I tried going out for a smoke in Die Happy’s little park we maintain on the other side of our parking lot. It’s a fenced ornamental garden with private little benches tucked in amongst the trees, shrubs, and small water features. It’s a place people can go and take stock before they die, or make their final decision on whether or not to walk through our front door. It’s an oasis where people can ponder life and death in peace and solitude.
I like taking my break there because it lets me re-ground myself after a particularly intense assisted sexual suicide. I’d been going non-stop since early morning and god knows I needed to ground myself.
But as I approached the front doors I could see that the parking lot was packed with reporters and camera crews in the setting sun - word had got out about what was happening in here. I learned later that a mom had read the suicide note her daughter had left on her pillow before coming here this morning and when the police wouldn’t help her, she’d called the local TV station that had broadcast Rivera’s video. I guess they did a live broadcast once they found our front doors were locked and every TV station, radio station, magazine, and newspaper within a hundred mile radius had sent a team to cover what one newspaper called “The Rivera Copy-Cat Massacre”.
No break for Kimberly.
I’m exhausted. Well, we’re all exhausted. But I’m losing perspective and starting to feel overwhelmed by it all. I’m walking through a sexual nightmare watching all these girls taking shafts of steel through their bodies has both aroused and sickened me. And that’s what it is I think; this marathon of death today has made me feel feverish and ill, like I have a sickness in my body and my soul. I want it to end, but it doesn’t feel like it ever will, and if it doesn’t I want me to end.
As I walk down the main hallway I am surrounded by death and dying. Every single girl today is being impaled in this madness. The building is hot and humid from all the squirming, sweaty bodies expending the last of their energy in a painful sexual frenzy as they die. The doors to all the rooms are open and echo with screams and moans and vomiting and the smell of oozing cunt, oily rectums fucked open, sweat, vomit, piss and shit permeates the air.
A girl in one room I pass is on all fours, the spit deep in her belly as Madison works it back and forth through her cunt. The girl is breathless and scared, her bum and thighs jiggling as she quivers ... and she has changed her mind;
“... please ... take it out, please...” she begs as her belly hitches, “... take it out ...”
But it’s too late. I know it’s too late; Madison knows it’s too late; I think even the girl knows it’s too late - she has taken the spit past the point of no return, through her cunt, cervix, and out of her punctured uterus into her abdominal cavity. Her belly is plumping from internal bleeding. So Madison artfully works the spit inside her instead, changing the angle and grinding it against her g-spot trying to tip the girl out of her fear and into accepting it. As I pass I hear the girl has changed her mind and gasps.
“... don’t ... sss ... don’t stop ...” and I hear the slithery squish that tells be Madison has seized on this moment of the girl’s willingness to press it relentlessly deep. The girl cries out then heaves and vomits and oh-dear-god I hope she’s cumming.
Girls are being impaled two to a room and some even on the floor of the hallway. The noise of their dying hurts my ears. Some girls are orgasmic, some scream through their pain - naively having believed that an impalement is no more than a deep and fatal fuck. But it is more; I’ve seen the most stoic, strong women be reduced to puling, begging little girls as the hardened steel transits their abdomens and I’ve had to end their lives swiftly to take their torment away.
I pass a room and hear an overwhelmed girl cry out desperately - she is being impaled and spanked. a hand slapping hard on her sweat slick bottom.
“... choke me ... ple ... please ...”
She wants to be released from these sensations, believing that she has been pushed past her limits by the intensity of her impalement. Someone tries to choke her, but the cords in her neck are tight as guitar strings because she keeps gasping and crying out desperately. But her release comes quick as she begins to vomit out her stomach contents and her soul.
Two girls share my usual room, no doubt having arrived together and wanting to share the experience - they were foolish to think it was a good idea, death and dying are selfish acts, neither are aware of the other as hard steel is pushed through their bodies. One girl is crying out that the spit is so deep, but she’s also cumming hard and screaming it out - her final message to the world as she dies.
The second girl is screaming almost incoherently; “... I don’ wan’ it ... I don’ wan’ iiiiit!” as her impalement nears its end. She is not dying well at all. Nor is a girl down the hall who is squealing like a pig being butchered, and in contrast, a girl across the hallway screams that she’s cumming just before the spit penetrates her stomach and she projectile vomits out through the open door onto the floor in front of me. As for the second girl in my room; in the end as a final long scream rips her throat she cries out “... oh yeaaahhhhh ...” and I am unsure if it is orgasmic or the relief of knowing her torment is coming to an end.
As I walk I am stepping in puddles of body fluids; almost all of these girls lose control at the end, either pissing, shitting, or vomiting - sometimes all three. Some girls feel each heave of their skewered stomach as an orgasmic contraction, others as their final torment.
The clean-up crews can’t keep up; they barely have time to move the bodies to our back storage room, let alone clean up after each impalement.
In the rooms, impatient girls who watched the previous girl die, climb up onto beds and platforms as soon as the body has been removed and lay down in the puddles of blood and vomit and raise their bums or open their thighs, and Helpers are pulling spits from the dead bodies and inserting them into the living.
This isn’t what I signed up for. This carnage and suffering is knawing at my soul like a feral rat. It is our job to take a girl who wants to die and play her body like a fine musical instrument so she dies in ecstasy, making pain the byproduct of bliss. This is assembly line murder - voluntary, but murder all the same. I want it to end. Please let it end.
I have contemplated my own suicide so many times, but walking this gauntlet of violent death brings that dark desire on stronger than ever before. I want to seek out another Helper and ask her to impale me after this rush is over. I want to feel that steel still hot from the last girl’s body sliding through me, convulsing my belly and making me puke uncontrollably as it slides up my gullet. I want to feel my front teeth shatter as my jaw chatters on the spit sliding out past my lips as my body tries to squirm and writhe and my feet pound on the floor. I want what is being done to these girls to be done to me - as punishment - as atonement.
I’m sweating and trembling and near the edge of my tolerance as I pass a girl on all fours in the hallway. Her spit is deep and her Helper is fucking her with it. She’s overwhelmed as well, but cumming hard, her body wracked with rolling, multiple orgasms.
“... it’s right there ... right there ...” she gasps haltingly, her eyes closed, drool slipping from her lower lip - the tip of the spit buried in her uterus, stretching it, threatening to break through. For me this girl turns out to be an oasis in this hell, participating in her impalement and frantically savouring every sensation. She is the one who saves my life; she gives me the will to go on; to postpone my suicide to a calmer time.
I stop and watch as her body shudders violently in orgasm, and she screams incoherently;
“... moooor ...” then gutturally; “... I want ... more!”
“You want more?” her helper asks.
“... yaaaasssssss ...” she cries out desperately, and her helper pushes her spit deeper, puncturing her uterus and sliding deep into her belly, changing the angle to churn her intestines and increase the invasive sensations in her undulating belly.
The girl continues to cry out incoherently, but a few words come though her ragged screaming; “... I feel it ...”
“... oh yes ...”
“... please-don’t-stop-please-don’t-stop-please-don’t-stop-please-don’t-stop ... yeah ... yas!”, the remainder of her sounds just orgasmic screams until the spit compresses and punctures her stomach and she vomits violently as her body curls in her final orgasmic convulsions. Her bloody vomit along with her life spews from her lips onto the tiles of the hallway as her Helper pushes the spit up her gullet and out of her mouth. As she dies in her final spasms, her teeth chatter and shatter on the hard steel of the spit and she joins our ‘Chipped Tooth Club” and her body finally slumps spent and flaccid. She’s all used up, ending her life as Rivera ended her’s - in a violent explosion of pain and orgasm.
She is the one who saved my life today by reminding me that what I do is the most precious service I can provide; a death worth living for.
One of the most sensual impalements I performed today was on a girl whose father not only paid for her sexual suicide, but watched it as well.
Her dad paid a premium to avoid her having to die in the frenzied chaos of Die Happy’s rooms and hallways, so we set up in a storage room near where we keep the bodies before we dispose of them. She was undeterred as she walked past the body piles, stinking and bloody.
We’d dimmed the lights and set her up on a stainless steel gurney with its wheels locked down.
She was a pale, thin girl named Chastity, who was not only a Rivera fan, but a reincarnationist; she believed she would be reborn and that the tiny fetus now in her mother’s belly was awaiting Chastity’s soul to come inhabit it.
“She loved being a little girl. I guess her mother and I spoiled her and she wants to be born again to us.” her father told me as Chastity stripped and climbed up on the gurney, “She hates being an adult.”
Chastity asked for a simple rectum to throat impalement - nothing fancy - so I popped two Trinity Cocktails into her vagina and waited for them to start to work. As she started to squirm sensually and her breathing became loud in the room, I inserted the spit through her anus and into her rectum, and as I slid the spit deeper and deeper she continued to squirm, her bum and back squeaking on the smooth steel gurney from her movements. I saw the arousal and the fear in her build as she felt this deep invasion into her belly. I’m not sure if she was a virgin, but even if she wasn’t, she’s never been penetrated this deep.
She was making incoherent sounds and swearing at first, then a whimpered; “... daddy? ...” as I reached the halfway point through her abdomen, changing the angle of the spit slightly and constantly to stroke and excite her bowels.
I could see clear girl cum oozing from the delicate lips of her pussy and her nipples were puckered and tight, so I know she was aroused. She confirmed this by fondling her breasts and pinching her nipples as her body quivered and curled in orgasm.
I used a spit with the retractable X-blades to minimize the pain she would feel, so all she was feeling so far was a smooth rounded dildo sliding up the centre of her belly, pulling her sigmoid and descending colon free of the delicate connective tissue that had held them in place on the left side of her abdomen her entire life. I know it’s a strange and overwhelming sensation having done it myself - so invasive and almost overwhelming to feel your intestines being pulled and straightened to the midline of your belly.
I remember feeling sick to my stomach and like I was about to have the mother of all bowel movements as Kimberly pushed 14 inches straight into my body. Even though I knew it wasn’t going to be fatal, it made me feel so vulnerable and fragile I felt like it was going to kill me. But Chastity knows this is going to kill her, so it must be an even more powerful experience.
It was when I began to prod the soft, liquid-filled sac of her stomach that something I’ve never seen happened; first she sicked-up a clot of the yoghurt drink we had her swallow then cried out as I fired the spit so the X-blades punched a hole in her stomach. Then, as I pushed the spit through the X incision into her stomach she calmed. It was as though this was the part she wanted to savour; the slow rise of the spit through her stomach and up her gullet. Her eyes became unfocussed and crossed and as I slid the spit through its final journey, she lost control of her bladder and pissed over my hands and the gurney. I could see the ecstasy and wonder on her face as gagged and retched as she allowed her life to fade slowly and gracefully.
Things have finally slowed down and for the first time since we opened, I do not have a client. The halls are quieting - the final dozen or so girls undergoing the impalements they have waited for all day.
As I walk past one room I see a middle-aged man on his knees and elbows being impaled as he throats a long flexible dildo and his hard cock drips cum. He is the husband of one of Madison’s clients and has decided to join his wife in death. He vomits explosively past the dildo in his throat but isn’t fighting experiencing what his wife experienced earlier.
I see one of our young female interns being supported by two of our Helpers as she leaves our assessment office. She is trembling and naked as she is escorted down the hall toward our storage rooms.
I stop our psychologist as she wearily leaves the office and locks the door.
“The intern?” I begin.
“Yeah. Lindy.” she replies, “It was all too much for her.”
“She passed the screening?” I ask, incredulous that one so young and inexperienced would be allowed to undergo an assisted sexual suicide so soon in her internship.
“Yes, she passed.” the psychologist says, “Barely.”
“But ...” I begin, then stop as I see the emotion flare on her face.
“It’s one of those days, okay?” she says, her frustration apparent as she stuffs her keys into her purse and walks away, “Just one of those fucking chaotic days.”
I watch her go, remembering my low point during the day when I too wanted it. Who was I to judge?
In the storage room where our Helpers took Lindy, they’ve set her up on a servo driven saddle machine. It’s similar to a Sybian, but instead of a vibrating dildo, a meter long spit could be extended up out of the crotch hole, deep enough to penetrate up into a person’s gullet. It was a way to avoid the “Chipped Tooth Club”, but experience a full impalement just the same.
When I arrive, our Helpers are just finishing strapping Lindy’s upper thighs to the saddle, holding her tight to it to prevent her from being lifted or pulling herself off centre.
The Helpers stand close on either side of her, engaging with Lindy the way I assume she requested; softly caressing her and speaking about and to her with gentle voices.
“She’s a little confused.”
“She’s a confused little girl.”
Lindy’s breathing is deep but erratic, and I can smell her arousal and skunky armpit fear sweat. She is in the perfect state of mind; aroused and frightened - clients build in both as their deaths draw closer and orgasm is the most powerful just after they realize they are past the point of no return.
“She won’t be confused very much longer.”
Lindy whimpers as both Helpers work her gently, stroking her nipples and clit as one manually slides the spit inside her rectum, and I realize that she has asked to be allowed to play a reluctant girl, urged and coaxed by her Helpers to die on the spit.
“Relax.” one Helper coos in Lindy’s ear, “Good little girl ... just relax ...”
Lindy’s breathing starts coming in gasps and hitches.
“I’m gonna touch you ... touch you ...” one Helper whispers in her ear as she slides two fingers into Lindy’s cunt, no doubt making the spit up her bum feel tighter. “... just feel it ... feel it inside you ...”
The other Helper clamps the spit down onto the servomotor inside the saddle, making it rigid inside the girl.
“There.” the Helper says as Lindy starts to lower her head that her Helper stops by lifting the girl’s chin, “Don’t look. You relaxed?”
“... mm-hmm ...” Lindy nods.
“As much as you can be?” Lindy nods, “Okay ... just close your eyes ... and feel.”
The other Helper operates the remote and the servomotor slowly slides the spit up into Lindy’s bowels then back out.
“Just feel.” the other helper whispers in Lindy’s ear, keeping her head up, “Shh ... don’t look.”
The servomotor hums as it begins fucking Lindy rectally, moving slightly deeper with each stroke. Lindy begins to gasp and pant, her whimpers growing louder as the spit penetrates through her rectum into her sigmoid colon, slowly turning that twisted length of bowel into a straight tube up the midline of her belly.
This is the most invasive sensation she will experience up until the spit punctures her stomach; our sigmoid and descending colons are held in place on the left side of our abdomen by a thin and delicate membrane, and as the spit slides upward it rips our bowels free of that membrane and pulls them across to the middle of our belly so it is lined up with our stomach. Rectal impalement actually rearranges our insides and the sensation is intense and invasive.
Lindy begins to cry out and shudder as the spit literally moves her insides, relocating them so she can complete her impalement. Her head drops and she shakes badly as a series of overwhelming orgasms make her belly muscles clench tight, her cunt gripping and squeezing itself empty - clear mucus oozing from her. Lindy is cumming hard and breathlessly as the servomotor pushes the spit upward until it presses firmly against her stomach then penetrates it.
The blush fading from her cheeks, Lindy tips her head back and sicks-up gently as the servomotor pulls the spit back slightly and she giggles from the pure joy of entering this final stage of her impalement. I’ve seen this before; the tip of the spit inside the delicate flesh of a girl’s stomach feels like a primal tickle, making her stomach and gullet quiver.
Her Helpers have been masterful throughout as they assisted Lindy’s impalement, reading her body and her reactions from start to finish, managing her fears, and ensuring the process is gentle and blissful. Even at the last, they set the servomotors to slowly fuck her entire body, from anus to gullet, the spit moving inexorably in a machine rhythm as they hold her and continue to fondle her body. One Helper presses deeply into the soft flesh just inside the wings of her pelvis, massaging the anchor points of her oblique muscles, keeping them relaxed, her trembling lower belly slumped in a little pot.
With her chin lifted, Lindy’s eyes grow unfocussed and her expression becomes one of pure end-of-life bliss as she experiences slow rolling orgasms that make her belly tighten and quiver then slump as the tip of the spit slides up and down through her core. Her vomiting is gentle and rhythmic and judging from the milky grool now flowing from her crotch, she remains orgasmic throughout her final moments of ecstasy, held lovingly by both Helpers as the saddle she sits on fucks the life out of her delicate pale body. She only lasts a dozen more seconds, but I’m sure that for her it is an endless time of overwhelming sexual rapture as her face blanches to ivory and her lips slowly turn a soft, pale blue.
As Lindy’s body finally sags and her belly pooches outward in death, I rise and nod to both Helpers.
“Excellent job, girls.” I say and head off to help the clean-up crews with the aftermath of our marathon Impale Party.
Other Helpers who have found themselves free of the final girls have gone off to assist our overworked clean-up crews and I feel a pang of guilt for not joining them, but I have had a client who waited all afternoon for me to do her.
She’d seen me do Rachael in the hallway, the orgasmic girl who Kimberly stopped to watch, and approached me afterward asking for me to do her in a quiet private place at the end of the day. She wanted to be impaled somewhere private and to be one of the last of the day.
Her name was Ruby, and she promised she wouldn’t be any trouble.
“I want this so much.” she whispered to me, “I’ve edged it rectally on my own and I can take a spit deep enough to make myself throw up. Now I want the real thing - all the way, pussy to mouth. I want to taste myself on the spit as it slides over my tongue.”
“It hurts, you know.” I explained, “Vaginally goes through the cervix and uterus and some girls don’t live long enough to taste themselves. Internal bleeding, asphyxia, and even cardiac arrest takes them before the spit emerges from their mouth.”
“I’ll last.” she assured me with a confident smile, and I believed her.
We set up in the main storage room for our equipment with her on a stainless gurney and me cleaning and oiling a spit. Ruby asked to be fluffed, so I went down on her, sucking and licking and ‘diving for pearls’ which she loved. Each time I felt her body start to tense signaling her orgasm, she stopped me. She wanted to be edged so she would be eager for the final push.
Eventually, Ruby begged me to stop. She was ready, she said. Still slick with sweat and trembling, Ruby carefully guided the end of the sharp spit into her as she sat on the gurney while I pushed it gently.
“... oh, that’s right ... get it up there.” she sighed softly, “... mmmm ... you might have to push awfully hard ...”
She lined it up with her cervix and I knew the instant that sharp tip nestled into the dimpled hole that led to her uterus by her sudden gasps and whimpers. She eased herself back onto the gurney, opening her thighs for me and letting her hands come to rest on the stainless steel surface.
Ruby was the gentlest impalement I did all day. She was ready for it and didn’t struggle or fight it as I worked it through her cervix and up into her uterus. Even when I thrust it deep and punctured her uterus, sending the sharp tip up into the tangle of her intestines, she didn’t cry out or fight it. I believe that Ruby was the only impalement of the day who was completely ready for the pain and the intense sensations of a deadly penetration. She actually sighed when I eased it deep in her belly and held it there, changing the angle and gently moving her bowels.
I fucked her with the spit for a time, watching her abdominal muscles tighten and loosen - I wasn’t sure if these contractions were orgasmic, or if she was just reacting to the deep penetration, letting her body absorb the sensations. I do hope she did have at least one orgasm, and I like to think it was one long, low-grade rolling orgasm from start to finish.
She began to gag and cough softly as I probed with the tip to find the sac of her stomach and when I pushed it relentlessly into that soft organ and punctured it she barely reacted. As I eased it up her gullet she still did not cry out, but her body reacted; her anus gaped and she farted wetly as she pissed all over my hand. No matter how much we want to die, our bodies react and struggle, doing what it can to survive. As I pushed the spit through her gullet and up her throat, her body shuddered and trembled. But as the spit slid out of her mouth, her teeth didn’t bite down or chatter on it like most, and her eyes remained open as she stared in wonder as she slowly choked to death on the spit.
More than any girl that day, Ruby surrendered to her impalement with calm and grace, enjoying every transition inside her body, savouring every sensation until the moment her heart stopped and her eyes unfocused. She didn’t waste a single second fighting it, and managed to prevent her bodies instincts from trying to prevent her death.
I pulled the spit from her body and wheeled the gurney out into hallway for collection and disposal. Then I returned to the equipment storage room. Dark and dangerous thoughts had been circling inside my head all day, and as life faded from Ruby’s body they had settled into a determination; I was going to be impaled right then, right there.
As I set up an impaling machine and inserted Ruby’s spit in it’s clamps, I wondered; would I scream and fight like some of the girls? ... or embrace the sexuality of it in a ecstatic frenzy like Rachael? ... or go out with a sensual spritial zen like Ruby? I was about to find out ...
We worked well into the night, disposing the bodies by letting them slide down the chute to the incinerator room where others would feed them into the flames. The chute was a mess of blood, shit, vomit, and piss and because the furnace doors were left open to speed the mass cremation, the sickly-sweet scent of burning flesh permeated the air despite the best efforts of our air purification system.
We had all orchestrated a slaughter today, and though all our customers were willing it didn’t change the fact that we had committed mass murder. This day changed me - it changed all of us. It would haunt us for the rest of our days.
For myself, this day had cemented in my mind that one day soon I would choose to be impaled. Watching the good ones orgasm through the pain because of the chemical magic of the Poppers was a big factor, but the real reason was more feral and basic; because I had killed so many girls in the most invasive and torturous way, I deserved to struggle and die by the same method. Images of me being trussed and laying on a cold floor while someone strong pushed a wooden spit up through my belly and gullet and out my mouth swirled in my mind. I wanted that suffering. I wanted to feel the panic that I saw in so many girl’s eyes, flashing wide in shock as the spit slid up their throat as they vomited out the last of their life force.
When we were done with the bodies I wanted to do nothing more than go home and drink myself unconscious, but it occurred to me that as I thanked my fellow Helpers and our clean-up crews, that Madison was missing. Throughout the frantic madness of the day, her expression mirrored how I was feeling and that worried me.
I set out to find her, and when I heard one of our machines working inside our equipment storage room and heard her moans, I knew what I would find ...