Joyride

Sam yelled with glee as the 4-barrel 383 engine of his stepfather's Street Hemi Orange'69 Charger roared, the back country road whipping under the tires at 140 miles an hour. The tall, lanky 14 year old grinned, adrenaline and a six pack of beer coursing through his veins, his chestnut brown eyes twinkling under raven curls. That asshole stepdad of his, Steve had made Sam's life a living hell. Now Steve and Sam's mom were off on a two day trip, leaving Sam alone to look after the house.

The first thing Sam did after the two had gotten onto the plane at the airport was swipe the keys from Steve's home office and take the Charger for a spin. It was a chilly 2:00 in the morning on a December Monday, and no one was driving around the woods of Michigan, so Sam had the road to himself.

As he sped down a straightaway, his phone buzzed. The boy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled it out, unlocking the phone with a quick finger swipe. His girlfriend Michelle, a cute little Asian with a formidable rack and a curvy butt had just sent him a nude pic, along with a cheerful invitation over to her house. Sam smiled, his cock pulsating and becoming semi-erect in heart pounding anticipation.

He looked up and saw nothing but forest in front of him. Belatedly, he slammed on the brakes, but it was far too late. As the tires squealed in protest, all 3920 lbs of Detroit steel launched off the road and into dense brush and trees, slamming front first into an ancient oak. The front of the car crumpled. Sam's body was crushed between the errant engine and the rest of the car, the sudden stop causing the seatbelt to tighten instantly. The iron clad laws of physics intervened, and Sam's slender young neck was the loser. His head continued out the shattered front window, leaving his torso headless and jetting blood out of the neck stump.

Sam had 5 seconds of conscious though after the crash, which to him felt like 5 minutes. The world slowly turned upside down, then right side up, then upside down again in a blur of colour, and he opened his mouth to scream. No sound came out. There was a sudden thump as he hit the dirt and rolled, coming to a rest on his left cheek. His eyes were wide open as he looked at the ruins of the Charger, and his twitching body still sitting in the drivers seat. The burning pain in his neck and the buzzing in his mind grew and grew. The world turned grey, then faded to black. "Steve is going to kill me", Sam thought in a daze. With that thought, he slipped away, his oxygen starved brain shutting down for the last time.

Only two minutes passed before a police car rolled up to the embankment, its spot light swinging out and lighting up the crash scene. Police Officer Cynthia Farrow stepped out of the car and made her way down the slope, grimacing as she surveyed the wreck. One body, definitely deceased. She walked over to the drivers side and looked down. It was a kid, she realized with a start.

The curvaceous cop released the seatbelt, and the body fell out of the seat, landing in the frost stiffened grass. Steam rose from the corpse as its body temperature skin met cold winter air. Cynthia knelt down and fished a wallet from the body's acid washed jeans, gingerly avoiding the large damp spot around the crotch where the boy had soiled himself post-mortem. She flipped open the wallet and retrieved an ID card. "Samuel Fletcher, age 14", she read out loud. Definitely too young to be driving alone, she thought. Cynthia put the card back, and placed the wallet beside the body. Looking around, she spotted Sam's head, lying against a tree trunk, a puddle of congealing blood seeping into the dirt around his neck hole.

The police officer picked the head up and placed it beside the rest of his body. She activated her mic, then stopped, and looked down at Sam. He was cute, slender and with a feminine face. Her type, back when she was in middle school. Thoughts of calling in the incident left her mind. This was an opportunity to act on a dark fantasy she had nursed for a decade. Her trembling hands unzipped the fly of Sam's jeans, and pulled the pants down to the knees. He had been wearing a pair of grey briefs, and had thoroughly soaked them with the contents of his bladder during the crash. Cynthia buried her nose against his crotch, inhaling the sweet acrid smell of his urine. Her nose bumped up against the bulge of his bulging, rock hard penis. She slipped her hands under the elastic waistband and pulled the underwear down too, exposing Sam to the elements.

If he still had a pulse, and a conscious mind, Sam would have turned deep red. As it was, Sam watched Cynthia with the same expression of dull shock as he had been wearing when his head was fatally severed from his torso, chestnut brown eyes half lidded and empty, soft cheeks devoid of colour.

Cynthia wrapped her lips around Sam's shaft, closing her eyes as his salty taste flooded her mouth. Several minutes more had passed, and by now his body was reaching the ambient temperature, a decidedly cool 19 degrees fahrenheit. The sensation of sucking the deceased boy's cock was similar to sucking on a frozen sausage that had been left to thaw in a fridge, she thought. Soon tiring of that, she slipped out of her pants, pulled her panties to the side and placed her pussy on top of Sam's penis. Grunting, she rode him cowboy style, and the stimulation of her womb soon caused her to cum, squirting love liquid onto Sam's pale pelvis. Cynthia exhaled, picked up Sam's head by his curly bangs, and kissed him , locking lips and pressing her tongue into his mouth. She played with his limp tongue, tasting the cheap beer and pepperoni pizza that had been his last meal, before disengaging with a wet *MWAH*. Saliva dripped from Sam's mouth, and she sighed. Necrophilia wasn't all that it had been cracked up to be. There wasn't anything replacing the feedback of an alive partner. Feeling disappointed, and a bit disgusted with herself, Cynthia dropped the head unceremoniously to the ground. The police officer dressed herself, then dressed Sam's limp corpse. Standing up, she swept the dirt off her uniform, keyed the radio mic, and called the crash into dispatch.