I craved going to him like Miranda went to him, but I had no money for a bus ticket and my parents watched me like prison guards since I tried to kill myself.
Miranda went to him, and she took two letters addressed to me; one with a small ‘g’ on the back lower left-hand corner, and one with a small ‘b’. She made him promise to mail the one she told him to as she was dying.
I got the one with the letter ‘g’ for ‘good’, and it she described how she wanted to die - having her belly cut open from cunt to sternum and being fucked to one last orgasm. I have to trust that he sent the right letter - that Miranda told him it was a good way to die.
I found him online and told him I got Miranda’s letter and how I wanted it too. We chatted for three months online, me wanting to come to him, him willing to do me too. But I told him my problem - how I couldn’t come to him.
Last month he told me that he had three other girls in Seattle who wanted his services and that he’d be willing to travel and do all four of us. He would contact us all once he got here and found a place to do us all on the same night.
I got shiver-bumps all over my body every time I thought of it; the Captain was coming to Seattle!
He contacted me last night and told me he found a place; an old shipyard for abandoned navy ships. He said to meet him and the other girls at midnight tonight. It wasn’t far, and I could get most of the way by bus.
I snuck out and took the bus, then walked the last mile in the dark. I didn’t see a soul on the way and when I arrived I found the chain on the front gate was loose enough to squeeze through the gate ...
The shipyard is huge and dark, the dark silhouettes of the old rusty navy ships towering over me as I walk are like ancient gods of death, watching me, knowing why I am here. I hear them moan as the waves push against their bulk, twisting their old hulls. They have seen suffering and blood and death and their mournful moans welcome me to come die in their dark world.
The night is cold and damp and I shiver, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets as I walk down the long concrete dock, picking my way around old machines and piles of scrap metal. Seattle’s heavy clouds loom above, blocking the starlight.
As I approach an old destroyer I see a movement - a shadow within shadows. I draw near and the shadow resolves into another girl.
“Is the Captain here?” I whisper when I get close enough.
“Inside.” the girl says quietly, “He’s getting it ready for us.”
“I’m Kelly.” I whisper, my teeth chattering.
“Jodi.” she answers. Then two other voices ...
“Taylor.” a woman sitting on a metal box.
“Misha.” another girl standing beside her.
We gather closer. Waiting is hard; there’s nothing to really talk about. We’ve all come for our own private tortures and deaths.
I sense that the other girls are as nervous as I am. Jodi is slowly pacing, her hands tucked tight in her jeans. She is tiny, her body slim. I realize she is younger than me - too young for this, I think to myself. But really; how old is old enough? I’m a hypocrite to judge her.
Taylor is the oldest I think; probably in her thirties. Misha in her twenties. I see that I am the fattest; Misha and Jodi with slim, tight bodies; Taylor more curvy, and me ‘plump’ my mom would say - not fat, just plump. I don’t know if that’s true or just something mothers say to fat daughters.
There’s movement above us, a scrape of a boot on gritty steel. I look up and see the Captain for the first time.
“Girls.” he whispers from above, “Come up the gangway.”
Then he moves out of sight, his footsteps sounding like muffled gongs on the metal deck. We walk deeper into the shadow of the ship, the world around us gray and black shapes, stinking of the sea - salt and brine, smells of life and the rot of death.
The gangway is steep and it bounces as we climb it. The Captain is awaiting us at the top.
“Follow me.” he whispers, “Mind your step.”
He leads us through a hatchway into pitch darkness then ushers us past him so he can close the hatch. I stand in the dark, feeling Jodi beside me in the cramped space. Her body is warm but she is shivering.
A cone of bright light appears, pointed at the floor. The Captain has a flashlight.
“I’m the Captain.” he says, “Tell me your names and that you still want to go through with this.”
“Jodi. Yes, more than anything.”
I can hear the fear in all our voices - vocal cords tight - quavering from our trembling.
“Can I go first?” Jodi asks.
“Of course you can, sweetheart.” the Captain’s voice is deep, relaxed. I can hear the smile as he forms the words.
“Come.” he says and moves past us, leading us, his flashlight pointing at the deck, a spotlight leading the way.
We descend down ladders, across short distances to more hatchways, more ladders, ever deeper into the bowels of the ship. We can hear the old ship moaning as the waves move it slightly, making it pull against its mooring ropes. This is the ship’s voice, mourning what we are about to endure - mourning what is to be done to our bodies in our final moments.
“They won’t find us.” Taylor says, and I know she is thinking about our corpses.
“No.” the Captain agrees, “Maybe not for years.”
We at last come to a narrow corridor, an open hatch at the far end, faint light radiating from within. We step through the hatch and the Captain closes the door, setting clamps to secure it. They were once used to minimize flooding to the ship if it was damaged, to seal out the killing sea. Now they are used to seal us in, to contain our agony and our perverse ecstasy, to seal in our brutal deaths.
The room is set up for us. Four places; an old cot; a chair; a metal table; a bench bolted to the wall. A lantern gives off light, a Coleman heater radiating warmth. Everything here is filthy, rusting - old secret smells like an ancient tomb.
Jodi moves to the cot and sits, pulling off her boots, then standing to strip off her clothes. She throws them in a corner, not caring - she won’t need them again.
Taylor sits on the chair, Misha on the bench. I sit on the table, my fat bum and thighs spreading, my legs dangling off the end. I feel the grit through my jeans, grinding when I move.
The Captain strips off his clothes, puts them in a large plastic bag and sets the bag on a metal shelf near the hatch. I see there are two tubs of water and some soap near the hatch for him to wash off our blood before he leaves.
Jodi stretches out on the cot, one hand stroking the nipples on her small breasts, the other massaging her crotch.
“Good girl.” the Captain says, “Being aroused makes it easier.”
He bends and grabs the foot of the cot, pulling Jodi to the centre of the room, the cot legs scraping loudly, echoing in the room.
“Still want to go first?” the Captain asks. Jodi nods.
The Captain sits on the edge of the cot beside her legs as she masturbates.
“Here.” he whispers, moving, sliding his hands under her knees, lifting and opening them, then lowering himself, his mouth covering her mound. I can see that she is sweating despite the chill and the dust and grime from the cot clings to the back of her thighs. The soles of her feet are dark and filthy from standing on the rusty floor while she took off her clothes.
“... oh god ...” Jodi gasps, lifting both hands to her nipples, stroking, pinching, pulling as the Captain eats her cunt and fingers her anus. I can smell her - a blended musky sex smell of cunt and oily asshole that grows stronger and stronger, mingling with the ancient metal smells and the brine of the sea.
Taylor and Misha are settling in to watch; Taylor snaking a hand down the front of her jeans and masturbating; Misha lifting her skirt and doing the same. I see Misha has no panties on.
The Captain makes Jodi cum once, using his tongue and a single finger. Then he moves on the cot, pushing her thin thighs apart, bringing his cock to her cunt. She grunts and strains as he pushes into her, but she is wet so he slides deep, pressing his pelvis tight against her with each thrust.
As the Captain fucks her, her belly clenches tight and she strains every few strokes. At first I think this is pain from his cock, but looking down I see that milky mucus is pulsing out of her each time her belly tightens and I realize she is having small orgasms.
The Captain squeezes his eyes shut and grunts. He just came inside Jodi, but when he opens his eyes he keeps fucking her.
The Captain reaches down and when his hand comes back up he is holding a long knife - the blade gleaming in the lantern light. He lifts the knife in front of Jodi’s face and she nods. She strains her way through three more mini orgasms, then tilts her head back, baring her throat. The Captain pushes his cock deep in her and grinds against her cunt as he lowers the blade to the bulge of her gullet. As she starts to strain with her final orgasm, he presses the blade hard against her throat and slices across, cutting through skin, the cartilage of her gullet, and both large arteries.
Jodi’s eyes flash open wide as her body curls, her belly clenching tight as she gags hard and chokes up blood. At first she panics and fights it, her body twisting uselessly beneath the Captains weight, her hands pushing up against his chest. But while her blood spurts from her open throat to spatter her face and chest, her body shudders, her knees lift higher and her toes curl tight. She is cumming as she feels herself bleeding out. She stays clenched for a few more seconds, choking as she dies, then suddenly her legs flop open and her belly softens, her face void of expression as she stares up at the shadows above us, making soft gagging sounds. Within seconds the life fades from her eyes, and the Captain pulls out of her.
He stands and lifts the end of the cot, dragging it back against the wall, Jodi’s body loose and jiggling as he does. It’s the first time I’ve watched someone die. It’s both shocking because she’s my first, and arousing because Jodi wanted this and she came before she died.
The Captain walks to his things by the hatch and comes back with a little plastic bottle in his hand. It’s a fleet enema with a long nozzle. He parts Jodi’s cunt lips and slides the nozzle inside her and squeezes the liquid into her cunt, the strong smell of chlorine bleach wafts through the room. He’s destroying his sperm, ruining the DNA it contains. He walks and drops the empty bottle into a garbage bag.
“Who’s next?” the Captain speaks softly, his deep voice echoing in the metal room.
Taylor stands and moves her chair to the centre of the room as she strips off her jeans, panties, and jacket. As the Captain sets down his knife and grips a long piece of rebar, Taylor kneels to the side of the chair and lays her belly down on it, her bare bum and thighs toward the Captain. She’s not shaking.
The Captain kneels behind her, the fingers of his free hand stroking the slit of her cunt. I can see it is oily - a tendril of clear mucus sliding toward the floor.
“Do you need to be warmed up, Taylor.” he asks softly.
Taylor shakes her head; “No. I’m ready. Just do it.”
Her voice is steady, no quavering. I wonder at her calmness, she isn’t feeling the fear that is shivering its way through my own body. I’ve come here to die. Will it be good? Will I die like Miranda, telling the Captain to mail the good letter, or like Jodi - cumming hard at the moment of death?
The Captain lifts the rebar and I see that the tip has been ground to a sharp point. Using both hands he carefully slides it into Taylor’s cunt.
“...oh yeah ...” Taylor gasps in a breathy whisper. The Captain starts fucking her with it, easing it a little deeper each time. Taylor’s belly clenches and she reaches between her open thighs and starts massaging her clit with her fingertips.
“... wait ... wait ...” Taylor’s voice is now thready and her thighs are trembling. She rolls her hips as the Captain waits, holding the rebar steady inside her, “... okay ... push slow ... slow ...”
The Captain does as she asks and Taylor groans long and low and I realize she has lined the tip up with her cervix and now the Captain is pushing it deep up into her uterus.
“... oh yeah ...” Taylor groans, “ ... oh fuck yeah ...”
It is buried in her uterus now, the Captain pushing it steadily deeper, but fucking her with it. Taylor strains and groans as her face grimaces in pain. Her belly muscles are clenched tight. Her fingertips a blur between her pale thighs.
“... harder ... deeper ...” she gasps, her voice desperate and pleading. The Captain pushes it deeper and Taylor cries out.
“... unghhhhh ... pushhhhhh ...” she strains, her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth clenched, the cords in her neck standing out. The hand she was masturbating with withdraws and forms into a fist, the other gripping the chair so tightly her knuckles turn white. The Captain leans into his task, pushing hard, his arms trembling from the effort, Taylor straining as she takes it. The rebar jumps in his hands and he stops pushing as Taylor lets loose a brief shriek. The rebar has ripped through the top of her uterus into her abdomen.
“... wait ... wait ...” Taylor gasps breathlessly, hanging her head and breathing away the pain. As she calms, Taylor’s belly relaxes, becoming soft, sagging loose under her. Her thighs are shaking, the fat jiggling.
“... okay ... okay ... more ... do more ...” Taylor whispers and starts rubbing her clit again.
The Captain slowly presses the rebar deeper, making small fucking movements with it. Taylor moans.
“... oh ... it’s in me ...” her voice is deep, sexual, her body shuddering at the experience, “... I feel it in my guts ...”
The Captain keeps feeding the rebar into her, changing the angle subtly as though he is searching for something. Taylor’s eyes roll up under drooping eyelids as she hiccups then burps. He has found it - the tip is now touching her stomach.
“Ready?” the Captain asks, holding the rebar in one hand and laying the palm of the other on her lower back.
“... oh fuck yeah ...” Taylor gasps and nods, repositions her knees. I can hear the grit grinding under them between the moans of the ship as she does.
The Captain pushes the rebar deeper and Taylor gags, then heaves, then vomits. Her fingers are dancing over her clit as she masturbates furiously, puking up and choking. Slowly the length of the spit disappears into her and as it does her straining heaves and vomiting become more violent. Her fingers never slow as she pisses herself, her body trying to curl with each heave of her stomach. I see her body jerk and her face grimace as the rebar penetrates her stomach.
The room now reeks of blood, sex, and puke - and it’s getting warmer. I guess girls give off a lot of body heat as they die by torturous methods. I am sweating, and Taylor and Misha’s skin is shiny with sweat as well. Misha is staring at Taylor, masturbating her way to an orgasm.
Taylor’s heaving and vomiting suddenly changes - it’s more out of control - more desperate, guttural, and fluid. She squirms and twists, fighting it, but the rebar inside her body limits her movements. The spit is sliding up her gullet, the Captain still making short fucking motions inside her. She is gripping the chair tightly, her knees scraping on the rusty deck pulling her thighs together then spreading them apart. Her knees are shredding, leaving pathways of blood. She’s fighting her body’s urge to get the spit out of her and survive, but it’s too late for that and she knows it. Her face is darkening, turning red as she heaves and strains.
Taylor’s hips curl as her bum clenches and I realize before the Captain does that she’s starting to cum. He smiles and pushes the spit right through her, the sharpened tip entering Taylor’s mouth, then sliding out between her teeth - her jaw quivering, teeth chattering on the steel. She gags hard, her face turning from red to purple, her tongue protrudes from under the rebar and the chattering is cut in half - now only her top teeth scrape and hammer sporadically on the steel.
Beside me I hear Misha cumming in desperate little grunts.
Taylor’s heaving is muffled now, puke and blood spraying out past her flaccid lips with each orgasmic convulsion. I hear the crunch of her teeth shattering and little broken pieces of her front teeth slide down the rebar to cling to her lower lip, carried on a greenish ooze of bile. Her body curls over and over, clenching around the rebar that has impaled her from cunt to mouth. Her legs are shaking badly, jiggling the fat on her body. Sweat is flowing down her flanks, her bum and thighs. She reminds me of a poisoned dog I once saw vomiting violently, his body curling and trembling with each belly-clenching heave - his pink cock hard and dripping cum because dying with that level of intensity is sexual.
Taylor’s orgasm peaks with clear mucus flowing from her clenching cunt in little pulses and her heaving slows. It's like she is a puppet and her strings are cut; Taylor's arms drop down at her sides, her hands falling loose, knuckles thudding on the deck. Her body slowly sags limp and she slides off the chair, landing hard, face down on the deck, her face coming to rest in the puddle of her own vomit and blood. Her entire body is shuddering and I can see her anus clenching and gaping as she experiences these last few seconds of perverse pleasure-pain. Her body tightens one last time then she slumps abruptly, her knees grinding on the floor as gravity pulls at her, opening her thighs wide as her bloated belly settles onto the rusty deck.
The Captain stands and pulls the rebar out of her, lifting her bum high, bringing her bloody knees together until it slides all the way out, then allows her body to flop heavily on its side. Her open eyes stare at nothing, her lips flaccid and open, her shattered front teeth shining in the shadows of her mouth.
“She died well.” the Captain tells us.
Discarding the rebar, and wiping his hands on a cloth that he puts inside a garbage bag, the Captain looks at Misha.
“You want pain, right Misha?” he asks her.
Misha’s eyes are wide as she nods.
Misha extends her hands, wrist over wrist. The Captain retrieves a length of rope and ties her wrists together, then secures them to a pipe over her head, leaving her slumped on her bench. He then rips open her top to reveal her sweaty belly, pops the catch on her bra and releases her breasts. She looks vulnerable and scared, her eyes following the Captain’s movements as she pants. She is trembling, but is enjoying the tension of anticipation because her cunt is leaking milky mucus.
As Misha lays shivering on her bench, her belly rapidly rising and falling as she breathes, the Captain goes to the dark corner where he keeps his stuff and returns with a hooked tool on a short wooden handle. I don’t know what it is, but it looks like it can do brutal damage to tender flesh. Holding it one hand, he reaches between her open thighs and hooks two fingers inside her cunt and curls them. He starts fingering her hard, his palm slapping against her clit. Misha was already aroused, so it doesn’t take long.
Misha moans, then cries out as her orgasm starts, and as she does, the Captain slams the tool hard into her belly. He slams it three times before it breaks the skin, then as he leans into it with his weight, I see it plunge through her abdominal muscles with a jerk. He pushes it deeper, twisting it to bury the hook inside her belly.
Misha starts to scream and swear at what must be a horrible agony in her core; “Oh Shit! Oh GOD NO!.” she shrieks along with other wordless cries. I think that part of her isn’t believing what was happening to her, because at one point she gasps; “... I’m ... f ... fine ...”.
But she isn’t fine, and as the Captain twists the hook inside her and pulls a bloody length of her intestines up out of her belly, she grunts then grows quiet. Misha arches her back and lays her head back, her throat working but she has stopped crying out.
Misha gurgles and pushes her belly outward. She pisses herself. Her body shudders. With a final whine she slumps dead.
Now it’s just me left.
The Captain rises and wipes his hands, looking at me.
“You want what Miranda got?” he asks, already knowing the answer. I nod, unable to find my voice.
“Get undressed.” he says, stuffing the bloody rag in the garbage bag, “And stay standing, lean back on the table.”
I do. Taking off my clothing one piece at a time, tossing each on the floor near Jodi’s cot. When I am done, I stand in front of the table, feeling the grit under my bare feet. I rest my bum on the edge, and place the palms of my hands on the table behind me.
The Captain turns to face me, holding a knife with a sharply curved blade on one end of the handle, a short triangular blade on the other. He smiles and even though he came in Jodi, his cock is growing hard, lifting and swelling in little jerks.
“This makes you horny?” I ask, surprised my voice sounds calm.
“It’s my favourite.” the Captain says, “And I love girls who ask for it.”
He looks down at the knife.
“It’s a gut hook, special order to have a thicker throat for human abdominal muscles.” he explains, “It leaves the internal organs and arteries undamaged.”
He looks up at me.
“You’ll last longer.” he smiles, And we both want that, right Kelly?" I nod.
The moans of the ship singing tribute to what I am about to endure fill the long silence as we stand there looking at each other.
“Okay.” I say at last, the faintest quaver in my voice.
“Step your feet apart.” he says, and I do. It lowers me a bit and I readjust my bum against the table edge.
The Captain comes close, his erect cock pressed against my right thigh. Yes, he’s rock hard again even after cumming in Jodi. I feel his cock pulsing against my thigh, the head swelling.
I watch him turn the gut hook in his hand and press the triangular blade low on my flabby belly. He reaches up with his left hand and grips me behind my head, pulling it forward until my chin rests on my chest and at the same time presses the blade into me, gradually increasing pressure.
I feel my belly dimple deep, then with a flash of sharp pain my skin pops. He keeps pushing and a wave of crisp pain wrapped inside a deep ache radiates inside my belly. I whimper and strain, clenching my abdominal muscles, helping him penetrate me. I feel the little blade chisel through my oblique muscles, making the little slit for the gut hook that’s going to open me up.
He rocks the knife to make sure the slit is large enough for the hook, then pulls it out.
“Still good?” he asks.
“... hurts ...” I gasp.
“Push your belly out.” the Captain says as he turns the knife around. Precum from his hard, hot cock is leaking on my thigh.
I push outward, making my belly round. With that action I welcome this - and I do - a rounder, tighter belly will also make it easier for him to set the hook inside me. He holds me tight, his hand moving under my distended belly, and I feel the cold steel slide through the slit into my abdomen. I gasp - it feels so foreign, an intrusive sensation that I have never imagined. He lifts gently, lifting my belly, tightening the flesh below the slit so it pulls up on my cunt. My clit throbs. He adds more force and I shriek when I feel the cut begin. He eases off, and I look up into his eyes.
“... that hurt ...” I whimper, tears welling in my eyes, blurring my vision.
“Of course it hurts, I’m gutting you.” he says gently, “It’s going to hurt worse.”
“Did Miranda scream?” I ask, feeling fear-driven tingles washing up my body.
“She held out as long as she could.” the Captain says, smiling at the memory, “But yeah - when it got bad she screamed.”“Can I scream?” I ask, knowing that I will.
The Captain leans forward and kisses me on the forehead, “Of course you can scream.” he whispers, starting to pull upward on the gut hook, “No one can hear you but me.”
As I feel the pressure build and the cut begins, I do scream. I scream at the top of my lungs. I scream so loudly that my throat becomes raw with it, burning, vocal cords ripping, leaving me hoarse and breathless.
I feel each millimeter of the long cut. I thought it would be one long slice, but the lower belly of humans is made of tough grisly muscles that band across from hip to hip. They are naturally tight and naturally resistant to damage. So the Captain cuts me with a series of upward tugs, at times lifting me up on my tiptoes, my bum grinding hard against the table.
My world turns to the colours of blood and fire. The agony in my belly is a throbbing wound that grows ever upward by degrees. My screams are the loudest and most guttural when the hook slides under my belly button and he has to tug violently upward three times before he splits it. When I feel it split and the last threads of my obliques are released, allowing my wound to gape open, I piss myself, hot urine squirting from me to run down my inner thighs.
When he slides the hook up through the softer, thinner muscles above my belly button in one smooth cut, my legs give out and I start to crumple. My legs feel weak and numb, I can’t move the muscles there and I can feel my thighs shaking badly. The Captain grips my hair and pushes me backward against the table to hold me up, my belly yawning open and heavy wet things starting to slide downward toward my useless trembling thighs. The crimson in my vision becomes a tunnel that closes slowly until everything is dark.
My wits come back to me - I lay on my back, my body now on the table and I can feel him sliding his hand inside me. He reaches low and I feel his fingers wrap around my cunt from inside of my belly. I feel him grip me and grind his thumb there. It’s my g-spot and I feel a wash of pain through the cradle of my lower belly and my stomach quivers and my mouth waters like I’m about to throw up. But I also feel a hot, sick orgasm building fast - it makes me feel fragile and feverish as it blooms in my belly and I cum hard and long - grunting and straining with his hand flexing and working inside me.
“Good girl.” I hear his voice as though it is coming from far away.
His hand is gone halfway through my orgasm and I feel him lift my heavy thighs, parting them and pushing them toward my shoulders, then thrusting his hard cock into my cunt. It must be oily and slippery because he slides in easily even though it grips his cock tightly. He starts fucking me and my belly is jiggling with each thrust - my insides pushing up out of me like bloody jello.
I reach down with trembling hands and try to push the silky ropes of intestines back inside, but it’s like there’s too much of me to put back. I realize that the pressure I’ve felt my whole life in my lower belly is gone and my guts are finally free - there’s no coming back from this. So I hold them as he fucks me, keeping the bloody, tangled mess from pushing up and spilling over my flanks. I don’t want to feel that; my intestines slithering down my sides to puddle on the cold table - there lies an intensity that I think would drive me mad. So I lay still, clutching my guts, splayed out like a little dissected frog, thighs up, my feet jiggling as he pounds himself into me.
I concentrate on his cock sliding in and out of me, of the sexual sensations in my crotch - the loud wet slapping of his pelvis that echoes in here with each hard thrust. I’m being fucked to death and he likes it. He is so turned on by fucking me as I die. The ship’s moaning is taunting me; ‘what did you expect?’; ‘how did you think this would end?’
I am conflicted as I gaze up into his face; I love him for giving me this last intense experience, but I hate him for the pleasure he is taking from my death.
“ ... oh god ... jesus ...” I gasp, my voice breathless, raw, and hoarse, “... you’re a fucked up motherfucker ...”
But these are my last moments - why spend them angry? I squeeze my intestines, gripping them in my fists, feeling them squirm and writhe. They know I’m dying, so they have become active. I hear liquid burbling in my bowels and I feel pressure building in my rectum. I know that before this is over I’m going to shit myself. But I don’t care. I’m getting carried away with this act - floating away from sanity into this hot, wet world of depravity and madness. I give myself to it. I surrender.
“... fuck me with that cock ...” I gasp, letting the pleasure seep past the pain and horror, “... fuck me ... oh god ...“
I’ve become a slut; a pain slut; a dying slut. No one is here to judge me, so I let go, allowing the animal part of me rise to the surface and consume me. Short bursts of orgasm ripple through my body and they are intensified by my pain and this perversity.
“... fuck this cunt ...” I whimper feeling breathless and weak, “... harder ... fuck me, you son of a bitch”
I’m glad he is holding my thighs up, I wouldn’t be able to. My strength is gone. Even my hands and forearms tremble as I try to hold my guts in place. I know that I am reaching the point where my arms will fail and my insides will be pulled out of me as gravity grips them and pulls. But I want to feel him cum inside me before that happens.
Small orgasms pulse and pulse and pulse as my cunt clenches weakly around his cock. Is this what Miranda felt? Is this why she told the Captain to send the good letter?
My arms feel heavier, my hands weaker.
Please cum in me, I beg in the silence of my mind as my fingers slide through my intestines, loosing the battle with gravity.
He presses hard inside me and I can feel the head of his cock swell. He growls as his cock twitches, pulsing in my cunt, jetting his cum deep into my uterus where it will never take hold - even if it finds an egg that flash of new life will wither and die in my corpse. My own final orgasm clenches his cock and I strain, my arms growing numb, my hands sliding to fall limp at my sides.
I feel my intestines sliding too; slithering and flopping; the tangles coming undone as they plop wetly on the table - the sensations are too much. I completely lose control of my body and feel my colon cramp and my anus gape wide open, watery shit pulsing from me to spatter on the floor.
“Oh baby!” the Captain cries out in his orgasm, as he grips my thighs tight, grinding himself inside me.
I struggle to breathe. The world is fading.
Distantly I feel him release my thighs and pull out of me, the heavy weight of my fat legs pulling my bum over the edge of the table, then my lower back.
It feels like a slow motion dream as my heavy body slides off the end of the table and I fall, the back of my head slamming the table edge pitching it forward just before my fat bum lands hard on the floor, splatting in my mess, my intestines following me like ribbons fluttering in the air to splat and plop on and around me.
The impact rocks my body, vomit gushing up my gullet to fill the back of my mouth. It tastes bitter and hot.
My body naturally curls forward, my head hanging down, my arms limp - one on my thigh, one on the floor. I see my fat thighs framing the puddle of shit and intestines as the bitter bile drips from my flaccid lips. The Captain’s arm appears, his hand holding another plastic bottle. He slides the nozzle into my cunt and squeezes the bleach into me. It reaches deep, finding the folds of my cunt and is cooling at first, but by the time he finishes and pulls it out of me I feel it burning the tender flesh.
I’m dying like the other three died. Now the Captain will carefully wash and dry himself, discarding everything into his garbage bag and putting on his clean clothes. He will leave us here, no doubt being careful how he discards the evidence in the garbage bag, thinking we won’t be found for years. But we will be found, because like Miranda, I mailed a letter before I came here. Not to my parents, but to my psychologist.
I wanted her to know it wasn’t her fault - she did her best by me. She had worked so hard to instill a desire to live, but she was fighting against something that I’ve wanted and planned for so long. I wanted her to know that I asked - no; I begged - to die this way, in this place, with these three other girls - these strangers. I told her that I would die cumming, like Miranda, like my killer promised. I didn’t tell her who my killer is, but only that he always keeps his promises.
I realize I haven’t taken a breath for a long time, and that I don’t care. There’s no more pain now, not even from the bleach in my cunt - just a pleasant heavy feeling in my body, in my face.
Now death creeps into this dark place, so bright and so gentle.
The ship moans in sorrow as I die in its belly ...