The Undertaker's Daughter

The Usual Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy. All characters featured in sexual situations are over 18. The characters in these stories are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead is purely coincidental. Do not try this at home.

I wrote this story for HeyAll's "On the Job" themed event. It is my first time participating in such an event and I hope you enjoy the story.

Tamara's life was always overshadowed by the presence of death. Her family had owned the cemetery and funeral home for over a century. The family business had a way of isolating each generation of her family from the community in which they lived. Their town was typical of many Midwestern communities of the era; it had grown rapidly over three decades as it became enmeshed in the suburban sprawl of the city thirty miles away.

Tamara's grandfather had owned several large tracts of land on the outskirts of town. His grandfather had bought up the former farmland back during the Depression, when those farms had been abandoned by families unable to remain solvent. She looked up from the row of headstones to regard their former property. Developers had turned it into blocks of homes, strip malls, and restaurants. The cemetery was surrounded now.

For Tamara, the cemetery was a peaceful green jewel in the middle of that busy section of town. Her life had been spent here with her family. As a small girl, she had followed her grandmother around this place. She had learned all about the beautiful flowers from that wise and loving woman. She had admired the gleaming, polished stones, arranged so carefully into neat rows. It wasn't until she was twelve and was first allowed to attend a funeral there that she began to understand the sadness overshadowing this beautiful place.

She lovingly tended the flowers on the last grave of the row. This section of the cemetery was relatively recent. She had known the woman whose grave she now tended. As she stood and looked over the orderly row of headstones, she could recall each of those funerals. She had been in high school for most of them.

That was what had isolated her family for so long. She had seen the families of those she now tended when they had been rocked by tragedy. Her presence was always an uncomfortable reminder to those classmates who had lost loved ones. Tamara had never planned to participate in the "family business" but here she was, at twenty-five, working as her grandmother had tending the flowers and keeping the headstones and burial plots neat and clean.

She had scarcely dated in high school. Her plans for college had not gone as she had hoped. Tamara had a bachelor's degree. Unfortunately, the economy had taken a brutal downturn just as she graduated. Her parents had offered her this job, and had paid off her student loans so that they would not be hanging over her.

It was generous of them, really. She loved her parents dearly and appreciated that they looked out for her as they did. It was just impossible for her to date when she lived in this town and was known as "The Undertaker's Daughter." It certainly did not help that her wardrobe consisted of so much drab clothing. Again, though, it had been about the family business. It wouldn't do for her to parade around such a somber place in anything colorful or sexy.

She heard an approaching, rhythmic "creak, thump, creak, thump" and turned to find the source of the sound. A wan smile touched her lips as she watched her former classmate, James, as he made his way through the cemetery on his crutches. It was a miracle, really, that he was not buried here. He had been the only survivor of a horrific car accident that had claimed his wife, his mother, and his two tragically young children.

James grimaced at the pain shooting through his surgically repaired legs and forced himself to continue. It was bad enough, in his mind, that he had missed the funerals of his loved ones. Nobody but James blamed him, of course. He had been in the hospital for months, and he was lucky to be alive.

So many people had told him that—"You're lucky to be alive, James." He gritted his teeth as the montage played through his mind; so many solicitous faces, telling him how lucky he was. He didn't feel lucky. He had lost almost his entire family. He was bankrupt from all the medical bills, and his home had been repossessed. He could barely drag his crippled ass to the grave of the love of his life. How was this "lucky"?

His physical pain reached a crescendo along with the emotional as he finally reached the plot. Tears streamed down his face. He had not been prepared. James had thought to pay his respects to his wife, but her headstone was flanked by those of his children. Oh, God! he thought, How could I have forgotten?

Someone had deemed it appropriate to use smaller headstones for the children, but that only served to emphasize the tragedy now. Sobs racked his body as James pictured their tiny faces. His legs gave way, and he was surprised to find soft hands supporting him so that he did not fall. James could barely see through the tears, but he did recognize Tamara's voice.

"I'm glad to see you, James," she said. There was none of the condolence in her voice that he expected, and it was a blessed relief. "Amy would understand," she continued. "I'm sorry you missed it, but it was a lovely service."

She wrapped one arm around his midsection, keeping him on his feet while she fished out a handkerchief and handed it to him. James took it gratefully and wiped his eyes. It took a while before he could see clearly again, and he looked at Tamara's face closely. She was not looking at him. Instead, she was gazing sadly at the trio of graves.

Oh, they were pretty headstones. It was just what they represented that transformed that creamy marble into a message of despair.

With a start, James realized that Tamara's breast was pressed against his side. He thought that he could feel her thick nipple through the dark grey of her shirt. It felt incongruous—he had never even thought of Tamara as having breasts. He was still staring at her when she turned her head and fixed him with a sad smile.

She had always seemed to him such a mousy little thing. Tamara's attire in school had been drab, and she had worn thick glasses. Now, she was holding him upright easily and he was aware that she was a real woman as her scent wafted into his nostrils. This was not any perfume; there was a faint hint of her deodorant and shampoo, but she had a faint aroma of sweat from her efforts...and he could detect another, earthy smell that informed him that beneath those unflattering clothes there was a...he gulped as the words wet pussy came unbidden to his mind.

It had been a long time since either of them had been laid. Tamara had managed to find a one-night stand several months earlier when she had hooked up with an attractive young man in a nightclub in the city. James had been in the hospital for four months. He had only been able to get around on crutches for three days, but had insisted on getting out of the hospital. He was pushing himself too hard, really, to be here today.

Tamara knew it; knew that he was pushing harder than he should. As her arm held him firmly, she was also reminded that he was a man. Despite his weakened condition, the muscles of his back were thick slabs of muscle against her arm. Tamara could picture those muscles straining and flexing as he pumped his hips into her...

She tried not to dwell on it, but holding him close like this was getting her aroused. She reflected that she would probably be thinking about James tonight when she buried her vibrator in her needy little snatch. She blew out an audible breath as she banished that thought. It would be unfair for her to take advantage of such an obviously vulnerable man. She appraised his pale face as she held him upright. He was shaking with the effort to stand there on his crutches.

"James, you shouldn't be here." Her voice was not loud, but it carried a strength that made him nod in agreement. "You aren't strong enough for this yet. Come back in a week, and then you can have a proper visit."

Tamara turned him, and continued to support him all the way back to his car. They were both winded when they reached it. Neither wanted to admit it, but they were both aroused. Tamara could not help but take note of the bulge in his trousers when she helped him into the driver's seat. She licked her lips and forced her eyes to hold his.

"Are you going to be okay to drive?" she asked sincerely.

"Yes," he replied with a nod. He carefully maneuvered the crutches into place in the passenger seat, so that they would stay put while he drove. When he turned back to her, his eyes took in the swell of her heaving bosom. Her breasts were right at eye level, and they surprised him once again.

Tamara had really nice breasts. James looked guiltily from those lovely mounds up to her face. She was smiling at him again, but for once that smile was not marred by sadness.

"I'll see you next week," she said.

* * *

That week made a huge difference. Tamara thought he looked far better when she saw James making his way toward her. He still needed crutches to get around, but it was not the epic struggle it had been the previous week. He had been gasping and was obviously in pain the last time he had attempted to pay his respects. Now, he had a look of grim determination on his face. The pain was no longer physical.

This pain...was her constant companion. As was always the case, her heart went out to her grieving friend. Tamara carefully stepped away to give him privacy. She concentrated on the flowers and headstones two rows away and kept her gaze carefully averted from James so that he was free to do whatever he needed to get closure.

She was surprised to hear him approach afterward. Tamara carefully wiped her hands on the rag she carried before turning to gaze up at him. The fresh tears were still clear on his face, but his smile was happy when he spoke to her.

"Hey, Tamara," he said simply. "Thank you for last week."

She nodded and smiled back. "Any time."

Her eyes widened slightly when she realized that he was looking her over. He was looking at her body, and he looked hungry. It made her suck in a breath when she realized he was not even aware that he was doing it. Just as he had pushed himself too hard too soon in an effort to be strong last week, he was denying himself any sort of physical pleasure in the aftermath of his wife's passing.

Tamara could not help but think about how his cock must be craving attention. His balls must be packed with pent-up sperm, she thought. Her pussy practically drooled at the thought.

It was his turn to be caught off-guard when he realized that Tamara's gaze was lingering on his crotch. He felt himself stiffening beneath that scrutiny. Since his arms were holding him upright on the crutches, he couldn't even shield his rapidly growing bulge from her view. A pang of guilt shot through him. It still felt like he was cheating on Amy just considering another woman.

It was complicated, but he found Tamara appealing because she understood without trying to say anything. Everybody else had to say something. Usually, it was just them trying to make themselves feel better. Sometimes, they stammered out something horrible because they felt obligated to say something, but they hadn't really thought it out beforehand.

And...Tamara had been there when he couldn't be. She had attended to his deceased family members while he was still unconscious in the intensive care unit at the hospital. He just knew that she had been attentive and loving when she and her family laid them to rest. He was grateful to her for that. It would have been so much worse without her there...

James realized with a start that neither of them had said a word in several minutes. "Sorry!" he blurted, but she just smiled and shook her head.

"It's okay," she said. She rose and closed the distance between them. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

She walked beside him and guided him to a place he had not known existed. Sunk into the ground amid a grove of bushes was a small grotto surrounding a pond, with natural stone benches built into the walls. The water made a soft, comforting sound as it flowed into the pond. Plants arranged in troughs at the top of the walls hung over the entire semi-circle, giving privacy and hiding the fact that it was even there.

Tamara eased him into a seat, and he immediately felt tension flowing out of him. This was a peaceful place. She gently rested his crutches against the wall beside him and then sat next to him. She gave a contented sigh.

"I love this place," she said softly. "It was my grandmother's idea to put this here. I don't think anyone but me and Mom really take advantage of it, but it is so relaxing to just sit here."

James leaned back, resting his head against the wall behind him. He had to agree. It was the first time he had felt this relaxed... Actually, he couldn't recall feeling relaxed since before the accident. He had been either unconscious, or in constant pain until two weeks ago. He was still on fairly heavy pain medication. Sitting here, though, he actually felt better than he could recall.

His gaze settled on Tamara's face beside him. "God, you're beautiful," he said softly. He blushed, then, when he realized he had said it out loud. She gave him a beautiful smile as she turned to look at him. "I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't mean to say that..."

Her lips cut him off as she leaned up to kiss him. The intensity of that kiss escalated rapidly, surprising them both. They were both starving for this affection, this opportunity. Tamara started to slide into James's lap, but he stiffened and groaned in obvious pain. Fire lanced through him where her arm pressed against his damaged ribs, and his reconstructed left hip reacted to her light touch like she had punched him there.

She flinched back, alarmed that she had hurt him. "Sorry," she whispered. Tamara realized that it would be some time before this man could give her what she desperately wanted from him. Her hands reached to gently open his zipper.

The pain had ripped through James, taking his breath away. He was just getting his breathing back to normal. The sharp pain in his ribs had returned to a familiar dull ache, and his hip just felt numb. He knitted his brow as he watched those delicate fingers opening his trousers. "What are you...?" he started, but his voice trailed off.

Tamara gently pulled his stiff cock out of the front of his pants, and bent to take him in her mouth. She was gentle. James marveled at the softness of her moist lips as they wrapped around his sensitive knob. The wet heat of her mouth and tongue felt amazing. Tamara gave out a soft moan as she savored the taste of that hard dick.

She had not done this very often, but she quite enjoyed the way it felt to have that throbbing, hard cock in her mouth. She softly licked the underside of the shaft and nursed on the three thick inches or so that she could fit comfortably in her mouth. It turned her on enormously to listen to James as he moaned helplessly and looked into her eyes. The pre-cum that trickled out of him had a dank sweetness to it that she savored on her tongue before swallowing it.

For his part, James was paralyzed with the sensations flowing over him. There was that guilt-ridden part of him that wanted to protest, wanted to stop this from happening. It was overpowered by his libido and natural need—a need that he had ruthlessly suppressed for the months since he had come out of surgery. He had even denied himself the release of masturbation. Now that this lovely woman had taken him like this, his mouth refused to form the words to stop her. After several blissful minutes of her gentle sucking, one word finally escaped his lips.

"Yes," he moaned.

Tamara's eyes widened when she felt that cock pulsing and swelling in her mouth. She had only taken it to this point once before, and it was her turn to be caught unprepared. The molten-hot semen shot out of the end of that throbbing cock in a deluge. The other time a man had come in her mouth, it had not been anything like this. Tamara gagged and choked as the back of her throat was hit by that mini-tsunami of cum.

James's cock slipped from her lips, but of course it was still firing out rope after rope of stringy semen. It shot all over Tamara as she knelt between his knees and tried to get her breath. She barely managed to shut her left eye before it was hit by one of those hot liquid streams. James watched with a growing sense of horror.

"Oh, shit!" he gasped. That sentiment did nothing to quell the streams flying out of him to coat Tamara's face, neck and chest.

Tamara managed to recover after she had swallowed that first thick salvo. She leaned forward quickly and recaptured the head of James's erupting dick. Her lips and tongue worked quickly to swallow each subsequent stream of musky semen until he finally stopped erupting in her mouth. Once again, she was gently nursing him as the last of that salty offering slowed to a trickle, and finally stopped.

His breathing was ragged as James looked down at her. His expression was still one of shock and guilt as he looked at his copious jism plastered all over her. Before he got the chance to say anything, Tamara kissed the tip of his cock and smiled up at him. She laughed softly even as she pulled a clean rag out of her apron and wiped the cum from her eye.

She licked her lips when she looked at the creamy mess on that soft cloth. Then she carefully folded it over and wiped most of the mess from her face. Her tongue made a lap around her lips, and she found a bit that she had missed and quickly licked it into her mouth.

"Mmm," she moaned softly. "Did I miss any more?"

James pointed to her neck. "There are a couple of strings of it on your neck there."

She wiped those away. "Did I get it?"

He nodded. James started to apologize. Then he saw the way Tamara was smiling brightly up at him and realized it was not the appropriate thing to say. She was happy with what had just happened. That sentiment was contagious; James felt a smile spreading over his face as he looked at her.

"Thank you," he said softly. He loved the way her eyes twinkled when he said it.

Tamara walked with him to his car. She was surprised when James impulsively kissed her on the lips before he settled into the driver's seat. It took a moment for him to work through what to say.

"I want to see you again," he finally got out.

"I would like that," she smiled in reply.

Tamara watched him drive away before making her way into the funeral home. The little bell at the top of the door jingled, alerting her father that someone was there.

"Hello?" his voice came from the office.

"It's me, Dad," she called out. "I just needed to use the bathroom."

"Okay sweetheart."

Tamara closed the bathroom door behind her and looked at her flushed face in the mirror over the sink. I can't believe I did that! she thought. She let the water run so that it would have a chance to warm up, and untied and removed her apron. There was a little hook on the back of the bathroom door, and she hung the apron there. After a moment's hesitation, she reached into the pocket of the apron and pulled out the cum-filled rag that she had stuffed there.

She looked at her reflection again as she put the rag to her face and took a deep whiff. Her pussy was on fire! She set the rag on the side of the sink as she ran warm water over her face. She spied a small dollop of pearly cream on her collarbone inside the shirt, and her finger scooped it up and fed it into her mouth. She watched her reflection as she savored that last drop of sperm.