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She was a blank slate, ready for her final experience. Like all dead, she gravitated towards her once mortal remains, and as the Second Man composed her body on the bed I could feel her settle once more. His touch was as gentle as a lover's as he lifted her/me up and removed the torn and stained night gown. He plucked a sponge from a nearby bowl of warm water, and starting with her face, he began to bath her. Gentle fingers played down indian my cheeks, wiping away cum stains, and dry tears. My tongue, swollen and purple from her strangulation protruded from between crimson lips. Gently he opened our mouth and kissed it, taking its swollen grossness into his nown mouth, and somehow making it seem less onerous in the doing. Again, with infinite care, he cleaned the dried semen from my mouth and pushed the tongue back inside, planting a passionate kiss on her lips one last time. As he continued down her body with the sponge, he fondled and suckled my breasts--not the crude crushing of the rapist, but a touch so light and gentle I gasped and tingled with the delight of it. The warm wetness once again touched my cunt, but now not a rapist's seed or my own urine, but the gentle bath of this man--my last lover. I luxuriated in it, my desire rising, my blood pounding. (She winced at that.) � � I held my stomach in agony as I rived in pain. You hold her tightly as you grope and expose those big sexy tits. Its such as his cock is still growing inside her. She rested her head on the couch cushion, staring at me with smoky, slanted eyes as I slid into my mother's cunt. “Well at least leave your underwear at home.” I said. This was what we both wanted, a complete multi orgasmic night. “I was kind of hoping we would get to do this, indian truth be told. So, when we root, who’s going to be on top? “That’s right. “Mom, I know that and of course I didn’t tease him.