For about a year when I was eighteen (A while ago, I'm now 38), I had a girlfriend who rather quickly discovered my fantasies and accepted them completely, much to my surprise and delight. She was (is) a beautiful woman, every bit a match for any playboy model. She stood about 5'5", weighed 120lbs, and had measurements on the order of 36,24,36. Her belly had beautiful shape to it and her breasts while large, were perfect, they rode high and firm. She had curly blond hair that fell just past her shoulders. She was an extremely intelligent and compassionate woman. How could I let her go? Maybe I was an idiot, but that is another story about a woman whom you would no doubt find interesting.

During our beginning platonic courtship (which lasted but a week) there was an instance of play in which we pretended to be having a duel with imaginary rapiers. It lasted a minute until with an exaggerated flourish I knocked her sword away and ran her though her belly. She acted her part very well as her eyes and mouth flew open very wide, her sword dropped, and she sank to the ground seductively with a lovely orgasmic look on her face. She lay there making little gagging moans of what sounded like pleasure until I joined her on the ground and we started to make out.

A few days later after we had begun a regular consummation of our relationship, I told her in the afterglow of our lovemaking how much that sword duel had excited me. When she admitted to the same excitement I was emboldened to admit to the whole truth of my fantasies. Her response was to produce an imaginary bow and arrow, place them in my hands then stand in what was a darn good approximation of 'the Bellybutt pose'. She stood there smiling wonderfully at me and said, "Shoot me."

Trembling I aimed my 'arrow' at her lower belly. She arched her back to bring it closer. I 'let go' and she cried out with pleasure as her body fluttered. She looked down to where she imagined the arrow impaled her, touched her 'wound' lightly, then looked back up with a look of orgasmic wonder. With a lovely moan she sank down and squirmed seductively with her legs open. Furiously erect again I went to her and started to fuck her. She stayed 'in character' the whole time until we orgasmed together.

From then on, without my having to initiate it, she would produce an imaginary knife or bow and arrow for me to use on her while we made love. She always played her role very well and always stayed in character. She appeared to enjoy it very, very much. Then about two months into our relationship (we were convinced by this point that we were in love), she surprised the hell out of me.

We were quietly walking hand in hand down a deserted country road on a beautiful sunny summer day. She broke the silence with the statement, "You know, you can do it if you want to."

This was completely out of the blue, I had no idea what she was talking about. I asked innocently, "Do what?"

"Kill me." she replied looking at me with a beautiful smile.

I stared at her, dumbstruck! "You're kidding me!" I blurted out.

"No. I mean it." She insisted. "If you want to, I'll let you fulfill your fantasies with me."

"You'ld let me kill you?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes." She answered, always with a sublimely contented smile on her face.


"Because it would make you happy." She stated.

I took her in my arms and held her close. I kissed her deeply and at length. No doubt in her mind, that I had accepted her offer and that her life was forfeit. She kissed me back passionately.

"I want you to do me a favor." I said breaking away finally.

"Yes." She obviously would do anything I asked.

"I want you to think about this again." I stated authoritatively. "I want you to think about it long and hard for a full month. Remember, you are telling me that I can kill you. You would be dead! Will you do this for me? Will you think about this again?"

"Yes." She answered, and we fell into another embrace.

A month later, sitting on a park bench, she brought up the subject. "I've given it a lot of thought, and I want you to do it. I want you to kill me."

I was at a total loss for words. I sat and stared at her while she looked into my eyes, calm, determined, her mind apparently made up.

"You're not joking are you? You really will let me kill you." I still couldn't believe it.

"Yes. I want you to do it. I want you to kill me." She stated adamantly.

"You don't understand," I took her in my arms, "I don't know that I won't do it. I might very well really kill you if you keep telling me these things!" I whispered to her intensely. I was still quite young and I had never explored these limits before. I really didn't know whether or not I could or would.

"So what's the problem?" She asked teasingly. "I want you to do it. It's OK."

At this point I was scared. The temptation to tell myself that I was just acting and to 'go along with it' was almost overwhelming. I was silent for quite a while. I held her and kissed her and she returned my passion ardently. Once again her, certainly thinking that I, her lover, was going to kill her.

Finally I told her that I needed her to think about it one more time. She protested that her mind was made up but that for me, she would. And sure enough, one month later she reiterated her statement. "Yes. I want you to do it. I want you to kill me."

By this time I had done a lot of soul searching. I had thought long and hard about what she was offering. I gave a lot of thought to what it was that excited me about her offering herself to me in this way. I understood by this point that while the idea of me actually fulfilling my fantasy with her excited me more than I had ever been excited before, what excited me even more was her willingness to let me. I didn't want that to end, and I knew that if I really did kill her, it would be over. It was that understanding that gave me the courage to believe that I would not actually harm her and that therefore, I could accept her offer.

She whispered those words in my ear while we made love, "I want you to do it. I want you to kill me."

When finally I whispered back, "Thank you." Her lust and happiness defied my ability to describe.

After a while we went shopping. I picked up a bow and she chose an arrow with a thin sharp tip. We lingered for a while at the case with the knives while she deliberated their various virtues. Finally she chose a small double edge dagger. Holding it in her hand she hugged me and whispered, "I want this one inside me."

From then on whenever we made love, she made sure the knife was ready beside the bed. Sometimes she would take the knife and put it in my hands. Patiently she waited for me to work up the nerve. She always expected me to do it and I never told her that I wouldn't.

The story of this first of my 'Bellybutts' does not quite end in my teens. We stayed in touch on the order of a short conversation every year or so until a couple of years ago. She called to invite me to come stay with her for a weekend in Toronto (I live in Montreal). She was feeling very lonely (and horny) and needed to talk with a friend. Of coarse I agreed and went to visit.

We did indeed talk of many things in her life. When night fell she came to me in a shear nightgown and climbed into bed with me. We made love 'vanilla' style till late at night when in each others arms we spoke softly. I asked if she remembered the fantasies I used to have with her. She said she did. I asked her if she really would have let me kill her. She said that she still would! Bombshell! I told her that I still had those fantasies. She asked me to not kill her for another couple of weeks until her new life insurance policy came through.

I lost complete control of my composure for the rest of the weekend. We spoke in terms that indicated that we believed her life to soon be over. We made plans. After I returned home I never heard from her again. She moved, changed her phone, and never called back. I suppose that she got scared. Whether of me or herself I may never know.

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