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The Hispanic tech read the information on her toe tag and compared it to information on the paperwork given to him by the affectionately-called “corpse couriers,” and then unzipped the top of the bag. He looked inside, lifeless brown eyes staring up at him half-opened, the girl’s lips parted in a look of surprise and resignation. He initialed the paperwork and then threw the flap back over her face, not even bothering to zip it back up. Dignity and privacy didn’t matter where she was going. “Put her in 22 with the others we got in over the last 12 hours. We’ll get her processed before long,” he said, clearing his throat, and going back to his desk to pick up his iPhone and resume texting his younger girlfriend. Saema’s body was wheeled through another set of doors and into a long, white corridor from which several other hallways branched off. The walls and ceiling were a rather plain white color, with greyish floor tiles below, the place reeking for form and function rather than interior decorating. As the couriers made a couple turns, they passed bodies on stretchers lying in the hallway, a couple covered in hospital shrouds and a couple others lying under clear plastic wrapping. One of the bodies lying under a clear covering was that of a 32-year-old African American man, quite naked with the tip of his flaccid penis pressing against the plastic, a hole with blackish-red blood drying around it above his left eye a giveaway as to the cause of his death. About twenty-five feet away, they passed the body of a 43-year-old woman whose neck looked severed and distorted, her face slightly bloated, busty dried blood coming out of her ears and nose. The toe tag that hung from the right big toe of her stiff, contorted feet stated that she had expired in a car accident some hours before. A few moments later, the cart containing Saema’s bagged corpse arrived at Receiving Room 22, the room designated by the technician earlier. After one of the men transporting her body swiped his card into the digital locking system, a green light clicked on and he pushed the large metal door open. Cool air rushed out into the hallway. This room was kept Big Tits at a much lower temperature from the outer halls, which, while cool enough to keep further decomposition at a minimum, weren’t as cool as this incoming room or, naturally, the freezer rooms where bodies were stored for longer durations. Saema’s cart was wheeled into place at the end of a row of other bodies being stored here temporarily, and once the two men responsible for dropping her off had initialed and noted the time and date on her paperwork, they hung the clipboard from a small hook on the gurney’s left side, not far from the girl’s feet. “Sucks,” one of the guys, a tall, lanky man probably in his mid-20s, said. “Looked like a cute one from what I saw.” “Looks like someone had fun with her,” the other one said with a shrug, walking towards the door. The first man punched him in the arm, perhaps to show disapproval, and followed him out into the hall. The room Saema was now lying in was cold and drab, with white walls lined with metal cabinets with all sorts of instruments, evidence bags, and medical supplies either lined up inside the shelving or out on the counter space. It was simply one of several receiving areas like this - a room where newly brought in corpses were kept gay until they could be fully in-processed by morgue techs - stripped, photographed, rape kitted if necessary, finger-printed, and then brought to the next step in the journey. And in here, doggy style Saema wasn’t alone. Several steel morgue carts with black body bags were here with her. The bottom flap of each plastic bag was unzipped, leaving each corpse’s toe-tagged feet exposed, as per the ME’s policy, for quick identification. The corpse in the body bag on the far side of the room was obviously female, based on the tagged feet sticking out of the end. Her feet were dainty and pale, her toe nails painted a glistening jade green, the second toe of each foot wearing a little silver toe ring. While her right foot was bare, blonde the techs had kept the strappy sandal on her left, though it would be removed before long. Based on the toe-tag, she was a 19-year-old auto accident victim, and unlike the others in the room, the main part of the body bag was partially unzipped. From what was visible, she was a mousy girl with jet-black hair and thick-rimmed glasses that were heavily cracked. Blood had slowly dripped from her nose and ears, though by now it was mostly dried looking. Next to the teen’s corpse lay that of an African American woman of 38. Her big, silky feet with long, ebon toes - the nails of which were painted bright red, but which had begun to chip - were bare and stiff, toes pointing straight at the ceiling. Rigor had obviously set in with her before she was found, her cause of death was unknown and an autopsy would be necessary on her. The body bag next to the black woman contained the remains of an elderly male who had passed away under hospice care. His left foot had a sock on it and his right big toe had the expected toe tag. However, unlike the others, since he had died under medical care, a yellow anklet was tied to him, providing basic information from his primary care physician at the home he came from. On the gurney adjacent to him was the body-bagged corpse of a 56-year-old Chinese man, still wearing nice black dress shoes on his left foot, whose suspected cause of death was a heart attack. The gurney next to Saema, though, was different from the others. The body bag laying atop it was a midnight blue and of a much higher quality. I was primed and ready. She also knew it was absurd and risky, not to mention blonde others may not be nearly as open or accepting of her lifestyle. Julia was excited when she arrived and found Zane was there, she had hoped he would be, and in the pool no less. The curtain raised, exposing the orchestra to tumultuous applause. She was on all fours and started bouncing on her hands, the way a normal dog might try and wake up its owner. I’m not one of Lydia’s... you know... girls,” I stammered nervously. Her loud words made me tremble. I exploded. “Mr. Stafford! "What for" asked Mala. Violet felt him engorge inside her and braced for the flood of cum that was about to be inside her. Seconds later he heard it, really deep screams coming from the basement. I didn't know her, but the Chinese futa grinned and smacked me on the rump as I passed. I was totally freaked, busty but Susan seemed perfectly comfortable talking about our new relationship. From Emily's demeanour she certainly wasn't going to save her, she had made her Big Tits mind up about Tracey's fate some time ago and wasn't about to change it, she even made a comment that she might inherit whatever money Tracey's father left as Tracey herself certainly wouldn't be able to. Oh shit. Evan passed three cars on the straightaway and dove down to the bottom of the track. Pull off me, quick, gay pull off now! “Turn... stomach. What a champion for the downtrodden aristocracy you are, Lord Ternias.” Footsteps padded down the hall. She began to feel uneasy, but she pressed these thoughts out of her mind. “Yes sir I understand.” Then as an afterthought, “What if Harry….well….you know.” She with her doggy senses knew right away that she would be very welcome here. Michael took Tina by the hand and walked her up to the bedroom that she slept in. I know that he was quite the ass the last time he was at the Chateau, but this time he was very different. His tongue was far longer than any human’s and far longer than her late Beagle’s. He curled it almost penis-like into her, then he would pull back, noisily lapping and dragging his tongue over every millimetre of her cunt walls. Once that was done I walked through the factory and through the newly made corridors that connected the buildings, first to the new furnace building where I saw doggy style several dozen valves for Omni on shelves along the wall. The first one to have an orgasm loses and gets five lashes with the cat o’ nine tales. Cassie responded to Sam.