I have less than an hour left to live.
I have LESS than an HOUR left to LIVE.
This thought comes out of nowhere as I sit and stare at Maizie’s dull eyes, and it hits me hard; I feel it flare in my consciousness, impact the pit of my stomach, make my legs weak, and sets my body to trembling. It’s like I have fallen into ice-cold water, shaking, gasping for air, feeling frantic, everything blurred as panic rapidly sets in.
I rise and stagger out of the playroom, barely feeling the loving stroke across my bum as I pass Allen, not understanding the conversations I pass - hearing voices as staccato, disjointed words.
I pass a woman in a chair being worked over by a group of men. She is masturbating a cock with one hand while another holds her other hand. She stares at a vibrator mashed against the top of her mound as a man is thrusting four fingers into her loose, squishy pussy. Like me, the twice hourly erotic deaths have got to her and she's wantonly given herself to her own frenzied sexual needs. But unlike me, she isn't facing her own intense death so she isn't terrified.
I walk swiftly past the bar, unsure of where I’m going but feeling the overwhelming need to run - to escape this impending doom. The world is a blur of colour and shape, of noise and movement. What have I done? Oh god, what have I done!?! I make for the stairs and actually bound unsteady up three of them before I am grabbed and held. I don’t know who has grabbed me, only that I feel skin-on-skin and breasts against breasts. I try feebly to break free of the arms that hold me tight.
“It’s okay, baby.” I hear a voice that I know but can’t place, “You’re going to be okay.”
“No!” I wail, wanting to run, feeling the urgency in my panic.
“Look at me. Look at me, baby.” hands are on either side of my head, turning me to face her.
“I know you’re scared.” she says soothingly, “We’ll get you through this.”
It finally registers - it’s Breanne. I burst into tears.
“I’m so scared.” I wail and cling to her, burying my face in the crook of her neck, “I’m so fucking scared.”
She embraces me and I allow her to hold me, finding comfort in the pressure of her arms, the silkiness of her skin, the warmth of her body.
“Just breathe, Allie. Just breathe.” Breanne says, modeling the breathing; slowly in through her nose and slowly out through her mouth. I follow her example, breathing, just breathing and as I do I feel the panic recede and I feel slightly more in control.
“I’m sorry.” I whimper.
“It’s okay, babe. We’ll help you through it.” she assures me as she turns me and shepherds me back down the stairs and to the bar where Zee awaits us, “We’ll get you ready. I promise.”
Zee looks concerned. He has the needleless syringe in his hand. Breanne positions me facing the bar and I grip the edge with shaking hands.
“Bum out.” Breanne tells me as she takes the syringe from Zee and kneels behind me, “Stick your bum out.”
I do and I feel her warm, dry hands part my cheeks and I feel the air of the room across my anus. Then I feel her work the syringe inside me, followed by the squirmy feeling of fluid gushing into my rectum. Breanne pulls the syringe out and stands. She guides me to a barstool.
“Get her a drink.” she tells Zee as she stands behind me massaging my neck and shoulders. A vodka and cranberry appears in front of me and I have to use both hands to raise it to my lips because I’m shaking so badly.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.” Breanne coos in my ear as I drink.
“It’s going to get better in a few minutes, Allie.” Zee tells me, touching my forearm, and I can hear the genuine caring in his voice, “We’ll get you ready. We have lots of time.”
I finish the drink and feel the warmth spreading across the top of my belly. Zee makes another and I drink more. I can use one hand now - the shakes are fading.
“I got so scared.” I admit.
“All the girls do, it’s normal.” Zee says, “You saw Maizie.”
I nod, remembering her frantic, wide-eyed energy.
“We got her ready.” Zee says, “In the end she wanted it. She ... went well. She wanted it and came hard three times - the last time just as she finished.”
“She died cumming?” I ask in a small voice, like a child fishing for reassurance.
“She died cumming.” Zee confirms, “The last thing she felt was an intense orgasm. She really tightened up on my fingers.”
I nod, calmly sipping my drink now. I’m feeling more and more relaxed, a warmth spreading through my body.
“That’s what we want, right?” I ask.
“Yes we do.” Breanne answers, “And you’ll get that too. Daddy’s good at what he does. He’ll make it perfect for you.”
“Yeah.” I breathe. The warmth is relaxing my insides, I feel my lower belly slump and I start to feel aroused again. Small tingles dance up my flanks and across to both my nipples. I look down and see them pucker and tighten.
“Mmmm.” I make a happy sound.
“That’s my girl.” Breanne whispers, reaching around and twirling my now firm nipples. It sends the tingles back down my body to the core of my sex.
“Holy fuck.” I whisper as I feel the room tilt. I squirm on the leather of the barstool, feeling slickness under me. I open my thighs and look down - I’m leaking. Breanne cups my breasts and pinches my nipples at the same time. I can feel her breath on my right ear.
“How are you taking it, Allie?” she breathes the question.
“Huh?” I’m feeling spacey. I close my eyes and lean back against her.
“Your bum or your pussy?”
“Pussy.” I answer. Pussy has been my plan all along ... penetrating all that meat. It’s been my masturbatory fantasy for years imagining the spit forced up through my pussy, cervix, uterus - feeling the flare of pain as it punctures and breaks out of my uterus and slithers through my intestines. Then the sweet agony of gagging and sicking-up as I cum and die.
“Thick like Maizie had? Like a long steel cock?” Breanne asks, “Or thin like a spike?”
I’m starting to tremble again, but in a good way - a sexual way.
“Thick ...” I gasp, “... like a cock. A long deadly cock that fucks me to death.”
“Oh, my sweet horny girl.” Breanne sighs as she slowly kneels down behind me, her kisses dancing down my back and across my bum, “Let’s loosen you up.”
Breanne hooks her hands in the folds where my thighs meet my hips.
“Scoot back.” she tells me.
I scoot my bum back until my pussy is hanging off the back of the barstool and shiver as I feel Breanne’s finger tracing my wet slit. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the bar, letting my head hang down as Breanne slides one finger inside me. Then two. Then three. She massages my pussy from the inside, stretching it, loosening, making it wetter and warmer.
She’s going to fist-fuck me, and I’m so ready for it - tonight is a night for firsts.
“Do it.” I whisper.
“Do what, baby-girl?” Breanne teases me.
“Fist-fuck me.” I gasp, louder.
“Say it like you mean it.” Breanne says as she slides a forth finger into me a presses deep.
“Fist me!” I cry out, my voice all aquiver.
Breanne starts working me harder, pressing deep and opening me up. I feel myself getting looser, getting more aroused. It’s like my lower belly is hungry - starved to be filled. I feel her slide her thumb against her palm, pressing upward so firmly that it lifts my bum from the barstool. She rolls her hand, working me, coating her entire hand with my leaking clear mucus. I’m riding the edge of orgasm, squirming, holding myself aloft, wanting it - wanting it so bad.
I feel a touch under my chin and open my eyes - it’s Zee. He holds two chalky pink tablets with his fingertips.
“Open.” he says and I open my mouth. He lays the tabs on my tongue and lifts my vodka and cranberry to my lips. I drink it down, gulping, washing the tabs down to a stomach with only alcohol in it.
“Triple dose of molly-plus now.” Zee says, “You’re going out with a bang, Allie.”
“... uh-huh ...” I grunt, feeling my body becoming slick with sweat. Feeling Breanne’s knuckles grinding painfully against my opening, but it’s a sweet sharp pain.
“Oh fffuuuuuuck!” I cry out, my orgasm building inside me like a gathering thunderhead. I lift myself up, holding tight to the bar with trembling hands and arms, looking awkward I’m sure with my heels hooked in the barstool crossbars and my knees wide apart, “Fuck me! Fuck me!” I cry out.
Breanne is working me hard but suddenly I’m distracted by a bright flash of light. At first I think I might just be close to blacking out, but the flash happens again. Someone is standing behind us taking pictures. Dammit! Pictures they are going to share. Pictures that people are going to look at and masturbate to. Pictures that will spread over the internet like a virus.
“Shit!” I gasp.
“It’s okay, honey. It doesn’t matter.” Breanne reassures me, “It just doesn’t matter anymore.” And I realize she’s right; her Dad Charles is recording everything on his hidden micro cameras anyway, not only the sex but the snuffing of each girl.
Breanne told me that he makes thousands of dollars for the vids in an online market deep on the dark web. She showed me one once - a video of a girl named Penny who was trussed up and gutted by a man who goes by the name ‘Captain’. Breanne said that the Captain was like her dad - he only accepted willing girls, and that he had gutted Penny’s younger sister just before. In the video you could hear Penny begging for it and see the excruciating bliss she experienced as he opened her belly up and let her guts splatter into a bucket. I almost switched to gutting after watching it.
So, Breanne’s right - what do I care of hundreds of creepers masturbate to pictures or videos of me? I let it go and my orgasm explodes in my pelvis just as Breanne’s knuckles slip past my opening and my pussy swallows her fist whole.
I cum hard, crying out and grunting as wave after wave of orgasm makes me hump her hand, quiver, and shake. As I ride a series of orgasms I feel the shape of Breanne’s hand change inside me and I feel a new pressure deep inside - it’s one of her fingers probing hard at the tiny opening of my cervix. As my orgasms fade back I feel her relentless pressure forcing my cervix to open.
“... why? ... oh why? ...” I grunt and strain.
“We’re opening you up, baby.” Breanne gasps, struggling and exerting pressure inside me, “Got to get you ready. Make it good for you.”
I moan as I feel her finger sliding into my tight cervix, cramping my uterus. It hurts so good that I have another shaking orgasm, bucking my hips, jerking as I hump her hand and now her finger, and crying out wordlessly. As this orgasm begins to taper it feels like my arousal has kicked up ever higher.
“... go deeper ... deeper ...” I gasp, feeling breathless, “... go all the way in ...”
“Oh, baby.” I can hear the lust in Breanne’s voice as she pushes her hand deeper, her finger slowly going deeper into my uterus. It feels like it should be squeaking - little jerks of progress as she forces it in.
It’s like a constant orgasm burbling inside me like the lid on a boiling pot, clattering and popping. It’s the molly-plus and all the vodka - I feel out of control. In this sexual maelstrom I’m lost inside, I hear the sound of the clock chiming the half hour. The girl’s name is Shelby and I sense the crowd moving into the wet area inside the playroom.
Breanne lets me ride my orgasm for a few more seconds then curls her finger inside me, distorting the shape of my uterus and causing my body to convulse - I jerk and curl forward, grunting like a whore as one foot slips off the barstool crossbar. My hands lose their grip on the bar and suddenly I’m falling, clipping my forehead on the edge of the bar and crumpling spastically only to be caught by Zee who eases me down to the floor. Breanne slowly pulls her finger and hand out of my pussy and I feel the suction as it leaves me and feel the hollowness of its absence.
I feel drunk, stoned, out of it. I can’t focus on either Zee or Breanne. I hear Shelby make a horrid guttural noise that’s half scream and half dry heave. I am missing my chance to see a midline gutting, but I am lost in this impenetrable sexual fog.
“You have to drink your yoghurt, Allie.” Zee tells me, “We have to finish getting you ready.”
“... don’t care ...” I murmur, “... don’t care anymore ...”
“Yes you do. You will care.” Zee says, and then to Breanne, “Come on, girl. Help me get her up.”
And they are pulling on my limp arms, trying to get me to my limp legs. All the strength is out of me, all the fight, all the will. My whole world is this insane sexual arousal. I just want to be dragged into the wet area and butchered.
“... fuckin’ kill me ...” I slur my words, “... fuckin’ kill me now ...”
“No, honey. Don’t say that.” Breanne sounds like she’s about to cry.
I don’t want to make Breanne cry, but I’m ready for it - ready to die right now by any means anyone wants. Now I know why the girls I listened to five years ago were so willing during the sexual orgy - anyone could murder me right now and I would welcome it. That suddenly was the goal for me. The words ‘... end this ... end this ...’ stay unformed on my lips, my brain too addled to actually speak. I think I black out, because suddenly I’m standing and leaning with my arms braced against a barstool, with Breanne holding me up and Zee tipping my thermos to my lips.
“Come on, drink Allie.” Zee is saying, and I realize I have been drinking because my mouth has a silky coating of liquid peach yoghurt. I drink because the yoghurt is cool and sweet and feels good sliding down my throat. I wish I had a cock in there, throat-fucking me until I sick-up up everything, then fucking my ass until I piss myself like Maizie did. I wish I died with Maizie, this would all be over. I’m out of control and my head is filled with sexual nightmares, but I drink when Zee tells me, and once the yoghurt drink is gone he starts feeding me coke. My stomach is feeling heavy in my belly - full, bloated.
“No more.” I moan. I feel Breanne’s hands stroking my belly, just her touch making me feel like I’m going to cum again.
“She’s full.” Breanne says, then steps around beside me, lifting my chin with her soft hand. I can smell pussy on her fingers - my pussy. I smile and try to focus on her face, but my vision keeps blurring out and my eyelids are so heavy. I’m aware I’m weaving back and forth, so unsteady, so dizzy, so fucking horny.
“I love you, Breanne.” I manage.
“I love you too, Allie.” she says, “But I have to leave you now. Zee is going to take care of you.”
We hear Shelby’s guttural moan and the splat of something wet and heavy hitting the floor in the wet room. Breanne grimaces.
“I can’t take this.” she says, then shakes it off and kisses me on the lips. Then she’s gone.
Zee appears just behind me, steadying me with hands on my hips.
“Try to stand up straighter, Allie.” he says, “I’m afraid you’re going to fall again.”
“I wanna lay down.” I murmur. Actually I want to lay down and masturbate - my pussy is throbbing.
“No time for that, honey. It won’t be long.” he says, laying a hand against my chest and easing me upright. Standing up straight is a little better.
“Kick your feet apart a bit.” Zee says, pressing against my ankles gently with the toe of his boot until I step my feet apart, “There you go. Shit, girl.”
I look at him wondering why he swore. I see where his eyes are and look down - I’m leaking. The inside of my thighs are slick with clear mucus and my pussy is dripping like a bad faucet. It reminds me of how horny I am.
“Oh god, Zee. I need it.” I whimper, feeling just on the edge of an orgasm. Zee leans in close and slides a finger up the oily crease of my bum, pressing in against my anus. That’s it. That’s all it takes. My lower belly starts to spasm and I tremble all over - I’m cumming. Just standing here cumming.
I make desperate little grunts and straining sounds as I cum and drip. This orgasm isn’t huge, but it won’t stop.
Things are quiet in the wet room, then we hear Charles speak to his guests;
“Well ... that was an amazing performance. Shelby lasted much longer than we expected. You may as well stay were you are, it’s almost time for our next girl.” then to someone else; “Let’s take Shelby out and get this cleaned up a bit.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see a young woman come out of the playroom. She is unsteady on her feet and naked. She flops down on the floor and leans back against a chair where people have been leaving their clothing as they disrobe. She masturbates furiously and starts cumming almost immediately.
Zee slides his hands around my waist and strokes my lower belly. I keep watching the girl, cumming so hard, squirming, kicking, her toes curling. I remember kneeling in the snow and cumming as I listened to those girls die. I remember my toes curling so tight in my boots that my feet cramped.
“Those pills are working aren’t they?”
He presses in with his fingertips and the pressure triggers a peak in my slow rolling orgasm. I know this girl has been infected by this place like I was. She will be back, not to watch next time, but to be watched.
“Feels good doesn’t it?” he says as he steps back
I take my gaze off the girl and stare at the wall behind the bar. It’s all I can do to stay upright I am trembling badly ... dripping ... cumming. I want the intensity to come back ... I want him to fuck me, but I know he won’t because the clock has begun to chime it’s melody again. I risk my balance and let go of the barstool, reaching back and grabbing my bum, squeezing my cheeks with my bum muscles and my hands. There it is ... I’m cumming harder.
“Because ultimately, it’s about your satisfaction.” Zee tells me as I cry out in orgasm and the clock chimes once ...
Oh god, this is it.
“... oh fuuuuck ...” I cry out, cumming and cumming. I didn’t know I’d be aroused by the fear of my impending doom, but I am - it’s making me quiver and cum. I wonder if I’ll have anything left for the wet area.
“It’ll all be over soon and you’ll get your wish.” Zee says as he steps in behind me, firmly taking hold of my elbows, “Let’s get this over with.”
He starts to move me and I walk like an invalid - lifting my feet too high, staggering, tripping, so dizzy, so aroused. The fear is inside me again, blended with my rolling orgasms. My bowels suddenly feel liquid and loose. I feel my anus gape and open like my pussy. I know that if I hadn’t taken those enemas I’d be shitting myself.
“..ahhh ... fuuuuuck! ...” I cry out - I can’t stop cumming, but I’m feeling scared again. Zee moves me into the playroom and toward the crowd gathered in the wet area.
“It’ll be okay, don’t worry about it.” he says as he steers me through the crowd, everyone’s eyes on me, some reaching out and stroking my bum, my thighs, drawn to connect with the girl who’s about to die.
I see Charles kneeling in front of the love seat. I see the large smears of Shelby’s blood that someone hastily tried to clean up. I stop trying to walk, digging in, pushing back against Zee.
“Come on, sexy baby.” Zee says and I can hear the smile in his voice, “We’re kind of past the point of no return.” and he keeps moving me forward toward the love seat, my feet sliding on the hardwood floor.
It’s the same love seat Maizie died on, they’ve just thrown blankets over it to cover up her sick-up and piss. I don’t want to die there. I try to pull out of Zee’s grip but I’m too weak and he’s too strong.
“It’ll all be over soon.” he says and turns me, pulling me off balance and letting me fall back onto the love seat. I collapse onto the softness of the cushions, my thighs flopping open, Charles at my feet. I’m trembling, feeling desperate and frantic.
Charles waves Zee off. I look down at Charles’ kind face. He looks concerned, worried about me. He reaches forward and lays his hand on my mound, cupping me with his warm, dry hand - it’s not sexual, it’s comfort.
“Shhh.” he soothes me, “Let’s start calm, Allie.”
I know he’s right; I have to calm myself, because if I proceed with this frantic sexual arousal and fear I will miss all the small things - the subtle sensations I have fantasized about for so long. My dying will just be a desperate violent series of convulsions and screams wrapped in a pulsing, disorganized orgasm.
I breathe like Breanne showed me - slow and deep, in through my nose and out through my mouth. The orgasmic waves slow to a constant simmer, the fear with it. I can smell the sourness of Maizie’s sicked-up bile and the earthy odour of her piss wafting up from the love seat. The blankets under me are damp where her piss has soaked through. I don’t mind these things, they remind me that Maizie did this before me, and I know I too will sick-up and maybe piss on this loveseat.
I’m feeling my control return by degrees.
“Good girl.” Charles says, then to the crowd; “This is our dear friend, Allie. She befriended Breanne and I when we went to live in Almont for a time. She was the first who came to us and welcomed us to the neighbourhood. She is a lovely girl with a heart as big as the outdoors.
“What we learned later was that Allie was here the night of the anniversary, crouched outside a window, aroused as she listened to the orgy. She didn’t know that I was inside. That I helped Zee organize it. She only knew that she wanted to be one of those girls. Didn’t you, Allie?”
I nod, gazing into his eyes.
“And now you are, and we’re going to make this perfect for you. These people all love you, Allie. They cherish you. They adore you. And they want to share your most intimate moments of vulnerability and intense ecstasy. They want to be here with you while you are at your most true self, laid bare, raw, sexual, and experiencing an overwhelming experience that very few have the courage to surrender to.”
I lift my gaze and look around the room. Everyone is watching me intently. Some nod in agreement with Charles’ words. I see looks of lust, looks of jealousy, yearning, desire. I see that many of the women want to be where I am, but fear holds them back. Many of the men want to be on this love seat beside me, to hold me during my final moments. Some want to fuck me, throat me, or change places with Charles. Some are openly masturbating lazily, edging themselves, wanting to cum when things get frantic for me. I see the trap girl slumped in a chair, working her bum with her glass dildo while her hard curved cock twitches and jumps.
I calm. For the first time tonight - maybe ever - I am not self-conscious, not nervous or anxious about being naked in front of people. They are here to watch me die and I am here to let it be done to me - they are my witnesses.
I look back at Charles and I see the flicker of a smile across his lips. He knows I’m ready. I set my feet flat on the floor and open my thighs wide, my pussy still leaking and open, my anus loose.
Charles reaches into the large tray on the wall and lifts my spit - it’s as thick as a cock with a quick taper at the end and a sharp tip. Charles carefully brings it between my thighs and gently inserts the end into my pussy. I now realize what the tray is - it’s a heater; the spit is hot - not painfully so - but hot like a hot tub is. It feels good, my pussy relaxes even more from the heated steel.
Charles slides it in slow, his eyes on mine. He fills me gently, the steel sliding through my wetness until I feel the sharp tip press against the back wall of my pussy. I lift my fingers on my right hand and Charles holds it still. I rotate my hips, arch my back to push out my belly, curl forward and lift my pelvis, experimenting to find the right spot. I think I feel it.
“... push ...” I whisper, and I feel the tip sink into the dimple of my cervix - oh, sweet bliss - a hint of what is to come, “... more ...” and Charles applies more pressure until I feel my cervix start to be forced open, “... more! ...” I gasp, and he pushes harder and I feel the tightness in the mouth of my cervix and my pussy stretching.
“... oh-h-h-h-h!” I shudder and squirm a little, “... it’s there ... it’s there ... it’s there ...” and I can hear the eagerness in my voice. This is it - I’m taking the spit now, and I’m ready. I’m really ready.
Charles begins by keeping firm pressure and slowly fucking me with the spit, each slow thrust urging my cervix open just a little more each time. One thing I notice right away is the difference between watching Maizie’s impalement and experiencing my own - other than the obvious; with Maizie all I could hear was the squishy sounds of the spit sliding back and forth inside her; with mine, I not only feel each thrust, but I can hear it internally. My stomach, being so full of liquid, acts like a drum, so each push of the spit makes a deep sound that thrums through my abdomen. I can feel it and hear the deep bass of it echoing through my body.
I raise my hands over my head and grip the back of the love seat for when I have to arch to end this right. I do it now because I’m afraid I’ll forget later,
I gaze down at Charles working the spit, then at my lower belly, watching it bulge with each inward thrust. The pressure against my cervix is stretching my pussy and pushing my uterus upward, compressing my bowels with all that meat - useless meat now; no pregnancies, no babies for this girl. Watching how this is manipulating my body is arousing and I know that it is just the beginning. Charles is going to change my body drastically in the next few moments, he’s going to do things to my body that were never meant to be done. The spit he is working me with is going to touch things that have never been touched.
My excitement and arousal are both rising as I appreciate this final fuck of my life - three feet of hard hot steel being thrust through my body from my pussy ultimately up my gullet. I trust Charles in that; he will guide it where I want it to go and not puncture a lung or my heart. I won’t die of the impalement, I will suffocate with my throat plugged.
I’m grateful to Breanne for loosening my cervix when she fist-fucked me, because I can feel it opening from the relentless pressure of the thrusting spit. Oh god, Charles is masterful; his eyes never leave my face as he monitors my expression while he impales me. This is the best sexual experience I’ve ever felt.
It is beginning to hurt, to ache, as my cervix is expanding and cramping. But this small part of my flesh is designed to stretch wide enough to allow a baby to be squeezed out of me, so I have no doubt that it will stretch around this spit which is no thicker than three fingers in diameter. But will the pain increase to the point it robs me of my sexual desire? I will my cervix to relax, pushing out with my belly muscles to open myself for it. Doing this makes me feel like a dirty girl - a wanton slut. I wish we were in the old basement and I was laying in filth, my skin smeared with grime, someone else’s blood. I strain and moan, wanting it. Wanting to be fucked by this rigid thing. I glance up and see that every eye is still on me - some watching my face, some watching my crotch. My shyness is gone now, I am savouring being the object of the gathering - a slutty girl to watch as she is fucked to death.
I want this now more than I’ve ever wanted it. Charles must sense the change in me because he pushes the spit harder and I feel it slide deeper into my cervix, the tip must be nestled inside my uterus now. Oh god, give me more!
I groan then shudder as I feel it slip deeper by degrees as Charles resumes fucking me with it, only letting the pressure ease back a bit before pushing it forward again. I am moaning, gasping as my uterus expands and conforms to the shape of the spit. I don’t feel anything sharp, so it hasn’t contacted the top of my uterus yet, but I want it - I want it so bad. That’s going to be the big test; penetrating out of my uterus into the slippery tangle of my guts.
I look down at Charles and nod - he knows what that look means; ‘give it to me’, and he does ...
Charles becomes relentless, pushing deeper, harder, like the thrusting cock of a man nearing orgasm. That sweet feeling of a man out of control, pounding into me - that is one of the things Jason didn’t know about me; I like the feeling of being raped. That loss of control, the violence of a cock inside me pounding hard, not caring about my pleasure, but perversely providing blissful pleasure through force and violence. I never told anyone, but Breanne raped me once during a sleepover. She used her fingers on me, making me hurt. Making me cum.
If you were here, would you still love me, Jason? Could you love a girl bent on her own destruction? A dirty girl eagerly letting a man old enough to be her father spit-fuck me to death for the entertainment of a crowd of people with a death-sex fetish? Or would you try to be a white knight and rescue me from something I’m aching for?
Charles delivers more force, but maintains his slow pace. I hear the wet drum beat of each inward thrust echoing through my belly and I feel the sharpness of the spit pushing rhythmically against the top of my uterus. I squirm, I quiver, I curl my pelvis to meet the spit. I am making noises that seem to be delighting the crowd; I see smiles; I see erections both tenting pants and rising free; I see men and women masturbating. Even the beautiful trap is going at herself with her glass dildo, her cock once again curved, hard, and twitching as she fucks her own bum. Her cock spurts and she shudders, but keeps pumping her dildo into her bowels and her cock continues to flex and twitch - how many times can this girl ejaculate?
I feel the sharp bite as the spit’s sharp tip breaks through my stretched uterus.
“... ah fuck ...” I gasp. I’m right on the edge of an orgasm - a powerful one. Such cramping in my sex as this spit works inside, the inward stretching of my uterus and pussy, pulling my labia and clit inside me - my clit grinding against the slick smooth steel. I hold back on my orgasm, waiting for that intense moment - that out of control moment that I know is coming. That sweet moment that feels like rape.
The spit is stretching the puncture it made in the top of my uterus - it feels like a raw wound, a bruise, a catastrophic injury that will never have the chance to heal. I cry out whiney gasps in time with each thrust as Charles pushes it through me, stretching, penetrating, working the deadly tip deeper and deeper.
I feel the spit sliding free - it’s through now - sharp tingles in my bowels as the tip scrapes its way through them. I cry, I whine, I growl in a staccato straining, accepting this magnificent invasion of my belly. My orgasm comes up fast and Charles knows it; he fucks me hard and fast with the spit - the steel pistoning inside my belly, pushing my intestines out of its way, my uterus and pussy clinging tight to the shaft being stretched with each fast thrust and compressed with each withdrawal. Each time Charles pulls back it feels like he’s going to pull my sex organs out of my crotch. The rhythmic pulse of this pressure is squeezing my g-spot hard, like it is being gripped by a man’s fist.
And I’m cumming. Cumming so hard and so out of control. I want to scream; ‘fuck me! fuck me! fuck me!” but I can’t form words in my sexual delirium. And really; there’s no need - Charles IS fucking me hard, prolonging my orgasm and my agony for as long as I need.
My orgasm slows and Charles slows. He lets me rest a moment, feeling the spit in my bowels - getting used to its presence there. I feel squirmy and still so horny, but the nature of my impalement is about to change and Charles wants me to reset and be prepared for it. The movements of the spit inside me are subtle now - I can see Charles making small adjustments to the angle of the spit. I feel it moving, stroking my intestines with its length, the sharp tip scraping here and there, sending tingles through my belly, shiver-bumps up my thighs, bum and belly - shiver-bump tingles that target my erect nipples, making them tighter and more puckered.
Then I hear the deep gurgle and the crazy sensation of the spit lifting my liquid-heavy stomach.
“... oh ... my ... god ...” I whisper. This is so invasive, so all consuming. I feel the spit pull back as Charles adjusts the angle, then slowly press against my stomach. He’s watching my face intently as he gently probes - he hasn’t waited too long since my orgasm, wanting me to ride the wave back up one last time.
I feel the pressure on my tight, full stomach and feel the coolness of my yoghurt and coke slurry pushed up into the bottom of my gullet.
This is the part that truly motivated me to take an impalement. The sounds of distress of that girl I listened to as I masturbated and came five years ago, and her powerful sicking-up and desperate heaving have echoed through my mind since that night. When I found out from Charles that she was impaled and the sounds she made were the spit sliding up her gullet, set in my mind that this was the only way I wanted to die.
When I was little, I always felt a tight pleasure in my core every time I sicked-up. I didn’t know it at the time, but the feeling of impending convulsions and all the muscles that clench when you sick-up are the same as when you orgasm; your body curls, your stomach clenches tight, and the intense heave is the same out-of-control feeling in your body. When I was 15 I got pretty drunk with my friends for the first time. I liked the woozy feeling, the looseness of my body, the delightful other-worldly perceptions of my surroundings. When I got home that night I was horny, but when I laid down on my bed to masturbate, the room began to tilt - it was like I was being tilted backward; my head sinking, my feet pulling my body upward so I was upside down. And I felt that little flutter in my belly that told me I was going to be sick.
I remember staggering naked down the stairs to the bathroom off our rec room so no one would hear me. I recall flopping down in front of the toilet, my bum making a wet sound as it impacted the floor. I recall wrapping one arm around the toilet bowl and leaning my head into it, the porcelain rim cool on my throat, the pressure teasing my gag reflex. With my free hand I began to masturbate and just let the sickness come. I had orgasms as my stomach convulsed and heaved and emptied itself. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I was in complete bliss the entire time, fingering my sopping, oily pussy, cumming and sicking-up and never wanting it to end. When it did end I was exhausted, and discovered I was sitting in a large puddle of piss. The experience was all consuming and the best orgasms I ever had until tonight.
Charles presses the sharp tip against my stomach sac and I gag at the pressure. It is unrelenting, pressing harder and harder. My stomach and gullet convulse and spasm as I make little choking hiccup sounds and the movement of the spit sloshes the contents of my stomach. Tingles wash under my jawline and my mouth starts to water like crazy. This is it! This is the moment I have wanted for the last five years. I know what I have to do; Even though I am almost over come by the convulsive spasms of my bloated belly, I brace my feet and lift my bum up off the love seat. I arch my back, pushing my head back to make a straight line from my pussy to my mouth. I hold myself in that position, trembling, my belly quivering like jello, my legs shaking badly.
Charles pushes and I feel the spit puncture my stomach and the pressure of it penetrating pushes a bitter mixture of yoghurt, coke, and bile up my throat. I gurgle, struggle, force my mouth open even though my jaw is tightening, trying to clench my teeth. Then comes the violent liquid first heave as the slurry in my stomach rushes up my throat to spray up and over my face. I tilt my head back more - I wasn’t lined up right. I’m feeling desperate and frantic.
Charles resumes fucking me with spit and I get a moment’s reprieve; I gasp, draw air and the second heave hits me hard along with the slow cramp of my final orgasm. I feel my belly muscles tightening.
Oh god, I’m cumming. My pussy is gripping the spit like a mad thing, my belly is gurgling, I am gagging, heaving, sicking-up as I feel the spit moving through my entire core. My body is shaking badly, not from weakness, but from the physical intensity - the overwhelming sexual contractions inside me - it’s like my entire abdomen has become an extension of my pussy. This orgasm is tight and pure, as solid and smooth as the steel sliding up and down inside my core. So much vomit being ejaculated from my belly as I cum, the flow restricted as I feel the tip of the spit scrape its way up into my gullet, then comes the sweet panic of choking - the same feeling of being throat-fucked, but this cock is unyielding steel and coming up instead of forced down and it won’t ever be pulled back to let me breathe.
Oh fuck ... CUMMING!
Cumming so hard and bright, my body convulsing, my gullet spasming around the rising spit. This is the big one - the orgasm that will suck the life out of me. My entire belly locked tight, gripping the moving spit. Oh, Maizie! Is this what you felt? The fuck of my life - all consuming, all encompassing - Charles’ sweet spit is fucking my soul. I want to scream Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you! but know that the only way I can express my gratitude is to die well - and I think I am. As I hold my shaking body arched tight and Charles keeps fucking me I realize this moment is stretching out longer than is possible and my heart breaks thinking it will end.
Then I feel it start ...
I recognize it immediately; death is flooding through my body like rising water, saturating every muscle, every organ, every cell. I am dying at last and it is happening rapidly. I always thought death would be one of two things; either a sudden numbing and darkness, or a painful, crushing rush of final disappointment and regret. I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things ...
Death is a kaleidoscope of colour and sensations - a bursting forth of energy with such exquisite, sharp sexual release. As I die, I can still feel my body arched tight, the rigidity of the steel skewering me from pussy to throat still moving inside me, dragging my clinging inner flesh up and down inside my heaving belly. Though I can’t see them, I can feel the gaze of everyone in the room, and - as though conducted through the steel inside me - the warmth and caring of Charles holding it at just the right angle as he fucks me and waits for my body to cease trembling and regurgitating. He waits, as I wait, for my heart to realize that it is pointless to keep pumping oxygen-depleted blood and to just stop beating.
I wonder briefly if the beautiful trap girl is cumming again.
But the colours ... oh my, the colours; rainbows dull by comparison. The colours sing with my final tight, pure orgasm, bursting forth from my body both as sensation and a wash of ever-changing hues - brilliant and heartbreakingly beautiful - an explosion of sexual bliss flaring hot yet cool at the same time, gushing outward from my lust-swollen belly.
Death is the orgasm of the soul leaving the body, an ecstasy so visceral that I weep at its power. As I feel myself leaving my body, I distantly feel my legs jerk and quiver, my feet slipping on the floor; I feel my hands lose their grip on the back of the love seat and fall limp and useless; I feel my body slide sideways, flopping against the Love seat arm, the spit tugging inside me as Charles follows me down, the steel holding my arched posture rigid, holding my head thrown back as my body begins its final seizure. I welcome the abyss that I imagine lays ahead because I do not want to exist without this feeling. But there is no abyss - I was wrong about that too.
I thought that death was the cessation of all awareness. It isn’t. It’s a transition to a fresh, foreign awareness. As my own sensations and orgasmic convulsions continues to sing within me I begin to feel what others have felt. I feel Mazie and it makes me weep. She comes to me as a brightness and a longing, a taste and smell, bright and young and playful. I not only feel her body as she felt it, I drink it in, absorbing it, savouring it. I feel her impalement, her ecstasy as she convulses, her lithe body undulating around her own spit, and the trembling knowledge of being loved so deeply by the one impaling her as she sicks-up and pisses all fluids from her body - an all-consuming body ejaculation. I feel Kathryn as her firm flat belly is punctured over and over in orgasmic waves that penetrate deeper than the spike as Zee’s fingers dance over and in her sex, intensifying her dying orgasms. I feel Ashley and Kelly, and Rhea, and Shelby, and even Corrine and her sharp flare of explosive bliss as heavy sharp steel slams violently into her throat - the searing rush making her think of the night she lost her virginity with one violent thrust that curled her toes and hurt so good. I want to feel these things forever.
I am delighted to discover that these sensations are not just echoes of those who are gone. These are souls who remain - they are real, as real as we were when we all lived. We each of us live with our final moments continuously, carrying with us our final sexual rapture like dark banners of celebration - banners that declare; see what happened to me! We exist with and share these eternal moments with each other - an intimate communing that is both sexual and spiritual. Like making love with one another, sharing our most private, raw physical sensations and emotions that reached their pinnacle at the moments of our death.
Sadly, I cannot find Hannah. Breanne was right, she only wanted to die. She is one who only found oblivion, or a private hell where her last scream reverberates for eternity.
I always believed that Legend House got inside my head five years ago as I masturbated to my hot, tight orgasm with my knees grinding in the dirty snow, listening to girls die inside these walls. The opposite is true; Legend House did not enter me - I have entered what people think of as Legend House as have all the others who ended their physical lives here. I feel them all and each of us share the ecstasy of our dying moments - our desperate lusts, our orgasmic pain, our final sweet release from the hunger that drove us toward what we thought was madness. I feel what every soul has felt in Legend House and they feel my own sweet final experience. It is an eternal orgy.
I feel Laura, and Val, and Jackie, and the mysterious Cassandra and a host of other young girls and a few boys who left behind their bodies but retained their youthful, desperate, dark sensuality and their intense, orgasmic final adventure. We embrace and I share with them what is mine and they share with me what is theirs. For a time I am lost in their experiences, happily submerged as I feel their final moments one after the other flooding my senses. It takes me a long time to sort it all out - to be able to pair each terribly overwhelming orgasmic burst with the soul who first experienced it.
I even feel those who came here long ago during the dark, cold times of an age of ice and snow - the original girls. They lived centuries before history began being recorded when this patch of land bore nothing more than slabs of slate piled high, when stone knives opened the sweating naked bellies of virgin girls held down by strong adult hands. Girls who arched and trembled as they felt an adult hand slide deep inside their bodies to grasp their beating hearts and deliver that final flash of intense bright bliss. They were drugged with teas made from herbs and roots but still afraid until they experienced their own evisceration and the hand gripping their beating heart, when their eyes rolled back in their heads as their first and final orgasm rushed through their small trembling bodies. It was the souls of these girls from antiquity who cried out to those who came to reside in Legend House, driving some to suicide and troubling others to abandon the house so many years ago. These girl-child souls endured ages of heartbreaking loneliness, feeling lost and alone in this realm of unending agony and ecstasy, to finally seek solace in the company of others like them.
The growing chorus of souls seduced the original four girls of modern times when they and others used the abandoned house as a make-out destination - a dark, dank place to explore the secrets of perverse sexuality, sweating and cumming in the filth of Legend House’s cellar. Laura, Jackie, Val, and Cassandra grew increasingly obsessed with erotic death until they embraced it and came together to die here and join the chorus.
As more souls passed from life to everlasting deviant sensuality, the chorus of voices grew stronger and the motivation shifted from trying to ease the ache of solitude to sharing this dark, erotic existence - to gift the exquisite sensations of orgasmic death through seductive, perverse psychic-evangelism of the growing chorus. None of us knew at the time, but this hive-mind of souls entered our subconscious as we endured our particular physical demise to ensure the experience was intensely orgasmic. With each new soul, we gain a new sexual death experience that satisfies our hunger, and more power to shepherd the next and the next and the next, making each new addition feel more bliss and more orgasmic joy as they leave their bodies.
Time exists here as a river exists, with no beginning nor end. I flow effortlessly from past to present to future and feel and welcome those who come after me. The final five girls who join us so rapidly that their deaths must be revisited by all of us again and again to savour and celebrate the uniqueness of each. And the girls who come later still, even the beautiful trap who masturbated as Maizie was impaled and as I was impaled, who returns for her own impalement, private and intimate with Charles holding her writhing long body and Zee penetrating her as though making tender love to her - the only tenderness she ever knew while alive.
Her name is Jasmine and she exists with us now, because we love her and honour her dying as we honour everyone’s ultimate and final physical bliss. I am drawn time and again to revisit her experience and she mine, feeling our impalements so similar ...
... but for me; the sweet foreignness of her testicles retracting up into her belly during her impalement and her hard, curved cock ejaculating herself empty, then cramping as her rolling spasms of orgasm become dry and sweetly painful.
... and for her; the crazy-making sensation of the thick spit pistoning inside my belly, dragging my uterus and pussy shallow and deep. We have become sister-spirits, her and I, delivering from death what neither could have in life.
We do this together and often; I wish I could have known such deep love during my life.
There is a timelessness here, I feel Breanne as an elusive soul who flits in and out, bringing her tight, brief orgasmic deaths over and over, only to be pulled back to the colourless world of the living no matter how hard we try to hold her. Each time we feel the growing confusion within her mind as parts of her brain die, but we know one day she will seek her final journey and join us, and will find comfort and reassurance, love and caring, so her confusion will no longer trouble her.
Legend House does not exist within its physical walls - we are a collection of enduring energy and awareness. We are legend and we are many. We feel the presence of fresh arousal in clean lithe bodies - walking past, visiting the house, lingering when they feel our presence. They think it’s the house drawing them, but it is us - reaching out, sharing the hues of our ecstasies, pulling them toward unleashing their own perversities; their own lusts. Charles and Breanne and Zee are our ambassadors, welcoming them, pleasing their flesh and allowing the time and space for them to reveal and embrace their dark desires. Our ambassadors promise their final bliss, and we ensure that promise becomes a reality. Some escape; fear shocking them back to sanity, but many stay and surrender themselves, the sweet torment of their flesh releasing them to this eternity.
We are here, growing in number, growing in strength. We live in bliss and colour and timelessness, and you are welcome to join us when you are ready.
We will wait for you in this province of eternal ecstasy and help you transition from the dullness of living to the endless joy captured in the moment of your inconsequential death.
Come to us ... you will be loved.