by Erotickynk

Jessica's panting is interrupted by small gasps and whimpers as the spit slides back and forth inside her body, and I think she's getting close to another orgasm.

The spit is reaching deep.

Dangerously deep.

To meet Jessica's request, I had to create a new machine, but it's one I think I'll be using again. In her email Jessica described how she loved to be fucked anally; how it always gave her the best orgasms, but at the same time she was always left wanting more.

She experimented with long dildos, both on her own and by having others fuck her with them, but she lacked the strength and her lovers lacked the courage to push them deep enough to satisfy her cravings.

"It's like I have an itch deep inside my body." she wrote me, "So deep that nothing has been able to reach it." I asked her to point to the deep itch and she laid her fingers on her upper belly just under her ribs.

Her request for an intense assisted suicide was simple; She wanted to be fucked to death by an impalement machine that would satisfy that sexual itch no matter how deep it had to go.

I mused at the irony that her name was Jessica and the device I had to build for her was based on the "Jessica 3000", a fabled automatic impalement and gutting machine made famous by those in the fantasy snuff community. The two main differences were that my device was manually controlled by a joystick, depth of stroke and frequency controls, and there was no gutting feature built into it - no razor or chute that spilled into a gut bucket beneath it. Another difference was that mine was real.

But as Jessica's favoured position was doggy-style, the impalement design was the same as the Jessica 3000.

Jessica's thighs are starting to quiver for the third time and her little hands are gripping the soft leather of the over-stuffed bench so hard her knuckles are turning white. I'm seated in my comfy chair facing her and she is gazing into my eyes, her expression telling me how intense the sensations are as the spit slides back and forth inside her belly. I've set the frequency and depth dials on the joystick so she's getting a six inch in-and-out stroke every second, while I'm manually edging the reach deeper into her to keep her frantic arousal at maximum.

"Oh fuck!" she cries out, her face showing orgasmic pleasure mixed with fear as her third orgasm begins. It's exactly what she wanted; "I want to orgasm over and over and be scared all at the same time."

"UNGH!" Jessica grunts hard as her orgasm slams her body hard. Her eyes lose focus and actually cross a bit as her belly muscles clench and hold tight. Her entire body is shuddering through her orgasm - and seeing her muscles lock up like that make me feel jealous that someone can orgasm that intensely. Her orgasm keeps rolling on inside her as she strains and grunts and I hear her fart around the shaft sliding in and out of her rectum. Leaning a bit to the side, I see pee dribbling out of her - there was a voluminous gush of pee during her second orgasm that really indicated how strong her orgasmic convulsions are. It is so gratifying for me to be able to give girls these intense experiences.

This orgasm is lasting longer than the first two and Jessica's eyes are now rolling up into her head - an indicator that she is on the edge of passing out from the intensity of the feelings in her body. I wish I had timed it, but it seems she's been locked up in her convulsion for about a minute and a half. I watch as her lips come together, her lips pressing tight and turning white as the corners of her mouth are pulled down in a grimace.

"... mmmmMMMMUGH!" she grunts loudly at last and I see the tension release as her body jerks hard as though she was slammed hard by an invisible force. Her mouth opens and her lips are slack as she lets her head hang down, and her body shivers in the aftermath of her orgasm as she gasps for air.

I expect her to ask me to ease off so she can catch her breath, and I'm surprised when she gasps;

"... more ... more ..." and lifts her head, her expression desperate and needy. I push the joystick forward, inching the spit's depth further into her.

"Oh! Fuck! Yeah!" she gasps, and lifts her knee so her right foot is flat on the over-stuffed bench. For the next few moments the only sounds in my suicide room are her panting and the relentless "zung-zung, zung-zung, zung-zung" of the large servomotor in the device driving the spit back and forth inside her gut.

By my reckoning, the spit hasn't caused any permanent damage yet, but it has straightened the twists of her descending colon and moved it to the midline of her belly. At times when she relaxes her abdominals, I can see it moving under her pale skin, bulging her belly as it transits from her mound to well above her belly button.

I set the joystick down and lean forward, laying the flat of my hand on the underside of her belly, feeling the hard spit moving relentlessly inside her. I take her right hand and guide it to her belly so she can feel it too. She gasps and stares at the far wall as the spit moves her hand with its rhythmic thrusting.

"... oh fuck ..." she whispers, panting and closing her eyes, "... Iím ... going to die ..." and she lets out a little sob. This happens sometimes - they dream of an intense assisted suicide and spend night after night fantasizing about it and masturbating to wonderful orgasms, and when the moment comes it hits them hard that this time itís real.

"Do you want to stop, Jessica?" I ask solemnly, watching her face. Her brow is knit and her chin is quivering with the fear of what is going to happen, but I can also see the micro-expressions of perverse lust as the machine continues to fuck her. Tears are mixing with the sweat streaming down her flushed face, "Or do you want the intensity?"

Jessica stares at me for a long moment as the shaft thrusts back and forth inside her belly. I wait - giving her time - but the evil part of me compels my fingers to stroke her nipples to remind her of the lust she is feeling. At long last she lowers her head;

"Give it to me." she gasps and another heart-wrenching sob makes her shoulders shudder.

I sit back in my chair and pick up the joystick.

"Tell me when your next orgasm starts to build." I instruct her and Jessica nods her head, swallowing past a lump in her throat.

Soon, she's once again looking at me with her pained expression - a mixture of out-of-control lust and raw fear from the knowledge that this is killing her. Her mouth is open and she is panting loudly. I see her eyebrows knit and small worry lines appear on her forehead.

"... getting close ..." she gasps desperately.

I push the joystick forward, knowing that in the next few thrusts it will tear through the top of her descending colon and into her belly cavity. As I watch, her expression turns to one of surprise and shock - her eyes open wide and the corners of her mouth pull downward.

"UNGH!" she grunts loudly, feeling the ripping inside her. Her knee lowers and her thighs squeeze tight together - I can see that her bum is clenching, her body trying to save itself by gripping the spit in her anus.

"... oh .... fuck ... FUCK! ..." Jessica grunts in time with the thrusts inside her belly - it isn't a request, it's an expression of hopelessness. I push the joystick forward more and watch as her body tries to curl.

"... glrrk ..." Jessica gags as her gullet convulses, her lips loose and her mouth drooling The spit is now thrusting against the sac of her stomach - it's point poking it rhythmically. Her lower belly muscles and her thighs tighten and her eyes squeeze shut. Suddenly they open wide in surprise ...

"... cumming! ..." she cries out and starts to tremble. Her toes curl as her feet lift and squeeze tight around the shaft of the spit as it pistons back and forth inside her body. While she rides her orgasm, I jog the spit slightly deeper every few seconds. Her stomach must be close to being punctured and penetrated by now.

I am amazed at the duration and intensity of this orgasm. Her entire body is shuddering as all her muscles clench like she is having a seizure. She is gripping the over stuffed bench so tightly in her fists that I hear the popping as her fingertips break through the leather. The cords on her throat are standing out, stretched tight like steel cables, and sweat is now running down her face and pale body.

"... can't ... stop ... cumming ..." she hisses through clenched teeth. I jog the joystick forward and her body jerks hard - her eyes and mouth opening in shock as the spit breaks through into her stomach, but her body is still locked in this prolonged orgasm.

As I feather the joystick, easing the spit deeper and deeper so it finds the top opening of her stomach, her eyelids droop. Her chin is quivering and I hear wet burps gurgling up her gullet. I push the joystick forward, sliding the spit deeper so it now rides inside her gullet - thrusting through her body from asshole to throat. I leave it there and set the joystick aside, leaning forward and reaching for her breasts, taking her nipples between my forefingers and thumbs, twirling them and pinching them lightly.

Jessica can no longer speak - her throat is convulsing as the spit fucks her there. But her expression is one of blissful surrender. As I tease her nipples, her eyes roll up into her head until all I can see is the whites of her eyes. Her mouth hangs loose and I can see her tongue working, its root being pushed upward into the back of her throat.

Jessica's body continues to quiver and clench; girl cum oozes and drips from her crotch; small spurts of pee jet from her; and her nipples are hard as leather between my fingers. She is still experiencing the longest orgasm I've ever witnessed. I marvel at her, this young woman making the perfect choice for her intense assisted sexual suicide. I envy her dying this way - What better way to die? Being consumed in a storm of orgasm while experiencing a fucking like no other.

Jessica's orgasm and her life end simultaneously and abruptly.

"GLRK!" she gags hard and her body curls violently and gives one last violent shudder then she flops limp. All her muscles go slack and her head falls forward, her hair falling like a curtain around her slack face. She is like a rag doll, still impaled by the spit, it's thrusting moving her limp body slightly back and forth. I hit the kill-switch on the joystick then flip the switch for full retraction.

As the spit slides out of her body, she sags onto the bench; her head and shoulders first, then her chest, then her belly and bottom flop sideways, pivoting on her knees as the spit slips out of her rectum. I gently sweep the hair from her pale face and see the softness of her expression - she looks like an exhausted sleeping angel; calm and at peace.