A Short Story For Sebastian charmberry Young Goth creates ultimate lover

A Short Story For Sebastian
charmberry
Young Goth creates ultimate lover, with a twist.
erotic stories, free, Erotic Horror, sex, xxx, A Short Story For Sebastian, charmberry

Warning: This story makes reference to various groups and religions as tongue in cheek (being a pagan, a goth, and an artist). Some viewers may be offended. If you think you may fall into the category of easily taking things personally, I suggest you find something else to read.
Once upon a time there was a young Gothic dude named Ernest. Now Ernest wasn't your every-day Goth. Sure, he read Poppy Z. Brite and Anne Rice and his main interests were autopsies and serial killers, but Ernest was a deep sensualist. He found EVERYTHING a sensual experience; eating, showering, drinking, talking, sleeping, shitting, wanking and even dressing. Everything he did, he got off on.
Ernest's only problem was, he couldn't find anyone to get off with! He tried girls, they thought he was too weird. He tried boys, they thought he was too queer. He tried Goths but found them shallow and uninteresting. Goths could do the walk, say the talk and look the part, but to him it was like learning your times tables in primary school, all song and no substance. Ernest decided to try artists. He found artists to be sensualists, as he was, but most of them were too bright and sunny for him. He wanted someone who was much darker than most, someone who was into Poppy Z. Brite and Anne Rice and serial killers and autopsies, basically, he wanted someone just like himself.
Sadly, Ernest found there was no-one else like him, so being the practical boy that he was, he did some research.
Ernest researched into the archives on Judaism, Paganism. Christianity and Devil Worship (he found Christians to be only slightly more silly than Devil Worshippers). He read from the first testament to the necranomicon and everything in between that looked even vaguely interesting. He spoke to witches, warlocks, white-lighters and wiccans. Finally, Ernest thought he had everything he needed.
He bought lots of candle wax and dug soil and bought incenses and herbs and oils. He collected candles, rose leaves and water, wrote out all of the words he would have to say, made a symbol, found a chalice and athame. He collected samples of his own hair and nails, blood and semen, and once he had it all set, he prepared for the ritual.
Ernest spent three days eating only meats and animal products, three days eating only vegetables and drinking fruit juices and three days fasting on only water. At the end of this time he washed and perfumed himself, drew out a pentacle, lit his candles and incense, and shaped the body.
He intoned and incanted, danced around and waved his arms, sprinkled ingredients, blew smoke and eventually, with his own breath, breathed life into the effigy he'd created.
He waited, then placing his mouth over the effigy's lips, breathed again.
Then the magical third time, his breath, and then the effigy breathed by itself.
Ernest watched it come to life, watched colour run through its body as its bones, organs, blood vessels, muscle and finally, skin and hair were formed. Its eyes opened, a perfect mirror image of his own. It looked at him in what Ernest took for wonder and awe.
The effigy reached up a hand and touched Ernest's face, the touch almost a crackling fire on Ernest's skin, the tingling caused was so severe.
Ernest reached down and ran his hands over the effigy's thin body, pale skin, blue eyes and black hair. Its skin came to goose-bumps under his hands, Ernest's palms tingling at the contact. Ernest looked at the effigy's thin bony hips and the dark, tight, curly pubic hair, seeing his own desire for what lay before him reflected in the effigy's erect penis.
"It doesn't have my appendix scar", he thought. "Well at least I'll be able to tell who's who if I ever become that confused." Indeed, if anyone had happened to see Ernest and his creation as they now lay, side by side, they wouldn't have been able to tell them apart at all.
Ernest stretched beside his golem and pressed his body into its. He kissed its face and mouth, lingering where he liked to be touched, teasing and playing the way he loved to be played with and watched in satisfaction as the effigy's body reacted as his own body would react to such ministrations.
Ernest kissed, licked, sucked and nuzzled the soft skin. He bit pinched slapped and grabbed, hurting the pliant flesh just enough, bring gasps of appreciation from the effigy. He licked the sweat from the hair under its arms, bit the hard blood infused nipples on its chest and felt the muscles of its abdomen ripple as he ran his tongue between the sharp bones of its hips. He took his effigy's hard throbbing cock into his mouth, tasting the hot flesh, feeling the ridges and ripples where the veins were obvious beneath the soft silken skin, so familiar to him, as familiar as his own erection. It practically was his own erection. How many times had he touched or stroked himself, knowing exactly what he liked exactly where it felt the best, what kind of pressure could be applied. Now he was sucking his own cock, as it were. He could take the full length of it into his mouth, tease it with his tongue and the sharpness of his teeth. True, he couldn't feel it personally but he knew what it would feel like and he had enough of an imagination to almost feel it on himself.
Since he was doing this to 'himself', Ernest could bring the effigy to, almost, the point of ejaculation, then ease off, allowing the orgasm to ebb, then he'd start again, bringing it to the point of pain, then backing off again. He wondered how much it could take before it finally exploded in his face. Not wanting to do that, Ernest raised himself above the effigy's hips and prepared to impale himself on its spit and pre-cum covered cock.
To his surprise, the effigy reached up its hands, grabbed Ernest's hips and pulling down hard, slammed its cock up into him. He thought he was going to be ripped open it hurt so much, the first dribble of cum slid down his penis. Still holding his hips the effigy sat up and pressing its face into his chest, bit into his left nipple. Ernest groaned in ecstasy, grabbed the back of the effigy's head and pressed it hard into himself. The effigy changed nipples and without withdrawing from Ernest's tight arse, it grabbed both his hands, pinned them behind his back and pushing forward, reversed their positions.
Ernest's arms were caught under him. The effigy was on top with its knees drawn up under his arse and most of its weight seemed to be behind its cock. It drove hard and fast into him but took long, slow, measured, torturous strokes out. Ernest hurt a lot. He hurt so much he thought he must bleed. He wanted to bleed. The effigy's mouth was alternating between each nipple, mauling them in turn. The pain felt so good, too much to cum and enough to keep him erect and drooling. He wondered how far he would want this to go, how much pain he would be able to stand. His double seemed to instinctively know how far to push him. His breathing started to come in short sharp gasps, so close to orgasm.
The effigy's mouth moved up to Ernest's throat and its hand reached for the athame. It sank its teeth into his throat and with inhuman effort it bit through his jugular, sucking hard. Ernest tried to scream and his whole body jerked in one huge last orgasm, the fluid of his life flowing into the effigy's mouth and flowing between them from his cock as the effigy came into him, their bodies absorbing the juices from the other.
The effigy used the athame, slicing open Ernest's chest and abdomen, and in ecstatic fever, it held Ernest's still beating heart in its hands, its mouth locked to his throat and Ernest's legs locked in the spasm of orgasm around its hips as he died.
As Ernest expelled his last breath, so did his creation, refusing to exist as its whole reason for being, its life, its universe, the one for whom it was created, the one it would never, and now could never, be parted, died in its arms. And as the hours went by, the effigy's form started to disintegrate, melting into Ernest's body. It's face melted into his throat and shoulder, its shoulders melted into his chest, its hands melted into his still, cold heart. The effigy's body, liquefying, seeped into Ernest's abdomen, seeking and finding its way into every nook and cranny, touching places that had never been touched, coming into contact with his inner most and most secret being. It was now a liquid sticky mass, covering Ernest like a sheet of ectoplasm and as the weeks and months went by, Ernest's body also disintegrated, even down to his bones. They lost their form and reverted to a gelatinous substance which further broke down to liquid, as if the effigy had literally sucked every drop of life from him and there was no thing to remember. So as Ernest's body rotted away to nothing, his essence and that of the effigy, the one being he had given life and then given his life to, mingled, coming as close as they could to being one.
And I'm sure that somewhere, Ernest was truly appreciating the sensuality of the moment as they rotted away, together.