed together.”
” You’ve got that right,” Brad agreed.
” Besides,” she warned, ” if we ever got married you’d have to give me a real diamond, not fucking paste like you gave Marie.”
” She’ll never know the difference; she’s too trusting to ever take it to a jeweler and have it appraised.”
” You know, what gets me is what you see in her. Oh, sure, she’s got a great body and all, but she’s so damn naive; what’s the word? Sweet and innocent. True blue, dedicated and all that. She thinks her students love her, when what they really want is to fuck her–and that includes a lot of the female students, too.”
” I know. I know, but think about it. It’s because she is sweet and innocent that I want to marry her. Think about what fun I can have corrupting her. Or should I say we?
” We?”
” Sure, baby. We’re a team and always will be,” Brad said, placing his hands around her firm, narrow waist and pulling her toward him. She placed her hands on his muscular chest.
” After the honeymoon’s over,” he went on, ” I’ll invite you over and the three of us can get real cozy. We’ll get her drunk and–”
Liza interrupted him with a passionate kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth. ” Oh, God, baby, you’re turning me on.” she gasped when she pulled back.
” You know what would also be a turn on?” she continued. ” We could arrange a little gang bang for her….with some of her students…”
” Or maybe a rape-torture scenario,” Brad said, tapping her again on the tip of her nose with his finger. ” There are one or two hard cases I represented in court who owe me some favours.”
” God, we’re evil,” she said, grinning.
She put her hand on his crotch and squeezed softly feeling the hardness. ” Let’s go to the cemetery, baby; you’ve got me hot, and we’ve never fucked in the rain before.”
Chapter 4
The Gravesite
About halfway down the terraced slope, Marie realized that she was lost. The jumbled mass of old stones and monuments bore no resemblance to the neat, precise layout of the cemetery map. If the map could be counted on at all, then Blackthorne’s grave had to be somewhere off to her left, about a hundred feet. She would just have to search around until she found it.
Beneath the tall, sheltering oaks, the grass grew sparsely. Most of the ground was a muddy gruel. She took her sandals off and stepped between a row of tombstones, feeling the cool mud squish up between her toes as she moved to her left. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, she realized, almost sensuous, in fact.
Some of the tombstones were surrounded by rusty, iron fences with spear points. Others were grey slabs laid upon the ground or coffin-shaped sepulchres presided around by a host of simpering angels and naked, winged, smiling cupids. To Marie, the smiles seemed malevolent rather than comforting. She moved among them cautiously, in the slippery mud, with her camera case slung over one shoulder and her shoes held in her hand, her breath fogging the still, misty air. Far off, she heard the faint caw of a crow.
She wandered about for close to an hour, then, almost without realizing it, she found herself standing before a tall, Latin cross made of white marble. Climbing vines had been carved into its surface. On the base she saw the name, Blackthorne.
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