Necromantic (4 page)

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” I slid off the bed and positioning myself on my knees before him. “It worked. That’s all that matters. Let’s make good use of our time together.” I lowered my head and took him into my mouth.

* * *

Harold was done for after I finished sucking him off, savoring the taste of him in the youthful mouth of this body. I was a bit disappointed, but then I had to remind myself that middle age was only a few years hence for him. Besides which, youthful energy was great and all, but I would much rather have an experienced lover...even if it meant that I had to enjoy quality over quantity.

Shortly thereafter, we snuggled together. I eventually dozed off, expecting to be awakened by the feeling of being dragged back to the world beyond.

Instead, I awoke to find Harold once again on top of me. He entered me and I accepted him willingly so, thinking perhaps I hadn’t slept all that long. I was impressed. He had more stamina than I had given him credit for. He lowered his head to nibble on my neck and I put my arms around him, enjoying the feeling of him inside of me again. That’s when I turned my head and noticed the clock.

What the...?!
The digital face read 11:09 PM. How was I still there? My three hours was more than up. I had never been a sports fan in life, but the phrase
extra innings
went through my head. Considering Harold’s renewed vigor, that seemed an apt enough description.

“Ugh, you’re so tight, baby,” he gasped. “Do you feel me? It’s all for you, every inch.”

Huh? What was up with the cheese-ball line?

“Have you been a bad girl?” he asked, pinning me down and slowly withdrawing so just the tip of him remained inside.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Yes
what
?” he growled.

“Um...yes, sir?” I replied uncertainly.

He pulled out all the way and just looked down upon me sternly. “Yes,
daddy
,” he corrected. “Isn’t that what you said you liked?”

I had never said that. I wasn’t into the whole daddy/naughty stepdaughter thing. It had always seemed a little sick to me. Of course, considering the things we had done in the past few months, a little role playing was hardly something to get worked up over.

Then, it hit me. Was Harold even aware that I was still here? Surely, he would know if something different had happened with his spell.

Or would he?

As he continued to work me over, I remembered back to earlier. Hadn’t he said something about mixing up his ingredients...or something like that, anyway? It was getting hard to concentrate. Regardless of my confusion, his member was touching me in all the right places.

I decided to play along to see if I was right, figuring the worst case scenario was another orgasm and then him laughing about it afterwards. “Yes, daddy,” I replied in my best pouty voice. It came out sounding very young and very kinky. “I’ve been a bad girl.”

“Poor little Julie,” he replied. Julie? Was that her name? “I guess daddy has to punish you then.”

Before I could think further on the matter, Harold dove into me up to the hilt, spearing me like a fish. My thoughts became jumbled. This was pointless. There was no way I was going to think things through while he was plunging into me with reckless abandon. I figured I might as well play along and enjoy it while it lasted.

Not exactly a bad deal, all in all.

* * *

I came down from the second orgasm just as Harold shot off his cannon. It wasn’t as much as earlier, having been spent twice already this evening, but it still felt good when he coated my insides with his spunk. I have to admit, sick kink or not, the whole daddy game had been both dirty and exciting. I might have to revise my opinion on that in the future.

For the moment, though, I decided to play things neutral and hope that I didn’t give myself away. It was now about an hour past my normal deadline. I was extremely curious. Was this now permanent, or would it end at any moment? A part of me hoped for the former, but at the same time, I felt guilty for thinking such. What would happen to the owner of this body if that occurred? It would be wrong to usurp her life before she really had a chance to live it.

I pushed those thoughts away as I lay next to Harold, wondering what he would say...although he didn’t seem to have much talk left in him. Three times was a lot in one evening for a man, even for one in good shape.

“How was that?” he eventually asked, his arm still around me.

“That was pretty wild,” I replied honestly.

“Anyone else ever make you cum like that?”

That was a brazen question, but then I remembered the dynamic here. Harold was an experienced adult, whereas this Julie character was obviously pretty young. The advantage was all his...under normal circumstances.

Not having any idea what Julie’s life was like, I tried to keep it vague. “No.”

“How many men have you been with?”

“Umm...not many.”

“Not many?”

Damn it. Oh well, might as well make up something that sounded right. “Two others.”

“Only two?” he asked, surprised.

Crap! Was I the campus whore or something? Oh well, might as well stick with my answer. No point in sounding like a lying moron. “Just two...although never like that,” I thought quickly, trying to distract him from prying more deeply. “...and never without a condom before. That was pretty awesome. Hope I don’t wind up pregnant, though.”

Harold just laughed in response and turned over. “Don’t worry about that, babe. I had a vasectomy twenty years ago. As the saying goes, I’m firing blanks.”

“Really?!” I asked, perhaps a little more harshly than I had intended.

“Yep...although right now, if you don’t mind, I need to reload for a little while.”

I could tell by the way he was lying there that he was falling asleep. That was fine by me. If so, it gave me some time to think about what he said. A vasectomy? Why would he lie about that to the girl? There was no point in it when he could have just told her he was sterile and been done with it. And why twenty years ago? That would have been before we had even met. It didn’t make any sense.

Those and other unpleasant thoughts began to enter into my mind. What reason did he have to lie to Julie? It wasn’t like she was anything to him. By next week, she would in all likelihood be forgotten and replaced by some other warm body. The only conclusions I could draw were unpleasant ones. What if he wasn’t lying? What if the bastard had been telling the truth?

That didn’t make any sense. Hell, hadn’t he been just as upset as I was when I had insisted we both get tested about ten years back? Was that all an act because he knew I wanted to start a family? Had it all been just a dog and pony show to placate me?

I tried to remember. I thought back to when Harold and I had first met...more importantly, our first time. He hadn’t bothered to wear a condom then, either. Sure, I had been on birth control at the time, but I couldn't remember if I had mentioned that to him. He had never seemed remotely nervous about it, either. Hell, I couldn’t remember him
ever
using protection. Thinking back on it, I didn’t recall ever even seeing either a condom box or wrappers at his old apartment when I used to visit and spend the night.

I had assumed back then that he was just a typical stupid male, but maybe he wasn’t nearly as clueless as I thought.

Come to think of it, aside from whenever I would bring up the subject, I couldn’t recall Harold ever having any interest in the subject of children.

Lying there, naked, and still feeling him dripping out of me, I started to get pissed off.

Okay, okay, calm down
, my inner voice tried telling me. I took several deep breaths and attempted to keep things in perspective. Waking Harold up just to bitch him out for being an asshole was potentially counterproductive. For starters, was it really that big of a deal? Sure, there were a few nebulous signs pointing to the asshole having lied to me, but it’s not as if he killed someone, right? Would knowing have changed anything? Probably not. I couldn’t think of any reason why that would have stopped me from marrying him at the time. Sure, it might have put me on the track toward adopting a child. On the other hand, how would that have worked out? If I had still gotten myself killed, that would have left the kid with Harold. Since my memories were insisting that he didn’t want kids to begin with, how would have that possibly been fair to either of them?

I realized I was rationalizing. Some of the debate in my head made sense, but I was fairly sure I was trying to talk myself down for one good reason: fear. What if I called Harold out on these things? What if we had a big blowout? Certainly, we’d had our fair share of fights while I was alive. Some of them had been real humdingers as my mother used to say (hah...still did! Didn’t I talk to Mom just last week in that other place?). Hell, hadn’t there been times when I was sure the only thing keeping me around had been the tool between his legs and his expertise in using it? So what was different now?

That was an easy one...Harold had all the power now. Whereas before, if I left the house in a huff, what happened next was up to me. Now, though? What if I pissed him off and he just decided to stop bringing me back? What if he just left me there? Before that first time, there had been an ignorant bliss about the whole death thing. Sure, on some level I was aware I was dead, but the memories of this world seemed so far away. It was like another life...which, come to think of it, wasn’t too far from the truth. Now, though, I had full remembrance. It would drive me mad to go back there and know it was for good...that I’d never get to feel, touch, or taste again. I’m sure Harold knew that.

But, would he really be asshole enough to punish me for just one argument? I hoped not, but then again I had to remind myself I had been gone for years before he’d figured out how to bring me back. That was a long time...perhaps long enough to have gotten over me. Well, maybe not entirely, since I was here now, but still...

No. It wasn’t worth the risk. It wasn’t important enough. I would just suck it up and deal with it.

Or, at least I tried to convince myself of that as I lay there next to my husband.

Chapter 6

I must have lain there for over an hour, just staring indecisively at the ceiling. Harold had long since fallen asleep. I could hear him snoring next to me. Two hours gone since my deadline had expired. How many more would pass?

The waiting, in addition to my slowly building anger, was driving me nuts. Lying there wasn’t helping. I decided to get up. Slowly, so as to not rouse Harold, I slid off the side of the bed. The girl that I inhabited couldn’t have been more than ninety-eight pounds soaking wet, so I was able to do so without making much ruckus.

Standing up, I felt all light and springy. I had forgotten what it was like to be so young and toned like this body was. Heck, I felt like I could run a marathon. I looked down upon my nude form, seeing the small perky breasts and the tight body that was below it. Whoever she was, she was fully shaved. I’m sure that Harold had liked that. Feeling the tight muscles in my chest, stomach, and arms, I decided to try something on a whim...what the hell?

I hadn’t done this in a long time...heck I had never been particularly good at it even during my own teen years. Even so, what could it hurt to try? I bent down, put my hands on the carpet, and attempted a handstand. Much to my delight, I found myself upside down, supported by my arms and having little trouble keeping balance. Seems Julie had a bit of gymnast in her.

Rolling down to the floor, I spread my legs. They parted easily and I kept at it, trying to see what their limit was. I soon found myself in a full split, the carpet rubbing uncomfortably against my bare crotch.

Wish I had known this sooner
, I mused. I’m sure Harold wouldn’t have minded. Oh yeah, Harold. Wasn’t I still supposed to be pissed at him? Yet here I was, doing somersaults on the floor like a little girl.

I got back to my feet and moved to the bedroom door. I stopped for a moment, realizing that aside from quick trips to the bathroom and the occasional non-bedroom fuck - during which I tended to be somewhat distracted - I hadn’t actually taken the time to explore my own house. A sense of curiosity filled me. Had Harold left our home mostly the same, or had he completely changed things around? More importantly, would my presence still be felt here?

I was momentarily tempted to find Julie’s clothes and cover up, but quickly pushed that thought away. Being naked in another woman’s body didn’t bother me. Besides, on the off chance someone saw me walking past an open window, she didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. Screw it.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, not wanting to disturb Harold...although judging by the sound of his snores, he was out cold. Walking down the upstairs hall, I paused before each door, remembering how it had been, before opening it. The guest bedroom looked mostly the same: different sheets and curtains, but the same dull yellow color scheme. The upstairs bathroom had some new fixtures, but that was it. All in all, it was mostly recognizable.

I took my sweet time exploring the upstairs, trying to take everything in; although most of the changes weren’t overly remarkable. Reaching the stairs, I started down - shivering slightly as my feet touched bare wood. That was new. Apparently Harold had torn out the carpeting here at some point - not a bad touch. I turned right, toward the living room. Entering it, I found the light switch and flicked it on.

Things were different. It was obvious that a man had decorated in there. Our old couch had been replaced by a pair of black leather recliners. A large TV hung on the opposite wall. I marveled at it for a moment, noting how it was little more than a huge pane of glass. Compared to the old tube TV that had been there before, it was like a movie theater. Also changed, another guy touch no doubt, was the far wall. Gone was my little reading nook. In its place was a wet bar. Classy, Harold, real classy.

I made a slow circuit of the rest of the main floor: the other guest bedroom, our sitting room, Harold’s home office. The primary changes to these other rooms were a complete dearth of my possessions. Gone were my books, my collection of porcelain dolls (albeit I couldn’t blame my husband for that one. I had inherited them from my aunt and we both always thought they were a little creepy), just about every trace of me. It was a bit heartbreaking, but I had to keep reminding myself I had been dead and buried for years. What else did I expect? Would I have done anything differently?