She gives me black roses

I think I have spent the eternity
contemplating Leanne, dressed in mourning,
crossing the legs on one side and then the other,
showing the black luxury stockings
with garters and transparent panties.

She smoked and smiled at me inviting.
I wanted to have her
but I couldn't move a muscle
so I spent the hours in that state:
kinda I want but I can't.

It was a dream with the Ikon's soundtrack.
Leanne sang the refrain that I liked a lot:
"And in my dying hour She gives me black roses."
She seemed amused of my impotence
and pleased by my desire.

Finally, brushed my black roses blanket
sat on top of me straddling
and started rubbing on my cock;
regardless of the long thorns that hurt both.

"I strangled you love and we are at your funeral.
United in grief and passion. "She whispered.
"But do not worry:
I take advantage of your erection in rigor mortis
and I'll have you in the coffin. "

They say that the necrophiliacs are the sick
who dream of having sex with the dead.
I wondered how could be considered a dead
who wants to be possessed by a living...