Putting FUN Back into Funeral

"Oh, like the funny man, Austin Powers?"

"No, like the serial killer."

"Well, I am so thankful you could attend, Michael." She rolls the last 'L', purring like Roy Orbison.

I try to visualize the newspaper again, but the front of my pants grows tight.

I wink. "My pleasure."

Tired and clichéd, I know, but she's dripping with so much sexual energy I can't think straight. You didn't need my gifts to notice, either. All the guys are doing their best not to look like Tex Avery wolves, jaws falling on the floor, eyes popping. Their wives faced an equally difficult challenge not audibly clucking in disapproval over this gold digger.

I don't think Rosa gives a damn one way or another. She's paid her dues, and by God, it's time to cash in. Payday, motherfuckers.

I get through all that and finally get a look at the stage. Claude's gunmetal coffin is bathed in warm, soft lights. Above it, there's his picture on three video screens the size of Jumbotrons. He looks just like every other sour-faced rich asshole with a smile so thin and grim it's almost hostile.

I need to find out where that feed is coming from. Sure enough, when I look backwards and up, there's an open glass window, almost like a press box, directly above the main entrance.

I maneuver my way through the crowd as the lights in the auditorium darken. A pastor steps up to the podium stage left of the casket. "On behalf of the Stiglitz family, I would like to thank each and every one of you for joining us on this day of mourning."

I tune him out and find the stairs hidden behind velvet blue curtains. At the top, a heavy wooden door. Locked. I knock. An earnest young man with thick glasses and dandruff sticks his head out. "Yes?" Polite.

"They said it was okay for you to take a quick break. You know, visit the bathroom." I catch the tiny surveillance camera still on his right shoe. "You go sneak a peak at those upskirt pics on your phone. It's okay."

"But... I..."

"I got this," I say and give him a gentle fist bump on his shoulder. "I'll cover for you. Go get 'em, tiger."

He swallows, then opens the door and moves aside. I step past him into the dim room and he's gone before the door closes. That's when I get my first real look at the hardware. This place looks like the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon; there's two rolling plush chairs, a console covered in sliding lights and headphones and microphones and buttons and fuck knows what else.

I immediately regret sending the AV guy away.

Off to left is another door. It leads out to a catwalk for the auditorium lights.

I pick up the one piece of technology I do understand, the funeral program. It's got a quality, stiff cover but since there's a ridiculously long five pages inside, I can't be bothered and decide to check out the open laptop.

On screen, there's copy of Claude's program, with the addition of something called AUDIO CUES, then further along, VIDEO CUES. All right then. I pull the chair close, find the jump drive Alice gave me in my pocket and finally notice there's no goddamn available slots on the laptop. USB cables snake all over the place.

The door opens and I spin, thanking fuck the AV guy was back. Instead, it's Alice's sister, Candace.

"Where's Frederick?" she snaps.

"He had to step out for a moment. Emergency." I drop my voice to a whisper. "IBS, poor guy."

"Who are you?"

"Michael Myers. We just met."

"I know that. Who. Are. You." Her eyes are wide, her voice rising almost to a shriek. She's on the knife-edge of either arresting me or having a complete nervous breakdown. I decide it's time for Plan B.

"Candace," I say in a low, even tone. "Wouldn't it feel better to just... give in?"

She wants to yell louder, to scream, to rush out the door, something. But she doesn't move. She's terrified.

But not of me. Of herself.

"Come here," I say.

"No..."

"Shhh. Come here."

She's got the eyes of a trapped rabbit, but she obeys. Stands before me.

I lean forward, my nose brushing the bottom button of her blouse, and inhale deeply. She smells of lilac soap, baby powder, and desire so deep it's leaking around a long-locked door.

I reach out and slide the tips of my fingers up under her long skirt, whispering along the back of her cream colored pantyhose. They reach the crescent of her ass and she sucks in a short, sharp breath.

I keep going. Squeeze her cheeks. Once. Twice. Pull her closer.

With a sudden, violent jerk, I rip the top of the pantyhose in half, pulling it away from her sensible matching panties. She grinds her teeth as I let the tattered nylon fall away and cup her ass. The panties are made of straightforward, almost rough, no-nonsense fabric.

She isn't breathing.

I slide the middle finger of my right along the crease, following the seam of her panties between her cheeks. She gulps air as my finger slowly, ever so slowly, increases pressure on her pussy. I feel warmth as the fabric becomes moist. Then downright wet.

I start to move my finger. Slow. Back and forth.

She whimpers through gritted teeth.

I reach farther around, stopping when I reach her clitoris. My finger lightly circles the erect nub. The circles grow tighter, stronger.

Her hips shake and her head falls back. "Please..." she gasps, and I don't know if she's still trying to protest or doesn't want me to stop.

Surprising both of us, she yanks her skirt up, plants her right foot on the console, and grabs the back of my head, pulling my face into her crotch. I don't stop to ask if she's sure and allow her grind herself against my top row of teeth.

She backs away, just enough to let me slip my tongue out and flick tenderly at the swollen flesh hidden behind her soaked panties.

She spasms and for just a brief second I worry that she'd touched a live wire on the console and was being electrocuted. I finally figure out that she was just having her first orgasm in a long, long time.

I don't give her a chance to recover and tear her panties aside and dive in, relishing the contact of her bare skin on my tongue. She tastes of perfectly aged steak, rare and succulent. My tongue flitters up and down like a hungry hummingbird.

Candace bucks against me, lost in the throes of a second orgasm.

Tearing her sensible panties down and off, I refuse to stop. I suck her entire clit into my mouth and start humming "Amazing Grace" while thrusting my tongue up into her pussy. I keep it rigid, curled up like a happy little dolphin dancing across the water on his tail.

"No-no-no," she whispers in a hitching voice, while her juices run down my chin.

I bring my right thumb around and slide it up into her.

"Oh goddamn that feels so good," she blurts while instinctively gyrating against me, and I know it's the worst form of blasphemy she can manage. I smile, despite being fastened to Candace like a stubborn barnacle. Not that she's giving me any choice, not at this point. She's got her left hand around the back of my head, fist clutching my hair, not letting me go, not letting me even breathe as she writhes.

When she hits a third orgasm, her scream shatters the somber mood of the auditorium.

The pastor's droning words come stumbling to a halt. "Is everyone... all right?" he asks.

Candace finally releases me. I suck in a deep, grateful breath as the walls of her pussy shiver around my thumb. My self-control is gone. In my head, the puppy is now a Rottweiler, shredding the newspaper in a single, vicious chomp.

I fumble at my belt with my left hand. She slips off me to help get my pants off.

Downstairs, the pastor hesitantly picks up where he left off.

We've just got my new underwear and pants down around my ankles when there's another goddamn knock at the door.

Candace disappears. One second she's about to lower herself onto my throbbing cock, the next, I'm sitting alone, half-naked, with a raging hard-on in the AV room. I guess that her need for self-preservation temporarily overcame her sexual demands.

I, on the other hand, am not as fast.

The door opens before I even get my pants back up to my knees.

It's not the sad dork, Frederick.

It's Rosa.

And I can't think of a damn thing to say.

She's on me before I can say anything anyway. Straddling me, kissing me, grinding her crotch against my naked cock.

"I knew you would be waiting for me," she says in a husky voice.

Plan C then.

She's wearing stockings. Black. Her garter belt is black but her thong is bright red. Go figure.

I'm inside her before I know what the hell is happening and she feels like rainbows and unicorns.

And while Candace had tried hard to be a Negative Nancy, Rosa is all about being positive. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she cries as she drops onto me, over and over and over.

I can't help myself and tear her shirt open. Her breasts are something akin to God; fuck your sunsets in Honolulu, your Aurora Borealis, your solar eclipses, your rings of Saturn. I've never laid eyes on such perfection, and won't ever again.

I don't dare take off her bra, though. It's too much like opening the Ark of the Covenant. I seriously think my head will explode if I see her nipples.

But I'm not shy about pinching them through the red silk.

Rosa loves it. "Harder," she orders.

I don't have a choice, neither with my cock nor with my fingers and teeth.

Gradually, I'm aware that the door out to the catwalk is creeping open. Not much, just an inch or so. Still, I know damn well that Candace is out there. I can almost see her eyes in the darkness, cursing me, but she can't stop rubbing herself as she watches me and Rosa fuck.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I dimly remember I've still got a job to do.

I stand up, bracing myself against Rosa's thrashing body, and turn her around, laying her back on the console. Rosa won't stop, can't stop impaling herself on me, and it feels like I'm trying to steer a surfboard with my dick into an unpredictable barrage of tsunamis.

The jump drive is on the desk near the laptop. I keep fucking Rosa, getting into her groove, meeting each thrust of her hips while I yank out one of the USB cords at random.

Through the big window, I can see the pastor still hasn't shut up, but nothing else happens, so I figure I'm clear.

Before I can slide Alice's jump drive into the laptop, Rosa wriggles away and rolls over. She kneels on the chair, arches her back, and issues another order. "Fuck me like a dog."

I'm not gonna argue.

I slide into her. We settle into a new rhythm and Rosa makes it clear that that she could care less about the ceremony by bouncing her breathtaking ass against my groin with abandon. She plants her hands against the console for leverage, rocking the chair as she slams back against my thrusts.

I focus on the goddamn jump drive. It's a narrow little thing, not much bigger than a car key. I press down on the tiny button and slide it forward, pushing the male connector out of its protective sheath.

Rosa starts gasping in little chirps and that distracts me.

Be a goddamn professional, I yell at myself. So I get proactive, letting my weight fall on Rosa, immobilizing her between me and the console. With my left hand, I mash her face onto the controls with my left hand, snapping the jump drive into the USB slot on the laptop with my right.

Rosa wants it harder. Faster.

I'm happy to oblige.

For a few precious seconds, nothing else exists. Panting. Sweat. Pleasure so intense it makes me forget my fake name. Then it passes and I hold off, wanting to coax Rosa into orgasming while I upload the contents of the jump drive.

When she peaks and climaxes, there's no mistaking it. She doesn't hold back, and moans deep in that magnificent chest, legs quivering, arms shooting everywhere, hands grabbing at anything and everything. I arch my own back and go up on my toes, pinning her hips against the edge of the console, trapping her as she convulsed.

I don't realize she's got hold of the microphone until I hear her uncontrollable howls over squeaking feedback echoing around the auditorium.

The pastor finally stops yammering, and squints up at the control room.

That's when I finally click the jump drive icon on the laptop.

The same three photos that kept rotating, blending into each other during the funeral blinked out. In their place, bigger than life and twice as ugly, was a new video. The image, grainy and grimy VHS, showed an impressive office. Oak paneled walls. There's a shiny oil painting on the back wall of a young Claude.

Sheets of clear plastic cover a big damn desk in the middle of the frame. A young woman lies across it, spread-eagled. The angle makes it impossible to see her face. Alice had told me that it wasn't her, and I believed her, but I still got the impression it was someone important to her.

Everyone in the auditorium hears Claude's voice. "My dear, my dear. The human body is a holy, holy thing. Anything that passes through it becomes sacred." Claude, thirty years younger, leans into the lens and adjusts the camera. "When the moon is full, I drink my own ice-cold urine."

I keep slapping against Rosa's ass, plunging my cock as deep inside of her as I could. If she hears anything, she doesn't stop.

The door to the catwalk swings open farther and I see that Candace can't stop herself either, a child tasting chocolate for the first time. Her hand is a blur, and her entire body is shaking and vibrating like she's having some kind of seizure. She involuntary unleashes a wavering squeal.

Onscreen, Claude clomps over to the young woman on the desk. He's naked except for a pair of wingtips. The sight of his sagging, pockmarked pale flesh is almost enough to kill my erection, so I refocus on Rosa's thrashing body.

"But you, you my dear," Claude says, using a chair to climb onto the desk and stand over the young woman. "You will not bring shame onto this family. I will cleanse you. I will... baptize you."

He starts to piss all over her. "Open your mouth. Accept my sacrament."

I'm beyond reason now and my body is running on autopilot, pure evolutionary instinct, thrusting deeper and deeper into Rosa.

When Claude squats over the dripping woman, grunting as he squeezes out a long, skinny tendril of excrement onto her chest, I finally hear the audience start to react. Cries of outrage and disgust fill the auditorium.

The pastor, shaken, like he's just witnessed a horrible motorcycle accident, snaps his fingers at the dumbfounded ushers. One of them turns on the house lights from a control panel under the podium.

Candace's wailing catches everybody's attention and they can now see her plainly, legs spread, one hand between her legs, the other grabbing at her breast. Her tight bun of blond hair has come undone and sweaty tangles hang in her face. She sags back against the safety railing, but she can't stop rubbing herself.

Onscreen, Claude is rubbing his shit over the young woman's chest, encircling her nipples like it's chocolate frosting.

Somebody pounds at the door.

Goddamnit. I'm so close.

Then I have a sudden flash of rotting away in prison for the next hundred years or so and icy reality splashes over me. I lurch away from Rosa, my hard-on still trailing glimmering strands of her wetness from between her legs. Rosa's bobbing ass clenches and unclenches as she sinks lower on the office chair.

I manage to get behind the door just as it opens and people start rushing inside. I zip up my pants and slip out in the confusion. Downstairs, there's enough chaos you'd think the building was on fire. It isn't hard to sneak away unnoticed.

Outside the auditorium, I spot Yvette. She's off by herself, and looks like she might vomit. I beeline over to her and take her by the arm. "Let me help you," I say. I wish I could say that I was just being nice and had her best interests at heart, but like I said, I can't lie.

I still felt like I was trying to smuggle a crowbar around in my pants and I needed a release.

I don't say anything else until we get outside. She's in shock, and it's not hard to talk her into taking me to her car. I drive, following the directions on the back of the funeral program. I borrow Yvette's neon pink sunglasses since I'd lost Mom's giant amber ones in all the excitement.

Along the way, I tell her everything she wants to hear. When we get to the cemetery, the sun is high overhead. It's a vast place, filled with huge tombstones and statues. There's nobody else around.

For a moment, I almost want to let Yvette go. But then I feel Candace's rough panties in my right pocket, Rosa's red thong in my left.

And like I said, I am not a nice man.

Inside of two minutes, I've got Yvette sprawled across the hood of her car, her legs wrapped around me with the fierce strength of a volleyball player. Her hands can't get enough of my cock as I suck on her tongue.

I've got her white cotton panties down to her knees when she whispers, "Wait... please, stop."

There's just enough decency left in me to hesitate.

"I'm still a virgin. I want... to wait. For marriage. I'm Christian." She's close to sobbing. "But I want you... inside me."

I know just the thing that'll make both of us happy. I rub my index finger across her lovely bottom lip, then let her suck on it a moment. We take two steps across the grass and I bend her over a thick tombstone, hike her dress up to her hips and slide my wet finger between her ass cheeks and caress her anus.

I bring my finger to my mouth this time, coating it with a fresh layer of spit. Then back down to her ass. She groans as I slide it up her anus, surprising me by pushing back against my hand.

"Oh my Jesus. Oh please... that feels so good."

I switch to my thumb, wriggling it slowly around inside of her. She bucks against my hand, "Oh sweet Jesus. Sweet, sweet Jesus."

It's time. I spit into my hand, lubing up my cock, and position the tip against her pulsating asshole. I push into her, sinking into her hot tightness about an inch. She starts making growling noises in the depths of her throat. I back off for a second, then push deeper, marveling at the extraordinary heat inside of her.

"It hurts... Oh God it hurts."

Again, I pause, torn between consent and desire.

"Don't... don't stop," she begs.

I don't need any more encouragement, and continue to slide into her until my cock is buried up to my balls. Surprising me again, she grabs hold of the slick marble tombstone and pushes back against me. I start pumping into her, almost sliding completely out, then sinking deep back inside.

The pace gets quicker, more intense. Our breathing gets faster, coming in short bursts. I can feel my orgasm building, thrumming from somewhere deep underground, like the coffins under the cemetery had all started vibrating, as if all the inhabitants wanted out, and they wanted out right fucking now.

The delicious friction of sliding into her ass triggers escalating waves of bliss unfurling through my body. My legs start to tremble as I keep slamming into her. Everything in me tightens as my muscles lock up as I plunge into Yvette one last time and explode.

Spent, I stumble back, almost going to my knees.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Yvette keeps repeating.

I'm not much better, unable to form a coherent sentence myself. Eventually though, I zip myself up and help Yvette straighten her dress and find her footing. There's really nothing I can say to explain things, so I give her a long kiss and leave her blinking in the sun.

I wander across the cemetery and find the canopy over Claude's open grave. Way off in the distance, back at the front gates, the limousines are starting to arrive.

It's time for me to leave, but before I go, I hang my souvenirs for Alice, figuring she'd find it amusing. So when the family and everybody else arrive, they can all see the three pairs of panties fluttering in the tree over the grave.