Gothic Sluts proves that dressing like death warmed over isn’t just for trick or treating. The following story does a good job of proving the same, even if it took place one hallowed eve…

It was appropriate for Halloween—she was dressed all goth, and when I finally got her into the bedroom, she lay down and crossed her arms over her chest like she was a corpse and wouldn’t move.

“It turns me on, thinking about being dead,” she said.

“Yeah?” I was frustrated. I didn’t want to play games. “And what if you had a pervert for an undertaker?”

She just shrugged like it didn’t matter to her, so I took her up on it. I put my hand on her tit and squeezed. She didn’t move. I found her nipple and pinched. Again, she didn’t move. I kissed her and her lips didn’t respond at all.

“Turns you on being dead, huh?” I asked.

Not so much as a nod, so I decided I’d test her. I got up on my knees and worked her skirt up over her hips. No resistance. I touched her between the legs. Nothing. I felt her flinch, but she wouldn’t show it.

This was getting interesting now. She wouldn’t participate, but she wouldn’t resist me either. She was going to be completely passive, like a corpse. It turned her on. Damned if it didn’t turn me on too.

I opened the top of her costume and played with her tits, got my hand inside her panties and played with her there, too. She was plenty warm for a corpse, and pretty soon she was breathing fast. There were some things she couldn’t hide, but still, she wouldn’t move, wouldn’t kiss me back.

She did give a little moan when I entered her, but I went slow. I didn’t want to wreck the illusion now. I don’t consider myself especially sick, and there’s no way I’d ever think of necrophilia, but there was something about her passivity that made me wild. I could do anything to her and she’d just lie there.

I held her ass in my hands and fucked her and it wasn’t till I pulled out and came on her belly that she gave just the slightest moan of satisfaction.

Some corpse.