Dr. Elias Thorne had always been drawn to the quiet of the dead. It started back in his days as a morgue attendant, fresh out of medical school, when the hospital's basement became his secret sanctuary. The air down there was cool and still, laced with the faint metallic tang of formaldehyde and the subtle rot of flesh that hadn't yet been preserved. Elias was a tall man, lean with sharp features and hands that trembled only when he was alive with anticipation. He remembered his first time vividly—the body of a young woman, mid-twenties, killed in a car crash. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights, her chest still and silent. He had locked the door, pulled back the sheet, and traced his fingers along the curve of her hip. No resistance, no judgment. Just perfect, yielding flesh.
That night, he slid his pants down, his cock already hard and throbbing. He positioned himself between her cold legs, spreading them apart with ease. Her pussy was slack, unresponsive, but that only fueled him. He pushed in slowly, feeling the chill envelop him, the tightness from rigor mortis just beginning to set. He thrust deeper, grunting as he buried himself to the hilt. The morgue table creaked under them as he fucked her steadily, his hands gripping her lifeless breasts, pinching nipples that would never harden again. He came hard, spilling into her depths, and as he pulled out, a thin trail of his semen leaked from her onto the steel surface. It was ecstasy, pure and unadulterated. From then on, it became his ritual.
Years passed, and Elias climbed the ranks, becoming a respected surgeon in the hospital's emergency wing. But the morgue called to him still. He pulled strings, ensured night shifts where he could slip away unnoticed. The hospital was a labyrinth of white corridors and beeping machines, but after midnight, it emptied out, leaving only the hum of life support and the occasional groan of settling pipes. Elias would finish his rounds, nod to the skeleton crew, and descend to the basement. The attendant on duty—a grizzled old man named Hank—knew better than to ask questions. Elias slipped him envelopes of cash, and Hank turned a blind eye.
One crisp autumn night, Elias entered the morgue with his heart pounding. A new arrival lay on the slab: Rebecca, 32, died of an overdose. Her file said she was a teacher, with a husband and two kids, but that meant nothing here. She was stripped naked, her body washed and prepped, lying on her back with arms at her sides. Her skin was smooth, unmarred except for the faint track marks on her arms. Elias locked the door, dimmed the lights, and approached. He ran his hands over her face first, brushing auburn hair from her forehead. Her lips were slightly parted, blue-tinged. He leaned down and kissed her, tasting the chalky residue of death on his tongue.
His cock stiffened in his scrubs as he peeled them off. Naked now, he climbed onto the table, straddling her hips. He spread her legs wide, exposing her shaved pussy, still pink and inviting despite the pallor. Elias spat into his palm, slicking his shaft, then guided himself to her entrance. He pushed in with a low moan, the cold grip sending shivers up his spine. Her body was heavier than the living, but he didn't care. He rocked into her, slow at first, savoring the drag of her inner walls. 'Fuck, you're tight,' he whispered to the empty room, his breath fogging the air. He picked up pace, slamming harder, his balls slapping against her ass. Her breasts jiggled with each thrust, and he latched onto one nipple, sucking greedily as if he could draw life from it.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pounded away, the table rattling. He flipped her over onto her stomach, her face pressing into the padded surface. Her ass cheeks were firm, round. He spread them, spitting again for lubrication, and pressed his cock against her asshole. It resisted at first, but he forced in, groaning at the vise-like squeeze. Deeper he went, until his hips met her flesh. He fucked her ass relentlessly, one hand fisting her hair, pulling her head back as if she could feel it. Climax built fast, and he exploded inside her, hot spurts filling her bowels. Pulling out, he watched his cum dribble from her stretched hole, mixing with the morgue's chill.
Elias cleaned up meticulously—wiping her down, redressing her in the simple gown, adjusting her position to look undisturbed. He dressed himself, pocketed the used wipes, and slipped out. Back in his office, he leaned back in his chair, the afterglow warming him against the night's cold. This was his fire, the blaze that consumed him nightly. Without it, the living world felt dull, judgmental. The patients who screamed, the colleagues who pried—it all faded in the arms of the dead.
The pattern continued for months. There was Maria, the 45-year-old housewife crushed in a factory accident. Her body was voluptuous, curves that begged to be grabbed. Elias took her on the floor that night, rolling her onto all fours as if she were alive and eager. He mounted her from behind, thrusting into her pussy with animalistic grunts. Her ass rippled with each impact, and he spanked it hard, leaving red marks on the pale skin. He came twice—once in her cunt, once pulling out to shoot across her back, painting her like a canvas.
Then came Lena, 19, suicide by hanging. Her neck bore the bruise, but her body was lithe, athletic from years of dance. Elias was gentler with her, laying her on a gurney and kissing down her body, licking her cold clit as if she could moan. He ate her out for what felt like hours, his tongue delving into her folds, tasting the faint salt of death. When he finally entered her, it was missionary style, face to face. He stared into her vacant eyes, whispering filthy promises as he fucked her slow and deep. Her legs draped over his shoulders, and he drove in until he felt her cervix, cumming with a shudder that left him weak.
Winter brought Sophia, 28, frozen in a car wreck during a blizzard. Her skin was icy to the touch, nipples peaked from the cold. Elias warmed her with his body, rubbing his cock between her thighs before sliding into her frozen pussy. The contrast was exquisite—his heat against her chill. He thrust vigorously, melting the frost on her skin with his sweat. He sucked on her toes, bit her calves, left bruises that would never heal. When he orgasmed, it was explosive, his seed warming her from within as it leaked out in thick globs.
Spring thawed the world above, but Elias's hunger only grew. He started taking risks—fucking bodies before full prep, when the blood was still fresh. There was Carla, 40, stabbed by her lover. Blood caked her thighs, but Elias wiped it away, diving into her wounds with his tongue before claiming her pussy. He fucked her bloody, the slickness adding to the frenzy. Her stab wounds wept as he pounded, and he came imagining her screams.
Summer heat made the morgue stuffy, bodies arriving faster from heatstrokes and drownings. Elias relished the variety. Twin sisters, both 22, drowned in a boating accident. He took them together on adjacent tables, alternating between their identical pussies. He sucked one while fucking the other, their cold mouths enveloping his cock in turn. He came on their faces, semen dripping from lifeless lips.
By fall, Elias was gaunt, his eyes hollow from sleepless nights. But the fire burned brighter. He confided in no one, but Hank noticed the tremors in his hands, the pallor. 'You look like shit, Doc,' Hank muttered one night. Elias waved him off, descending to claim his latest prize: Isabella, 35, cancer patient, emaciated but elegant in death. Her body was frail, bones sharp under skin. Elias was rough, breaking her in ways the living feared. He fucked her throat first, gagging her corpse until his cock was slick, then her pussy, tearing slightly. Blood mixed with his pre-cum, and he reveled in it, cumming deep as her body twitched from the force.
The nights blurred. Elias's heart raced constantly now, a dull ache he ignored. The hospital buzzed with rumors of a serial something, but no one suspected the esteemed doctor. He fucked a grandmother, 62, her sagging breasts in his mouth; a teen runaway, 16, her tiny frame impaled on his shaft; a businesswoman, 50, bent over the autopsy table as he reamed her ass.
One stormy winter night, the final one, Elias entered the morgue with labored breaths. The new body was exquisite: Victoria, 29, heart failure from an aneurysm. She lay beautifully, long blonde hair fanned out, full lips parted, body toned from yoga. Her skin was warm still, death recent. Elias's cock hardened instantly. He stripped frantically, climbing onto her. He kissed her deeply, tongue invading her mouth, then trailed down to suck her perfect tits, nipples firm from rigor.
He spread her legs, her pussy glistening slightly—perhaps from the wash. Elias thrust in without preamble, groaning at the velvet grip. She was tighter than most, her body not fully relaxed. He fucked her hard, hips slamming, the table shaking. 'Yes, take it all,' he gasped, pounding deeper. Sweat poured off him, his vision blurring. He felt the pressure building, his balls tightening.
As climax hit, Elias arched back, ejaculating in powerful jets inside her. His heart seized then—a sharp pain exploding in his chest. He gasped, clutching at her breast, but his cock stayed buried, pulsing out the last of his cum. It oozed from her pussy around his shaft, white rivulets trickling down her ass crack onto the table. Elias slumped forward, his body convulsing once, then still. His penis remained inside her, softening slowly, sealing his seed within.
Hank found them at dawn. The doctor dead atop the corpse, united in eternal silence. The hospital mourned a hero, but in the basement, the fire had finally consumed him.