It doesn't mater how she came to stand here sweating, naked and trembling in this damp and odorous cellar that reeks of historic blood and death. It doesn't matter if she came to this place and this experience willingly or reluctant. It doesn't mater if her bowels were filled with the ice water of terror or that her loins pulsed with perverse sexual need as she descended the stone steps and let her clothing fall from her body like the petals of a withering flower. Nor does it matter what the man's identity is in this deviant experience marking a apex of sensation in her young life - it does not matter a single iota if he is friend or predator.
What does matter is that he holds the gun steady in a strong sure hand, held straight out from the shoulder, its trigger cocked and its barrel menacing as she stares into its blackness. What does matter is that her hands tremble as they reach up and caress his hand and forearm like an inexperienced lover and brings her face ever nearer the gun while the drip-drip-drip of water seeping through the foundation of this old building marks time.
She is a tall girl, so she has to hunch her shoulders to lower her mouth to the barrel as he holds the gun straight. She slides her feet forward, drawing nearer, stroking his hand and forearm, feeling the steady muscles beneath his skin. And her body held in this position, requires her to tighten muscles in her core and she feels the sexual tug deep in her loins as she does. Her posture, though unnatural, lends itself to sensuality, she feels lithe and sinuous like a dancer as she bends her spine tighter so her lips can at last touch the unforgiving steel of the pistol. She extends the pink tip of her tongue and licks the hole in the end of the barrel, feeling its cold hardness, tasting its oil.
She has avoided looking at his face, not wanting the vision of his eyes watching her be one of her final memories. Instead she has focused on the gun, and now that she has close contact with it, she closes her eyes and opens her mouth. She eases herself forward with the same delicate hesitation that she used when first exploring the mystery of her body's orifices with her fingers years ago and doing so discovered the wet pleasures plumbing those depths could bring her. The gun feels larger in her mouth than it appeared to her eyes and her brows furrow as she begins to imagine how this will end, wondering if the kick of the gun will shatter her teeth.
She eases her face further forward, feeling the gun fill her mouth, penetrating her orally like a lover's eager cock. But a cock, no latter how erect, is still a soft thing compared to the pistol. She can feel its weight on her tongue and taste its slick oily surface as she slides herself onto it. She feels the gun sight scrape the roof of her mouth and the underside of the slide press down on her tongue, compressing it at its root. She feels the sensual quivering of her gullet and stomach as her gag reflex is awakened. The muscles of her belly tighten and curl and she feels the pull in her crotch.
She is surprised at the intensity of her sexual feelings as her stomach shivers inside her, threatening to push its contents up her throat. She finds she likes the feeling and moves herself gently back then forward again, feeling the slickness of the gun sliding across the root of her tongue, tickling her gullet, gagging her so sweetly. She pushes herself onto it more, taking the barrel of the gun deep into the back of her throat and her stomach heaves and she burps wetly. And her body reacts on its own further; her pelvis tilts, her lower belly clenching as she humps her loins forward. This action feels so perverse and so sexual, she keeps the gun barrel in her throat and lets nature take its course. She gags rhythmically, her belly clenching and her pelvis thrusting in time - over and over. It feels like she is being fucked deep and steady by an invisible cock, and it feels so good.
She continues on, backing off only momentarily for a gasping breath when she needs to - fucking her throat with the gun, feeling it in her sex. Soon her crotch is a slippery mess and she can feel it coating her inner thighs. She can smell herself - both the musky girl-cum scent and the skunky smell of her armpits. She knows in this moment, if penetrated vaginally or even anally by finger or cock, her orgasm would convulse within her lower belly instantly. And by the feel of the sexual tension in her loins, that orgasm would be more powerful than any before it.
At last her stomach can stand no more and it curls hard inside her belly. She hears the gurgling and feels the liquid rise in her gullet and only then does she pull back so the gun is laying on her extended tongue. She swallows hard, pushing the liquid back down where it belongs.
"... oof ..." she whimpers wetly as she allows her belly to settle and is grateful that the sexual feelings stay strong within her. And as her stomach calms, she marvels with appreciation at the man's patience with her. And her next thought sends tingles up over her body from her bum over her mound and up her belly to her breasts.
Her brows furrow once more and she moves her face forward, her hands - now trembling badly - once more caress his hand and arm, welcoming his participation. He must sense that she is preparing herself, because she feels his muscles flex as he works the cramp out of his hand then steadies the gun once more.
She feels the barrel find its furrow over the root of her tongue and gags once again. She takes one last quivering breath and lets it out through her nose.
"śngh-hngh." she whimpers, her stomach fluttering once again and liquid rising fast. She feels the muscles in her lower belly and crotch clenching in anticipation as her hips curl and thrust her loins forward and upward.
And her life is reduced to an instant followed by a few seconds of intense sensations ...
The blast of hot pressure plumps her cheeks instantly like they were plumped as a little girl when she played the marshmallow game Chubby Bunny. She feels the gun jump in her mouth and chip both her front teeth. At the same time her hands are knocked away from his hand and forearm as the gun bucks.
In the same instant, the exploding gasses jet down her throat and meet the rising liquid from her stomach, forcing it back down and bloating her belly large and violently, smoke, heat and fluid instantly turning to a dark froth. The bullet punches a hole through the back of her throat and rockets through her brainstem and her long dark hair fluffs upward as a pink mist sprays into the air behind her.
The bullet cuts her body's muscle control and she feels her legs and arms lose strength instantly. She crumples to the concrete floor, her bum slapping wetly as her body is jarred by the impact, her knees spreading wide and her thighs flopping open. Her hands fall limp into her lap, palms upward, fingers twitching.
The impact in her skull has left her confused and disoriented. She sits for a moment almost cross-legged, head hung low, a posture associated with meditation or yoga. And though she sits perfectly still, within, her body is alive with sensations. She can feel the aching sexual need in her loins as her inner muscles quiver and clench. She marvels at he vibrating sensation as her anus quivers between tightly clenched and gaping open. Her nipples tingle wildly, so puckered and tight that they spread shiver-bumps over the globes of her breasts.
Her mouth remains open, her lips slack as blood drips from them to spatter a pattern between her open thighs. Her vision is blurred, but she sees that her belly is bloated and wonders in her confused state when exactly she became pregnant for she looks about 4 months along. But the bloat is too high for pregnancy and this confuses her more. A partial answer to this puzzle comes a half second later when she burps wetly and long, smelling gun smoke and blood issuing from her open mouth.
She watches confused as small rivers of blood flow over her shoulders and down her breasts from the wound in the back of her head. She coughs weakly and blood sprays from her throat to speckle her inner thighs.
Her pain is minimal, and thankfully the sexual feelings remain and as her addled mind wrestles with when her orgasm will hit her, she realizes that she is no longer breathing - that autonomic part of her brainstem was disconnected by the impact of the bullet.
She sucks in a ragged and shallow breath and whimpers as she feels a rush of numbness flood her body and dim her vision and hearing. She understands then that she is dying, and dying fast. Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, she flops forward awkwardly, striking her forehead on the concrete floor. Her body holds there for a few seconds as her heart flutters it's last, then she rolls onto her left side, her body crumpled and limp, elbows and knees at odd angles.
All that mattered was the intensity of the experience.