by Erotickynk

Tonight is an orgy, but not an orgy of sex and death but of corruption. We will corrupt our sexuality with torture; we will corrupt our bodies with wounds both shallow and deep; we will corrupt our souls with perversion through lust for brutal death that will take us down into the depths of insanity Ö the depths of hell.

Tonight, girls are walking away from glee clubs and cheerleader squads toward filth and depravity; from the loving embrace of family and acceptable boyfriends to meet their abusers and torturers and murderers; from their fucking Baptist church to enter this house of pain and perversion on this night to willingly subject themselves to degradation and torture that will end in their violent deaths.

Life itself is being corrupted here tonight. The pure is being made filthy, the beautiful made ugly, the moral made wanton.

I am fucking the object that will kill me. It is making me sweat and quiver as I kneel on the seat of this chair with hands gripping the chairís back, my fat tits pressed tight between them. Iím getting to the good part and Iím shivering as I anticipate it. Already my bloated stomach is quivering and how I love it so.

A stiff sharpened and varnished broomstick is deep in my fat belly - very deep. I can feel the point getting close to my bloated stomach, my intestines squirming around it like frightened snakes. Iíve last track of how many orgasms Iíve had leading up to the exquisitely corrupt experience Iím about to have.

It began when I met Michael upstairs. Together we stripped naked and descended the stairs that only killers will ascend, knowing he will leave my pale fat corpse on the cellar floor, oozing blood, piss, vomit, and maybe shit. Both I and the pretty girls will bloat as we begin to rot between the time of our deaths until the police think to check Legend House for the dozens of missing person reports they will receive over the weekend.

My first orgasms of the night began when I granted Michaelís wish to fist-fuck me. Iíd been using fat bottles on myself for years, so fisting my cunt was easy and ecstatic. Fisting my rectum on the other hand was painful and intense, but I wanted to experience it. I learned that I could indeed orgasm anally when he was able to force his forearm almost to his elbow inside my bowels and once there, rearranged my insides by sweeping his arm and fist from side to side, up and down. My already fat belly swelled more, tightening my skin and muscles as it bloated with lust.

That was my first corruption.

My second was to drink water and wine until my stomach was full and tight in anticipation of my final corruption.

Girls were already dying around me when I mounted this chair and Michael positioned the crude machine that held the sharpened broomstick. He promised to go slow - not because I feared the pain and invasive sensations that were to come; but to go at a pace that would allow me to savour every part of this. Michael is keeping his promise and I am in bliss as I near the part I have fantasized about for the last five years - the wild sensations of a spit sliding up my gullet to fill my mouth.

I learned that one did not die from an impalement. It was the blockage of the throat that killed you - slow suffocation with a hard shaft impaling your entire body from ass or cunt to mouth. I chose cunt. I chose it for two reasons.

The first was philosophic in nature; to penetrate the part of my anatomy that all the boys rejected because Iíve been fat all my life. Morbidly Obese was my doctorís statement. They only wanted my mouth and throat to fuck, and even then only if no one else knew. When this shaft slides up my throat and out past my quivering jaw, they will know that their puny cocks meant nothing to me.

The second was that impalement through the cunt is a bigger challenge; thereís more meat to get through - the narrow cervix, the tough and resilient flesh of the uterus. So much pain and struggle, and all of it obscenely sexual.

And now I rock gently on my chair, feeling the wooden shaft moving inside me, feeling it tugging where it penetrated my cervix and uterus - pulling that meat back and forth in my lower gut, pressing against my g-spot. I feel another orgasm building fast. I donít know the number of this one - I lost count an hour ago.

And it hits me hard; making me buck and curl, bending the wood inside me (Oh god, what would it feel like if it snaps?). It is so strong it makes me piss. I feel the sharp tip scrape my stomach and I gag sweetly, my thighs shaking so bad that Michael has to hold his hands tight to my hips so I donít fall. I love Michael for all this.

Michael is gay, but we are best friends. We have been as long as I remember - both of us bullied in elementary school, our tormenters unknowingly driving us into each otherís comfort and care. All our lives we came together to find sanctuary from a cruel world, and now Michael is helping me leave it.

There are people all around us here in the messy corner. Girls grunting and straining as their bodies are ruined, others crying out as they have their final orgasms. On a table beside me I see Rhonda. Her brother Randy is with her while a friend is cutting her belly. Zee educated us; Rhonda is willingly letting her friend give her a midline gutting. I can see the split in her abdomen from her mound to her belly button opening as she pushes her belly outward, making it round, showing her willingness to be eviscerated.

Rhonda and Randy have been fucking for years, right under their Baptist parents noses. And now Randy is helping his sister die.

Corruption. Itís everywhere.

I hear the ratchet that moves the spit - Michael has creeped it deeper into me and I feel the sharp tip press against my stomach. I gag and heave, relishing the sweet cramping convulsion of my bloated stomach. Michael and I planned for this; bringing Twinkies and oranges and juice to the orgy. After he fisted me and left me feeling weak and exhausted from orgasms, Michael fed me, filling me and making my belly huge and tight, until when I swallowed the last of the juice, it wouldnít go all the way down and I had to let it flow up out of my gullet and spatter on the floor.

Michael and I smiled at each other when I did this; I was as full as I could possibly be and ready for my ultimate corruption. He had to help me up and onto my chair, my heavy belly hanging down as he slid the wooden spit into my cunt and locked it to the mechanism that he would use to advance it.

The human stomach can stretch to hold over a gallon of food and liquid. I wanted my stomach full when the best part started. I want to make a mess. I want to be a mess. My stomach has been as tight as a basketball all the way through this, and now I feel the tip of the spit right where I want it so I can begin ending my life.

Michael and I have practiced the choreography of our deadly performance, and it is a performance, because a group of men and boys - and some girls - have gathered in the messy corner to watch the most brutal and violent deaths of girls.

I pull myself forward, easing the spit away from my stomach, and Michael - bless his heart - does not hesitate; I hear the ratchet sound as he moves the spit deeper. The sharp tip again touches my stomach and I heave up a watery burp. Michael stops the spit to wait for the final push.

I go back to rocking, easing myself backward then forward, feeling the spit rigid when it presses against my stomach. Oh god, this is it - this is the final act. I push backward.

The pain is a byproduct as the sharp tip penetrates and slides into the tight ball of my stomach - I feel it harden and convulse and I vomit hard.

Itís happening! Itís happening! As I heave and puke, I become more aware of the sounds of girls around me. I hear one being stabbed brutally, another coming hard, another swearing as her torment begins. The people watching in the messy corner are fucking and sucking and cumming as they celebrate our corruption. We who are struggling in these last moments of life are perverse entertainment for them - a living snuffsex horror movie, but not only with sound and images, but with smells as well Ö the puddle of puke under me is a mixture of sweetness and sour bile; my body is musky - the strong smell of my cunt and skunky armpits creating a cloud of erotic fumes around me that even I can smell as my belly convulses and jiggles.

This is corruption at its finest. I give myself to it, my movements growing more frantic.

I am riding the spit harder now, feeling it tugging and moving inside me - dragging not only my uterus and cunt back and forth inside my belly, but my pierced stomach as well. Itís hard to breathe between almost continuous heaving and puking, but it feels so good - so intense - so final. I am losing myself in this death of mine, fucking the thing that is killing me and each heave gripping my belly tight, making my thighs quiver violently.

The heaves are like small orgasms that shudder through my core. I learned long ago that vomiting is like an orgasm - at least for me. During puberty I started binging, then drinking noxious brews to vomit it up - ipecac when I could get it, mustard and water when I couldnít. I would binge at home and drink my emetic, then go out into the woods so my parents wouldnít hear me. There I would kneel and wait, feeling the build-up that was just like an orgasm. I could feel it rising and there was nothing I could do to stop it, and when it came it was bliss - stomach clenching, quivering, orgasmic bliss. So many trips to the woods saw me come home with my crotch slimy with mucus and piss.

I feel Michaelís hand on my bum, steadying me so I donít fall too soon. I know I will fall when I lose all control - Michael will release the spit as I do to allow me to keep it inside me.

My stomach is trembling between convulsive contractions - itís being fucked by the spit; a virgin organ no more. I rock backward further and feel the tip tickling the bottom of my gullet. It makes me gag and heave and cough. Oh god this is intense! All I need to do is push backward as far as I can to push it up my throat. That will be Michaelís signal to release the spit, so I can carry it inside me. What will happen then, I really donít know, but Iím pretty sure Iíll lose my grip on the chair and fall. Oh god I want this! I hear a girl beg her tormenter to stop. Not me.

I feel a real orgasm tightening my cunt. Oh god, this is too perfect.

Iím gunna do it! Three more thrusts then the big one! I count it down in my mind Ö three Ö two Ö one Ö PUSH!

I push back and feel the tip of the spit slide relentlessly up my gullet. My throat tightens on it and I can hear the brutal gagging sounds Iím making. I feel the spit release as Michael takes his hand from my bum. My entire core convulses from the combined effect of the spit invading my throat and my orgasm. The room spins Ö

I am shocked when my fat body hits the floor hard, but I continue to convulse, gagging, choking, heaving. I feel my face swelling and Iím sure it is turning from red to purple. My eyes are watering, blurring my vision. My body goes into spasms; legs kicking, heals drumming on the floor. My arms flail and I hit the chair, knocking it away. I slap the floor as I gag, heave, spasm. My body is fighting for its life - I canít control it. Iím deep inside it, feeling more intensity than I have ever before. I feel panic rising fast through the intense orgasmic pulses in my cunt and belly.

In these seconds Iím more alive than I ever have been; my body and mind are overwhelmed by what is happening to me. I never thought my body could move this rapidly as I convulse and flail - my horizontal mosh-pit of death.

I have corrupted my body and soul. I have turned my world into a perverse crescendo of sexual corruption. In hours, my body will begin to bloat as it starts to rot. By the time the police get here to investigate I will be a pale blue horror, with dark purple splotches where blood has pooled and coagulated within meat the lowest points of my corpse.

The image of Michael comes to me. Gentle, loving Michael who made my final wish come true. I know he approached someone to do him as well after I am gone. I hope that they take as much care as he did. You deserve it Michael, you deserve the intensity of a sexual death.

I am still convulsing, but Iím losing energy. There is a growing ache in my chest that isnít much fun. I wonder if itís Ö