When Zee reached out and touched the psyches of the sad California girls, infusing their dreams with the sensations of the chorus girls who died in ecstasy with spits pushed through their bellies and up their throats, he didn't infect just five of them; there was a sixth girl.
Her name was Tabatha and there was a grim darkness inside her soul, put there when her grandfather sexually abused her ritualistically when she was little. He played games with her, starting with; 'pick a finger', then; 'swallow the cock', and finally; 'how much can we fit inside you?'. The abuse started long before she began to enjoy sexual things, so when she finally arrived at puberty and her first orgasms bloomed in her belly with his fist deep in her bowels, Tabatha immediately associated the pain of brutal invasive abuse with sexual pleasure.
After the abuse stopped when he died, Tabatha discovered that she couldn't enjoy regular sex, and sought out lesbian lovers who would dominate and fist her to painful orgasms, but her intensity scared even those girls, so relationships were short-lived. One activity that she couldn't stop was roughly inducing vomiting, a holdover from 'swallow the cock', that her grandfather enjoyed as she gagged and puked all over his cock while perched on her knees. The trouble was she learned to associate it with sexual pleasure.
After Zee touched her and the dreams of total impalement began, she became aware of Legend House and the other California girls. She knew they would welcome her on their trek across the country, and maybe tolerate her daily ritual, but the shame of it burned deep; binging and making herself vomit four times a day in front of someone was intolerable for her. So she made the long drive on her own, drawn to Legend House as though it was a pilgrimage toward the place that would give her the intense death she desired and free her soul from her lifetime of torment.
As I lay in bed nights, I reached out and found her like a bright candle in a dark landscape; kneeling in her car parked at the side of a road four times a day, puking up everything she'd gorged on into the bag that she used to carried the food from the store to her car.
I could feel the pain, fear, and torment as she relived the abuse from her grandfather, emptying herself as she knelt on the front seat of her car. I could also feel the tight, cramping orgasms in the pit of her belly that flared with each hard heave.
I loved this girl, and when she arrived and I got to know her as untouchable, I loved her more.
Tabatha wanted her impalement to be done in solitude; choosing one of the bikers and a thick spit pushed up into her bowels to puncture her stomach then forced up her gullet. She wanted to die feeling two of the games her grandfather played with her; 'swallow the cock' and 'how much can we fit inside you?'; those being the most intense experiences she had as a young girl. She wanted to fit more than had ever been pushed into her body; the spit was as thick as her wrist.
Tabatha's only concession to pleasure was a vibrator that she planned to use on her clit, to ensure her orgasm as she died.
I showed her the spare bedroom and assured her that none of the gigglers would watch like they all had with the five sad California girls, but I was duplicitous in my assurances; I only prohibited the gigglers from entering the room, and I didn't include myself in the bargain. I had to witness this dark creature's willing death.
Tabatha rose that morning and said that it was time, so as I admonished the bikers and gigglers not to try to watch her. Tabatha interviewed the bikers to see which one she would choose, and when she did, she gave him firm instructions on what she wanted. This gave me time to run upstairs and hide in the spare bedroom's closet. I took young Cindi with me; her having just arrived with her stepfather - one of the bikers, named Clive. Having Cindi in the closet with me wasn't a complete deception against Tabatha; Cindi wasn't one of the gigglers, although she took delight playing with them.
Besides, Clive had told me his plan for Cindi and having her in the closet with me to watch Tabatha's impalement was part of the grooming we planned for her.
Cindi was excited as she snuggled against me in the closet and I told her not to make a sound as we watched, no matter how intense things got for Tabatha.
After a time, Tabatha and her biker arrived, her carrying her vibrator and he the heavy four foot steel spit that would end her life. Tabatha chose to sit in a chair rather than lay on the bed, still wearing her t-shirt, and naked from the waist down. She parted her plump thighs and started to work herself with the vibrator. When she was aroused, she told her biker to begin.
As Cindi clung to me, gasping and panting in excitement as she watched Tabatha get fucked rectally by the thick spit, I discovered to my delight that Tabatha wasn't shy or reserved at all; she was loud and demanding. I knew the gigglers and the bikers would be gathered in the hallway outside the door and in the bedrooms on either side, their eager ears pressed tight to the door and walls listening to Tabatha's impalement - I had told them not to watch, knowing that they would listen. We're all naughty voyeurs at Legend House.
It was when the spit was buried belly-button deep in Tabatha, that things got juicy for her.
" ... oh, it hurts ..." she moaned in between cries of pleasure and pain as the wet squishing and sucking sounds from her loose asshole being spit-fucked filled the room.
"Did you cum?" her biker asked as he continued to fuck her with the spit, pushing it a little deeper with each third stroke. It wasn't that he was stupid or inexperienced, Tabatha had been making loud sexual sounds from the start.
"No." she half whimpered, but as she continued being fucked, she slid her bum forward and spread her thighs wider to take more. Her cries and moans were delicious and I could detect the anxiety in her that this was it; she was going to die playing this final sexual game and she desperately wanted it to end in orgasm.
"... keep going!" she cried out gutturally as a grimace contorted her face a few moments later. The spit was well past her belly button now and getting close to her stomach. I saw her mash the vibrator tight to her clit, clutching it desperately, "Oh fuck! Keep going!"
Her biker increased the speed and length of the spit's strokes inside her belly, just the way Tabatha had instructed him, and we were treated by Tabatha's loud litany of sexual sounds as he did. She was into it, knowing she was in the home stretch toward her orgasm and death.
"... oh fuck! ... oh babe! ..." she cried out desperately, alternating between arching her back and curling her pelvis as she fucked the spit in her belly.
"oh! ... oh! ... oh! ... keep going ... please ..." Tabatha cried out continuously, and I could feel the crazy energy of her approaching orgasm building in her wounded belly.
"No!" she cried out as she felt the spit contact her stomach for the first time - the sensation so foreign it scared her badly.
"What?" the biker asked, confused because Tabatha was so into it, and to his credit he kept fucking her as she cried out and bucked on the chair.
"... Right there! ..." Tabatha cried out when the tip of the spit contacted her stomach solidly and she arched her back in anticipation of the final thrust.
Tabatha was in a frenzy now, trying to keep her back arched to accept the spit through her stomach and up her gullet, grinding the vibrator hard against her clit, her hands shaking and her belly undulating. The biker changed the angle of the spit to line it up with her core as she arched her back once more and when he pushed it home, Tabatha threw her head back to straighten her throat.
"... keep going!" she cried out wetly, and he did. We heard the internal gagging as her gullet spasmed, and he pushed the thick spit upward through her stomach to finish her impalement and the ultimate version of 'swallow the cock' and 'how much can we fit inside you?'.
"Oh! ... *glurglsh* ..." Tabatha tried to speak her final words but began to gag and heave instead while he fucked her entire body from her blown asshole to her opening throat. Her orgasm exploded inside her and the hard waves of it convulsed her belly and made the fat of her breasts and thighs jiggle.
Little Cindi was clutching the waistband of my jeans as she squirmed against me, finger-fucking herself through her own orgasm, her panting breaths hissing through clenched teeth, and her wide eyes staring at Tabatha as she died. Even in the closet we could smell the rich blend of smells from the dying girl; the sexual musk of her cunt, the oily, ripe scent of her freshly fucked asshole, and the bitter tang from the strings of spit and bile that gurgled up from her stomach, lubricating her throat for the spit.
Tabatha rode her orgasm long and hard, her biker pistoning her spit shallow and deep through her body relentlessly, knowing she was enduring the most intense experience of her life and wanting her to savour every stroke of it. At last her hand formed into a claw and the vibrator fell to the floor to buzz uselessly on the carpet and she began her final orgasmic convulsions. Her eyes opened wide and her expression was one of awed surprise as she felt the chorus reach out to her and pull her through the veil into that endlessness of shared brutal ecstasy. We watched her soul leave her after her final gagging heave, and her body slumped as much as the four feet of smooth steel inside her would allow.
Little Cindi gave a final shudder as well as her orgasm faded within her.
"Did you enjoy that, little one?" I asked her.
"Yes." she gasped breathlessly, "Is that what's going to happen to me?"
"Not yet, sweetie." I lied as I collected her in my arms and snuggled her close, "There's still so much time left for you to play."
Cindi made a contented sound as she settled into my arms, her cheek resting against my left breast like a child nestling in her mother's arms for a nap. There was no point in scaring the girl by telling her the plans her stepfather had for her the next afternoon.
He wanted it to be a surprise.