You need to know a few things before you can understand the following stories.
We all live in Westminster Orphanage, and it was huge. It housed (yes, that’s how they said it) between 800 and 1000 preteens and teens at any given time. So if a few dozen go missing every year, no one notices. The news doesn’t report it and the government doesn’t give a shit.
You see, we were the ones no one was going to adopt. People wanted babies or toddlers. We were too old, and most of us came with fucked up backgrounds and behaviours. We were the bedwetters, the firestarters, the defiant ones who spent their childhoods being raped and were never going to comply with another adult so long as we lived. It didn’t matter that how we were was because someone did something to us, there wasn’t time or money to give us counselling.
So when we wash out of other orphanages and foster homes, they send us to Westminster. It was off in the country where we couldn’t do too much damage, and no one came to check on us, so abuse went unreported and so did deaths. When we died, someone filled out a form and it was filed and that was the end of it. I suspect a lot of our deaths went unreported so Westminster could keep receiving our funding.
The other thing you need to know is about the Bad Girls suicide club. Legend has it that it all started decades ago with a thirteen year old girl named Ruth. Ruth had given up - she was sick of the male staff fucking her and decided to kill herself. She - like a lot of us - had run away a few times and made it to the nearby town of Coalmont. Coalmont is an even bigger shithole than Westminster - if someone in your family worked in the mine, you got by. But if not, you were destitute. There’s a lot of girls living in Coalmont who aged out of Westminster and stayed there because that’s where the staff drop you. Most of the girls there are single moms, or live with an abusive boyfriend or husband, or some random guy who feeds them and gives them a bed for sexual favours. Ruth saw the writing on the wall and lost any hope for a real life.
Ruth decided to hang herself in the cellar of the orphanage, but the only rope she could find was old and frayed. She hung herself and passed out, but before she could die, the rope broke. She woke up four hours later crumpled on the stone floor with girl cum crusted on her crotch and inner thighs and went back to the girl’s dorm with a story to tell.
“Hanging was intense,” she told the other girls, “It hurts and makes you feel panicky. But after less than a minute, the panic goes away and this dreamy bliss takes over. It’s like how you feel when you’re cumming, but 10 times more powerful.”
“I came.” she said, “I came for a long time before I blacked out.”
Some of the girls didn’t believe her. But that night, after getting a better rope, she went back to the cellar, only this time she took about a dozen girls with her. In the morning they all confirmed that Ruth did cum as she was hanging; she was humping the air and dripping girl cum all over the place, and when she calmed a bit she pissed. This time the rope held and she died.
Word spread. Girls made suicide pacts and hanged themselves in the cellar, in classrooms, and in the woods. A new saying was invented; if you were going to hang yourself in the woods you were going to “decorate a tree”, or inside “decorate a class room” or “decorate the cellar”. There were (and are) so many hanging suicides at Westminster Orphanage, that even staff started using the saying; if you went to complain about something, some staff would tell you; “Why don’t you go decorate tree and save us a lot of trouble.”
So we do. We decorate the orphanage and the forest with our bodies. And we're pretty decorations until we swell up and start to stink.
Anyway, after awhile the boys clued into the suicides and started helping the girls out for the thrill of it. They coined the term “Bad Girls Club” and some girls got into this hanging fetish thing of being punished for being bad girls. Eventually, a few of the boys joined the girls and hanged with them. There isn’t many of them because when boys age out they stand a chance of getting a job in the mine.
I tried edging - autoerotic asphyxiation - and it’s all true. It isn’t a regular orgasm where you rise then peak, it’s a continuous orgasm that completely overwhelms you until you forget that you’re dying. Hell you even forget who you are and what is happening to you - you only live for that orgasm.
Anyway, that’s all you need to know to understand the stories now. Other girls will tell them, because I’m going to decorate a tree this morning and cum and cum and cum.