Cucked By The Dead: Part 6 (Patreon)

Here's the final instalment of my cuckold horror erotica, Cucked By The Dead.

💀 ☠️ 💀 ☠️ 💀 ☠️ 💀

I can still clearly see the last few seconds of my dream. I’m looking down at Jimmy Crawford’s face. I’m on my balcony, outside my bedroom, and he’s below, in the garden. Lying across the fence, each end dangling. A metal spike protruding from his chest. Lifeless. Till he opens his eyes, looks straight at me, and winks.

That’s what scared me awake, what made me lurch into a sitting position, heart pounding. Light from the moon and street lamps is bathing the room in a cool glow through the insubstantial curtains.

I look at the bed beside me. Keith’s not there. At once I’m hit with the fear of where he might be, and the resigned acceptance that I already know.

I throw the covers off and get out of bed. At the doorway I pause and listen, and sure enough I can hear indistinct, muted noises coming from Keith’s study. I climb the stairs, afraid of what I’m certain I’m going to find there. I pause at the top of the stairs, before the door, which is slightly ajar.  I give it a gentle push, enough to see into the room. 

I can make out Keith clearly enough: naked, pale skin of his leg and ass and back illuminated almost white in the moonlight through the small window. Bent over his desk. I can’t make out the details of the man fucking him from behind though; even though he’s in the same light he’s still all shadow, indistinct, like he’s not fully formed.

For a few seconds I just stand there and watch. In fear, I think. At least in part. I know what it is I’m witnessing even if a small part of my mind’s still telling me there’s a rational explanation, that the man fucking Keith really is just a man.

It’s not only fear though. It’s a beautiful image, Keith’s ass in the moonlight knocking against the desk as his ass gets pounded. It reminds me how sexy he is, something I feel like I’ve forgotten lately because I’ve been too caught up in all the theories and anxieties of what’s going on. My dick is coming to life, and I can feel the charge run through me. My body telling me I’m enjoying this even if my mind is telling me something’s terribly wrong.

I can’t just stand here though, passive. I need to confront this situation head on. So against every instinct in my body I reach around the door frame and turn on the light.

In an instant — less than an instant — the figure evaporates into nothing. It’s just Keith, bent over his desk naked. He seemed confused, almost in a daze, for a second, then he turns and looks at me. His eyes are wide, crazed and desperate. He opens his mouth, and in a whisper that’s so hideously anguished and deranged that it almost sounds like a hiss he accuses me. “You made him stop!”

He gets up. His erection bouncing around with each step across the room. He pushes past me to get to the door, and he’s off down the stairs, and I follow him almost fast enough to lose my balance and tumble down the narrow staircase.

I follow him into the bedroom. He’s hunting around the room, madness in his eyes. I grab his arm. “Stop!” I order him. Then, more softly, “I saw him. He’s real.”

I want Keith to explain, if that’s even possible. But he doesn’t. Instead he takes me by the shoulders, and looks me dead in the eyes. “Where did he go?” he demands desperately. “I need him to keep fucking me. Help me get him back.”

I shouldn’t feel any obligation to help him. He never asked me if he could do this. I thought all of his denials were his way of telling himself that this wasn’t happening, but now I don’t know, maybe he’s known all along. He definitely knows now. It doesn’t mean it’s my job to help him get laid.

So I don’t know what it is that convinces me, whether it’s a desire to help him get what he plainly needs, or whether it’s something more selfish. Because I know I want this too, maybe not as desperately as he does, but I definitely want it.

“I don’t know how to get him back,” I tell him. “I would if I could.”

His eyes stop darting around the room and he looks at me, incredulous. “You would?”

I take a beat, checking with myself that I really mean it. And I nod. “I want to see him fuck you.”

The bedroom door slams shut behind me. I spin around to see what caused it, but there’s nothing, just an empty door. I spin back around to face Keith, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight. The curtains are pulled back, the door to the balcony open, and a man is standing in the doorway.

Even though the moonlight behind him is casting his face in shadow I already know it’s Jimmy. But when I take a step closer to him — the hardest step of my life, every fibre of my being screaming at me to turn and run the other way — I get a good look at his face. It’s the same one I saw online from a hundred-year-old photo. The same one from my dreams. Even though I was expecting it I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. He looks real. No longer just shadows and fleeting glimpses, a solid object, a real body. Flesh and blood. And muscle, plenty of it — although he’s lean he’s got thick arms and shoulders and the defined musculature of someone who’s spent a lifetime building up strength. He’s wearing a grey-white wool union suit, packing in the crotch and with the four top buttons open across his chest. Like something out of a western.

For the longest time the two of us just stare across the room at each other. Then finally he opens his mouth. His voice is deep, like it’s coming from the depths of a well, but at the same time it’s a hiss, like static on a radio. And slow, too, almost laboured, like he’s struggling get his vocal chords to work at all. “You want to see, then.”

I open my mouth to say yes, but all that comes out is a hoarse squeak. I have to repeat myself, “Yes,” and this time the word comes out clear.

“You don’t want to fight me for him,” he says. I’m not sure if it’s a question or if he can read my mind somehow. “You’re not going to try throw me over this ledge to keep me away from him.”

I don’t answer that. Surely I don’t need to. Instead I tell him, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He scowls momentarily, like I’ve made him think about something he rather wouldn’t. Then he says, “He’s mine now, you know.”

I can feel myself shaking uncontrollably. “I’m not going to fight you for him,” I say, my voice as measured as I can make it, hiding the tremor in it as best I can. “And I’ll share him, if that’s what he wants. But I’m not giving up on him, and I’m not leaving here. I’m not letting you drive me out like you did all the others.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, wishing I could run but knowing if I do I’d never see Keith again. I don’t know what Jimmy’s capable of, but I know he’s driven at least one person insane, and I think he’s probably done much worse. The room is silent while I wait to see how he responds. And in the silence I feel something touch my fingers. I look down and see Keith’s hand, taking mine, and I look up to see him standing there next to me.

Jimmy finally speaks. “That’s what you want?” He’s looking at Keith.

“Yes,” Keith replies. “Logan’s not going anywhere, unless I’m going with him. And I don’t want that. I want to stay here, and I want you to finish what you started.”

Jimmy’s gaze turns to me. “You know what I want to hear,” he says.

I squeeze Keith’s hand, hard. And I tell him, “I want to watch you fuck him.”

Jimmy crosses the room, his footsteps making absolutely no sound on the floorboards. He puts an arm around Keith’s waist and kisses him, and Keith’s hand lets go of mine.

They fall onto the bed together, lips and bodies locked tight together. Jimmy pulls the top half of his union suit off and lets it hang at his waist, and I can see the three bloody wounds in his back where he went through the fence. Keith wraps his arms around Jimmy’s body, rubbing his back, hands running over the wounds like they don’t even exist. Then Jimmy’s pulling off the bottom half, so now they’re both naked. Keith’s legs lift, instinctively, and wrap themselves around Jimmy’s hips, giving Jimmy’s dick the access it needs to line itself up against his hole. Jimmy doesn’t wait a second longer, he slides his cock into Keith’s ass, and he arches his back and freezes for a moment as he basks in the sensation of being inside him.

I stand there watching them while they make a kind of wild, frantic love I’ve never seen in anyone before. It’s clear that this is hands-down the best sex Keith has ever had in his life. I don’t even realise I have my hand around my own dick, jerking it off in time wit their rhythm, until I feel myself getting close. I force myself to stop; I can’t let this moment be over yet, it’s too perfect.

So I stand there, silent, as though I’m the ghost now, while they become one soul, at least for now. Their sex builds and builds, Jimmy silent while Keith is reduced to a babbling, whimpering mess by the intensity of it all. Until finally I can tell it’s reaching a crescendo, and simultaneously they both cum, Jimmy burying himself in Keith, tensing and freezing up silently while Keith unloads with a whimper.

It’s like a haze lifts off us suddenly, and Keith and I are alone in the room. And I realise that I’m gripping my dick, hand covered in my own load.

☠️ ☠️ ☠️

I finish the last of my old-fashioned and stub my cigarette out in the ash tray on the table. I still haven’t managed to stop smoking this time around. It’s almost bed time, but it’s a hot summer evening and the last rays of sunlight have only recently disappeared from view. 

It’s only me on the balcony outside our bedroom this evening, the other two chairs are empty. One’s always empty — at least as far as anyone but me and Keith would ever be able to tell. It doesn’t get used often anyway, it’s more of a gesture than anything else. I stand up, ready to go get ready for bed. Before I do a take a look down at the garden, illuminated from the light outside our front door. I like how the new wrought iron pallisade fence looks; it’s as close to the original as we were able to get, and finally our street frontage looks like all the other around it. I’d originally thought it would be too much of an insult to Jimmy to install it, but apparently he liked the idea. It’s a nice nod to the history of the area. The history of this house. 

I go return my drink to the kitchen, then come back upstairs to brush my teeth and wash my face. When I’m finally ready I go up the stairs to the study, where Keith’s sitting at his desk quietly working.

I tap gently on the door, and he looks up. “Hey,” I say to him. “Are you coming to bed soon?”

“I was thinking I might sleep up here tonight,” he says, glancing over at the victorian era single iron-frame bed in the corner. We found it from an antique dealer a few months back. It’s just like the one that used to be in this room a hundred years ago. I thought maybe they’d want something bigger, but apparently they’re both happy with this one, which is good because anything much bigger probably couldn’t even fit in the room.

This is part of the arrangement now. Some nights — more often than not — Jimmy comes to us in our bed, in our bedroom, and I watch as he makes love to Keith. But occasionally when they want their privacy Keith will stay in this bed in the study, alone with Jimmy. And I’ll have to be content to wait for the squeaking of the rusty bed springs in the silence, and stroke my cock to the sounds. I make it clear they can’t leave me out too often; Keith’s still my husband after all. And I keep it a secret that I actually find it just as much of a turn-on this way.

I’m lucky it all worked out like this, that I actually love it, because I don’t like to think about the alternative. I don’t know how many couples there have been, but I know there have been multiple. Multiple relationships destroyed, and lives ruined, because Jimmy Crawford’s ghost doesn’t know anything other than the thrill of taking someone else’s man. I don’t know if ghosts learn, or if they’re stuck in an eternity tangled up in the same patterns that got them killed in the first place. I hope they do though. I hope that by finding me and Keith, and finding out what it’s like to be a bull for someone who actually wants to share his husband, he doesn’t have to ruin anyone else’s marriage.

It’ll really screw with the resale value of this house though, now that I know we can only ever sell it to another gay cuckold couple. How do you even bring that up with a real estate agent? At least it’s not a problem I’m going to have to face soon though, because neither Keith or I are interested in going anywhere any time soon.

I kiss Keith good night. He gives me a reassuring smile — sometimes I still get the feeling he’s not entirely sure I’m going to keep saying yes to this — and I give him one back. Then I go downstairs, get into bed and turn off the light. And I lie there in the silver moonlight, waiting for the sound of old bedsprings and feeling my erection start to grow in anticipation.