Page 23 of Formaldehyde

I place the needle down onto the table then brush over the stitches with my fingers to admire my handiwork. “Perfect.”

Alina’s foot grows warm under my touch and I use my thumb to massage the sole, feeling the skin ripple like a leather jacket. It slips over her flesh like an ill-fitted suit but it doesn’t deter me from running both of my hands over her ankles, brushing over the patches of flaking skin on her knees then towards her cold thighs. My hands slip easily in between the thick flesh and with a bit of force, I manage to pry her open like a forbidden gift.

Bones crack and skin tears like thin paper at the crease of her frozen pussy. The sight should have me turning back from this sickening act, I should walk away now and forget it all, I should put a bullet in my brain to end everything, instead it has the opposite effect on me.

I’m fucking starving for her. I want to taste what’s hidden in between her cold slabs of meat. My mouth practically waters at the sight of my sister’s frozen cunt. Water droplets like shining diamonds gather on her raw chicken-like lips, getting lost inside the smattering of dark hair she has there.

Moving like a rabid dog, I grip the flesh of her thighs and drag her body to the edge of the table. The seam between her pussy and thigh tears even more, thin strings of sinew and flesh stretch between the gap but I can’t stop. I won’t. I’ll fix her later, give her a new leg or something, I just need to taste her.

Alina’s leg hangs on by a literal thread but I’m already pulling her pussy lips apart now. The meaty flesh cracks as I spread her open like a book to reveal her pearly clit. Wetness gathers under her marbled hood from her body temperature warming up, and I use it to lubricate her opening. She’s a tight squeeze but with a gentle probe, the tip of my finger slips inside easily and I swear I can feel her gripping me. It may be the body's natural reaction but my brain is telling me, convincing me even, that she wants this.

I allow my eyes to close for a moment, savouring the feel of her luke-warm pussy around my finger. The pad of my finger traces the ridges of her walls, just like if I ran my tongue across the roof of my mouth. It’s exactly the same. Soft and spongy, ribbed for my pleasure.

A shudder wracks through my body as I try for another finger, I know my sister can take it. Her cunt was made for me and like the good little dead girl she is, she pulls me in. With my index and middle finger snug inside her, I use my other hand to make quick work of my belt and zipper, yanking them open in desperation to free my rock hard cock.

Blood boils in my veins like lava as I palm my cock, stroking in long languid strokes until pre-cum gathers at the tip between the barbell. I brush my thumb over the barbell to gather the milky liquid then spread it over the sensitive skin, causing shudders to ripple through my body, heavy breaths forcing their way between my gritted teeth with every stroke.

I moan heavily. “Alina. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

My fingers slip in and out of her pussy with ease from the warmth and with every stroke of her walls, I fuck my hand. Imagining myself sliding inside of her. Fucking my sister until she comes all over me. She’d moan my name and I’d slam into her harder until she bruises, I’d fuck her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk the day after. She’d feel me deep inside her marrow, right down into her soul.

Just like I feel for her.

Glitter begins to form behind my eyelids, bursting in bright colours as my orgasm claws at the base of my spine. It tangles around my limbs like veins, holding me hostage until hot ropes of cum splatter across my sister's blue skin. My cum rains over her thighs, seeping into the dry cracks that cover her dead skin.

My knees threaten to give way from beneath me and I let my head fall onto her legs as I come down from my orgasm. “Shit.” I grunt into her flesh and allow my erratic heart rate to calm down before I have a heart attack.

There’s no way I’m dying with my dick in my hand and my fingers stuffed deep inside my dead sister.

Once I’ve calmed my breathing down, I lift my head and take a good look at the mess I’ve made. Slimy cum begins to seep down into the middle of Alina’s thighs like the runny glue I used at primary school. It gathers into a small puddle on the cardboard box and before anymore can soak in, I slip my fingers out of her pussy and scoop up the remnants and push it inside of her.

Alina never got to experience this when she was alive, but I’ll make damn sure she gets to experience it now.

I watch with intent and lust clouding my senses as my cum pools in her opening like sweet icing on top of a cupcake. The urge to taste myself on her skin is strong but when I hear the doors of the mortuary unlocking, I’m thrown viciously into the present.

Mr Wilson told me he’d be back in a couple of days, there’s no way he’s back so soon. In a rush, I carefully close Alina’s legs, attempting not to tear the skin anymore on her loose leg and fold up the sides of the boxes before placing the lid back on, then I shove my dick back in my pants and push her back into the freezer before sealing the door behind her, then move in a haze to tidy up the medical box and place it back onto the shelf where I found it.

My heart hammers in my chest at the thought of getting caught in this inappropriate act as I rush to leave the basement and head back up the stairs, just in time to catch Mr Wilson wheeling in a trolley with a covered corpse lying on top.

His gaze flicks to mine as I stand in the doorway. “There you are, Ethan. Where have you been?” I swallow harshly and slip back into the dark demeanour I wear so well. “Cleaning up loose ends and visiting relatives. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be having some time off?” I ask, diverting the conversation.

Mr Wilson looks at me like he can see straight through me, like he can see the shameful act I’ve just performed downstairs but if he does, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he gives me a small smile then speaks. “Ah well, you know what I’m like, I can’t sit down for too long. Plus I think the wife was getting a bit fed up with me hovering around her all day.” He chuckles at his own words and a snigger tugs at my lips.

“I see. Back to work it is then?” I gesture towards the trolley he’s holding. “Who have we got?”

He releases his grip on the trolley and picks up the clipboard that’s resting on the white sheet, his eyes roam over the information as he speaks. “Young woman, Melissa Hartford. Nineteen years old, gunshot wound to the chest.”

Mr Wilson’s words wash over me because all I can hear is that a nineteen year old woman is lying underneath that sheet. Melissa might just have the perfect limbs to fix my little dead doll. I couldn’t give a shit how she died, I just wanna take a look at her leg. I need to make sure that it’ll fit Alina perfectly.

With confident strides, I meet Mr Wilson at the trolley and lift up the sheet. Immediately I’m met with a pretty girl, freckles cover her small button nose and plump lips sit perfectly on her round face.

She’s nice to look at, but not as nice as Alina.

Keeping the sheet lifted, I make it look like I’m examining the gunshot wound in the middle of her chest when really I’m mentally taking measurements of her limbs. Melissa looks roughly around the same height as Alina, same full hips and perky tits.

This corpse will do perfectly.

Clearing my throat, I place the sheet back down and push open the doors of the autopsy room to allow Mr Wilson to push the trolley inside, once he manoeuvres it into the middle of the room I go through my usual routine of scrubbing then gloving up.