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As always, the metro was dark and dank, the metallic stench of blood lingering in the air. Eric walked by the railway, stepping over rubble, footsteps inaudible as Dogmeat trotted just as quietly ahead of him. It had been a few hours of a calm and uneventful journey, and with the moon high aboveground, the urge for sleep was starting to weigh on his body.
His eyelids were just starting to feel heavy when he noticed a flickering glow against the walls ahead— undoubtedly from a campfire. Dogmeat let out a soft growl, and Eric removed his gun from its holster as boisterous laughter grew louder with each step they took.
Two minutes later, the gang of raiders was dead, and their hideout was Eric’s for the night. It was a secure, well-fortified area with metal walls and makeshift beds, with plenty of loot and drugs to go around.
‘Sufficient place to sleep for the night,’ he mused.
“Let’s rest here,” he told his companion, who barked happily and laid by the crackling campfire, already settling in for a nap.
He settled in too, sharing whatever food the raiders had. After all, they couldn’t enjoy this warmth for too long. The fire had to be put out before sleep, or else the glow would attract potential dangers in the night looking for shelter just as he had.
After a few moments, his companion was already snoozing. He gently stroked his head.
“You must’ve been tired, boy,” he murmured softly. “Rest well.”
Eric leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. After hours of walking and yet another day of survival in this wretched hell, he could feel his bones. It was a rare moment of peace, to be able to rest like this.
The metro, despite its half-collapsed and eerie state, was comforting in its own way. It provided a stillness and silence that the Capital Wasteland couldn’t provide.
Just quiet enough for him to hear his own thoughts.
An image was forming in the darkness behind his eyes. A lifeless body, propped against the wall with holes blown through the chest, blood splattered onto the concrete behind it. The eyes were empty, skin covered in dirt and grime, with hands no longer gripping the rifle that was aimed at him just a moment ago.
What a pity, he thought, that someone so young with such a handsome face, such a strong body, just had to die so pitifully.
Just had to be another raider. Some nameless stranger to kill.
Those eyes, dead and soulless, stared at nothing. Strangely, he looked like such a beautiful doll. So pretty.
So vulnerable.
Eric’s eyes flew open, his heart thundering in his chest. Fuck. He grimaced, burying his face in both hands before releasing a heavy sigh. His thoughts were betraying him once more. He shouldn’t go there.
He mustn't go there.
But just how did it start?
He had been at Paradise Falls when the notion just appeared out of thin air in his thoughts. It was a massacre that day— bodies of slavers littered the ground, and the once thriving marketplace was now a graveyard.
Alone with nothing but the sound of crackling fire to accompany him, he had been making some repairs to his shotgun when, abruptly, he realised how scanty the armour of his enemies had been.
Then, out of nowhere, a knot of heat had tightened at the base of his stomach.
Eric shut his eyes tighter, gritting his teeth. Fuck, he didn’t want to remember. But how could he ever forget that feeling? First, it was horror— how the hell was he getting turned on by lifeless corpses that he killed just minutes ago?
What the fuck was wrong with him?
He brushed off the thought, disturbed and repulsed by his own twisted mind, but eventually the notion returned again, debating reasons unbidden. Trying to justify that feeling, even when he didn’t want to.
After all, Paradise Falls was a ghost town now.
No witnesses. And nobody would be hurt. Who’d care about the corpse of slavers anyway?
It was just a peek…
That was his intention, as his knife impatiently sliced through leather, cutting through the layers. The last one to die; she was still warm from under him. So pretty and still, eyes closed, probably his age. Hardly any blood had got onto her.
Hesitantly, he pulled the garments away from where he cut them, and saw breasts, full and round, and they sprang out to greet him. His hand was trembling when he trailed a finger on the supple flesh.
Was it possible for a dead body to be so soft? Now that was something to ponder.
Next thing he knew, he had cut the rest of her clothes off, too.
Don’t recall it.
Eric released a breath, staring hard at the concrete wall. That day in Paradise Falls, he disgusted himself with his gruesome curiosity— one he shouldn’t have indulged. Yet he did, and it was a guilt he lived with everyday.
He had promised himself he would never do it again.
But weeks went by, and every now then, that urge returned, especially in that dead quiet after a gunfight, when he was the only one left standing in a sea of bodies. Replacing his rationality with new ideas, morbid and repulsive, like some kind of twisted reward, high off the power trip of emerging alive from a bloody fight.
He tried so hard to ignore it. But most of him loved indulging in what could be, and the tingle between his hips would linger long after he forced himself to leave the area before he’d do something he’d regret.
Just mulling over it wouldn’t harm anyone, he had convinced himself, often spending many nights lying awake, thinking, thinking, thinking, about all those bodies…
One day, some pitiful stranger tried to threaten him for caps. Obviously his first attempt to rob somebody, but Eric wasn’t really paying attention to the barrel. The stranger’s face was kind of cute.
When the would-be robber was dead, Eric couldn’t help himself. He stroked the corpse’s groin, tight and confined in the leather. Of course, it didn’t get hard, not that he wanted it to be.
He just wanted to know what it would feel like, to stroke the length and fondle the balls of a cock that wasn’t his, for once.
It wasn’t even a week later when another pretty wastelander made a mistake of attacking him. It was peculiar she was alone— and that was precisely what made that desire run down his spine now that she was dead.
Opportunity.
While Dogmeat was sent off to search for something, he dragged her into the shadows of the hill, hidden from view, and painstakingly removed her armour. Metal rang in the air as he threw them aside.
Without all that protection, she looked like just any other normal woman. Sleeping, he would've thought, if it wasn’t for that deep gash in her abdomen from his blade.
You promised, Eric, he thought for a moment, but fuck, he had always been a sucker for temptation.
His gaze went everywhere but her lifeless eyes; squeezing her breasts, her ass, shoving his fingers into her hole before its warmth was lost to postmortem. Then his zipper was undone, his cock squeezed between her breasts as he rocked his hips, biting his lips so hard that it bled when he tried to suppress the groan in his throat from cumming all over that pretty, pretty face.
That was a guilty pleasure memory if there ever was one.
He didn’t bother cleaning up afterwards. Whoever found the corpse could probably piece together why she was naked with questionable white liquid over her still face.
Found lifeless with his cum on her. It didn’t matter who she was in life, just that he had claimed her in death.
He actually quite liked the idea, and he hated himself for it.
Two days ago, in the city ruins. He dragged a body into the building while Dogmeat waited outside, patient and oblivious. For some reason, he would be troubled if Dogmeat ever knew. Scared that his only companion would see, like a physical manifestation of the guilt gnawing away at the back of his mind for breaking the promise he had made to himself.
That didn’t stop him, though. The handsome face of the raider, framed with messy brown hair, was just so, so attractive. At what point did Eric stop looking at these raiders as threats and start looking at them as just bodies to fuck? He didn’t know, but god, it was a wonder what beauty he had been blind to before.
And his pulse raced just thinking what that beauty could do for him.
In the cover of darkness and privacy, already rock hard with his pulse in his ears, he pondered what to do now. He stroked the corpse’s cheek, thinking.
Such a pretty mouth.
Eric undid his zipper and laid his doll on the floor, before straddling over that charming face. Stroking his cock, he watched the eyes, which stared back at nothing. The sight both repulsed and aroused him, the way it didn’t acknowledge him, like it didn’t care what he was about to do. Like he could do whatever he wanted.
How obedient.
He liked that.
With two fingers, he pushed the lips apart, and with the other hand, guided his cock inside.
The warmth against him tore a groan from his chest, and he pushed deeper until his entire length was buried in that damp heat.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers tangled in the corpse’s hair, tugging that head closer to his hips. “ Fuck…”
The sensation was so good, his mind was blank. He couldn’t keep himself straddled that way with how the pleasure was turning his legs weak. He leaned over instead, resting the corpse’s head on the ground while he laid prone over it, his own forehead pressing into the dirt as his hips rolled into that mouth.
“That’s so fucking good,” he groaned to himself, panting heavily, closing his eyes in pure ecstasy. “Just be good now…”
Body on fire, he thrusted his hips, shoving his cock in as deep as possible, adjusting his position for better leverage. Eric fucked that velvet throat as roughly as he could.
He came with a hiss, knuckles white and hips still moving, riding out every wave, and his doll just took it. No gagging, no muffled sounds, no qualms, no struggle. Just compliant and submissive, taking all his cum down that throat.
Fuck.
A noise echoed throughout the tunnels and Eric’s eyes flew open, ripping him out of his thoughts, reality crashing back onto him as his eyes darted around for signs of danger. When there was none, he took a deep breath and wiped his face.
It was hard to ignore the erection in his pants.
The raiders he killed just minutes ago abruptly stood out in the light of the fire. His thoughts just immediately knew what to do.
God, he wasn’t right in the head. What would his father say if he knew? What if Three Dog’s agents reported seeing the Lone Wanderer in a compromising position over a dead body?
Eric licked his dry lips. There was nothing technically wrong with what he did. Morally, maybe. His dolls had been scum when they walked the Earth, and he needed to release sexual tension somehow.
Nobody saw him. Even if they did, nobody was hurt in the process. No grieving family over a corpse that had killed and done crimes worse than he could name.
So, really… what was the harm?
He glanced at the metal barrier, where there was a mattress hidden in privacy. Dogmeat was sleeping peacefully by the campfire. The whole night was his to spend. No one would see him if…
No. Don’t.
He swallowed hard, gazing at the flames. Don’t think. Don’t look anywhere else. Focus on the fire. Focus on the fire.
He almost fidgeted as his thoughts argued over each other in his head. Eventually settling on a decision he had decided so many times before.
Standing, he examined the bodies strewn about. His shotgun often caused hell on his enemies and as a result, almost all were missing a body part or had blood everywhere. It was a while before he found the least mutilated of them all.
Tall, slightly muscular and dark hair. Eyes closed, which was good (or bad?). He dragged his doll to the lone mattress behind the divider and deliberated his next move, as he always did.
There were so many possibilities, so many ways he could indulge this, but this was going to be the last time. Might as well go all the way.
He turned the corpse over to lie face-down, and pulled its hips up until his doll could balance on the knees, ass high in the air. Then, he shimmied the leather off those legs, revealing a plump ass and a tight hole.
Not quite sure what to do, he stared for a few minutes, wondering how he could ever penetrate something so incredibly taut. After rummaging through his inventory, some gun oil— the same one he used to clean his weapons— presented a convenient alternative.
Inexperienced, and hands shaking with uncontained desire, it took awhile before he could fully prepare his newest toy. There was hardly any resistance, but just enough to make him worry about his own cock. After all, he wanted this experience to be perfect.
Clumsy fingers pumped and curled, oiling up inside until it was slick enough to accommodate three digits, smoothly in and out. If this doll had been alive, he could only imagine the pain and care he had to put in to prepare this hole.
Who had time for that? He was so hard that it fucking hurt.
He lubed up his own throbbing cock with one hand while the other was on the corpse’s hips, aligning them perfectly.
When his cock pressed against that hole, his jaw tensed, the ring of muscle of that body stretching open as he entered ever so slowly.
“Fuck,” he moaned under his breath, braving to look down at himself.
It was only the tip, yet he could already feel some tension, fighting him, suffocating and hot and oh-so-good . That virgin hole strangled his cock as he pushed on; the smothering heat drowning him, pulling him in.
The oil helped enough so it wouldn’t hurt him, but didn’t alleviate much for the resistance of the muscle. It was the constriction that made his eyes roll back in his head as he let out a low, pure groan of unadulterated pleasure, the walls pushing and stretching just enough to have room for his size.
When his balls finally pressed against skin, hands gripping tightly onto his doll’s hips, his mind was blank from pleasure.
“You’re so fucking good,” he muttered, knowing nobody will reply, just the sounds of his harsh panting and suppressed curses filling the air. “Taking it so fucking good...”
Bent over, he pulled back and bucked forward, again and again, slow enough to relish but fast enough to wring lust. He loved that initial resistance, how his doll loosened after each thrust, slowly yielding to him.
It was a victory, arousing him on a power trip. Violating a raider’s corpse after he tried to kill him. What could be a better show of control than this?
The slapping sound as he drilled on mercilessly was just as he imagined it would be—loud, echoing. The only sounds of pleasure he could hear were his own stifled ones. It didn’t matter that he was fucking a dead man in the ass.
Who cared if it was wrong? For now, it was just him, just the night, and this virgin hole for him to pound into the mattress.
In times like this, he didn’t know he had it in him to be so feral, despite being exhausted every single day. He was like an animal on prey— and rightly so, since his doll never made a sound in protest, just the way he liked it.
Everything he tried made him see stars from the adrenaline rush. In those moments leading up to his climax, where he lost control and his body moved on its own, he was floating, blind and lost in euphoria. This time, when he came, his body was completely still, and he didn’t make a sound save for a small groan.
“Fuck….”
He slowly pulled out, not daring to see the damage he did, if there was any. Instead, he pushed the body away, the corpse slumping to the train tracks after use, like a toy discarded without an afterthought.
Feeling his limbs heavy and sluggish, he wiped himself down with a cloth.
When his pulse went back to normal, he returned to where Dogmeat was. He put out the fire, laying by his companion’s side. He felt so satisfied. That pleasant ache in his pelvis was a reminder of how sated he was, yet, once more in this darkness, the guilt of breaking his promise came back to gnaw at him again.
‘But that really was the last time,’ he thought, shutting his eyes, as though that made things any better.
Fuck. Just why couldn’t he control himself?
Why did he have to turn to… this ?
He didn’t want to admit it. But deep down, he knew why he’d never consider hiring a hooker for this sick urge of his.
A living partner, hooker or not, would never be as quiet and obedient as a corpse. Truth was, he didn’t want to hear the hooker moan or squeal. He didn’t want to hear them move or choke.
He didn’t want to hear them breathe.
Eric stopped that train of thought, feeling a wave of disgust and arousal wash over him at the same time. ‘I really am a sick motherfucker,’ he grimaced, rolling over to his side and shutting his eyes, as though it would shut out his thoughts.
‘I’ll never do it again. Just now really was the last time.’
But even as he slowly drifted off, fading into the dark peace of slumber, deep down he knew it was a promise he’d never keep.