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Easing his pain

Emily takes a shortcut on her way home and finds something she didn't expect
Dark, scary graveyard or safe, well lit road? Which route to take home seemed like a clear cut choice but the shortcut through the grave yard was so much quicker. Oh screw it! What could possibly go wrong?

I pushed open the gate and started along the path. The full moon climbed high in the sky casting an ethereal glow to light my way, bright enough to cast shadows. The summer night was cool but not cold. Crickets chirped in the grass, slowly becoming the only sound as I moved deeper into the solitude.

Near the centre I paused, listening to the sounds of the night. The sweet smell of jasmine hung on the air and the pale moonlight made everything seem a little bit like a dream. A soft breeze tickled strands of my coppery hair that had fallen from the messy bundle I’d clipped at the back of my head. This place wasn’t scary at all, it was beautiful. I closed my eyes, just letting the feeling soak in, and heard… crying?

I opened my eyes and looked around for the source. I couldn’t see anyone so I listened again. It was faint, but I definitely heard soft, gasping sobs. I took a few steps down the path towards the sound.

“Hello?” I called, softly.

The sobbing continued and I followed the sound until I saw a figure kneeling by a grave. Should I see if they were okay? I mean sure, someone crying over a grave in a cemetery wasn’t exactly unheard of, but, in the middle of the night? What if they were planning to hurt themselves or something?

I crept closer. “Hello? Are you okay?”

The figure tensed, startled by my voice, and turned to look over his shoulder. I could see it was a man now. His eyes glistened in the moonlight. He looked about my age, early-twenties, with dark eyes and a rough dusting of beard.

“What you want?” he asked, hoarsely, as if his grief caught in his throat.

“I heard you, I… I don’t know, I guess I was just concerned.”

He turned back to the grave and I crept up behind him to look at it. Marie Louise Emmett, dead just two weeks, lay beneath the soil by his knees.

“You wife?” I asked crouching beside him.

“My sister,” he said. “My little sister.”

I looked at the dates again and realised the girl had only been fifteen when she died.

“What happened?”

“I killed her.”

I lost my balance and staggered back. “I’m sorry, what?”

He turned to face me and forced a weak smile. “No, I don’t mean I murdered her, but it feels like it though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told my parents I couldn’t babysit, so they left her at home on her own and she got into some trouble. Took an overdose.” He stood and started to walk away from me.

My heart leapt into my throat. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“Oh yes I can,” he said.

I darted in front of him. “Well you shouldn’t.”

The moonlight fell on his face in such a way that his eyes were in shadow, and all I could see were two tiny white reflections.

“Let me go,” he said, stepping round me.

I turned and watched his back as he walked away down the path. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t want to go on like this.”

I hurried after him and grabbed his arm. “No! Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because! She wouldn’t have wanted that, would she?”

“She doesn’t want anything now.”

He pulled his arm free and carried on. I got in front of him, barring his way.

“Okay!” I said. “So you feel bad. That’s normal. Get drunk, get laid, get in a fight and get arrested, whatever, but don’t kill yourself.”

He made to push past me again and I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him. I don’t know what made me do it. Desperation, maybe. Insanity was also a possibility.

He froze for a moment and then grabbed me and kissed me back, hard and hot. My head spun and my knees felt weak. When I’d said get laid before I hadn’t exactly been offering, I’d meant ‒

He ripped my shirt open, popping off a couple of buttons and I gasped, flooding with heat and lust. But, you know, if it was to save his life, I could be persuaded. He pushed my shirt off my shoulder and hooked his fingers into my bra strap. He pulled the cup of my bra down, releasing my breast, and lowered his mouth to my nipple. I moaned as he circled it with his tongue and then gently bit me.

I loved the way his scruffy beard tickled my sensitive skin and he smelled fantastic. I tucked my head in against his neck and inhaled deeply then kissed the soft skin behind his ear, teasing him with my tongue. He grunted and ground his body against mine. I could feel his hard cock straining in his jeans, begging to be released. I was already so wet and swollen. I wanted him inside me, now.

I backed up, pulling him with me until I found a raised stone coffin grave. I hopped up, perching right on the edge, and pulled him close. His hands searched up under my skirt and pulled my pants down. I hitched my skirt up round my hips and yelped as he lifted my legs up over his shoulders and pitched me onto my back. His head dropped between my legs and I felt his warm breath on me as he briefly kissed my thighs and then buried his face in my pussy. I cried out as his tongue swept the entire length of me. Then he started to suck and nibble at me and I squeezed my thighs round his head, crossing my ankles over behind his back.

Just as I was about to cum he stopped and pulled back. My mind was a blur, I throbbed and ached, so close to release I could barely breathe. I sat up again as he unbuttoned his jeans and release his cock. He took it in his hand and stroked himself a few times then moved between my legs. I reached for him, desperate for my orgasm, still hanging on the brink.

He thrust in hard, gripping my hips, and I exploded. Hot pleasure streaked through my whole body. He groaned, moving in me hard and fast. He clung to my shoulders, shuddering with every wild thrust as he poured out his grief and frustration. I took every bit from him, hooking my legs round him and drawing him as deep as I could. I squeezed my muscles tight and he growled.

“That’s it, let it out,” I cried. He gripped the stone plinth and drove harder, filling every inch of me with his hard, hot shaft. I could feel his tears against my neck and gripped the hair at the back of his head in my fist.

My pussy felt raw and abused but I didn’t want him to stop, my eyes rolled back as he fucked me harder than I’d ever been fucked before. He pounded another, deeper orgasm from me and I flooded him, wetness dripping from me and running down the stone beneath me. That had only ever happened to me a few times before. He gasped and strained in me as he filled me with his cum and grief and pain.

He let out a shuddering breath and sagged against me. I held him as he shook, stroking his hair.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he muttered against my neck.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He slowly softened inside me and I listed to his breathing slowly settling. After a while he pulled back and kissed me.

“Are you an angel?” he asked.

I laughed. “Hardly.”

His lips twitched into a smile that reached his eyes.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Emily,” I said, staring into his eyes.

He leaned in and kissed me again, softer this time. “Thank you Emily, I needed that so much. Did I hurt you?”

“No, it was good.”

He moved back and did up his jeans while I retrieved my pants from the dewy grass at our feet.

“Do I get to know your name?”

He looked up, slightly dazed, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now. “Josh.”

“Do you fancy a coffee, Josh?” I asked, biting my lip.

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