Trina

Once in awhile I get requests to build devices to provide a girl's desired method of intense assisted suicide. Trina was one such girl and her request was odd.

Trina described her suicide for me in a detailed email and I built and tested the device then let her know it was ready for her. Weeks passed and I didn't hear back from her, so I got to the point of thinking she'd had second thoughts. But one night she called me from a payphone in a small town a few miles down the road and said she was ready if I could help her. I told her I could and gave her directions.

Trina was visibly nervous when she arrived and by the time I led her into my suicide room and showed her the device and how it worked she was trembling and wide-eyed. The device was a narrow saddle contoured to fit a female crotch. It stood about three feet off the floor on a solid base. From the centre of the saddle a sharp shaft protruded upward about five inches - the shaft was only nine inches in length over all. It had three rows of short barbs near the tip that would make sure that once it was inside the flesh, it wouldn't slide back out.

I held a piece of two by four above it and when I triggered it as a demonstration, she jumped as the spring loaded shaft ...

THWUNK!

...slammed upward and penetrated deep into the wood. This is what she asked for - a nine inch barbed shaft slammed upward into her belly through her uterus. She sat on the saddle without the barb in it and it was a good fit - she could stand with her feel flat on the floor and knees bent a bit to keep her crotch firmly nested on it.

As I reloaded the device with the barbed shaft, Trina moved restlessly around the room. I could see that her nervousness was increasing and she was becoming distressed as she began pacing around the room - she was wearing flip-flops and they slapped softly on the soles of her feet as she paced. Her breathing rate was increasing and her eyes darting around the room not really seeing anything. I offered her a drink, or drugs, or even other distractions to calm her, but she answered each offer with a curt “No”.

She also said no when I asked if she wanted to take her clothes off and get ready. She wanted to stay clothed. As I waited while she continued to pace, I realized she was talking to herself;

“Okay ... okay ... I can do it ... okay ... it'll be good ... I can do it ... I can do it ...” she whispered in a breathless voice. In a few more minutes she hoisted her dress and peeled off her lacey black panties and dropped them twisted to the floor.

Trina walked to the saddle, all the time whispering “... okay ... it's okay ... it's okay ...” and straddled the device. I steadied her as she lifted herself up on her tip-toes and opened her labia with two fingers of each hand and eased herself down, taking the sharp barbed spit into herself. She grimaced as she slowly lowered herself, no doubt feeling the sharp barbs scraping the walls of her vagina. I watched as she moved her hips, centering the tip of the spit to press up against her cervix. I knew the moment it slid into place by the look on her face; Her eyes opened wide for a second and she looked more scared than she already was.

“Are you ready, Trina?” I asked softly as she let go of her labia and settled the hem of her dress so it covered her lower belly, crotch and bottom. I didn't get an answer - she just kept breathing in a ragged shallow sort of way and laid her hands on her upper thighs. She wouldn't meet my gaze, but after a moment she bit her lower lip and her eyes teared up as she squeezed them closed. When she opened her mouth again her chin was quivering and she was making small whimpering sounds.

I decided it was time and stepped on the release pedal;

THWUNK!

Trina gasped and her body jerked hard. Her eyes opened wide and she stared straight ahead. She was gripping her upper thighs so hard her fingers sunk deep and her knuckles turned white. As I watched, her belly tightened and her thighs squeezed the saddle, her feet lifting from the floor and her toes curling as they gripped her flip-flops.

“... oh ...” she made a small sound as she came to grips with nine inches of barbed steel in her belly and her eyelids drooped.

Trina managed to begin breathing again, still shallow and ragged, and now interrupted every few seconds as she swallowed with difficulty. After a time she opened her thighs and placed her feet flat on the floor and lifted herself up on trembling legs. She laid the flats of both hands on her belly and closed her eyes as she shuffled backward off the saddle and stood shaking. After a moment she lowered herself and squatted on the floor like she was about to pee. She slid her hands down between her thighs and cupped her crotch. Her fingers found the bottom of the shaft inside her vagina and squeezed her eyes shut as she pushed it up into herself deeper.

“.., mwugh ...” she grunted softly, then gagged. Letting go of her crotch she reached forward and slid her hands onto the floor, moving forward onto all fours. I could see her abdominal muscles clenching and releasing as she began to crawl across the suicide room. Every few seconds she would let out a slow soft grunt;

“... mwugh ...”

Stepping softly and staying out of her line of site, I followed her, watching her body curling as the shaft moved inside her from her crawling. Trina at last came to an armchair and as she tried to climb into it she grimaced hard and hissed through clenched teeth. Drawing her knees together and wrapping her arms around her belly, she leaned forward until she was in the fetal position, her feet tucked under her bottom.

I knelt beside her and laid a hand gently on her back, feeling her trembling body.

“It hurts bad?” I asked softly. Trina nodded slowly, and I felt her start to sob silently.

“Captain?” she said in a small tremulous voice after a moment.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you ... end it for me?” she whispered.

“Yes. I can end it for you.”

“A quick way?”

“Yes. A quick way.”

I slowly slid my hands across her back and under her armpits which were slippery and reeked now of fear-sweat.

“Up, hon.” I said as I lifted her. I walked her over to a small bench beside the old fireplace, her shuffling her bare feet, hunched over and still cradling her belly. I turned her and eased her down on the bench so that her head was in front of a bricked recess that was designed to hold extra wood for the fireplace. I had put thick slabs of wood in the back of the recess and made it so it would hold a large heavy duty garbage bag. It was my head shot station.

Trina slumped there, her thighs flopping open and her bum sliding forward. She pulled up on her dress, peeling it over her belly to bunch under her breasts.

“... look ...” she said, and I did.

Her thighs were pale and runnels of bright blood streaked them. Her crotch was a matted mess of coagulating blood. Her pale belly was bloated from her belly button downward and I could see that the muscles there quivered.

“... swelling ...” she whispered.

“You're bleeding inside, Trina.” I explained, stroking her cheek, “If we wait, you'll bleed out and it will be like going to sleep.”

“... no ...” she whispered and shook her head, “... end it ...”

I reached under the little bench to the hiding place there and raised the .44 Colt. Reaching up, I gently but firmly took hold of the thick hair on top of her head and positioned her. I raised the gun to her lips and she opened her mouth, making a little whining sound as she squeezed her eyes closed. Her teeth chattered on the barrel of the gun as I slid it into her mouth, sliding it across her tongue until it brushed its root.

She gagged slightly.

“Deep breath, Trina.” I said softly and she drew her final shuddering breath.

BLAM!

So many things happen in that instant: Trina's body jolted and the hair on the back of her head fluffed as blood and tissue splattered into the garbage bag. Her cheeks plumped and the hot expanding gasses jetted down her gullet to bulge her stomach. Pee gushed from her crotch and splashed against my legs - her bladder emptying in an instant as her urethra ruptured from the force. And her eyes snapped open.

Trina stared up at nothing for a few seconds, her brain still alive but disconnected from all feeling and control. The look on her face was shock and surprise, then confusion and wonder. Then her eyes glazed over and she was still.

Her belly was gurgling as I let her chin come to rest on her chest. I hope she got what she wanted.