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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 'Paint'.

Description: Tonks' corpse proves too tempting.

Content Codes: MF, first, pwp, necro, oral



Harry Potter: Nymphadora Necrophilia Part 3
by JD ([email protected])

Her still sexy body lay at just above room temperature. Delicious in life, defiled in death, Tonks' only possible reaction to her assailants remained limp limbed ignorance. The next to enter the hall could not help but notice the sticky trail Goyle's withdrawal had left around her mouth, nor the careless position in which he'd abandoned her body.

In the battle's aftermath, Flitwick too had proven unable to sleep. Unwilling to pursue his rest through magical means, he meandered mournfully around Hogwarts until he walked amongst the eternally resting. Even curses failed him at the sight of Tonks' half-lidded lifeless eyes peering from her still face. He raised his hand and closed them respectfully. The little man tried his best to re-position Tonks, though her otherwise pliant flesh seemed to slide back chaotically.

"Who could do such a thing?" he finally muttered, before an answer presented itself.

At around two feet taller than Flitwick, Tonks' ass had often been in his line of sight during her school days. He would normally have ignored a student's behind; except she had once 'accidently' backed into his face one day as he bent to examine some spilled paint. She'd apologised, but the memory remained. It suddenly seemed to Flitwick as if she had intended it to make fun of his height, and if she'd been so needlessly cruel to him, perhaps others had suffered similarly?

Though the effort made him grunt, he flipped her over and looked freshly at her buttocks, and when looking wasn't enough, he reached out. Seen from behind, Tonks might have just been sleeping. Certainly, Flitwick's caressing revealed no sign of death beyond her complete non responsiveness. He pressed his face down then, and drew in a deep breath. Tonks' scent still hung above her body, though there was a definite odour of the previous hard fucking. Flitwick should have remained aghast; part of him did. The other part, fed up of years of jokes about his height and his part goblin ancestry, saw a chance to take something back from the tall bastards.

Convinced he was alone, Flitwick licked his tongue around his moustache. Slowly and appreciatively, he began to strip Tonks' body and reveal her nude perfection. The marks left on her breasts were masked in the shadows beneath her. He moved the pillow - such luxury for the dead! - under her stomach, raising her ass. Flitwick stripped himself, revealing a body in better condition for his age than either Filch or Goyle. His cock was proportionally overlarge, and would have impressed even on a tall man.

Flitwick kissed down Tonks' buttocks, the gentleness at odds with the lustful molestation with which he was engaged. Spreading her cheeks, he kissed down into her rosebud, and spat up as much as he could. Though some muscles had loosened in death, it seemed her sphincter was naturally tight enough to only give a little. Tasting sweat, and the normally repulsive earthiness of the orifice, Flitwick forcefully rimmed the dead Auror. He stroked his cock with one hand and explored with the other her young skin, so contrasting with his wrinkled flesh.

Kneeling between her spread legs, he hawked more upon his shaft. While her oral and vaginal passages had been willingly shared with her husband in life, Tonks' asshole had known use only in above a toilet bowl. Flitwick was momentarily doubtful that he could even penetrate. With no living resistance behind it, the hastily lubricated ring opened in death. Breathing heavily over a girl who didn't breathe at all, Flitwick worked his shaft in until his scrotum pressed partially against Tonks' still gaping cunt.

It was incredible, a little cooler than he might have preferred, but snugly gripping around his shaft and providing sticky friction within against the crown. He knelt for a moment, sheathed in Tonks, and then reached for her hair. Shorn of fancy colours in death, it was still silky soft in his fingers as he pulled her head back towards him. Unseen from his angle, her mouth gaped slackly as if silently screaming. Releasing hair, he gripped her buttocks and started screwing, in and out, twisting his crown against the walls of her rectum for greater pleasure.

Tonks might have expected Goyle or even Filch to take advantage of someone if they could, but not Flitwick. She had looked up, as it were, to the professor, and genuinely had not meant to thrust her living buttocks into his nose those years before. In the darkness of her electrically still brain there could be no horror, or shame, or regret, as Flitwick anally raped her corpse. Once again, her body could only move under the force of the thrusts within, rather than independently. Flitwick certainly had a lot of pent up lust. Sweat poured from his own forehead in heavy drops, splashing against Tonks as he repeatedly gave her his entirely length, but he had the stamina to fuck her good and hard, and did so.

Though her heart pumped no blood, there was a little congealed along the length of Flitwick's shaft along with the other mess. The squelching wetness was even more heartily obscene than it had been under Filch, and Flitwick's anger seemed occasionally to flare even more greatly, leading to brutal penetrative strokes. Loving every second, Flitwick imagined taking some future corpse. Lasting longer than both previous 'lovers' combined, he finally spewed his watery semen into Tonks. He groaned loudly as his cock continued to paint Tonks' brown waste white from the stocks of his thoroughly drained balls.

Lying on her afterwards, there was more satisfaction than guilt. Grinning darkly, he sought to ensure nobody would notice his assault as he had Goyle's. When he left the hall Tonks looked as untouched as when Filch began. The semen of three men had filled her body, and though inspired by outside influence, their lusts and emotions alone had controlled their minds.

The intangible watcher moved towards Tonks.

The ritual was complete.

Concluded in Part 4

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