Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. So is Necrophilia. The author does not condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you feel rape in the real world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I'm disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. I don't own Harry Potter series, or any of the characters and make no profit from this story. Please read the story codes to ensure that you are not going to be offended by, or otherwise dislike, the content. This was written for the prompt 'strikes'.
Description: Tonks' corpse proves too tempting.
Content Codes: MF, first, pwp, necro, oral
Harry Potter: Nymphadora Necrophilia Part 2
by JD ([email protected])
Filch had barely departed the Great Hall when another entered. Goyle, saved from Crabbe's Fiendfyre, had been overlooked since the battle began in earnest. Though he and Crabbe had grown apart in their beliefs towards the end, he grieved for the memory of his closest school friend. Voldemort's followers were not laid out with the same care as Hogwarts' fallen. The lumbering boy had been relieved his father's body was not amongst them; he fervently hoped Goyle Sr had escaped.
An urge he mistook for curiosity drew him also amongst the peaceful heroes. Most jarring were the faces of the students of his own year; though not friends he still held memories of their shortened lives. Though she'd been a few years older, the natural beauty of Tonks' unchanged appearance struck him deeply. Like Filch before, he stopped. His slow brain suddenly quickened with emotions.
There was raw grief at the deaths of his friend, and anger that Tonks' friends would garner praise for their actions. There was jealousy that old Lupin had snared a hauntingly beautiful girl like Tonks, when he'd never had more than a kiss from Bulstrode. Finally lust; staring down slack jawed at Tonks' peacefully closed eyes, he felt tightness at his crotch. He'd come close to his own death, now he could show his contempt for one who'd failed.
Goyle fumbled for his organ. Seemingly pale in the flickering candlelight, Goyle's organ was in similar dimensions to the rest of his body; oversized and thick. Stroking his painful hardness he moved the hot crown across Tonks' pale face, defiling her features even more repugnantly than Filch's kisses. He left a slippery trail of precum from her forehead to her chin.
Squatting awkwardly, Goyle let his heavy balls press into Tonks' lifeless face. His heart pounded as he lowered them between her lips, and wiggled, letting the mixed saliva of Filch and Tonks coat his wrinkled scrotum. Leaving his cock for the moment, he reached for her breasts. The subject of many an adolescent student's fantasy, they still felt firm in his hands. He thin top provided no protection from Goyle's oafish mauling as he envisioned yanking it up, and pressing her tits around his shaft.
"Huh, no. She can suck me."
The idea was insistent; the desire more unnatural than in old Filch. Goyle gripped Tonks' breasts harder, and pulled her towards him roughly until her head lolled back off the end of her penultimate resting place. Unlike Goyle's cock, there was little stiffness apparent in Tonks' corpse. It took little effort to lever up her lower jaw, and press inside. Even less deserved than the undignified violation between her thighs, Goyle filled Tonks' once witty mouth with his sweaty cock. He teeth provided a little friction, not quite enough to be painful, as he slowly thrust in and out beneath her limp tongue.
"Potter would hate this! This one's for Crabbe!"
There was no gag reflex to hold him back from the dead witch's throat, and as soon as he lined his cock up, Goyle forced himself deep into the tight passage. Still tight and moist, and somehow retaining warmth, Tonks' throat wrapped around Goyle's cock like sheer pleasure grown solid. He slid his length along her throat until his heavy balls again pressed into her face. He wished he could capture the moment, the perfect image of him giving his virginity to Nymphadora's corpse. He pulled her top towards him, revealing her breasts, and slapped them from their deathly stillness. No longer rising with her breath, her motherly flesh shook beneath Goyle's rough blows.
Keeping her face impaled on his shaft, Goyle bent down and ran his tongue along Tonks' stomach. The combined strikes of Filch and Goyle had left their marks on her unsullied skin. He started, momentarily convinced he had heard the cry of her orphaned child, and then snarled angrily at his own foolishness. Though not small, each of Tonks' breasts fit well into Goyle's ugly large hands, and provided the grip he needed to keep her limp body in place as he withdrew swiftly from her mouth, and then immediately sheathed himself anew in her throat. The slippery tight grip along his cock enhanced the pleasure to his probing crown. Goyle's lust drew almost inhuman grunts from him as he forcefully violated Tonks' throat. Without her groans or moans of protests, the only sounds came from Goyle's slapping balls and heavy breathing. Though he gripped her breasts hard enough that, in life, Tonks would have cried with pain, he couldn't hold her ragdoll like body entirely still. The powerful thrusts bounced her arms out on both sides, and even her legs jiggled apart.
Goyle thrust harder, imagining Tonks to be such a slut that even in death her hands reached for the cocks of two lovers, and her legs spread for more. It was all in his mind; even if there was new magic present in the Great Hall, there certainly wasn't a spark of Tonks' life left in her body. Still thrusting hard the grunting boy changed his grip, lifting Tonks' body up towards him. Her arms hung down towards the floor as he stood, holding the girl's light body upturned in his powerful arms. Goyle pressed his face between Tonks' thighs, with one leg across each broad shoulder.
Drawing in deep breaths he finally exploded, straight up Tonks' throat. His own rank sweat soaked through his clothes into hers as he spurted with geyser force to paint Tonks lifeless throat with his thick seed. He held her until his knees trembled, and then lowered her again. Her body lay open mouthed and messy. Like Filch before Goyle was overcome with a sudden guilty urge to restore her appearance and so cover his defilement as much as he could. His attempt was much less competent, and when he fled Tonks' still looked recently fucked.
Goyle, too, had been seen...
Continued in Part 3
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