Kate

Things are getting very intense for Kate, even still, she is taking it like a trooper. No whining, no crying, just absorbing the abuse our infernal machine is delivering to her body.

"I’m a gymnast." she said not long ago when we were getting her ready, "Pain is part of my life. Injuring my body in pursuit of what I want is normal for me."

Her sleek muscled body is slick with sweat and trembling, the muscles of her abdomen jerking and clenching and her belly undulating. Her hands grip the leather straps that loop around her wrists tight as she pulls hard to keep herself from being pushed back on the padded table while the teflon coated steel spit slides back and forth inside her abdomen. She is grunting softly and panting.

"How are you doing, hon?" I ask gently, stroking her forehead. Her head rests on a pad and is level with the table, later we’ll lower the pad to stretch her throat out.

"... good ... it’s good ..." she gasps. She opens her eyes. They are unfocussed at first, but she finds me and looks up into my eyes.

"... I feel so fragile ... so vulnerable ..." her voice is breathy, soft as a feather.

"It’s what you wanted?"

"... oh god yes ..." she whispers hoarsely and closes her eyes once more.

I know the ghosts that haunt Kate, when I read her briefing report I realized that they’re similar to my own; She wanted to return to the first time she felt frail and vulnerable; to the first time she thought she was going to die. The only difference is; she survived that first time. She isn’t going to survive this.

The machine is nearly silent, but completely unrelenting - in and out, in and out - each stroke an eighth inch longer and an eighth inch deeper. She has twelve inches of steel sliding back and forth inside her belly right now through her loose anus.

Kate is taking the spit and all the sensations it’s giving her without fear. She wants this. She wants to die this way.

To say I enjoy my job is an understatement. Helping people die has been a fantasy for me since I was a little girl, and because of the Begin Again reincarnation cult that swept across nations and infiltrated governments around the world, assisted suicide not only is legal in most counties, it’s become the top grossing service industry.

Since the false rapture of 2020, suicide has been normalized and most people do it quietly in their own homes or at one of the free government subsidized clinics that offer high doses of lethal drugs and a cot in a dim quiet room for a minimal cost. But we at Die Happy Inc offer more exotic ways to end your life - more intense methods - and a personal assistant to ensure it all goes exactly as you planned. I’m one of the assistants here and I specialize in lesbians or women who don’t want a man to assist them because of past experiences like rape or child sexual abuse. I occasionally do men when we get higher than normal volumes in the spring, but Rachael usually assigns me the more feminine ones.

But what I truly love is helping women like Kate who not only want to go out, but want to ruin their bodies while doing it - they seek the most extreme deaths, deaths that sometimes end in blood, piss, shit, and vomit. Yeah, I’m that kinky.

Kate whimpers as the spit reaches deeper inside her belly and adjusts her grip on the straps. She is licking her lips, swallowing, and I can tell her mouth is dry. I lift the bottle of cool peppermint flavoured mineral oil to her lips and pour in just enough the wet her mouth and throat. She swallows it down.

"... thank you ..." she gasps, then immerses herself back into her own private sexual hell.

When Kate arrived for her appointment a little less than two hours ago, she was calm and relaxed. She was one of only about eight percent who prebook their euthanasia sessions. Most arrive when they finally work up the courage to do it and need to complete their suicides while they still have the urge or determination, or sometimes have bad thoughts coupled with sexual arousal. A lot arrive after dark; Death isn’t as frightening after dark as it is in the cold light of day. But Kate wasn’t one of those, she’d booked her appointment for ten a.m., knowing that the preparations she arranged would take at least an hour and a half.

Kate arrived in a black tracksuit, t-shirt, panties, and sneakers, carrying her paperwork including her last will and testament and car keys. She handed it all over to Rachael as she sat at the admissions desk and laid her wrist on the lifechip reader so Rachael could confirm Kate was still eligible for euthanasia. She was - nothing had changed since she made her arrangements three weeks before.

Most people are nervous as they check-in, but not Kate. Her face was tranquil, her athletic body relaxed, and her manner all business. She discussed the nitty-gritty details of how her friends were to be notified (she had no real family), how her body was to be handled after her session, and who to send her effects to. In a nutshell, Kate wanted to be cremated and her ashes disposed of secretly without fanfare; She wanted a prewritten statement issued to the press and another to the staff at her gymnastics school, and a third more personal one sent to her students. She gave Rachael a detailed spreadsheet of names and comm numbers to send the texts to, each one starting with; "My darling ____, as you read this last message, I am at a suicide center and I am ending my life the way I want to end it. The method I have chosen is as intense as the life I chose to lead, and I promise you I am in good hands and they will make sure I will enjoy every last second of my life. Please don’t be sad for me, it is my time ..."

Once all that was done and the text messages were starting to send, Rachael handed her off to me. As we walked down the corridor to one of the specialty preparation rooms, I went over the details we’d agreed upon three weeks earlier that would meet her needs. Again, she was all business, asking questions and confirming the small details.

Once we were in the room, Kate unzipped her jacket and slipped it off, tossing it in the clothes bin as she kicked off her runners.

I touched her shoulder before she could strip further.

"Kate?" I asked, studying her face for any nervousness or second thoughts, "Let’s just slow down a minute. How are feeling?"

"Good." she said, then laughed softly, "That’s a lie. I’m feeling a mix of emotions, kind of like I used to feel when I competed."

"Like the Olympics?" I asked. Kate had won two gold medals in gymnastics, and was a world-renowned spokeswoman for amateur sport.

"Yeah. And before too, like when I was just starting out; Nervous and excited ... feeling exhilarated but like I’m going to throw up at the same time. I guess that’s why I’m in such a hurry - once I started my routine I got into it and the nervousness went away." Kate explained as she stripped off her socks, "This is just one last routine, right?"

"The ultimate one." I smiled at her.

"Yeah. No pressure, huh?" Kate laughed, "I hope I don’t fuck it up."

"You won’t. I’m going to make sure it’s good for you." I said gently.

Kate did slow down then and began to talk about her life - filling on some blanks from the report I read.

She started out in gymnastics at the age of five. She was in foster care and her foster parents got her involved. Kate was a natural and loved it - her body was the one thing she could control completely and she strived to be the best in her age class. Time at the gym was time away from the foster parents who treated her like a job to do instead of a kid. Her coach saw promise in Kate and eventually became her guardian after her foster family gave up working in the field, and he devoted himself to training her. But his training expanded to outside of the gym.

"He hurt me." Kate said in a soft, sad, faraway voice, "He used his fingers on me, starting when I turned six."

He would show her which fingers he would use on her before he did it. Kate would lay on the floor of her bedroom with her thighs open as he played with her for hours. Those sessions ended with him cumming over her thighs or belly.

When it was time for her cleansing enemas, Kate stripped off her track pants and panties and took the nozzle on all fours. We use three-quart bags at Die Happy and Kate took it all each time, straining and grunting as her belly got tight and firm.

I had to give her four bags before she expelled clean. It was her preference - we’re used to people shitting themselves as they die, but she wanted to save herself that indignity.

During the third bag I saw that despite her grunting and sweating, Kate’s labia was shiny with clear mucus and her clit was stretching its little fleshy hood.

"He took my cunt." Kate told me as her belly swelled for the fourth time, "He used it like he owned it, so I took my pleasure anally since then."

"Which is why you chose this." I answered.

"Yeah." Kate grunted, her face flushing from the pressure in her belly.

"Did you eat this morning?" I asked, wondering if we needed to give her an emetic.

"Just fruit juice." Kate answered, "I remembered about the oil."

After her enemas, Kate took a shower and I scrubbed her back with a sea sponge. Then we walked down the hall to the room we’d prepared for her.

Like all the rooms at Die Happy, it was a bright white, with no décor. We can add mood lighting and even furnishings if a client wants to include that in their session, but most opt for the white - they see it as spiritual. For Kate it didn’t matter, it was what we were about to do to her that was important to her.

We’d wheeled the Impaler into the room and attached it to a leather padded massage table. I offered padded leather ankle cuffs, but Kate opted for the leather wrist thongs that would wrap around her wrists so she could hold on by herself - when the Impaler starts its final push, it can move you instead of penetrating, so you have to be secured somehow. Kate wanted to be in control, and the wrist loops were an active restraint - she could let go at any time, although even before we started, I doubted she would.

The table itself had an adjustable headrest to tilt her head forward or back and the lower half where her legs would go could be split to allow the Impaler to be positioned for anal or vaginal penetration. Kate, of course, chose the anal route.

We started with a total body massage - front and back - to totally relax her and work out any knots that might distract from the sensations she would soon be feeling. She made all the right appreciative sounds as I kneaded her muscles. I knew enough from her report to stay away from her cunt, but I did pay some attention to her anus and nipples, which she seemed to appreciate. By the time I was finished, both sphincter rings of her anus were loose and gaped and her cunt was a glistening mess of thick clear mucus.

"Are you ready, Kate?" I asked after the massage.

Kate opened her eyes and nodded, then sat up on the table and took the bottle of mineral oil infused with peppermint and drank half of it. She grimaced a bit at the taste - no matter how well flavoured this stuff is, it’s still mineral oil.

She then laid back down and lifted her knees, hooking her hands under her thighs so I could inject a pint of mineral oil into her rectum.

"That feels nice." she whispered as she lowered her legs and got into position.

I had her lift her knees with her feet on the table and open her thighs. I keyed the Impaler controls and released the lock on the teflon spit so I could pull it out into position. Parting the cheeks of her bum with my left hand, I pulled the spit until it touched her loose anus.

"Deep breath and let it out." I told her, and as she breathed out I slid six inches of the spit into her rectum.

"... oh fuck ..." she breathed sensually and closed her eyes, "... this is going to be good ..."

I helped her loop the leather straps around her wrists then and she gripped them loosely. Then I keyed the Impaler to lock down the spit and punched the auto-sequence. The spit slid in an eighth inch, then back out four inches, then back in four and an eighth, then out four and an eighth, and so on - each stroke sliding an eighth inch deeper into her bowels.

Kate slowly arched her back as the Impaler began to fuck her.

"... oh yeah ... oh yeah ... oh yeah ..." she whispered with each slow thrust her sexual arousal growing stronger, her nipples puckering, her clit swelling. Kate began to move her hips in time to the Impaler, pushing her belly out and tucking her bum down on each inward stroke. And I knew why - it changed the spit’s angle and increased the pressure on her vagina pushing it up firmly against her g-spot.

Sweat began to bead on her face and chest as she participated in being fucked by the Impaler, each stroke that much deeper and that much longer inside her. Kate’s eyes opened and she found me in the white glare of the room;

"... oh Kim ..." she said breathlessly, "... thank you ... thank you so much ..."

"Shhh ... it’s okay. Just enjoy it." I cooed as I stoked Kate’s sweaty forehead.

Kate began panting soon after, small worry lines appearing between her eyebrows. Soon she was moaning.

"... think ... I’m gunna ... cum ..." she gasped. So I laid the flat of my right hand on the soft spot just above her pubic mound and pressed downward - I could feel the swollen flesh of her bladder, g-spot, and cunt and the Impaler spit sliding back and forth underneath them. I figured the added pressure against her g-spot should send her over the edge.

Kate’s back arched hard and she grunted loudly, pulling hard against the leather straps.

"Oh FUCK!" she cried out hoarsely and her body went into spasms as she had a long thigh-quivering orgasm. I used my fingertips to massage her g-spot, mashing it against the steel shaft inside her. I smiled as I watched her toes curl and her feet point inward.

She was seven when she had her first orgasm, and didn’t know it was because her coach/guardian had learned about g-spots and had curled his fingers insider her, mashing it up against her pubic bone. From Kate’s present reaction, I was satisfied that I guessed right - part of choosing the Impaler was to relive the parts of her abuse that she was ashamed to have enjoyed.

And Kate certainly enjoyed that first orgasm on the Impaler. By the time she had peaked and started coming down, she was shaking and squirming on the table and tears were leaking from her closed eyes. As I lifted my hand from her lower belly and keyed the Impaler to a dead slow pace, Kate’s face crumpled and she began to sob.

I leaned over her and wrapped my left arm around her head, nuzzling her ear and stroking her breasts and nipples with my right fingers.

"Shhhhh." I soothed her, "It’s okay, little Kate. You’re okay. You’re doing good, sweetheart."

Kate turned her head to nuzzle my upper arm, burying her face against my white long-sleeved top.

"... I feel ashamed ..." she sobbed.

"Don’t, sweetheart." I answered her softly, kissing her cheek and ear, "Nothing to be ashamed of here. I want you to feel these things. I want you to let your last orgasms take you away to where ever you need to go. You’re safe here. There’s no judgment here."

Kate pulled back slightly and looked up into my eyes and I could see that confused little girl that she once was. Her eyes searched my face for understanding. I took a risk ...

"You want to go back." I said gently, "You want to go back there in your final moments and feel the good parts again."

Kate closed her eyes and nodded.

"Yes." she whispered, then moaned as the spit reached its deepest point and began to pull slowly back. She opened her eyes, her face calm once more.

"And the fear and pain." she finished.

"But you’re not alone this time."

Kate smiled and laid her head back, readjusting her grip on the loops. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

"... give me more ..." she whispered.

I turned the speed dial up slowly until the Impaler was fucking her once again in earnest. Soon she was moaning and grunting as the spit relentlessly pistoned in and out of her bowels, working its way deeper and deeper toward her stomach.

Three times her body shuddered in orgasm, her shoulders lifting from the table, her chin tucking against her chest, and her thighs squeezing together, trying to trap the slippery shaft that would not slow no matter how hard she gripped it.

"... this ... is amazing ..." she gasped breathlessly after the third orgasm, "... how deep?"

I laid the edge of my hand on her upper belly and pressed in so the spit pushed against it. Her skin was slick with sweat so the spit pushed my hand upward - the tip of the spit was about four inches from her stomach.

"GNA!" Kate grunted loudly - she could feel it. She knew it was getting close to the most challenging part - breaking out of her large colon into her stomach. What she didn’t know was the special feature of the Impaler’s spit - the tip had two recessed blades in a cross. When it met too much resistance, it would thrust the blades out of the tip and make an X shaped cut. The blades would then retract and the spit would continue on its way.

I lifted my hand and her belly continued to clench and bloat as the spit slid back and forth inside her bowels.

For the next few moments Kate was gasping and clenching with each thrust, her arms shaking and her body jerking as she held on tightly. Occasionally her thighs would slap together and other times she would open them and curl her pelvis, moving her body around the spit. I realized that what I was watching were a series of orgasms as Kate was experiencing the deepest penetration she’d ever felt - hell, it was the deepest any of us could ever feel. You didn’t come back from penetration that deep.

But soon, her body was slick with sweat, her face paling, her overtaxed muscles trembling. Kate was nearing the end of her endurance and by the desperate sounds she was making I think she knew it too.

"Mmmngh!" Kate grunted wetly and I saw the top of her abdomen bulge - the spit was still in her large colon, but pushing against her stomach. But Kate rode it out, letting it punch against her mineral oil boated stomach, making small gurgling sounds, whimpering, panting, and swallowing desperately. Vomiting typically comes without warning, and so it was with Kate.

"GLURK!" Kate’s belly convulsed violently and thick oil erupted like a fountain from her mouth to spatter over her face and chin. She drew in a shuddering wet breath and lifted her head and shoulders, her chin tucked against her chest.

"... mnglurph ... mnglurph ... mnglurph ..." Kate gurgled through the next three thrusts as mineral oil filled her mouth and flowed over her chin and chest. We’d reached the end stage, so I stopped the Impaler and eased it back a couple inches.

Kate held herself rigid, panting, and swallowing down the mineral oil in her gullet.

"Lay back down, sweetheart." I said softly, placing my hand against her forehead and pushing it downward, "It’s time to lower your head rest."

Even this was part of Kate’s plan to revisit the sensual horror of her abuse. It was the first time she really thought she was going to die - the night her coach taught her to use her mouth. The night he held her down and forced his cock down her young throat.

"I can’t do it." Kate whimpered and began to cry, her face crumpling, "I can’t."

"Shhhh." I soothed her as she laid her head back and I lowered the headrest so her throat was stretched out and her head tilted back to align her mouth with her gullet, "Yes you can, Kate. You can do this. He’s not here, baby. I’m here."

"... I-can’t-I-can’t-I-can’t-I-can’t..." Kate whimpered, rolling her head from side to side. She let go of the leather straps and shook her hands, pulling them out of the loops. They fluttered above her chest uselessly.

"Yes, you can, sweetheart." I whispered in her ear as I keyed the Impaler to begin its final slow thrust, "I’m going to help you."

" ... yes ... hold me down ..." Kate whimpered, "... force me ..."

I positioned myself behind her and laid my hands gently on her brow and the back of her head, pulling it into position as the spit began to move inside her once more - this time with the sharp X-shaped blades poised to thrust from the tip, to open her colon and stomach.

I held her loosely as Kate’s eyes squeezed shut while the spit pushed deep against her stomach. She began to gag and gurgle. I knew the instant the blades made their cut from the way she jerked and grunted. I heard the soft hiss of the blades retracting, and Kate convulsed once more as the spit slid out of her colon and into her stomach. I tightened my grip on her head, bracing her for the last part.

"... BLURGLE ..." Kate vomited oil that spewed from her open mouth and nostrils, her hands above her chest opening and closing on nothing.

"... GNAH! ..." She gasped, trying to twist on the table, but the shaft running through her body kept her rigid.

"This is it, sweetheart." I spoke into her right ear, "Take it, Kate. Take it all. You want it. You know you want it. You’ve wanted it for years, and now is your chance."

I watched as Kate lowered her hands to her breasts and found her nipples, she pinched them hard, twisting them between her fingertips.

"You thought you were going to die when he pushed his cock down your throat didn’t you?" I whispered, "And for all these years you wished he had."

Kate grunted in reply - she was beyond words now.

She gagged hard and her eyes opened wide then along with her mouth and a constant wet gurgling rattled in her throat. Soon her tongue slipped out between her lips, the root being pushed up into her mouth. I held her head tight, clamping it to the headrest as she began to shake and quiver violently. The graphite black tip of the spit filled her mouth and I heard the soft ‘tink’ and scrape as it contacted her front teeth and forced her jaw open.

Kate watched the spit emerge from her mouth, her eyes crossing as her eyelids drooped. Her lower jaw began to quiver badly, her teeth clattering against the spit.

"Good girl." I whispered in her ear, "Such a good girl."

Kate was silent as she died, the only sound in the room was the wet pattering of her thighs slapping together as they shook and jerked. She gripped her nipples hard and pulled on them, stretching her small breasts to their limit. I rose and slid my hand down her quivering belly and cupped her mound, sliding two fingers into her cunt and finding her g-spot. I fingered her hard, feeling the gush of clear light mucus burst from her cunt and spray up my forearm.

I gave Kate her final orgasm. An orgasm that - for her - never ended; she shuddered and quivered, pulling hard on her nipples until her fingers lost strength. Then her arms flopped limp at her sides as her body continued to spasm and shudder until, like a wind-up toy, her movements slowed and finally grew still. Her half-lidded eyes stared at nothing. Her nipples softened. Her clit returned to its normal size and colour.

I looked at the clock on the Impaler - it had been one hour and fifty-two minutes since she walked in our front door.

It’s too bad Kate chose cremation - once I retracted the spit, her body was left as perfect as it was when she walked through the front door of Die Happy, and her face looking tranquil, like a woman satisfied and content.