I knew from her youth and inexperience that Leslie's impalement would be a frantic experience for her. She'd never felt anything bigger or longer than two fingers inside her body before- and those were flexible, a spit isn't.
Because of that we convinced Leslie that taking the spit rectally would be best for her, that the pain of pucturing her uterus might be too much for her. Because of her tender years and because I had grown fond of her, I took her to the day bed in my room so Mason and I could do her in private.
She was trembling and her eyes were wide as she climbed onto the day bed and I told her to get on her hands and knees to let Mason take her from behind.
"It will feel best if you keep your bum high and your head low." I told her. She nodded, swallowed past a lump in her throat, and we began.
Mason had lubricated the spit, and squeezed an entire bottle of glycerin into her rectum, so her penetration was going to be a smooth one, and because Leslie had never had more than a couple fingers pass through her anus, she moaned as Mason slid it in, feeling the thick spit open her up and slide deep, straightening her rectal valves and stretching that part of her intestines. It was when Mason pressed deeper and rocked the spit inside her to pull her sigmoid colon loose and align it with the centre of her belly that Leslie started to feel that frantic sexual panic that I knkew was coming. Nothing had ever been that deep in her belly before and her random pulses of orgasmic spasms made her squirm and writhe on the day bed. Then Mason began to fuck her with the spit - she was still scared and we wanted her to enjoy the process as long as possible.
Leslie squirmed and jerked with her youthful energy and though she tried to remain bum up, there were times she flopped to her side and Mason had to reposition himself constantly to keep the spit pistoning inside her bowels, keeping the orientation in a straight line from her asshole toward her throat.
I reached out to Leslie and wrapped her mind with praise for her not begging Mason to stop, that she was being a trooper just like her sister was. I pushed the sensations Miranda felt and Leslie was able to feel her own arm inside her bowels. Her mind became a riot of emotions as the new sensations in her belly overwhelmed her. Her vocabulary was reduced to a series of 'oh god's' and 'oh fuck's' and grunts and cries, and despite sounding like she was in distress I could feel her manic desire for Mason to keep going. She wanted it deeper. She wanted it deadly deep.
I heard her gag as her stomach curled then released when the spit tip touched the underside of that soft, vulnerable sac and I urged her to lift her bum high for Mason and lay her head down on the bed. With trembling muscles, Leslie rose up and held herself there, and inside her mind I could hear her inner voice begging like an addict's mantra deep in withdrawal; 'I-want-it-I-want-it-I-want-it-I-want-it-I-want-it-I-want-it-I-want-it!'
I nodded to Mason and he pushed down deeper into her as he fucked Leslie with the sharpened spit and she began to cough, gag, and vomit; her rolling orgasms tripling in force.
Take a dry girl fresh off the street and do this to her and she'd be screaming in pain and fighting it. But take five sad girls from California and infect their minds with the ecstatic deaths by impalement from the chorus, allow them to engage in a rolling orgy as they travelled across the country, then have them witness and even participate in the orgasmic impalements of their sisters-in-death, and you have willing, hyper-aroused girls wanting to die in one of the most sexually overwhelming ways possible.
Leslie was one of those girls, her arousal building to insane levels as she watched three of her friends die in bliss and participated in her sister's perverse impalement. As she gagged and puked violently, feeling like she was vomiting her soul up her gullet, her final orgasm roared inside her and the chorus reached through the veil and amongst those strangers she felt her sister urging her to join them and drawing her into their arms.
Like her sister, Leslie's heart began to stutter, then spasm, then stop, leaving a confusing hollow feeling in her chest which was only momentary as her body shut down and she carried her final sensations out of this world. The residual energy of her sexual storm left her dead body twitching and jerking long after her soul left it, her anus gaping around the spit and girl cum leaking from her open pussy.
As I felt Leslie join the chorus, I turned my attention to the sixth girl that Zee touched out in California; the girl reluctant to join the other five, but who wanted to die with the same intensity. She was angry and bitter and had a secret she didn't want to share with the other girls, so she travelled on her own, and she was getting closer. I could reach out to feel and hear the perverse ritual she engaged in alone four times a day in her car, parked along the interstate highways she followed, and each time it left her sweaty and trembling body as her craving for an impalement grew to obsessive levels inside her.
The sixth girl was different from the rest, and she would be a powerful addition to the chorus ...