Dead Man Rising
“I wrote this story before Survivor Series so obviously I don’t actually know what actually happens there. Oh and, any other Undertaker fans that want to talk to me, email me. As always any comments are appreciated.”
*
The lights went down. The gong sounded. The mist started pouring into the crowded arena, and, as the gong sounded again, a tall imposing figure dressed completely in black appeared as if from nowhere, the graveyard fog billowing eerily around his feet.
He started slowly moving towards the ring, the mist cloaking him from the waist down so he appeared to float down the aisle. His presence was so forceful that the normally rowdy wrestling crowd was completely silent after their initial cheer at the first gong. They watched as the spectre walked slowly down the ramp. He reached the stairs to the ring, and lifting his black leather coat deliberately out of the way, he mounted the steps.
Posing for a moment with his hands slightly raised as if in some unholy benediction, he seemed some sort of satanic priest, blessing his followers. Then his black-gloved hands started to move upwards, and as if by magic, the darkened arena slowly returned to normal.
He carefully entered the ring, and reaching up slowly he grasped his hat with both hands. Dramatically lowering the hat from his head, it covered his face briefly. When his deathly pale face was again revealed, it was to show the crowd a frightening sight… His eyes had gone completely white.
After returning to normal, his light green eyes unhurriedly moved to pierce the older man standing in the ring, looking ludicrous in his cowboy hat. He cringed back unconsciously, truly intimidated.
The Undertaker had arrived.
* * * * *
Janelle absentmindedly reached for the bag of pretzels sitting on the table in front of her. She wasn’t finding SmackDown particularly interesting today, but the Undertaker’s entrance was slightly more interesting than listening to her fiancé and her best friend argue good naturedly about something. She thought it might be politics but she wasn’t paying a lot of attention.
She tuned them out even further as she semi-amusedly watched “The Dead Man” go through his little routine; eye rolling and light raising and all that. She had to stifle a yawn as the Undertaker “finally” managed to make his way to the ring.
The Undertaker was just trying to intimidate the other man, “Cowboy” something, she thought he was called, when her attention was caught by her best friend changing the subject to hair dying. As she started to argue fiercely with him about whether women with dyed blonde hair and fake breasts were attractive or not, she only kept one eye on the show, getting more and more angry with the nastiness and sexism of the world.
* * * * *
The Undertaker focused his eyes firmly on the man groveling in front of him. The man was desperately beseeching him to spare his son, but the Undertaker never was known as a merciful man. He shook his head firmly and turned to go, when suddenly his attention was drawn away from the scene in front of him. A shock went through his whole body. Someone out there somewhere had just reached the level of emotion necessary to be ready for him. Someone who was going to be his.
He started scanning for the mortal who was destined for him, totally ignoring the man who continued to beg for his son’s life.
So absorbed was he that he didn’t sense the presence behind him until too late. He whirled around quickly, but he was still caught full force by the devastating R.K.O.
He collapsed on to the wrestling mat heavily. He used the rest of his energy to push himself onto his hands and knees, and with the rest of his considerable strength, he looked straight into the camera at the one whom he was going to claim. Forming a link with her took only seconds, and he sent his power along it and into her. His energy temporarily gone, he fell back to the canvas, content with the knowledge that his message had been sent.
* * * * *
Janelle angrily stuffed another pretzel into her mouth to buy herself time to think of a suitable retort. Even so, she was unable to come up with anything better than “I still think Trish would look better with her natural hair and breasts, and I am just sick of asshole men who prefer fake…”
Her voice abruptly stopped as her eyes were drawn towards the TV without any direction from her. An unexplained shiver went through her body. She could have sworn that the Undertaker’s intense eyes were looking straight at her before he collapsed. A strange feeling of foreboding stole over her, along with an even stranger excitement.
She shook her head, ashamed of herself for giving in to these fanciful thoughts and berating herself for having an overactive imagination. She forced herself back to her prior train of thought before anyone noticed her lapse. However, it was hard to focus, and she was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the evening.
* * * * *
He sat in his hotel room, the doors locked, the blinds lowered and the lights off. He was completely still, his eyes wide open and unblinking as he stared directly north. After a few minutes, one large hand came up and pointed. He focused all his will into his pointing finger, and forced it beyond. Suddenly, he was in her dream.
He strained to find the one who had called to him across the miles. With the ease of long practice, he scanned the room. Since it was her dream, she must be here. He was in a large room, like a church hall. It appeared to be some sort of Ren Faire. Everyone around him was dressed in medieval-style clothing and some people were dancing a beautiful period dance. His eyes were drawn towards the dancers, and his instinct was soon proven correct as he saw her.
She was the only one other than he who was not dressed in a costume. She was happily dancing, her shoulder length brown hair bouncing, her hazel eyes sparkling. She was wearing a tight black tank top that showed off her round breasts to perfection. Her jeans clung to her curvy hips and ass. She was beautiful. Even better, he knew that she was the one he had come for.
He had to caution himself not to ruin everything by being overly excited. It had been a long time since he had found someone, and the last one he had found had not been for him after all. He had been searching for so long… Reaching out mentally with the lightest touch he could manage, he twisted her dream so that he was now a part of it.
She looked over at him, obviously startled though only for a few seconds. She stared at him, and then slowly left her place in the dance and started to approach him.
Janelle recognized the Undertaker as soon as she saw him, of course. Since it was a dream, she was not at all surprised that he was sitting on the floor in the middle of her SCA dance practice. She did notice that everyone else seemed to be avoiding him, looking at him sideways as if they were scared of him. It was this that decided her.
She started walking over to where he sat by himself, long legs crossed, back against the wall. He rose gracefully to his feet as she approached. She gasped out loud as she got near to him. He was enormous! Long leather clad legs went on forever, and a broad muscled torso was displayed by a black sleeveless shirt. He had a black hat atop his long auburn hair, and his gorgeous, light green eyes seemed very serious and intense as he watched her. His sheer presence was completely overwhelming her, and she had to swallow deeply before making herself talk to him.
Before she could do more than open her mouth, she was suddenly sitting on a leather covered seat in a car. Such is the nature of dreams and she didn’t question it. She looked over to her right, and yes, there he was. So close to her that her breath caught in her throat. She smiled tremulously at him, and he reacted by resting his huge hand on her leg.
The thrill of him touching her, even so slightly, was incredible. Still, she surprised herself a little by putting her small hand on his large one and moving it further up until it was resting right on her denim covered upper inner thigh.
She moaned out loud as he took her hint and started moving his fingers over the cloth covered juncture between her legs. It was incredible, the man was barely touching her and yet it was enough to make her so excited her panties were soaked right through.
Grabbing his hand, she opened the car door, fumbling at the handle in her haste. She dragged him, unprotesting, out of the car. Outside was what seemed to be a beautiful park, barely lit. There was a strange energy coming from the place that she didn’t understand at first, but as her eyes roamed over the darkened grounds she realized that she was not in a park after all, but in a cemetery.
Before she could do more than realized this, he surprised her by grabbing her hips and lifting her easily up so her face was at the same height as his. She obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist and opened her full lips invitingly.
He didn’t disappoint her, lightly running his lips over hers, then slipping his tongue into her mouth.
They kissed like that for a long time. After a bit, he walked over to a nearby oak tree. Setting her lightly back on the ground, he sat down on the ground at the base of the tree, using its rough bark as his backrest. He used her hands to pull her down until she was kneeling between his legs under the tree.
She looked at him, sitting there with leaf shadows falling over his face, and she thought her heart might break with his beauty. The night shadows somehow both softened his rough features and make them seem even more dangerous.
They held hands, facing each other in the shadows. Slowly, he pulled her closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she lay her head on his chest, feeling fragile but protected in his strong arms.
They rested like that for a while, him stroking her hair lightly. Then he tilted her chin up towards his face, and their lips were joining again. The kiss quickly deepened until it became earth shattering.
She ran her hands down his chest as they broke off their kiss, delighting in the way his muscles flexed under her hands. Her breathing grew a little louder as she reached his rock hard abdomen and finally down to his belt buckle.
Undoing the belt, she slowly drew his pants down from his slim hips until they were puddled around his ankles. She knelt as his feet for a second, then slowly started moving up his legs. She nuzzled her face and lips against him as she made the long, slow journey up, and he clenched his hands tightly at his side with the effort of not pulling her up to him.
He gave up the futile effort around the time she reached his knees. Reaching down, he gently but firmly cupped her head with one hand. Winding his fingers into her soft hair, he used his grip to move her willingly up his legs.
She laughed softly at his urgency, her soft lips grazing the tip of his cock. Inhaling deeply, she enjoyed his completely masculine scent. As she exhaled and the air rushed over his fully erect manhood, his fingers tightened in her hair.
She felt a shiver go through her whole body at the sensation. She could no longer control herself, and without any further teasing, she opened her mouth and…
* * * * *
Her fiancé sat straight up in bed. “Shit!” he said, “the alarm didn’t go off!”
“Thanks a lot” Janelle muttered “You woke me up from an awesome dream.”
She snuggled back into bed and tried to get back to sleep, but it just wasn’t happening. She sighed in resignation and pushed the covers off. She was covered in a thin film of sweat and her breathing was a little harsh; remnants of her dream.
“It was the most vivid dream.” She mused “It really felt like it was happening.”
Her fiancé stopped his rapid rushing around to get ready for work to look at her inquiringly.
“Never mind, go to work, it was just a dream” She smiled and rolled over, trying to catch a few more hours of sleep before work.
* * * * *
“Welcome to Wrestlemania 21, live from Hollywood!”
Janelle sat excitedly in her chair. She was in a movie theater that was receiving the Pay-Per-View, and she couldn’t wait for the show to get started.
Ever since her crazy dream a few nights ago, she’d been very excited about seeing the Undertaker. She’d even taken the day off work, something that was very out of character for her.
She sat impatiently through the other matches, barely watching them. She realized that she would have normally found them quite enjoyable but, in reality, she was there for one match only.
At long last, the Staples arena went dark. An eerie chant rose, and dark cloaked figures carrying torches walked onto the ramp. The stood flanking the aisle, still chanting.
The gong sounded. The Dead Man appeared in a cloud of mist. He floated down to the ring. His eyes sought out the camera as if he knew she was watching.
“Hey, look!” Janelle whispered to her best friend “It’s my new boyfriend.”
She ignored the look he gave her and leaned over to whisper to her fiancé “I think I have a crush on the Undertaker.”
“I think you do too” He responded dryly.
In the ring, the match was now in full swing.
The punk kid who wanted to make a name for himself at the Undertaker’s expense was clearly out of his league. Or so it seemed until in a surge of desperate strength, he scooped Undertaker up into position for a tombstone.
Before he could execute it, Undertaker reversed the move. The kid’s head slammed into the mat, and he was easily rolled up for the pin.
Janelle screamed and cheered along with everyone else as the Undertaker walked back up the ramp. The mist came up again, and raising one hand without looking back, he disappeared into the fog.
* * * * *
That night she dreamed again.
* * * * *
This time, she was in the backstage area of an arena dressed in a tight black minidress. She wore a golden necklace with a strangely familiar pendant dangling from it. She held it up curiously to get a better look. It looked kind of like a capital “T” with a large “X” centered on it about halfway down the pendant. She could have sworn she knew it from someplace.
As she peered at it she noticed a tall dark clad figure walking towards her. She smiled as she recognized him. Once again, she didn’t find it strange that he would be there. Instead, she watched, breathless with anticipation as he glided gracefully towards her.
When he reached her, he stood very close to her and ran his eyes over her curves. His eyes roamed up her body, stopping when they reached her throat where the pendant was hanging. He reached out with one finger and gently touched it. His eyes lit up in something she would swear was approval, and he whispered something that she didn’t quite hear.
Seconds later she was no longer wondering what is was he had said. She was in his arms and he was kissing away any coherent thought she might have had.
Not breaking the kiss, he drew her down onto a nearby bench until she was sitting, straddling him. She gasped softly as she felt his male hardness press against her wet panties. Unable to help herself she started moving her hips slightly, gliding herself over him, and moaning in ecstasy as her movement caused him to rub firmly against her clit.
He ran his hand down over her soft hair, over her face and down her neck. He slid his large cool hands over her shoulders, taking the straps of her dress down so it fell around her waist.
Her nipples hardened instantly as the cool air hit them. Before she had a chance to get cold, his hands were covering her breasts. As he firmly ran his hands over her full round globes, she moaned and ground her hips more firmly against his groin.
The she was groaning in disappointment as he lifted her easily off his lap and set her gently down on the ground in front of him. She sighed with relief, however, as his large hands went immediately to his belt buckle.
His pants slid down his legs with a whisper of leather, and as soon as they were down, he pulled her back down onto his lap. This time the only thing preventing him from slipping inside of her was a pair of very thin, very wet panties.
Eager to get rid of the barrier, she lifted her hips just enough to push the thin cotton to the side, since she was not willing to separate from him even long enough to take them off.
Laughing in a slightly sinister way at her eagerness, he grasped her firmly by her hips. He lifted her up until the tip of his impressive cock was pressed just into the entrance of her wet sex. With a groan, he tightened his hold on her and drove her body down roughly onto him. As he slipped easily inside her, they both moaned.
She moved her hips slightly until he was entirely inside her, and he responded by tightening his hold on her even further until it was almost painful for her. He started moving slowly inside of her, and….
* * * * *
The alarm clock switched over from 6:59 to 7:00 am and the alarm started blaring stridently, waking her completely and totally from the disturbingly vivid dream.
* * * * *
Janelle sighed as she sat through yet another Undertaker-less SmackDown. Night after night had passed with him haunting her dreams, and she was starting to feel like she was losing touch with reality. The time she spent with him while she was sleeping was starting to feel more real than her actual life. The days and nights passed and the dreams became more and more vivid and real, although they always broke off just short of being fulfilling.
Six months had gone by since he first appeared to her, and she’d become more and more withdrawn as the months passed. Her fiancé and her friends had initially been quite worried about her. Her best friend tried for weeks to get into an argument, but she was no longer receptive to even the most loaded sexist comment. Eventually, everyone had adapted to her new personality.
The only time when she felt alive was when she was asleep, or when she was able to see the Undertaker on SmackDown. He seemed to be taunting her by seldom showing up to wrestle, and so she couldn’t contain her excitement as the lights went down in the arena on TV. It could only mean one thing, and her suspicions were soon confirmed… his gong struck. The Undertaker was back.
She watched delightedly, eyes sparkling as she played absentmindedly with a golden necklace around her throat.
Over the next few weeks, the Undertaker stalked around SmackDown and Janelle made sure to catch every second of it. Every so often he would look at the camera and Janelle knew somehow that he was looking straight at her.
Summerslam quickly approached, and the Undertaker took care of some business, cornering Randy Orton and his father into a match.
She waited for the event eagerly, and finally it was the night before the event. She knew, somehow, that he would be coming for her tonight
* * * * *
This time the dream was a very different from any she had had before. Unlike previous dreams, she knew she was sleeping. And it felt more real than real life ever had.
She was kneeling naked on a cold stone floor, and she felt a shiver of fear run over her body as she looked around and realized she was inside of a crypt. She could hear the rain pounding through the open door at her back. The lightning flashed ominously and the thunder roared like a beast.
As she knelt there, her eyes were drawn to the middle of the room. There was a huge slab of unworked granite raised up off the floor by pillars of midnight black marble. A sheet lay draped over the still figure lying atop the strange alter.
As the lightning flashed brightly again, she saw the pure white sheet move and fall back as the form beneath it sat up. He swung his long legs around and stood. The sheet fell away, revealing his naked body in all its glory.
Faith felt no sensation in her artificial penis, for it lacked nerves and could feel nothing. She felt deprived. In playing the male, she’d like to feel what a man felt, not merely a simulation or a facsimile of what he felt. She wanted to feel the actual feelings themselves. Instead, her cock-that-wasn’t-a-cock, although it poked and slid and, eventually, would pierce and slide, fucking like a real prick, it would remain what it was–a mere dildo, unable to join, to feel, to overcome the gulf that she forever felt between herself and others. In the final analysis, the strap-on dildo was artificial, not actual, and it kept her apart from Xander rather than uniting her with him.
On the other hand, precisely because the dildo maintained, rather than dissolved, the estrangement that Faith felt between herself and others, between herself and even a young man she was going to fuck–in a moment, would be fucking–in the ass, it was sexy. Its inability to truly unite her with Xander–or with whoever she was fucking–was exciting. It was arousing. Already, her cunt was liquid with passion. The dildo’s inability to feel or to join reminded Faith that it was merely a thing, an instrument, a tool and that, as such, it gave her only the semblance of power. In the final analysis, she remained as impotent in overcoming the separation between herself and others as she was as a woman or as a Slayer. Power could never overcome the gulf that yawned between one person and another.
Some claimed that love could do so. If love could accomplish such a feat, that would be a miracle. But faith had never known such love. She’d never known love at all until it had been too late for her to believe in it, to embrace it, to accept it. All she’d ever known was power, the ability to dominate and to control. Power, though, was, at best, a mere substitute for love, and, worse yet, power was something that destroyed but could not create, something that could bring pain but not pleasure, or that could cause death but not life.
The tiny opening into Xander’s innermost depths would open to admit her. She would shove the purple phallus through his anus, past his sphincter, and into his bowels, and she would fuck him fast and hard and long. She would possess him, master him, stealing his self-respect and what was left of his manhood, reducing him to tears. In lieu of love, that had to be enough.
Faith wiggled her hips, and the end of the eternally hard, nine-inch dildo settled into the tiny depression of Xander’s anus. She eased her hips forward, and, this time, the artificial prick did not slide away from its target. It slid home, stretching the circle of Xander’s anus wider than Faith would have believed possible, and she watched its thick length slide through the sphincter, vanishing between–and into–Xander’s impaled buttocks.
Instinctively, Xander tried to lunge forward, but he had little room, and Faith followed his lead, plunging the phallus even further into his skewered ass. He moaned, surrendering. His muscles went limp, and Faith heard him whimpering. He’d made up his mind to be her bitch. He’d submitted. His soft sobs told her of the anguish in his mind and the torment of his soul at being unmanned by her, a woman he knew was stronger and more agile, had greater staying power, and could move faster and more precisely than he could ever hope to be or to perform.
His moans were music to her ears, and Faith smiled as she drew back her hips, watching the dildo emerge through his speared asshole, becoming visible, inch by slow inch, as she withdrew it, slowly, between his buttocks. “Bitch!” she cried, triumph and derision equally present in her tone.
The dildo quavered, its pink glans still inside the circle of Xander’s wide-stretched anus. His cock and balls hung, limp and soft, between his legs. Faith reached around him, cupping his genitals in her hand. She gave them a hard squeeze. “You’ll get hard,” she predicted. “Before I’m through with you, you’ll be stiff with desire, slut!”
The dildo’s head still inside Xander’s asshole, Faith tightened the muscles in her own buttocks, the sinews in her thighs and belly constricting as the Slayer prepared to drive the thick, firm prick back into his buttocks, filling him to the very hilt, until the fake balls at the base of the fake cock pressed firmly against the bottom curves of Xander’s ass, flattening his butt-cheeks between the crushing force of her groin.
However, before the Slayer could accomplish her intention, the wall of the motel room, the window in its center, part of the splintered doorframe, and the combination air conditioner-heating unit exploded inwardly, showering the startled couple in bed with glass, wood, and metal debris.
“What the hell?” Faith thundered as she saw the demon-things step through the hole they’d crashed through the side of the room.
Covered in shaggy hides, with bulbous heads amid wavering tentacles; broad shoulders; deep chests; short, but powerful, arms; and thick, squat legs, there were three of them–all with huge erections and balls the size of a punching bag. They were amazingly fast, too. Before Faith could do more than cry out, the fiends were upon her. With a mighty swipe of an arm, the first to arrive at the side of the bed, batted her away from Xander, the end of the dildo popping from his reamed asshole, and, ignoring him altogether, seized Faith by the neck. The others were upon her as well, within an instant, before Xander realized that Faith was no longer in bed with him and her dildo was no longer lodged inside his bottom.
“. . . to be continued. . . .”
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